Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4041706.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Tom_Riddle
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Tom_Riddle, Voldemort, Tom_Riddle_|_Voldemort, Severus
      Snape, Albus_Dumbledore, Hermione_Granger, Ron_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      Mpreg, Rape, Child_Abuse, Abuse, Explicit_Sexual_Content, Sexual_Abuse
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-05-30 Chapters: 12/12 Words: 222972
****** Of Monsters and Men, Of Fathers and Sons ******
by MrRiddle
Summary
     I have been asked multiple times to put this abandoned work up again.
     So now you have it. SUMMARY: In his 5th year Harry finds out he is
     Snape's son. Severus serves only one master and is loyal to the dark.
     Would it be possible for two so different men to find their common
     ground and gain something they never had - a family? And Voldemort
     has some interesting plans for the Savior.
Notes
     Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by
     J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and various publishers including but not
     limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No
     profit is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is
     intended. All rights reserved to original characters and spell craft.
      
     I have been asked multiple times to post this story again and I still
     get emails every month or so. I don't intend to finish it, so please
     don't ask me to. I never edited it, so it might contain lots of
     mistakes and typos.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Of Monsters and Men, of Fathers and Sons.
Chapter I.
Cold, it was too cold, he could finally separate this sensation from the sheer
dread that seemed to grip his heart in a vice and burned deep in his gut.
Breathe, don't forget to breathe. In, out, in, out...
"No, not my Harry! Don't kill him! Not my baby! Harry!"
"Step aside, you silly girl! Step aside!"
"No! Harry!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
And don't forget to squeeze your eyes shut at the blinding flash of green
light. No, no, he knew he should have kept his eyes wide open now. A long bony
hand was clawing on his chest, slowly making its way up to his his throat, as a
black darkness underneath the hood floated closer and down to his lips. His
mind was clouded with terror, he couldn't concentrate on what was he supposed
to do now. There was something he instinctively knew he was ought to perform,
but what? Shaking feverishly, Harry forced his eyes open and stared into the
dark abyss in front of him. He could almost picture a dry crackled mouth
descending onto his lips, the odor of rotting flesh and dust coming out of it,
coating him with a thick layer of grey oily mist. He realized then that he was
still screaming, hoarsely now, a little more subdued. However, the sense of
awareness of his precarious situation made him fall silent all of a sudden,
listen to the sound of screams that belonged to somebody else, somewhere near
and yet in the distance.
Were his eyes frozen too, trained only on the black hole that was slowly
sucking him inside? Harry forced himself to look away and his gaze fell on the
screaming boy, who was pinned to the wall a few feet away from him. Dudley. His
cousin was being sucked dry by another dementor. Harry blinked, swallowing
harshly to sooth the pain in his sore throat. Dementors in Surrey. He jerked as
something cold, disgustingly wet brushed against the skin of his neck.
Dementors, patronus spell, cast patronus just like the last time with Sirius.
The green light flashed before his eyes again, and the screams, the screams of
his mother, he was certain his heart wouldn't be able to bear all this pain, it
would stop if he heard her one more time. Sirius, think about Sirius, he is
your family, he is your true family, remember how you saved him. Harry squeezed
his eyes again and drew his wand, his arm could barely move, as if the air
turned thick and heavy like water. Between the green flashes of light flickered
the horrible scenes from his room: the swooshing sound of belt connecting with
his back, the sickeningly greasy and slippery slaps of Vernon's hips against
his buttocks... Harry clenched his teeth in fury and pain - he'd rather watch
his mother die again and again than return to the reality of his life.
"Expecto Patronum!"
It was so cold, for a moment he feared that the incantation wouldn't work,
distorted by his chattering teeth. But Prongs dissipated his fears, the proud
stag plunged himself at the dementors as they screeched in fear. Harry watched,
mesmerized, the bright white light filling the tunnel, scaring the darkness
away. Loud whimpers brought him out of his hazed state and back into reality.
Dudley lay on the ground and wailed, his tear-stained face was white as chalk.
Harry rushed to his side and grabbed on his shoulders, trying to lift his
awfully huge and heavy body up.
"Come on, Dudley, move, I can't pull you up, you're too heavy," he gritted
through his teeth, feeling as muscles in his back stretched too painfully. He
hated Dudley and the small voice in his head asked him if he really wanted to
help or should he just leave him here to die and get rid of one problem in his
life?
"Harry?"
His head shot up and at first he didn't really realize who he was looking at. A
wave of horror washed over him at the thought that somebody saw him performing
magic. Magic! He casted a spell! The ministry would surely know about it and he
would be expelled from Hogwarts!
"Mrs Figg?" he thought somewhat absentmindedly that his voice sounded hollow.
It was their neighbor, the awful cat lady that lived down the street.
She came closer and placed Dudley's other arm on her shoulders, supporting him.
"Harry, no time to explain, we must get you and Dudley home," Mrs Figg led them
forward, and Harry didn't really know what to say. Perhaps, he should just keep
his mouth shut? Perhaps, she didn't even see anything, only that his cousin was
hurt? Breathing deeply to calm himself down, he concentrated on his
surroundings, watching out for the dementors.
xxx
If Petunia's and Vernon's screams were anything to judge by, he was in for a
good beating and worse. His uncle locked him up in his room, swearing that
Harry would pay for all the horrible things their family had to endure because
of his freakishness after they put Dudley in the hospital. He wanted to sneer
at the whale of a man, that was spitting his saliva all over him, but he knew
better. He knew what was going to happen when Vernon returned, he could
practically feel the burning pain in his hide. With the Ministry's letter
clutched in his fists, Harry sat on his bed, the hot tears of fury ran down his
cheeks as he listened to the sound of Vernon's car being started. He was going
to be expelled from the school, he was going to lose his first and only home he
had in his life. And how was he going to attend the hearing? Dumbledore made it
crystal clear that Harry could not, under any circumstances, leave the blood
wards of Private Drive number 4. Well, he just did and how had that turned out?
He was going to be raped again. Again and again... Harry licked on his lips, as
the salty tears streamed down to his mouth.
He fell back on the mattress and sighed, feeling absolutely exhausted,
devastated. What was the point in crying? Tears never helped anyone, never
solved any problems. He rubbed them off of his face angrily, as a loud sob
escaped his throat, almost choking him. Why was all this shit happening to him?
He dearly wished he could talk to Hermione and Ron, or Sirius, but alas, he was
all alone. His friends forgot him, resented him, no doubt blaming him for
Cedric's death, for aiding Voldemort's resurrection. Not one letter, not a
smallest note during the whole summer, even on his birthday. It was cynical of
him to think about that, but nobody sent him any food either, and he was
starving. So much that he often had to lean against the walls to prevent
himself from falling down – so weak he felt. It was a miracle how he hadn't
fainted in front of the dementors, his body had probably worked on pure
adrenaline, he thought.
His friends didn't want to talk to him anymore, that was the most significant
fact right now. At first, he entertained an idea that their letters might have
gotten stuck somewhere, maybe it was Dobby's doing again, to protect him? Yeah,
right, he was protected from Death Eaters and nasty post but he couldn't even
go out for a walk anymore, couldn't communicate with anybody. He wasn't
protected from the fat ugly bastard of his uncle, a bloody muggle who had
everything under his control, who easily fought any resistance and brought so
much pain and shame with his... Harry roared helplessly and punched the worn
mattress underneath him. This wasn't fair. Or was it? He opened his eyes and
stared at the ceiling. Perhaps, it was. It was his fault Cedric died, after
all. It was his fault Voldemort came back. It was all his fucking fault and he
was paying for it. Harry groaned pitifully, as the images of the horrible night
at the cemetery filled his mind.
It wasn't enough, apparently, that he couldn't sleep anymore, his every night
spent in torment of terrible nightmares. Again and again he found himself bound
to the gravestone, staring at Cedric's lifeless form lying at his feet. His
hand grabbed on his left forearm involuntarily, as the phantom pain from
Wormtail's dagger throbbed in his scar. He could still clearly feel the amount
of hurting all over his body he endured the moment his blood had been taken
from him. Harry often cut himself here, working in the garden, or cooking, or
even being beaten by Vernon and Dudley, he often cut himself during quidditch
practices as well, but never had any scratch or injury hurt him so much before.
It was a simple cut really, but the pain was just as intolerable as cruciatus
that Voldemort threw at him moments after he stepped out of the cauldron.
Moaning in desperation, Harry hid his face in his hands, rolling onto his side.
Everything has changed since that night. Nobody believed him that the Dark Lord
returned, nobody but Dumbledore. But his faith didn't change the fact that he
hadn't written to Harry either. The only letter he sent was the one telling him
not to leave his house and cease any attempts to communicate with his friends
or anybody else in the wizarding word - it was too dangerous. Worse, Hedwig had
been taken from him as well, and he didn't even get his Daily Prophet
newspapers anymore. He was alone in the dark, with no idea of what was going on
outside, what was Voldemort doing now. Enraged, Harry sat up sharply, grabbing
on his own hair and pulling on it. Pain, pain was all he knew in this life, and
pain drove him further, helped him stand on his feet and breathe.
Fucking Voldemort ruining his life over and over again. Harry stood up and
kicked the chair in front of him. He was furious and completely helpless, he
had no control over his life. If he had to choose, he would have surely run
away with Sirius, as far as possible, to escape this horrible fate, this
horrible house and family. Maybe he wasn't a gryffindor after all? Maybe he was
a slimy cowardly slytherin, just like the hat had once told him? Somewhere deep
inside he knew he was ought to stay and fight, get the world rid of the
snakeface bastard, avenge his parents. But his rational part screamed at him:
run, run and never ever come back. He was sixteen for god's sake! He was still
a teenager, he barely knew a few defensive spells - why were they all relying
on him? If the experienced, much more apt at dueling adults couldn't hold
against Voldemort, than why he could? Who said he could? He couldn't even
defend himself against his own muggle uncle, what good was he in the
battlefield? Harry's lips twisted in disdain. He hated, oh how he hated Vernon,
even more so than Dudley. Dudley was just a brainless fat prick who looked up
to his father and had no self-conscience whatsoever, trying to be a man by
beating his own cousin senseless. No, Vernon was a bloody sadist, he enjoyed
whipping Harry, enjoyed his screams under his belt and fists, enjoyed shoving
his cock into Harry's arse and mouth. Bastard, fat, ugly, useless bastard.
Harry roared furiously and punched the wall with his fist, grimacing at the
sharp pain that pierced his bones.
The sound of Dursley's car parking at the house told him that the time had
come. Harry braced himself and sat down on the bed again, not really fearing
what was coming next. Why would he fear Vernon anymore? His life was finished
anyway. He would either die here, under his uncle's fists or out there, under
Death Eaters' wands. He'd rather die as a wizard-hero Dumbledore painted him to
be, but once again, he had no control whatsoever, he couldn't choose. What if
he chose Slytherin at the sorting after all? Harry shook his head resentfully
at that thought. No, nothing would have changed, except maybe himself, perhaps,
he would have grown a lot smarter, more independent than he was now. He
depended on his friends who turned their backs on him as soon as he messed up,
he depended on the opinion of the wizarding world that hated him and called him
a liar, he depended on the old headmaster who decided when and how would he
die. Sighing tiredly, he picked up the Ministry's letter and hid it under the
mattress. It wouldn't do if Vernon found out he was going to be expelled - he
wouldn't survive the man's celebratory beating, of that he was certain.
xxx
Petunia opened the door the next day and hissed at him to get up and go to the
bathroom before Vernon woke up. She hadn't come back from the hospital last
night, so there was nothing that could prevent Vernon from raping him again.
Groaning softly, Harry slowly dragged himself up and limped out of the room.
Vernon used not only his belt and fists yesterday but feet as well. Harry's
left arm was broken, as was probably his right ankle, he wasn't sure since it
went numb and all he felt was a slight aching somewhere near his foot. Oh, and
two of his ribs were broken as well, though that was quite alright, that was
his usual injury here during summers. The searing pain in his anus was nothing
new either. He carefully closed the door behind himself, stepped up to the sink
and turned the water on. It felt cool and soothing on his burning blooded
hands. Harry sighed contentedly and looked up to see his reflection in the
mirror. He frowned at the sight of his broken nose. It looked awful and surely
hurt as hell, but he wasn't going to touch it to prove his theory right. He was
a mess. One of his eyes was barely open, the skin around it - one big purple
bruise. Raising his upper lip he checked his teeth - fortunately, every one of
them was in place. He winced as the cracks around his mouth opened at the
motion and bled again.
He never really paid attention to his appearance before, but after everything
that happened at the cemetery back in June, Harry noticed that his face had
somewhat changed. His features transformed somehow, he couldn't really explain
it. To be honest, he wouldn't have probably noticed it at all if it wasn't for
Petunia's welcoming shrieks when he returned from Hogwarts. After hearing her
screeching that "those freaks" of his and "that horrid magic" did something to
him, made him even uglier than before, Harry went to the mirror to take a look
at the reason of her antics and froze, flabbergasted. He had in fact changed.
His features were his own and yet they were different, foreign, as if he wore a
light glamour of some sort, or played with human transfiguration that professor
McGonagall promised to teach them in their sixth year. His nose was longer now,
and slightly crooked, his cheekbones higher and more even, his jaw had a more
square, masculine curve to it now. Even his hair changed - it wasn't sticking
up anymore, on the contrary, it turned heavier, silkier and looked straighter,
curling slightly on the ends. Only his bright green eyes and plump red lips
stayed the same, reminding him of his mother.
He thought he wasn't that ugly after all, he reminded himself of somebody he
knew, but he couldn't grasp that particular memory, not yet. And judging by the
way Vernon kept raping him and watching his face, Harry concluded that he was,
in fact, much prettier than before. And as strange as it sounded, his "new
face" felt very natural, as if it was something he was born with. But why would
his face change so drastically all of a sudden? Of course he knew of growth
spurts and it was possible that his face could have noticeably aged when he
turned sixteen, but he had never heard of anybody changing into a different
person. If it wasn't for his lightning bolt scar and his striking green eyes,
Harry was certain nobody would have recognized him now.
He hissed in pain as the toothbrush touched a sore spot in his mouth. Spitting
blood along with toothpaste, Harry rinsed his mouth and splashed some cold
water onto his burning face, moaning at the sensation of a slight pleasant
tingling on his skin. He took a few gulps of water and turned it off. Having
soundlessly crossed the hall, he hid in his room again and carefully lowered
his aching body onto the bed. The sheets were smeared with his blood but he
paid it little mind, Petunia wasn't going to let him wash them anyway. Harry
had barely slept at night, crying in pain and nursing his broken arm and ribs,
willing his magic to stop the bleeding, and found himself incapable of
resisting the temptation to close his eyes. He fell asleep as the rays of the
morning sun fell onto his face through the barred window.
xxx
Harry woke up with a start at the loud noises downstairs. He dreamed of the
cemetery again. Of the ugly disgusting creature stepping out of the cauldron
with a cold triumphant laugh escaping its lipless slit of a mouth. Voldemort
looked horrifying and clearly enjoyed the effect his appearance had on Harry.
Those blood red eyes were piercing straight into his soul, flaying him alive.
He shuddered at the memory of Voldemort's voice and cruel inhuman smile. Every
time he dreamed of their encounter that night, Harry couldn't help but wonder
how had he managed to escape. His parents did help him, distracted the
snakeface long enough that he was able to dart behind the gravestones but
then... He ran out in the open, dragging a dead body with him and not once
Voldemort threw a curse at him, although he had an opportunity and Harry
sincerely doubted that the man could ever miss. Why hadn't he killed him?
He shivered, but in fever now. Yes, his forehead all but burned at the touch -
he was sick. His mind registered the loud noises once again: somebody was
shouting downstairs. Trying to sit up, he found that he couldn't move, his
whole body was on fire, his head was spinning. Groaning, he rolled on his side
but that was it, he had no strength to do anything else. Harry blacked out.
"Harry, Harry," a soft voice called out his name while somebody kept shaking
him slightly on his aching shoulder. Moaning incoherently, he tried to open his
eyes but his lids were too heavy. "Oh goodness, what have they done to you!? I
told Albus he couldn't let you stay with them, I told him..."
The voice was full of worry and sorrow, and Harry felt as somebody's strong
arms lifted him up, pulling him closer to a broad warm chest. He couldn't make
his tongue move, so he stayed silent, listening to the steady heartbeat next to
his ear. As they came down the stairs he heard somebody growl at Vernon and
demand to give up his belongings. That made him jerk a little as he remembered
his wand and cloak.
"The floor... floor boards... my room..." he croaked, fisting his hands into
the clothes of the man who held him.
"Yes, don't worry," was whispered into his ear. Somebody brushed past them and
went up to his room. Knowing that his wand was safe, Harry lost his
consciousness again.
xxx
"Just look at what those bastards did to him!"
"Shh, Ron! You'll wake him up!"
"If you both won't stop screeching, I am sure you will wake up the dead."
That snide remark brought Harry back to reality. Moaning, he stirred, but the
pain never came. Sighing contentedly at the pleasant lightness in his limbs, he
opened his eyes only to see Snape's face hovering over his, the cold onyx eyes
watching him intently. If Harry could he would have shuddered and screamed, but
he was too tired for that.
"I see you are finally awake, Mr Potter," the potions master sneered, shooting
a glare at Hermione and Ron, who stood at the other side of his bed. And what a
comfortable bed it was, Harry thought. "I have a salve to apply on your face to
heal the bruises, but I would rather not touch you, so I would leave this most
enjoyable task to your friends," Snape shoved a small jar into Hermione's hands
and left, gracing Harry with a disdainful sneer.
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione kneeled at his side, taking his numb hand into hers, "How
are you feeling? Does it hurt anywhere?" she stared into his eyes, hers full of
sorrow and unshed tears.
"Mione, you'd better put that on his face, he looks like shit!" Ron exclaimed
as he sat down on the edge of the bed and shrugged at her glare. "Sorry, mate,
but you really look awful," he winced, trying to smile at Harry, although all
the humor got lost somewhere on the way.
"Fine," Harry whispered, "I'm fine." He had told his friends before that he got
beaten at home, but he never said anything about raping and hoped none of the
adults who treated him found out about it.
Hermione sobbed quietly, but straightened herself and started applying the
salve onto his face, gently pressing on the bruised, swollen flesh. He winced a
few rimes, but otherwise the pain was tolerable. Harry was slowly assessing his
surroundings, noticing finally that he wasn't at Hogwarts, nor was he at the
Burrow. He was in a spacious gloomy room, crammed with dark antique furniture.
Just when he was going to ask where they were, he saw Sirius burst inside with
a huge loopy grin on his face.
"Pup! You're up!" his godfather was instantly at his side and grabbed his hand
into his bigger ones. He looked much better since Harry saw him the last time,
healthier, saner. Harry gave him a wry smile, that looked more like a grimace.
Sirius face paled slightly as he took in his godson's bruised aching face and a
flicker of anger flashed in his grey eyes. "I hope you're feeling better,
Harry," he said softly, stroking his hair, "You can't imagine how much I've
missed you."
"Where are we?" Harry managed to croak through the lump in his throat. Nobody
ever gave him such gentle caress, nobody ever missed him, nobody waited for him
before. He felt he was going to cry like a girl, so he blinked hastily, forcing
his tears away. He wanted to tell Sirius everything, absolutely everything, but
the mere thought of him sharing this awful dirty secret with another living
soul made his insides freeze and turn. He couldn't, he couldn't.
"In my house in London," Sirius smiled. "Have you taken your potion? You better
do it then," he brought a vial to his lips and Harry obediently drank the
stinky liquid. "Good, good, this will help you get on your feet in no time,"
his godfather said, feigning cheer, and patted him on the hand. "I'll go ask
Molly to prepare the dinner, come down if you feel like it, alright?" At
Harry's nod he smiled again and, after placing a kiss on his scarred forehead,
left the room.
"What are you two doing here?" Harry asked his friends when Hermione finally
finished with his face and sat on the opposite side of his bed, so that he
could talk to both her and Ron.
"We've been living here this summer," Ron looked embarrassed all of a sudden,
rubbing his neck and blushing ever so slightly. "You know, the Order needed new
headquarters and Sirius offered them his house."
"The Order?" Harry sat up slowly, leaning into the pillows, already feeling
much better.
"The Order of the Phoenix," Hermione explained, though her eyes never met his.
"Professor Dumbledore's secret society that was founded in the first war to
oppose V-voldemort. They've resumed their work since, you know, since he came
back," she tried to smile but failed at it miserably.
"Why have I never heard of it? Why haven't you told me you've been staying with
Sirius all this time?" Harry suddenly felt very angry. They both were in London
all this time, here, with his godfather, while he was stuck with the Dursleys,
and never wrote even once!
"Mate, don't be mad," Ron tried to placate him. "We've found out about the
Order only this summer, honest!"
"Professor Dumbledore forbade us to owl you, Harry, I'm so sorry, but he said
it was too dangerous, said the owls could be tracked back to you!" Hermione
finally met his angry glare and tears burst out of her eyes as she sobbed
loudly this time.
"And you couldn't send me a letter through the muggle post, could you?" he all
but sneered, feeling rage boiling inside of him. Was she really that daft? "You
had my telephone number, Hermione, you could have phoned me, you know, Vernon
beats me but I still have the luxury of using the telephone. I tried your
number, but you were never there," he snarled and yanked his hand away when she
tried to touch it. "Do you have any idea what was it like? To be locked up in
that bloody house with no way of communicating with anybody? With no news from
the outside world?" he glared at both of them hatefully. Year after year he had
to endure that Hell and they couldn't even send him one bloody note.
"Harry, we're sorry, we really are, but Dumbledore said we would put you in
danger!" Ron jumped on his feet, turning bright red in the face.
"Yeah, like I was very well protected there," Harry snorted and gestured at his
bandaged arm and bruised face. "Oh, and by the way, I will be expelled from
Hogwarts, though I'm sure you've already heard, since you are so close with the
headmaster," he laughed bitterly.
"Harry, we are so very sorry, please," Hermione whined, shaking, as the tears
ran down her cheeks.
"Dumbledore won't let them expel you, mate, I'm telling you, he won't!" Ron
cried vehemently.
"Oh, he wouldn't have to do that if only he let me come here to live with my
godfather, instead of hiding me in that hellhole again," he growled angrily and
closed his eyes in resentment.
Surprisingly, he wasn't all that nervous about the hearing and his expulsion.
Nothing really mattered anymore. In fact, he didn't want to do anything with
Dumbledore, he was so angry at the man for his constant manipulations. Oh yes,
Harry wasn't an idiot, he knew perfectly well that the headmaster was using him
and grooming him as a weapon to use against Voldemort. That much was obvious.
"Harry, please," Hermione begged.
But he only shook his head, "No, don't. Just don't. I have no wish to listen to
your petty excuses any further," Harry spat and waved at them both
dismissively, "Leave me, please. I am too angry to talk to both of you."
"But, mate!" Ron threw his arms in the air, but Harry only glared at him.
Hermione grabbed the redhead boy on the sleeve of his shirt and dragged him out
of the room, looking back at Harry pitifully. He twisted his lips disdainfully
at her sorrowful face - he didn't need her pity, it wasn't going to mend his
bones or turn the time back and prevent dementors from ever coming to Surrey.
Nor was it going to bring Cedric back, for that matter.
xxx
A few hours later Harry woke up feeling rather well, but weak, of course, since
he hadn't eaten for days and his stomach was rumbling demandingly at him. He
carefully sat up and probed his arm and ribs - they seemed to be fine, he
didn't feel any pain. Encouraged, he slowly got up from the bed and took a few
tentative steps forward. His body swayed and he felt a little dizzy, but
otherwise he was alright, his injures healed. Looking around he noticed his
trunk at the end of his bed and crouched next to it, to take out fresh clothes.
He felt disgusted with a mere thought of wearing Dudley's hand-me-downs now, so
he settled on putting on his uniform trousers and shirt. He was surprised to
see that he had actually grown out of those, quite evidently. Frowning, he
walked to the tall mirror in the corner of the room - was this the growth spurt
that added him a few inches in height in just two months? Luckily, he was so
thin that his shirt still looked a little big for him, although it sat too
tight on his shoulders. He stepped closer to inspect his face. It healed
quickly, there were no traces of any injures left, though his skin was too pale
and his lips had a bluish hue to them. He arched a thick black eyebrow at his
own reflection - some food was in order if he didn't want to faint and never
wake up again. Sighing, he turned and slowly walked out of the room, tracing
the walls with his hand in case he would need to lean against them.
When he descended the stairs, he found himself in the dark corridor, barely lit
with a few candles. Turning his head left and right, he tried to decide where
should he go. His sensitive nose told him that the kitchen was on his right.
"Have you seen what those bastards did to him? How could Albus leave him
there?!" Mr Weasley exclaimed when Harry stepped into the room, his bare feet
slapping loudly on the cold stone floor.
Everybody turned at the sound and stared at him as if he was a ghost. Judging
by his weakened, starved state he didn't doubt he looked like one. Sighing, he
stepped closer and lowered himself on the nearest chair, right opposite Sirius
and Remus. There were a few people present: Mr and Mrs Weasley, Lupin, his
godfather, Ron's older brother Bill. And then there was Snape, standing, unlike
everybody else, hidden in the shadows of the dark corner, yet Harry never
missed his intent gaze. Just what was this overgrown bat doing here?
"Harry, is something wrong with your face? Why are you wearing glamours? If
there are any new scars, you shouldn't hide them, I'm sure we can find a way to
heal them," Mrs Weasley asked gently, eyeing him warily. Just like everybody
else in the room.
"I'm not wearing any glamours, my face is perfectly fine," Harry scowled and
saw Sirius widen his eyes in shock, while Remus suddenly gasped and looked
away, his face stricken with sorrow and surprise, which was a rather strange
mixture of emotions. "The hell is going on? Why is everybody staring at me?" he
growled, scowling deeper, not really caring for his language in front of the
adults.
"Is this some kind of a joke, Snivellus?" Sirius roared, standing up sharply
and dropping his chair in the process.
Snape sneered at him in disgust, "What is, mutt?"
"The fucking salve you made for his face, what did it do to him?! Why does he
look like... like..." he waved his hands helplessly, unable to say it out loud.
"What do you mean, whom do I look like? I've looked like this since I left
Hogwarts!" Harry hissed, twisting his lips and Sirius all but sank down,
staring at him as if Harry had just slapped him.
Remus took out his wand and looked at him apologetically, "Sorry, Harry, may I
check you?" At Harry's irritated nod he murmured a couple of spells, but
nothing happened. "Er... I believe there are really no glamours, this is how
Harry truly looks, yes," he glanced at gobsmacked Sirius who was gaping, unable
to make any constructive comment. Nobody could really.
"Ah... Harry, you look, well... you look very different, now that the injures
healed," Mr Weasley said carefully, patting him on the shoulder slightly.
Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation and sighed, "Yes, Mr Weasley, I know,
I've looked like this since I left Hogwarts, I told you already. I don't see
why you all react to it so violently," he shrugged and leaned back in his
chair, sneering slightly, which only made everybody even more agitated.
"Fuck! Harry, you look like Snape!" Sirius finally blurted out and instantly
covered his mouth with his both hands as if he said something dirty.
Harry's eyes widened and he flicked his fingers, as realization struck him.
"That's it! That's whom my face reminded me of so much!" But then the meaning
of those words sank in completely and he turned sharply to stare at his potions
professor who was staring back. "What?! How is this... how is this possible?"
he was going to faint after all, he thought.
xxx
Impossible. Severus felt as if his stomach was tied in a knot. He was a
realistic man, more so, he knew about magic more then most wizards of his
generation and a few generations before as well. The fact that Potter changed
his appearance so suddenly and his new face wasn't a glamour but, in fact, his
real face, meant that he had been growing up wearing a very strong concealment
charm during his whole life. Severus' mind worked frantically, as he kept
staring into the boy's green mesmerizing eyes. There was only one reason why
had he changed - the Dark Lord's resurrection ritual destroyed the charm that
was applied many years ago. It probably was a basic blood magic spell, which
had been weakened with time and could not hold against the blood sacrifice
Potter was forced into. And it all led to one horrible conclusion: Harry Potter
wasn't James Potter's son. And Severus simply couldn't continue his line of
thought, no, he couldn't and didn't want to. It was impossible. He shook his
head, but his gaze never left the boy's face. Technically, of course, it was
possible, but it all seemed too surreal right now for him to get into the
scientific side of the matter. It was impossible, it was wrong. It simply
couldn't be.
"Well, I know it's not the best time, really," Harry said slowly, still staring
at his professor as if he saw him for the first time in his life, "But I feel
like I am going to faint if I don't eat something now. I haven't eaten for
three days straight."
Molly was the one to finally come back to her senses and pay attention to the
boy's needs. "Are you telling me they starved you? How did you manage patronus?
How are you still standing?" she shrieked, and shot up on her feet to arrange a
plate for him. In no time a huge steak and a pile of potatoes were placed in
front of him.
"Oh god," Harry all but whined and hastily dug in, ignoring the way everybody
watched him devouring his meal. Inwardly, however, he was screaming. There was
only one explanation, only one bloody possible explanation and Harry did not
like it at all, oh no, he hated it. Snape was his father. And nobody knew. And
judging by the bat's deadly white face he never knew either. Perfect. Just
perfect.
"This is... unbelievable," Remus whispered, when Harry finished, leaving his
plate almost as clean as it was before the dinner.
Sirius, however, stood up again and walked over to Snape, to spat into his
face, "What, have you nothing to say to this? What did you do to Lily to make
her fuck you?!" he roared into his face, pointing his wand at the man. But
Severus stood very still and silent, not even looking at him, he was still
thinking, calculating, still watching the boy.
Mr Weasley stood up as well, "I think we should all calm down and discuss this
civilly, or, rather, we should call Albus," he moved to walk to the fireplace,
but Harry caught his arm, standing up and blocking his way.
"No, Mr Weasley, please, don't call the headmaster." The overwhelming weight of
the truth slowly descended on his shoulders and he realized that right now was
the worst time to tell Dumbledore anything, to let him meddle again. "I don't
want to talk with him. Or any of you, for that matter," he looked around,
scowling, and, shooting one last glare at Snape, Harry darted out of the
kitchen and up the stairs and into his room.
That brought Severus out of his stupor and he flinched away from Sirius, as his
face contorted in disgust. "Don't you dare touch me, mutt!" he drew his wand
that instant, but Remus had already grabbed Sirius by the shoulders and stirred
him back into his seat.
"What have you done to Lily? Have you drugged her, you bastard?!" Sirius
shouted, struggling to get out of the werewolf's strong grip.
"For your information, she was the one who drugged me that night!" Severus
snapped and just for a second he looked scared and lost, but he hastily
schooled his features back into the mask of indifference. Yet this second was
enough for both Sirius and Remus to notice.
"No!" Sirius cried, looking frightened himself. He couldn't believe this, Lily
couldn't do something so horrible, not to James.
"The Order meeting is in thirty minutes, you all should pull yourselves
together by then!" Severus spat and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving
everybody to gape at each other in shock.
xxx
He paced the hall for some time, but the more he thought about this the more
restless he became. This situation wasn't good, not good at all. Firstly,
because he hated Potter, with every fibre of his soul, he hated the little
prat. And the fact that they shared blood didn't mean anything, not to Severus.
Secondly, their relation placed them both in grave danger - he surely didn't
care for the little bastard but for his own life. If the Dark Lord found out
the truth he would no doubt kill Severus for treason, for the mere fact that he
had created the child that vanquished him all those years ago. Or his lord
would make him bring Potter to him, which would result in Severus' death again,
since he made a vow to protect the brat. All he could hope for was his lord's
sensibility. He stopped and looked up at the landing of the next floor.
Perhaps, he could make Potter wear the glamour again? That way nobody would
suffer, not in the long run. Nodding to himself, Severus ascended the stairs.
The retching sounds from behind the door were a bad sign. The brat was really
starved, he didn't lie. Severus felt disappointed that he could no longer use
Potter's "happy home life" against him in his insults. Potter grew up in an
abusive family, that much was obvious. If he was honest with himself, he was
horrified by the injures the brat endured and by the belt marks on his body,
fresh slashed across the old ones, indicating just for how many years Potter
had been beaten into submission. And yet he grew up just as arrogant and
reckless as his wretched fath... No, he couldn't use this one anymore either.
James Potter wasn't his father – Severus was. Shuddering at the thought, he
turned the doorknob and entered the bedroom. The boy certainly didn't inherit
any of his traits, all these awful streaks came from Lily, no doubt. However,
Lily wasn't stupid, oh no, she was actually brilliant, if she managed to fool
Severus, to fool him so skillfully, so cruelly. And it was a true mystery how
Potter turned out to be such an idiot. Perhaps, his relatives had beaten him
too much on the head when he was younger?
"What do you want?" Harry growled from where he sat on his knees, hugging the
toilet. All the delicious food he had just eaten went out. "Sir?", he added
reluctantly. What a waste.
Severus watched the scowling face and couldn't help but wonder how had he
missed all these mimics that were obviously his own, simply misplaced on the
glamoured features. Even the brat's voice sounded more like his now, when it
associated with this face, his face. And quite surprisingly, Potter turned out
to be a very beautiful boy, much much more attractive than before. Severus
wasn't blind, he knew he himself could hardly be called handsome or pretty, his
students called him ugly, and yet the little bastard inherited all of his
features, but Lily's smoothed them, made him look more a Prince than Severus
himself could ever be. Bloody Potter.
"Potter, you can't consume such huge amounts of food after long starvation, you
wouldn't be able to digest it properly and it would lead to a serious illness
eventually, I will give you a potion to sooth the pain," Severus drawled,
feigning boredom.
Potter sneered, and he barely restrained himself from snorting - despite the
beautiful features, the brat's sneers and scowls were just as intimidating as
his.
"I doubt you are worried about my well being, professor, so please don't,"
Harry gritted out and grabbed his hair just in time to push it up and throw up
once again. Severus noticed that his hair also changed, looked like his now,
only clean, with no protective grease on it. And it was long, almost reached
the brat's shoulders. Suited him better than that insane mop he used to have.
"Oh, and I am no Potter, apparently. What, am I, Snape now?" Harry bit out
harshly, rubbing his mouth with a towel.
"Don't you dare," Snape hissed. "Blood means nothing!" he spat venomously,
narrowing his eyes at the boy. The cheek!
"Oh, but what would your lord say about that? I dare say he would disagree,"
Harry sneered. What a fucking hypocrite. Now the greasy git would only torment
him more at the school, Harry had no doubts about that.
Severus pursed his lips into a straight firm line, knowing full well that
arguing won't lead him anywhere now, he needed to ensure his own safety.
"Speaking of which, you would have to wear glamours at Hogwarts, you do realize
that?"
"No, I don't," Harry gave him a dubious look that quickly morphed into a
baleful one. "Sorry to disappoint you, sir, but I have spent my whole life
behind the glamour, being somebody I am not, I would not hide anymore," he
slowly rose up to his feet and Severus realized that he was noticeably taller
now as well.
"You will put my life in danger as well as yours!" he barked angrily and moved
forward to tower over the boy.
"And why should I care exactly?" Harry spat and glared at his professor
defiantly. His professor, not his father. Snape was right about one thing:
blood meant nothing.
"Perhaps, you would like me to hand you over to the Dark Lord then? To save us
all the trouble?" Severus hissed menacingly, grabbing on the collar of the
boy's shirt. Merlin knew, how much he hated this stupid gryffindorish
stubbornness, incapability to see reason.
"Perhaps, I would!" Harry felt anxious and fearless, but most of all he felt
angry. Everything, everything turned against him, and he was all alone now, not
even Sirius would stand by his side - he saw the horror and disgust in his eyes
when he recognized his face. Of course, how could he accept Harry now, when he
was a son of his worst enemy. And a Death Eater.
Severus thought he could strangle him right now. So much for the Savior of
Light! And he saw how scared of the Dark Lord the brat was back there at the
cemetery, and yet he dueled him, his bravery was stronger than his fear or
sense of self-preservation. Arrogant imbecile! Thought he could toy with
Severus' life when he was in one of his teenager tantrums? The potions master
was having none of that, he had two masters already, no one, and certainly not
Potter, would be the third one, vow or not.
"Then let me give you a warning, brat," he leaned closer, almost brushing their
long identical noses against each other, "I would not save your sorry arse
anymore and if the Dark Lord captures you - I would not be the one to free
you," he looked straight in the green eyes, but found no fear in them, only
determination.
"Great," Harry muttered and batted his hand away, stepping aside, and walked
out of the bathroom in several quick strides. Severus also left, without
another word. There was no other option left: he would have to tell his lord
the truth and plead ignorance. It would be better if he broke the news
personally, otherwise, when Potter arrived at the school, the death eater's
children would surely notice their similarity and pass the information on to
their parents, who, in turn, would pass it on to the Dark Lord and the Hell
would break loose.
xxx
"Wait, wait, stop jostling for Merlin's sake!" George hissed at Ron and Ginny,
who tried to get closer to listen in to the extendable ears, that the twins
made. The five of them stood on the landing, holding the long tubes in their
hands, that stretched all the way down and to the threshold of the kitchen's
closed door.
"We are not supposed to eavesdrop on the Order's meeting!" Hermione hissed at
them vehemently, but only got a glare from both George and Fred in return.
"Shh, sh! They are talking about Harry!"
"...us, did you know about this? Tell me honestly, did you?" they heard Sirius
shout.
Dumbledore tried to placate the raging man, "Now, now, Sirius, please, be
reasonable. No, I never knew about these... peculiar circumstances, but I am
certain that Harry can continue wearing the glamour, we could easily recreate
just the same one-" Ron and Hermione shared a bewildered look at that - was
something wrong with Harry?
"Headmaster," Snape interrupted him harshly, "I spoke with Potter, he refuses
to put it back-"
"You bastard, you dared to simply go and talk to him?!" Sirius blew up, the
sound of the dropped furniture cut sharply on the children's ears. "Don't you
dare even look at my godson!"
"Oh, such nobility, Black!" Snape spat acidly, "And here I thought you would
throw him away like trash after you found out the truth-"
"Shut your filthy mouth, you fuck-"
"That's enough!" Dumbledore shouted and immediately silence fell. The children
leaned forward, completely befuddled with what was going on. "I would talk to
Harry myself, but if he refuses, than I would not force him to hide his face.
It would put him and you, Severus, in danger but... it's the least I can do for
him."
"Like you would not force him go back to those vile Dursleys?" Sirius cut in
impatiently.
"Now, this is entirely different matter, Sirius, he is still Lily's son, the
blood wards would protect Harry-"
"Yes, like they protected him from the dementors!" Sirius' voice was almost
hysterical.
"What dementors, the hell are you babbling about?" Severus barked.
"Now, this is why I need to see you Severus, you see-"
"He is not your son, so why the hell you care?" Sirius roared.
"Oh but he is, Black, he is! And you know that!" Snape sounded almost
triumphant. George dropped one of the ears at that and stared at the others.
Ron paled and grabbed on the banister to steady himself.
"Did I hear that right? Did Snape just say Harry is his son?" the redhead
shivered at the mere thought.
"Yes, he did."
Everybody spun around on their heels at the sound of Harry's voice behind them.
He stood at the threshold of his room, leaning against the doorframe, and
watched them calmly. It took only a few moments for them to look closely at his
face and see for themselves that it was, indeed, true.
"Blimey!" Ron screamed and stepped back, colliding into Hermione.
"Exactly," Harry nodded, "Are you done eavesdropping? You know I could have
easily told you it all myself, since there is nothing much to tell but... oh
well, you seem to know it all anyway, you've been here all this time after
all." With that he walked past them, still bare foot, and went down the stairs,
feeling as they all kept staring at him. Without a second thought he entered
the kitchen.
"... the attack wasn't initiated by the Dark Lord, he is probably still unaware
of it."
He stepped inside right in the middle of Severus' answer. Everybody turned to
look at him, and once again, they all looked lost and shocked. Even Dumbledore.
"Harry, my boy," the headmaster quickly gathered his wits and smiled at him
softly, "I am glad to see you have recovered so fast."
Harry shook his head, restraining himself from any harsh retorts, it wouldn't
do him any good. "Hello, headmaster," he plunged down on the nearest chair and
stared at the old man expectantly.
"The Order is in the meeting, you are not allowed to attend," Severus hissed
irritably, glaring at the boy.
Sirius perked up at that, "Harry has every right to be here, since it is him we
are talking about!" he smiled at his godson encouragingly.
"I would disagree with that, but tonight Harry is indeed allowed to attend,
this one time," Dumbledore nodded, giving Sirius a warning look. Of course he
would disagree, Harry huffed to himself, if the old man had it his way, Harry
wouldn't have even come to this house at all.
"So it wasn't the snakeface who sent the dementors?" he looked at the potions
master inquiringly, but Snape only sneered at him and turned away.
"No, it wasn't Voldemort, Harry," the headmaster confirmed. "I am afraid we
would have to look for another suspect and that is a much more difficult task,
of course." Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap and tilted his head
slightly, to look at Harry over his half-moon glasses. "Now, my boy, there is
another serious matter at hand. Your sudden, ah, transformation is most
unexpected and quite dangerous. As you must know, it is dangerous for Severus
as well. You are aware of the fact that he is a double agent? He spies for the
Light." The old wizard looked grave and very old, Harry thought.
"Yeah, figured that much," he muttered, as the image of Snape cringing at
Voldemort's feet at the cemetery flashed through his mind.
"Well, then you do realize that it would be only reasonable for you to continue
wearing the concealment charm, in order to protect both yours and Severus'
lives, don't you?"
Harry huffed. "I do and I won't. Not anymore, sir," he said firmly and
straightened in his seat, clenching his fists under the table. "I don't care
what other people would think of me when they find out the truth - I am already
a liar and a loony, so no more damage could be done, really," he laughed
bitterly. "As for professor Snape, well... he managed to survive all these
years, didn't he? He'll get out of this as well," at that Harry looked at his
professor pointedly and Snape narrowed his eyes, glaring at him hatefully. A
challenge.
"Harry, he is your father," Dumbledore tried, and both Severus and Harry
scowled at him angrily.
"That's beside the point, sir," Harry sighed. "I won't be wearing any glamours
anymore. Besides, I am going to be expelled anyway, so..."
"Expelled?" Severus perked up at the news and his onyx eyes flashed with
excitement. Oh, how he longed to get rid of Potter, if the brat was expelled he
wouldn't have any problems whatsoever.
"Harry, you won't be expelled," now it was Dumbledore's turn to sigh. "It was a
self-defense, we know that and they would know that as well, do not worry about
that."
"I don't," Harry snorted and stood up.
Dumbledore frowned and raised a hand to stop him. "Harry, one more thing. Tell
me, have you been having any kind of strange dreams lately?"
At that he scowled and looked at the headmaster suspiciously. Was there
anything he didn't try to meddle with at all? "Only regular nightmares about
the cemetery and Cedric, sir," he gritted out. "Nothing else." No point telling
about the nightmares that consisted of Vernon and his cock.
"Good," Dumbledore gave him a small smile, and Harry could have sworn there was
relief in the old man's eyes. Just what did it all mean?
He bid goodbye and left the meeting, not really interested to stay any longer.
All he wanted to know was if Voldemort was behind the attack, but since he
wasn't, well, he didn't care for anything else. Completely ignoring Hermione
and the Weasley children, Harry went into his room and closed the door behind
him. He wasn't in the mood for socializing with them. He was used to loneliness
and, if he was honest with himself, he craved it now, since his life went
straight to Hell.
xxx
On the last day of august Severus braced himself to tell the Dark Lord the
truth about Harry Potter. There was no point in postponing the inevitable,
besides, he was ought to come anyway, to deliver the requested potion. As he
walked down the halls of Riddle manor, he thought about what would his lord do
with the new information he got. Perhaps, he should tell him that he vowed to
protect Potter with his life and magic, who knew what the man planned... it was
a vital information and Severus dearly wished to live another day. As a member
of the Inner Circle he was allowed to enter the Dark Lord's study, where more
personal matters and individual tasks could be discussed.
"Severusss," he heard as he knocked and walked inside the spacious, well
furnished room. His lord sat at his desk, his elbows rested on the arms of his
chair, his long bony fingers were steepled in front of his inhuman face. He
looked thoughtful and calm, as calm as somebody like Voldemort could be. "Come
in, take a seat." The blood red eyes locked with his onyx ones for a second and
then moved lower, to look at the vail in his hands.
"My lord," Severus bowed and placed the vail on the desk, "The potion you
requested is ready."
"Very good, Severus, very good," Voldemort hissed, but did not move to take it.
Simply eyed it somewhat speculatively. "Is there anything you wished to
discuss?"
"Yes, my lord," he sat on the chair opposite his master and took a deep calming
breath, occluding his mind thoroughly. "The matter I wished to discuss is Harry
Potter."
Voldemort raised his non-existent eyebrows at that, as his ugly face distorted
in an expression of interest. "Oh? Do tell," he nodded and stared at him
expectantly, piercing him with the cold hard gaze.
"I've met him recently at the Order's headquarters. Apparently, at the day of
your resurrection, your ritual broke the concealment charm that was hiding
Potter's true appearance. He is still the Boy-Who-Lived with his scar and all,
but he looks differently now," Severus drawled, hoping that he wouldn't die. He
would gladly take cruciatus, several if necessary.
"So one of his parents wasn't his biological one, I presume?" Voldemort quickly
caught on.
"His father." Here it comes.
"And do you know who his real father is?" the Dark Lord looked at him intently,
narrowing his blood red eyes ever so slightly.
"Me, my lord," Severus breathed out.
"And how long have you known?" the danger could be heard in the undertone of
the cold, but soft voice.
"Only since I met him this last time, I never knew I was the one to impregnate
Lily Potter." He didn't avert his eyes from the heavy gaze his lord graced him
with. However, the man was still calm, still looked interested. Perhaps, it
wasn't going to end up all that bad after all.
"I see..." Voldemort traced his lipless mouth with his index finger, while his
eyes took on a far away look. Severus hated when he did that - made you wait
for the moment for the axe to fall, only it usually fell when you were already
too tired to wait and dared to relax. "It was very wise and brave of you to
come to me and give up this information, Severus," his lord looked at him
calmly, nothing could be read in his ruby eyes. A slight tingling of
apprehension crept underneath Severus' skin.
"There is more, my lord." He cursed inwardly at the slight trembling in his
voice.
"Did Dumbledore make you vow to protect your son?" What was the point of
occlumency with this man? His perceptiveness and intelligence were unbeatable.
"When I turned myself in for servitude, I never knew Potter was mine then, it
was either vow on the boy's life or on the old coot's," Severus breathed out,
holding his lord's gaze.
Voldemort suddenly chuckled, the foreign sound sent shivers down Severus' spine
and made his gut freeze. "Well, now I know after whom the brat took in
stubbornness, bravery and a sharp tongue," a feral smile stretched the muscles
of his face - a smile that promised nothing good. "Will he be wearing glamours
at the school again?"
"He refused." Now he couldn't hide irritation in his voice. What was it with
him today? Bloody Potter.
"Thought so," Voldemort chuckled again and shook his bald head. Severus
narrowed his eyes - just what made his master appear in such good spirits? It
was never good, somebody usually got cursed.
"If I may, my lord?" Speaking of bravery. At the Dark Lord's silent nod to
continue, Severus squared his shoulders and tried to make his voice sound as
level as it was possible, "Why didn't you kill him back there at the cemetery?"
Voldemort smiled at that and Severus shuddered despite himself. Perhaps, he
shouldn't have asked. "The brat would be quite useful in the future. And even
more now, after such an unexpected but fortunate development," he drawled
pleasantly and reached out for the vail. He took it into his long fingers and
twirled slightly, watching the thick black liquid move.
"Do you wish to sway him to the dark side?" Severus wasn't really sure this was
possible. Potter was a light wizard through and through.
"No, of course not," Voldemort waved his hand dismissively and put the vail on
the desk in front of himself. "This would be quite fruitless. I want to break
him, to rip the last hope out of the hands of the Light. He won't die, he would
give up fighting, and with him the others would as well," he smiled again and
caressed the vail with one finger.
"I see."
The plan was quite simple and indeed ingenious. Killing Potter would only make
a martyr out of him and only agitate more resistance. But making him give up
the fight, admit the Dark Lord's victory and accept his authority would no
doubt ruin everything Dumbledore and the Order worked on for so many years.
"Yes," Voldemort smiled and rubbed his chin playfully, "The little Prince would
be very useful indeed."
Severus could only scowl at the nickname to his lord's immense pleasure. Well,
at least he wasn't tortured.
xxx
Harry was dreaming again, lulled by the steady beat of the Hogwarts' Express
wheels against the rails. At first, he saw the replay of his hearing at the
Ministry, how he sat there in the wooden uncomfortable armchair, surrounded by
the wizards and witches whose eyes all but burned a hole in his face. They all
hated him, feared him, he could almost taste their emotions in the heavy hot
air of the court room. He couldn't say another word, that toad of a woman in
pink robe interrupted his every sentence, accusing him of every sin known to
mankind. Fudge only smiled slyly and Harry couldn't think of anything else but
punching that fat, stupid face. Then suddenly Dumbledore came in and saved the
day, as he always did. The images of Mrs Figg, witnessing that he saved his
cousin, and the images of the headmaster patting him on the shoulder
afterwards, when he was cleared of all charges, collided and mixed between
themselves, making him dizzy. He desperately wished to wake up, but he
couldn't, something kept pulling him down, deeper and deeper into the dream. He
walked down the dark halls of Ministry, Mr Weasley's hand squeezed his shoulder
encouragingly, everything seemed to slow down, as if time became liquid and
flown slowly, lazily, giving him the opportunity to look around and see
everything so much clearer.
They passed by Lucius Malfoy, who was talking to some ministry employee, and
the tall blonde wizard smiled at Harry playfully and pressed his index finger
against his thin pale lips, as if asking the boy to keep their secret. Harry
felt his eyebrows crease in confusion, but Malfoy's attention was back on his
companion and he looked as bored and composed as ever. Shaking his head, Harry
decided it was some kind of mistake, his own subconsciousness played with his
memories. But when he and Mr Weasley walked into the main hall of the Ministry,
Harry realized that almost every wizard, they passed by, turned to look at him
and pressed a finger against their lips, smiling mysteriously. He swallowed
nervously and hurried towards the exit. He barely acknowledged the fact that Mr
Weasley disappeared, when he entered the phone booth and it took him up.
Instead of stepping out into the busy London's streets, Harry found himself at
the very same cemetery. He groaned in desperation and turned to get back, but
there was nothing behind him - only wet grass and gravestones. He looked around
fearfully, shivering as the sudden chill pierced his bones. It was silent, no
living soul walked the grounds, not even wind blew, nothing. Harry hugged
himself tightly, trying to get warmer. He squeezed his eyes shut and started
muttering to himself, telling himself to wake up, to open his eyes. He felt as
his body and spirit were pushed up, floated over some invisible surface... And
then the sharp pain seared through his backside and Harry screamed, opening his
eyes sharply, only to find himself bent over his bed and fucked ruthlessly,
violently into his anus. Vernon's meaty fingers dug into his soft, aching
buttocks, as the whale of a man grunted and groaned in pleasure, telling Harry
how dirty he was, what a nice little slut he grew up to be, how sweetly tight
he was... Harry struggled to free himself, but his hands were tied to the bed
with his uncle's belt, as they usually were. He screamed and writhed under the
man's heavy weight, but nothing seemed to work...
"Harry, Harry!" he stared at Hermione, who was shaking him hard, her eyes wide
and scared.
"Damn, mate, you scared us shitless, what was that?!" Ron hovered over him,
concerned and rather pale.
Harry inhaled sharply, suddenly realizing he wasn't breathing, and hid his face
in his hands, forcing his tears away. They couldn't see him cry, they couldn't,
he was stronger than this, he wasn't weak.
He felt Hermione's hand stroke his hair, "Harry, are you alright? Was it a
nightmare? The one from the end of the tournament?" She spoke very quietly, he
could feel her warm breath over his temple. He nodded, glad there was something
to cover up the truth. "Do you want to talk about it?" Harry shook his head
negatively. "Alright, but we are always here for you, you know that. I know we
weren't... the best friends this summer, Harry, but we do care about you. It
doesn't matter who your father is or what happened-"
"Yeah, mate," Ron interrupted Hermione, squeezing Harry's shoulder, "We're with
you until the end."
Harry nodded and mumbled his thanks. He forgave them both, eventually, but was
still cold and distant towards them. Yes, they didn't care that Snape was his
father, they didn't blame him for Cedric's death, but he still couldn't bring
himself to trust them completely. When he thought about it, it wasn't even the
matter of trust, but his reluctance to get close. Even closer than they already
were. He lived in constant danger and he hated the mere possibility of hurting
or loosing them. He couldn't afford to get another person killed because of
him, he knew he wouldn't be able to deal with it.
The rest of the ride passed in silence, both Hermione and Ron left Harry in
peace, not bothering him with conversations, but kept watching him carefully,
determined to not let him fall asleep again.
xxx
Potions. Of course their first lesson of the fifth year was with Snape. Harry
was still very angry with the fact that that awful toad Umbridge was introduced
as their new DADA teacher and now he was walking straight into the snake pit to
strengthen the effect. The prospect of meeting the greasy bat was everything
but appealing and then there were slytherins, who would surely notice how
different he looked, how much he resembled their Head of House. The gryffindors
were quite vocal about that, which only added to already existing hostility.
They all believed him to be a liar and a fraud and now he turned out to be
their most hated professor's scion. In the moments like this one Harry
desperately wished he'd listened to the hat. Or never came to Hogwarts at all.
He sighed and sat heavily at the desk, watching impassively as Hermione started
putting out her books and parchments next to him. He didn't want to do
anything, his only wish was to be consumed by the hard stone floor.
Snape stormed inside, billowing his black robes dramatically, and turned to
look at the class, his face a stony mask of disgust. Clicking his tongue, he
leaned back on his desk and gritted out the long speech about the difficulty of
the upcoming OWLs and the amount of work they were ought to complete. He didn't
forget to mention how stupid and useless they all were and with an evident
sadistic pleasure he announced that those who wanted to get into his advanced
class the next year had to get an O in their potions exam. Harry actually
relaxed at that - this was easy-peasy for him, to not get the highest mark, he
was all for skipping potions during his last two years at the school. He heard
Ron groaning helplessly behind him - the redhead wanted to become an auror and
potions NEWT mark was mandatory for him entering the program. Harry didn't
really know what he wanted to do after school, for he doubted Voldemort would
leave him any options. Although he kept telling everyone he wanted to become an
auror, he was certain he never would. At first it was a childish wish to look
up to his long dead father, who wasn't his father at all. Certainly, auror job
was the most suitable one for he Boy-Who-Lived, but Harry knew he never wanted
to do anything with dark wizards anymore, he was fed up with his current
situation, thank you very much.
Yawning tiredly into his hands, that he had hidden his face in, he obediently
dragged himself up to the store room to get the necessary ingredients. It
didn't escape his attention that Snape was yet to make one snide remark about
his favourite celebrity. Perhaps, he didn't want to attract any more attention
to their relation, which was fine with Harry. The less the git talked to him,
the better. As it turned out, without his professor's constant insults and
hovering over his working place, Harry was able to concentrate on his task
better and by the end of the lesson he managed to brew the potion, and it
looked just like Hermione's. He was sure Snape would accuse him of cheating,
but the man didn't even look at him when he placed his vail on the teacher's
desk. Shrugging his shoulders, Harry dismissed the whole issue, glad that,
probably, for the first time in his school years he would get a good mark in
potions.
xxx
First DADA lesson proved that Umbridge was their worst teacher ever. Harry
could barely contain his anger and keep his mouth shut when she announced that
they were not going to practice any spells and would only study theory from a
lame useless book. How could Ministry ignore the potential danger that loomed
at the horizon? They could disregard Dumbledore's warnings about Voldemort, but
surely the attack at the Quidditch Word Cup the previous summer was a sign,
that all but screamed in their faces. And yet they chose to close their eyes
and ignore it, leaving the students with no means and skills to defend
themselves. Even Moody, albeit being a Death Eater in disguise, actually taught
them, and taught them well, Harry couldn't help but regret that Barty Crouch
chose to become a murderer instead of a teacher - he would have been a true
star at Hogwarts.
Ron stood up to ask Umbridge how were they going to defend themselves against
the Death Eaters in the future and lost ten points for that. He lost twenty
more when he didn't stop, but asked her again. She threatened to remove him out
of the class, when he demanded to know how were they going to face the Dark
Lord when he made his move. At that Harry almost sprang up on his feet to
attack her, but something told him not to. Something tagged in the back of his
mind. Frowning, he slumped in his chair, not hearing the shouting around him
anymore. He suddenly saw the scene from his dream again, Malfoy smiling at him
cunningly and pressing his finger against his lips - it felt so real, as if the
wizard stood right in front of him. Harry shook his head in bewilderment and
dropped his book on the floor. Umbridge, already furious with Ron, took points
from him for his deliberate clumsiness, but he didn't pay her any mind. He
suddenly felt very uncomfortable with this unexpected vision.
xxx
At the end of October Severus found himself to be another victim of Umbridge's
"inspection". The toad had the cheek to doubt his professionalism, when she
herself, if his slytherins' complaints were anything to judge by, was a total
failure as a teacher. Sneering at her sickeningly sweet smile, he invited her
to sit down at the farthest desk in his classroom, so that she could watch the
lesson but didn't get in the way. He dismissed Longbottom before she arrived,
knowing all too well that the idiot would surely blow up his potion and
compromise Severus' reputation and status. He couldn't dismiss all the
gryffindors, unfortunately, but at least he eliminated the most dangerous one.
Glaring at them, he couldn't help but silently pray that nobody would
antagonize him today, especially Potter. He tried his hardest to ignore the
brat to avoid any more unnecessary attention to their relation, and was
surprised to notice that the boy began successfully brewing quite adequate
potions, since he wasn't distracted anymore.
At first, Severus thought that Granger was helping him and he paired Potter up
with Weasley, but nothing had changed. Severus had to admit, that Potter wasn't
as brainless and useless as he used to think, but that notion brought forth the
realization that at this rate the brat would surely end up in his advanced
class next year and that wasn't good news. Scowling at the boy, he strode
between the tables, looking into everybody's cauldrons and giving short, almost
polite comments. He wasn't going to insult children in front of this toad,
whose eyes were boring into the back of his head. His students were also
subdued and very quiet under her inspection.
Severus heard about the incident at her lesson, when she took seventy points in
total from gryffindors, because Weasley spoke up. Even though Severus thought
that the redhead got what he deserved, he was appalled at the notion that
somebody could take more points than he usually did and he was surprised that
Potter wasn't the one who initiated the conflict, wasn't the one who voiced his
worries about his defenselessness against Voldemort. If he was honest with
himself, the brat was even quieter than before. Most of his peers turned their
backs on him because of his parentage and his "lies" about the Dark Lord's
return, and the only people who were sometimes talking to him in the Great
Hall, were Weasley, Granger and Longbottom, and even then he could see how
reluctant Potter was to converse with them. Dark circles formed around his
green eyes, that lost their brightness, became dull and impassive. It looked
like he had drawn inside himself and hid in this shell to never come out.
During last week, while Severus kept watching him during the meals, as he
always did, Potter barely ate and looked even paler than he already was. His
movements were slow and tired, he looked exhausted. He wasn't sleeping, Severus
concluded. A few times he saw the boy jerk violently, even during class, and
look around wildly, as if he woke up suddenly and couldn't recognize his
surroundings. In the beginning of October Potter left the quidditch team and
Severus was certain that the gryffindors would execute the boy while his
slytherins would give him a medal. However, the very evening of the day of the
announcement, Severus was called up into the headmaster's office.
"Severus, thank you for coming. Tea?" Dumbledore smiled at him when he came in.
Nodding, Severus sat down and crossed his legs, resting his hands in his lap,
looking at the old man expectantly.
"Severus," Dumbledore began, seeing that the potions master wasn't going to
speak first, "I called you here to discuss Harry."
"It's always about Potter, isn't it?" Severus sneered, however, he was curious
what would the headmaster say. Surely, he wasn't the only one to notice that
the brat was obviously depressed.
"Yes, well, I know you are watching him very closely at the hall and I am sure
you've noticed how awful he looks, how tired he is, how distant and withdrawn,
and he left his qudditch team today, Severus," Dumbledore sounded truly
concerned and sad. "His only true passion, he discarded of it without any
reasonable explanation. Minerva is in shock, of course. I am afraid something
is very wrong with Harry," he sighed tiredly and rubbed his old wrinkled hands
almost nervously.
"And what do I have to do with anything?" Severus raised his eyebrows, twirling
the white porcelain cup in his fingers.
"Why, Severus, you might not admit it or acknowledge it fully yet, but he is
your son and I am sure you would want to know if there was something wrong with
him," the headmaster frowned and looked at the dark man disapprovingly. Before
Severus managed to come up with a snarky retort, a soft knock came at the door
and it opened to reveal Potter, standing at the threshold uncertainly.
"Come on, Harry, come in," Dumbledore called cheerfully, and poured another cup
of tea, as the boy tentatively came closer and sat down on the chair next to
the potions master. He glanced at his professor and Severus noticed how truly
exhausted the boy looked. He was still too thin after his relatives' care and
hadn't gain any weight as he usually did while being at school. "Harry, I
called you here to ask why have you left your team," the headmaster said
softly, holding the cup of tea out for Potter. Harry took it and looked down at
his feet, his long black hair hid his face just like Severus' usually did.
"I... I can't play anymore, sir. I'm sorry but I am no good for the team
anymore," Harry said quietly and frowned into his cup. He didn't like that
Snape was here, he didn't really understand why would he even be here, since
Dumbledore wanted to talk with him and surely not about potions.
"Does it have anything to do with the fact that you are professor Snape's son?
Are your house mates unfair or violent towards you?" the headmaster leaned
closer and for a moment Severus thought he was going to use Legilimency on the
boy, but he simply stared at Potter, waiting for the answer.
"No, nothing like that, sir," Harry shook his head, "I have no problems with
the other students."
"But why then? Surely you must have a very good reason not to fly, especially
since it is your favourite hobby?" Dumbledore frowned and his pale blue eyes
lost their twinkle.
Harry winced and emptied his cup in one big gulp. He contemplated if he should
tell about his nightmares, but he couldn't bring himself to admit that most of
those dreams were filled with the scenes from his past summers spent at
Dursleys', being beaten and raped by his uncle, only they all took place at the
cemetery now, where either the two of them were alone, or were surrounded by
the Death Eaters, who watched and laughed, but Voldemort was never present. He
saw the Dark Lord only in the dreams of their encounter and Cedric's death.
However, the visions from his dreams started haunting him during the day.
Sometimes he would look up from the book and see Malfoy smile at him, or see
Vernon stand with his trousers down, his fat ugly prick in his hand. Harry
barely slept the past week and more often than not he would catch a glimpse of
one of his hallucinations - what else could he call them, he didn't know.
"I see horrible nightmares and I have visions sometimes," he finally mumbled,
not looking up, afraid to meet the headmaster's eyes.
"Oh, Harry," Dumbledore sighed and squeezed his eyes, rubbing on them tiredly,
his expression pained and suddenly very old. Severus scowled, feeling that he
was missing something important here. It was the second time there was a
mention of dreams between the headmaster and Potter. Something was going on and
he knew he had to find out what exactly.
"Are they connected to Voldemort?" the headmaster asked and Harry simply
nodded, not willing to go into the details. "What are the visions like, can you
tell me?"
Harry bit his lip, trying to find a way out of this. "I see... I see Death
Eaters. They sometimes follow me or just stand in the corner of the classroom,"
he rubbed his neck and ducked his head, embarrassed that he had to lie, but he
couldn't tell the truth, could he?
Severus immediately knew that Potter was lying, but he kept silent, watching
the boy out of the corner of his eye. Was his lord doing something to the boy?
If he was, then how he did it? Severus had no doubts the Dark Lord was the most
powerful wizard, but still there wasn't any kind of magic that could allow him
use Legilimency on the boy at such a huge distance.
"This is very bad news," Dumbledore sighed and looked at the boy gravely. "Why
didn't you ask madame Pomfrey or professor Snape for the Dreamless Sleep
draught? You can't go on without sleep, Harry, you know that." Harry didn't
answer, he only hunched in his seat miserably and stared at his feet again.
"Severus," the potions master looked up at that and met the headmaster's pained
gaze, "I have to ask a great favour of you, my boy."
"I don't like this at all, but do continue or I think I might die of boredom
here soon," Severus snarled and sipped from his cup haughtily.
"I need you to teach Harry Occlumency."
At this the potions master almost chocked on his tea.
"What?! No, no, I would not!" he shook his head vehemently, glaring at the
headmaster and coughing harshly.
"Severus, you are the only one who can do it," Dumbledore pressed and gave him
a pointed look. "Let's make it an order then, not a favour."
"Sir, what is Occlumency?" Harry was watching the two men in confusion.
"It is the art of concealing one's thoughts and memories from others. Voldemort
uses Legilimency on you, Harry, it is the opposite of Occlumency, it allows the
wizard to enter your mind and see everything there is and manipulate you
through altering your dreams or even sending you visions." The more Dumbledore
spoke the wider Harry's eyes got and the more crestfallen he looked. Yes, the
Dark Lord definitely managed to get to the boy, Severus mused, feeling
satisfied with the brat's sufferings.
"Professor Snape will be teaching you in his spare time, and while you are
learning, you will be taking potions to help you sleep better, otherwise you
wouldn't be able to pass your OWLs, Harry," Dumbledore gave him a soft
encouraging smile.
"And how do you see me giving Potter additional lessons, sir?" Severus bit out.
He would have to spend even more time with the little bastard now. Perhaps, he
would simply fail him and destroy his mind shields completely.
"Well, I can't give him any kind of lessons, it would be too straightforward.
Let's say you are giving Harry remedial potions, since he started getting
better marks in your class, but you want to ensure he passes his exams and gets
into your advanced class next year, since Harry wants to become an auror, which
is actually true," the headmaster smiled and his eyes twinkled cheerfully. "You
want to become an auror, don't you, Harry?"
The boy sighed and nodded, and once again Severus saw he was lying. Now he felt
intrigued - their "lessons" would let him get inside the brat's head and find
out the truth.
"That's settled then," Dumbledore clapped his hands, "Thank you, Severus."
"If he proves as useless in this, as he is in potions, I would stop our lessons
at once," the potions masters scowled and for the first time Harry really
looked at him and his gaze was hard and full of loath. Severus gave him the
same look in return.
"I am sure Harry would do his best," Dumbledore smiled, and Harry realized that
his real nightmares had only begun.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter II
The mirror gleamed dimly in the sunlight, peeking through the thick curtains,
as he reached out to brush the dust away from its surface. His hands were so
human now, so normal. He involuntarily froze, holding his hand up in front of
his face, watching the pale peachy skin, long elegant fingers – not bony
anymore – the web of thin bluish veins covering the inside of his palm. He
clenched it in a fist and watched the thick vein on his wrist stand out,
pulsing ever so slightly. He pressed the now so warm palm to his face and
reached out for the mirror with his other hand. The thick layer of dust felt
dirty and oily on his skin. Blood red eyes stared into his identical ones.
Voldemort smiled at his reflection and caught himself at the thought that this
was, probably, his first genuine smile since he was fully resurrected. A
triumphant smile nevertheless. Severus was truly a genius potions master just
as he himself was, he had no problem admitting it. Lord Voldemort admired
talent and power, cherished them, and respected those who possessed them and
were not afraid to break the boundaries in order to improve themselves. Severus
was one of those precious few whom Voldemort held close and almost dear. Oh
yes, he could torture the snarky potions master endlessly, but valued his life
and skills highly. Besides, nobody could fool Dumbledore as skillfully and
arrogantly as Severus did.
Smirking at his own reflection, Voldemort brushed his soft chestnut hair back -
it was still very short, had been growing slowly since he took the potion.
Short and slicked back it made him look very much like the Hogwarts graduate he
once was. However, he wasn't that young looking after all, though it wasn't his
goal. He wanted to get back his human body - being the serpentine creature was
advantageous if he wanted to intimidate, but since his resurrection the Dark
Lord realized that he needed to change his tactics. His rush reckless actions
led him to his unfortunate demise. He needed to be subtle and careful. And now
he had a priceless bonus, practically brought to him on a silver plate - Harry
bloody Potter actually Prince. The mayhem he could cause by simply breaking the
child... The mere thought of that brightened his mood and made him hum
contentedly.
However, there was still the matter of the prophecy. The last time he was quite
reckless in his actions, couldn't think clearly. But now, with most of his
sanity back, he knew he had to retrieve the prophecy and find out what was
Potter's role in all this mess after all. Regardless of what it said, he wasn't
going to kill him before he used his potential to its full extent. But it was
imperative to know, to have all the facts - something in which Dumbledore
always used to have an upper hand, but not anymore.
xxx
"Are you ready?"
"Um..."
"Eloquent as ever, Potter," Severus sighed in exasperation and sneered at the
boy before him in disgust. It was their first Occlumency lesson and it was
quite obvious that Potter hadn't prepared. Well, all the better for Severus.
"Have you cleared your mind as I've told you?"
Harry glared at Snape, wishing that he could strangle the man with just his
will. How could he have possibly cleared his mind when he had no bloody idea
how to do that? And the bat hadn't told him, surely. He couldn't find anything
at the library, probably had to visit the restricted section soon, if he wanted
to learn anything, since Snape was the worst teacher in the whole world.
"Yes, sir."
Without any warning Severus drew his wand and exclaimed, "Legilimence!"
Oh shit. Harry fell down on his knees as the invisible force hammered inside
his head. It felt as if Snape gripped the nerves of his brain and was picking
on them, tugging on them ruthlessly. He grabbed on his head and screamed,
trembling all over at the sharp pain, it reminded him of the pain he endured
when Vernon raped him. He realized he was retching, as the thought of being
mind raped manifested itself and sank in. The memory of him being locked up in
the cupboard was forced to the surface if his mind, but professor soon pushed
it away, he knew that Potter was abused, it wasn't what he was looking for.
Something was hidden much deeper, under layers and layers of useless memories
and thoughts. He needed to get there. But he had to stop abruptly and draw
back, as the brat started throwing up violently onto the floor, sweating and
shaking - he was having a panic attack. Was there something he was afraid
Severus could see?
"Lying, Potter, is a repulsive habit, you should get rid of, the sooner the
better," he hissed and sat down on his desk, watching the boy disdainfully.
Harry rubbed on his mouth, gaging at the horrid taste of bile in on his tongue.
He was raped. Raped again, only magically now. Hadn't he consented to it? He
had, but he also consented to being fucked by his uncle in order to survive his
summers. It didn't change the fact. Snape raped his mind and was going to do it
again. The thought almost made him throw up again, but he restrained himself,
taking deep harsh breaths. He needed these lessons, he had to master
Occlumency, otherwise he was certain he would lose it completely. But with
Snape being the fucking bastard that he was, Harry knew, he would have to study
it on his own, or let the bat see... that.
"If you would not clear your mind before our sessions, then I would not be able
to teach you anything. Stop waisting my time. You are dismissed," Severus spat,
unable to watch the petty excuse of a wizard withering on his floor any longer.
He banished the vomit with a flick of his wrist and sat down at his desk, as
Potter slowly got up and picked up his bag.
"Good night, professor," he muttered through clenched teeth and left as quickly
as he could. Snape, of course, never answered.
xxx
Harry tiredly dragged himself into the common room, desperately wishing to get
some sleep, but he couldn't take a potion tonight, and after the terrible
lesson he was certain he would see nightmares again. Both Ron and Hermione were
sitting on one of the sofas, waiting for him. Seeing him coming through the
portrait hole, they gave him pained sympathetic smiles - he had to tell them
what he was doing with Snape to get them off his back. But before Harry could
join his friends, he was practically assaulted by Katie Bell.
"Oi, Potter!" And she used to call him Harry before. "The tryouts for the team
are in one week, are you sure you won't be playing with us?" her tone was
threatening, as was her posture. "You know you're letting down your house and
practically giving slytherins the Cup?"
"I said I won't be playing anymore. Sorry, but I really can't," he scowled at
her, annoyed with her persistence. He didn't want to play anymore, what was so
hard to understand? His life was falling apart and not even flying seemed to
bring him any joy. He simply wasn't interested in the game anymore. He didn't
owe them anything.
She clicked her tongue in irritation, but bit back a harsh retort. However,
Harry knew perfectly well what was she thinking. The other players voiced their
opinions quite clearly: a traitor, a Death Eater's son, a bastard. Nothing he
hadn't already known. Ignoring the hateful glares of his former "mates", he
dropped himself on the sofa next to Ron and stared at the opposite wall,
feeling too exhausted to do homework.
"That ugly toad," the redhead muttered, furiously scratching on the parchment,
"Her essays are even worse than bloody potions!" Harry could relate to that, oh
yes he could. Umbridge was truly horrible and she made Defense seem to be a
joke. Even his favourite subject at school was ruined. No matter at what angle
Harry looked at it - everything was falling apart, and there was nothing he
could do to change that.
"Harry, did you hear me?" He blinked at Hermione dubiously, clearly having had
missed what she had just told him. "I said we should start our own study group
for Defense, invite all those who are interested to learn," she huffed,
frowning at his perplexed look.
"And just who would teach us?" he asked her incredulously.
"Why, you of course!" Hermione and Ron replied in unison. At Harry's befuddled
expression, Hermione elaborated, "You have a lot of experience in fighting,
Harry, you know more spells than any of us does, you would be a great teacher!"
"Yeah, mate!" Ron piped in, "And all those lessons the fake Moody gave you last
year? Despite him being the bloody Death Eater, he surely was very useful and
taught you a lot!"
Harry shook his head in bewilderment. "This is crazy, first of all, I am no
better than anybody else at this. Secondly, do you honestly believe somebody
would want to learn from me? From the son of Snape? Please," he scoffed,
rolling his eyes. "Everybody hates me already, this would only make everything
worse. Besides, you don't know if I inherited the teaching talent," he sneered,
twisting his lips in disgust and Ron flinched, shuddering slightly.
"Harry, please, stop doing that, you look so much like the greasy git when,"
the redhead whined, "When you do that," he gesturing at his face.
"With such attitude nothing would ever improve," Hermione said bossily,
straightening her back for the effect. "Do you really want to spend the whole
year listening to the nonsense that this vile woman is feeding us? We might
pass our OWLs, but we would be defenseless against You-Know-Who!"
Of course she was right, as always, but Harry was reluctant to even entertain
the idea. But both his friends seemed excited and enthusiastic about it.
Sighing tiredly, he waved them off and dragged himself up into their dorm.
Luckily it was empty and he quickly changed into his pajamas, and slid under
the covers. Spelling the curtains shut and silenced, he squeezed his eyes and
tried to relax. The headache after the merciless attack on his mind was slowly
growing in his head and he frowned in pain. He wasn't going to sleep tonight.
xxx
Harry was at the Ministry again. He entered the long narrow hall much like the
one he remembered from the hearing, only it had no doors, nobody rushed past
him - the place was deserted and gloomy. Harry slowly walked forward, his eyes
trained on the blackness ahead of him. It was so dark and cold in here, he
couldn't help but shiver slightly. He stopped at the small clearing that led to
two more halls and one ordinary wooden door between them - he felt compelled to
come near it, to touch the glowing handle. As his fingers connected with cool
metal, he woke up with a start, screaming in pain that seared through his scar.
Panting, he fell back onto the pillow, rubbing on his wet face; his back was
sticky with cold sweat and he realized he couldn't stay in the dorm anymore.
Harry quietly climbed out of his bed and listened to the content snores of the
other boys. Reaching for his trunk, he took out his invisibility cloak and put
it on.
Thinking that he might not sleep any more this night, Harry decided to go to
the library's restricted section to find something on Occlumency. He had a
sinking feeling in his gut, that Snape would do everything in his power, to
turn their lessons into torture. If only Dumbledore could teach him instead...
He yawned, tracing the dusty spines with his fingertips, squinting at the half
erased titles. The red book with faded golden letters caught his eye. "The Mind
Magic". Lowering the hood oh his cloak, Harry pushed the heavy tome open and
scanned its table of content. There it was, Occlumency, p. 339. Turning the
pages, he wondered just how many ways of manipulating somebody's mind there
were, judging by the thickness of the book. The article said that the art of
occluding one's mind was one of the most difficult and trickiest ones, only a
few were truly gifted and apt in it. Well, that is reassuring. Frowning, he
kept reading further. There wasn't much about the "clearing of the mind",
however the text mentioned meditation and usefulness of different breathing
techniques. Harry was surprised to discover, that the masters of Occlumency
could not only hide their thoughts and memories, but could also choose which
ones they wanted to show, could create the false ones as well. That was most
intriguing, he felt motivated by the prospect - no wonder Dumbledore didn't
tell him about that.
The sound of the opened door startled him and he hastily pulled his hood back
on, stepping back, closer to the exit. The tall dark form couldn't be confused
with anybody else. Did Snape have the nose for those who wondered about after
curfew or what? Swallowing hard, Harry tried to edge out of the restricted
section as quietly as it was possible. Glancing around suspiciously, Severus
strode closer to the shelves, which Harry had been standing at just a moment
ago and smiled nastily at the sight of the opened book. Harry cursed himself
inwardly for being so careless.
"Incredible demonstration of the ability to actually think sometimes, Potter,"
the potions master muttered to himself, closing the tome with a loud thud and
placing it back into its place. "I thought it would take you months to come
here."
He turned around sharply and stared into the darkness intently. His gaze was
trained on Harry, but he didn't see him, however, he probably sensed his
presence. Cringing, Harry backed away some more, bumping into the door - it
opened under his weight and he fell back.
"Potter!" Snape snarled and darted towards him, but Harry was faster.
He stumbled on his feet and ran away and onto the stairs, jumping over two or
three steps at a time. Since Snape couldn't see him, he was blindly shooting
immobilizing spells, but missed an inch every time. The gryffindor tower wasn't
an option and Harry ran higher and higher until he found himself on the seventh
floor. He could hear Snape's swearing somewhere behind him and stopped to look
around for a possible shelter. But there were no classrooms, only bare walls.
Panicking, he paced in front of the wall, thinking hard of a place he could
hide in or a spell he could throw at his professor to buy himself some time. A
slight shimmer caught his attention and he turned to see the door appear out of
nowhere right in the wall. Not giving it a second thought, Harry tore it open
and jumped inside, slamming the door behind him. He breathed in harshly when he
heard Snape run past him, muttering under his nose just where the brat could
have vanished. For a second there he was sure the git would see the door and
catch him, trapped in the room, but the potions master only swore loudly and
hastily left.
Letting out a shuddering breath, Harry looked around - he was hiding in a small
room, crammed with trash and, obviously, lost and useless things. He thought it
could be quite convenient to use for the practice Hermione talked about if only
he could get rid of all this rubbish... Instantly, right before his eyes, the
room morphed into a spacious, well lit classroom without any desks or chairs,
but with mats and training dummies. His eyes wide in awe, Harry stepped
forward, looking around in bewilderment. A magic room that could be invisible
from the outside! Some things would never stop surprising him, and Hogwarts was
one of them. Smiling, he took out his wand and shot expelliarmus at one of the
dummies - it flew up and back into the farthest corner of the room. The place
was perfect.
xxx
"I know that you were in the restricted section after curfew, Potter," was
Snape's greeting, when Harry entered his office for their second Occlumency
lesson this week.
Having no idea of the way to properly meditate or breathe, Harry turned to the
ever helpful Hermione, who promised to ask her parents to send him a few muggle
books that could be useful for him. But for now he was once again defenseless
against the git's attacks.
"I wasn't, sir," he sighed and lowered his eyes to glare at his boots.
"We both know you were," Severus gritted angrily and drew out his wand. "I hope
you have prepared yourself..." and before Harry could react and tell him that
he actually needed time to prepare, the potions master already penetrated his
mind. "Legilimence!"
And there it was, the memory of him reading the red tome and running away from
his professor. Harry inhaled sharply: he couldn't let the bastard find out
about the magical room. Clawing on his skull that was definitely going to blow
up under the vicious pressure, he frantically tried to push Snape away, to
fight him off. But Severus kept ripping his way through the weak shields - he
wanted to know how the hell had Potter managed to escape on the floor with no
doors and places to hide. His invisibility could have been explained in many
different ways, but not his disappearance. However, the brat kept struggling
and pulling him away from that particular scene. Finally, Potter let out a roar
of frustration, and Severus was forced out and knocked off his feet by the
astonishing force. Harry threw up again, coughing and wheezing, as his throat
constricted in spasm. It hurt like Hell, his head was on fire, he could barely
think straight. The blurry image of Snape crawling in his direction was the
last thing he saw before he blacked out.
Great, I killed the imp. Severus sighed and rubbed the bruise that started to
form on his left side - Potter was extremely powerful for a teenager, he had to
give him credit for that. The idiot was digging his own grave by letting him
get deeper and deeper into his mind. Severus reached out and checked the boy's
pulse - he was simply unconscious, nothing serious. Grimacing, he banished the
vomit and made a mental note to force nutrition potions into the stubborn brat
- his lord needed Potter alive and sane, it wouldn't do if he ended up half
dead, vomiting blood and his own insides. Grumping to himself, the potions
master stood up and summoned a few vials from his cabinet. Levitating the boy
to lie on the table, he came closer and slapped him slightly on the face to
wake him up. Potter stirred and as soon as he opened his mouth to groan,
Severus slipped a potion inside. Harry thought he would choke. Spluttering the
potion out he sat up harshly, bumping into his professor and wincing, as the
sharp pain pierced through his head.
"Idiot, drink this bloody potion, now!" Snape was livid. He pushed another vial
into Harry's hands and glared at him with such animosity, that Harry could
almost feel how his body was slowly dissected into the potion's ingredients. He
obediently gulped down the stinking concoction and didn't even wince at its
foul taste. Fuming, Severus gave him another vial and when Potter drank from
it, pushed him roughly off the table. "Now, get out!"
"Stop assaulting me! How can I ever learn if you simply attack me and don't
give me a chance to ready myself?" Harry glared at the man, lifting himself up
from the stone floor he landed on hard.
"And you think the Dark Lord would give you any chance? Imbecilic moron, none
of the Death Eaters is going to wait for you to gather your wits and take your
stance!" Severus spat. Was Potter really that naive? "I am preparing you for
the real mind attacks, this is exactly what the Dark Lord does to you!"
"More like you raping me and trying to get to me!" Harry shouted back
furiously.
So he did notice, not that stupid after all? Snape sneered at him and drew his
wand. "Ready for another round?"
Harry blinked at him dubiously and raised his wand as well. The headache
suddenly disappeared, living weak scratching behind - it was bearable, nothing
like he hadn't endured before. Taking a deep breath he pointed his wand at
Snape and he attacked. Harry clenched his teeth at the searing pain. God, why
does it have to hurt so much? Severus grudgingly shifted through the memories
of quidditch and the horrid Weasley family, deciding to focus on the visions
that Potter kept seeing. He was startled to see Lucius Malfoy smiling at the
brat and if Severus knew the silver haired wizard at all, the man hated
Potter's guts, he would have never given him that look. So this was the false
image, planted by his lord. Severus let go of the boy's mind when he collapsed
on the floor, panting and rubbing his scar that seemed to bleed a little.
Definitely Voldemort's work then. However, he sensed there was more to it, but
it was dangerous to push harder, when Potter was on the brink of losing
consciousness again.
"I hate you." Severus heard a weak whisper. He couldn't see the brat's face
behind the curtain of long raven hair, his hair, but he could see blood on his
palm that had been pressing onto his scar seconds ago.
"The feeling is mutual, Potter, now get out, I do not wish to see you until the
potions class on Monday," he drawled, inwardly itching to curse the little
bastard. When Potter finally gathered himself up and walked over to the door on
the unsteady legs, Severus turned to add. "See madame Pomfrey before returning
to your common room. You are to take nutrition potions from her every Tuesday
and Thursday. I will know if you didn't."
Harry didn't say anything, he simply left, shutting the door behind him a
little more loudly than it was necessary.
He hated Snape, hated him so much, he thought he would be able to spit acid
next time he met him. Why, why of all people, this arsehole turned out to be
his father? And what was even more devastating, Harry realized, they did have
so much in common beside the obvious physical similarity, it was frightening.
He was notorious for his horrible temper, he knew that even if Ron and Hermione
never told him outright what a jerk he was. He was stubborn and easily
provoked. Just like Snape. Groaning in desperation, Harry stopped and leaned
against the cold stone wall not far from the staircase to his tower. What was
he going to do? How was he going to survive this year with Snape and Voldemort
on his back? Why couldn't he be James Potter's son anymore? Life was so much
easier then.
xxx
"Mr Potter, just what do you think you're doing?" The high sickeningly sweet
voice brought him out of his slumber. He dozed off at Defense, again.
Shrugging off the last traces of sleep, he tried hard to articulate his answer,
"Excuse me, madame, it won't happen again." He dared a glance at the
intimidatingly pink form of Umbridge, who was glaring at his forehead with
clear disdain written in her small watery eyes.
"And what have you been doing during the night, instead of sleeping, young
man?" She attempted to tower over him, but this was a rather pathetic try,
since Harry was already much taller than her.
"I suffer from nightmares, professor," Harry decided to go with the truth,
perhaps, she wouldn't take points then.
"And what would those nightmares be? Just what can torment a sixteen year old
boy so much that he has to sleep during his lessons?" she sounded affronted, as
if he slapped her on the face. Well, clearly, his plan wasn't working.
"Voldemort, madame." What was the point hiding it anyway?
Umbridge turned red in her face and glared at him. "Stop this nonsense at once!
You-Know-Who is dead and will never come back! Are you trying to poison the
young minds with your lies again, Mr Potter? The last term wasn't enough for
you?"
"But it is the truth, he is back," Harry bit out, sighing tiredly. Why couldn't
he keep his mouth shut?
"Detention! At my office, at eight!" she screeched and everybody cringed,
covering their ears.
Marvelous. Just what he needed. Sighing again, he covered his face with his
hands. Ron patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. There were strange rumors
about her ways of punishing students, no one said anything out loud, but it was
obvious that whatever she did was painful and shameful. Well, he was going to
find out very soon.
He knocked on her door at precisely 7:59 and was called in a few moments later.
The state of her office almost made him turn on his heels and run away, and
never come back. The countless plates with fluffy little kittens, jumping and
whimpering loudly made him shudder in horror. He'd rather he scrubbed cauldrons
in Snape's laboratory than endure this. Umbridge smiled at him the most
insincere smile he had ever seen and gestured for him to sit down at the
opposite side of her desk.
"Now, Mr Potter," she crooned sweetly, "You are going to write lines. I cannot
stand liars, especially the ones who are simply seeking other's attention." She
batted her eyelashes innocently at him, and Harry dug his nails deep into his
palms to prevent himself from throwing a rude reply to that. He should keep his
mouth shut. Seeing that he wasn't going to take the bait, she coughed softly
and continued, "You are going to write "I must not tell lies" for approximately
one hour."
When Harry reached for his bag to take a quill out, Umbridge waved her finger
at him, "No, no, Mr Potter, you would be writing with one of mine. It is a
special one, it helps the words to sink in better." She opened one of the
drawers and took out a large black quill with red tip.
Harry obediently took it and pulled closer the parchment she also gave him.
Sighing, he placed the quill upon the paper and started to write the first
words. The slight itching caught his attention. Frowning, he turned to see the
red scars on the back of his writing hand appear and slowly dissipate into
nothingness leaving faint redness behind. He finished the line and started a
new one. Again he felt the itching and saw that the scars formed on his skin
and disappeared. After the tenth line the itching became constant and he
realized that the cuts, that appeared again were the very same words he had
been writing. After the thirty something lines they stopped healing. At the
fifty sixth line he saw small droplets of blood come out of the cuts, as his
hand burned in pain. He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent any sounds from
coming out of his mouth. He felt Umbridge watching him intently, but he never
looked up. Stubborn as he was, he was going to endure this torture silently,
she would not break him. Snape hadn't managed it yet – she had no chances
whatsoever.
His hand was openly bleeding, when the toad coughed again, "Your time is up, Mr
Potter." He let out a slow breath, careful to make it as less noticeable as
possible. "You would come here on Monday, at eight, to continue with your
detention."
"But, madame, I have remedial potions with professor Snape at that time." Was
he really glad to have Snape on his schedule? Insane, more likely.
"Then you will have to inform professor Snape, that he has to reschedule your
lesson," she said simply, taking the quill and putting it back in the drawer.
"Yes, professor," Harry stood up, and took his bag with his left hand, cradling
the right one close to his chest.
Umbridge smiled cruelly and arched an eyebrow at his bleeding limb, "You know
you deserved to be punished, don't you, Mr Potter?"
"Good night, madame," he gritted out and hastily left, taking out his scarf out
of his bag on the way back to the tower and bandaging his aching hand.
This bitch was going to make him write even more, wasn't she? Until he told her
that he lied, that he deserved his punishment? Harry angrily slammed the
portrait behind him, making the Fat Lady squeak in surprise. Stupid, ugly
bitch. Harry plumped down on the sofa and dropped his head in his hands, glad
there wasn't anybody to witness his awful state. He casted a silencing ward
around him and screamed at the verge of his lungs, trying to work out his
frustration and fury. It didn't really help, but it tired him enough for him to
go and fall on his bed, ignoring the clothes and the bandage that were still
on. He dearly wished to fall asleep and never wake up again.
xxx
Severus found his lord in the library. Voldemort sat in the winged armchair,
his long legs crossed, an old tome in his lap. He followed the lines with his
eyes, his face blank, giving out nothing about what he was reading. As Severus'
robes rustled softly against the door frame, the Dark Lord acknowledged his
presence with a slight wave of his hand, offering the potions master to sit
down. When he did, Voldemort raised his head and looked at him questioningly,
his ruby eyes void of any emotion. Severus couldn't help but admire how well
his lord looked. No, scratch that, beautiful. The man before him looked
beautiful beyond comparison. Having joined the Dark Lord in the seventies he
never knew what he really looked like, since he had already been a distorted
snake-like creature at that time. A human Voldemort could sway anyone to his
side without even opening his mouth once.
"Like what you see, Severus?" his lord smirked, his lips twitching ever so
slightly.
"Yes," he had no reason to lie, besides, the man already knew that he did,
"Very much indeed. I take it the potion worked as you wanted."
"Oh, yes, I am most pleased with your work, Severus," Voldemort stretched his
lecherous rose lips in a lifeless smile. "However, I would be wearing the
glamour of my creature self in front of the others. Only my most faithful ones
would know of the change," he gave the potions master a pointed look.
Severus nodded, "Of course, my lord."
"So, what was it that you wished to discuss then?"
"Potter's having nightmares and strange visions, which, I presume, you forced
on him," at the man's barely noticeable nod, he continued. "Dumbledore ordered
me to teach the brat Occlumency, since he can't give any private lessons to a
student."
"So you keep failing him, judging by the fact that he is still suffering from
my intrusions," Voldemort said thoughtfully, tapping his chin with his index
finger. "You said nightmares and visions. I do send him visions during the
night, manipulating his dreams, but I do not monitor him when he is awake. What
does he see?"
"I couldn't get that deep into his mind yet, but one of those visions is Lucius
Malfoy," Severus huffed. "Smiling at him and motioning for him to keep silent."
"Ah, yes, it was in one of the nightmares I forced on him when I was testing
how far I could go in this strange connection between us," the Dark Lord
drawled, not at all disturbed by the notion that the boy kept seeing Malfoy in
his waking time.
"Don't you know what the connection is or how had it developed, my lord?"
Severus frowned, feeling all too familiar itching of apprehension and unease
underneath his skin. If even his lord didn't know what was he doing, than how
was he supposed to hold the boy in control and satisfy both masters?
Voldemort narrowed his eyes, "Does Dumbledore know how this connection is
possible?"
"I think he does, however, he would not tell me." Of course the old coot knew.
He had asked about the nightmares, twice, hadn't he? He was waiting for them to
appear. Just what kind of game was he playing?
"I know that look of yours, Severus, out with it!" Voldemort growled lowly,
leaning forward and staring at him intently. Fuck.
Sighing, Severus rubbed on his tired, stinging eyes, "He knew that Potter would
have nightmares. I didn't pay it much attention before, clearly not having the
context for it then, but now I see that Dumbledore was actually waiting for you
to open the connection. He kept Potter locked up at his relative's house,
prohibited him any kind of contact with our world and never met with him
personally until the day we found that the concealment charm had been
destroyed. He thought you would be able to affect the boy's behavior and gather
information through accessing his mind-"
"That manipulative old bastard!" the Dark Lord roared and sprang up on his feet
to pace the free space in front of the potions master, hissing angrily to
himself. His wand was tightly clutched in his hand and Severus watched him
warily, his body tensed in anticipation of attack. "That senile moron knows
what it is, had probably known from the very beginning. All I know is that it
somehow connected with that night, when my spell backfired at me. The accident
must have created some kind of magical bond between us, I have no idea what it
is!" he sounded livid and out of control. However, he put the wand away and sat
back into his chair, gripping its arms hard.
"I will do my best to find out," Severus offered quietly. It was rather amusing
to watch the storm pass by for the first time in his long servitude.
Voldemort clicked his tongue and his lips twisted in silent fury. "He would not
tell you. He would never tell anyone, I doubt he would even tell Potter. I am
getting tired of his bloody games." He narrowed his eyes and clenched his
teeth, Severus could see the muscles jerk from time to time. The hard nails
scratched on the wood of the chair, leaving long deep markings behind. "What
else can you tell me about Potter?"
"He has more than one vision. There is something very precious to him, hidden
very deeply in his subconscious. It's been only two lessons so far, I haven't
managed to get through to that particular information, it's something he is
afraid I would see, or anybody else, for that matter. He had a panic attack the
first time I tried. The second time he pushed me out."
"Did he?" Voldemort looked at him, surprise evident in his expression. He knew
that Severus was one of the most skilled Legilimence masters in the country, he
could break any mind, except his own and Dumbledore's. No child should be able
to hold against him.
The potions master scowled, "He is extremely powerful. His powers are raw and
undeveloped, but the force is magnificent."
"And he, probably, inherited your gift for mind magic," his lord concluded.
"This secret he guards so desperately is unreachable even for me. I can
manipulate his fears, but I can't get through the wall he built around it."
Severus was more than astonished by the Dark Lord's admittance of his failure
at something. Straightening himself, he concentrated on the problem, thinking
hard, "Perhaps, it is psychological. Perhaps, Diggory's death affected him more
than we could imagine."
"Who is Diggory?"
Good old Dark Lord.
"The boy you killed at the cemetery."
"Ah," Voldemort nodded and instantly dismissed it. He contemplated his loyal
potions master for a moment and sighed, closing his eyes. "I will be sending
Potter visions about the Ministry, I will be testing our connection further,
perhaps, I would find some clues. Keep up your lessons, do not break him," he
looked up to pin Severus with an icy glare. "What he's guarding might not be
that important after all, it is not in the nearest future, at least."
"I understand." But he would be working on that anyway.
"Report any improvement, smallest development, or any new information
whatsoever. Everything about the boy concerns me now," Voldemort hissed.
When Severus left, he sat in his armchair, still, rigid, alerted. He hated
Dumbledore for always being at least one step ahead of him. Pondering on
Potter's and his connection proved to be fruitless. He needed more facts. He
needed to meet the boy and examine him, this was the only way to know for sure.
But he couldn't do it, not yet.
xxx
Potter was particularly slow in packing his parchments when the potions lesson
had finished. As soon as the last student left, rolling his eyes in
exasperation Severus barked, "Potter! Get to your next class, I am not writing
you a pass!"
Harry took a deep breath, telling himself that he could do it, that he could
have a civil conversation with Snape without killing or be killed. "Excuse me,
professor. I stayed to tell you I wouldn't be able to attend our remedial
potions lesson tonight."
"Again?" It was the fourth time in two weeks Potter canceled their planned
meetings, using detention with Umbridge as an excuse. "Potter, this is
ridiculous, I don't believe you. You are simply an ungrateful prat, who thinks
he is too good to use the opportunity that the headmaster so generously
presented him with! Useless, pathetic, brainless-"
"I am not!" No, obviously, it was impossible to talk with Snape. "If you don't
believe me, then go ask Umbridge!" he spat, glaring at the git, who was glaring
back. Snape's thin lips disappeared, being pursed into a straight line.
"Fine, I will! And if you lied again, you can forget about learning anything
from me!" Severus hissed and barely restrained himself from hexing the brat.
Potter sneered at him and left, slamming the door behind him. If they would
have their next lesson after all, he was going to rip the bastard's skull open.
Harry came to the toad's office again. His hand was barely working now, he had
to ask madame Pomfrey for the pain relieving potions several times when he took
his nutrition. She suspected something, but he never let her see his hand,
hiding it under the long sleeve of his shirt. Umbridge called him inside, he
entered and sat down on his usual chair, looking resigned. She made him write
with his own blood three times a week. It was already the middle of November,
he barely slept these past few weeks, with all those nightmares and that stupid
vision about the Ministry, and he felt like he was going to break, very soon
indeed.
"Now, Mr Potter, is there anything you wish to tell me?" This was how she
started every detention. Harry was sure that even if he did have anything to
say, it wouldn't be what she expected and it would only add him more lines,
more days of punishment, so he decided to keep his mouth shut. "Very well, you
may begin," she sounded disappointed. He took the quill and pulled his sleeve
up to not get the blood on the shirt when the cuts would open again.
When he was on his tenth line and blood was already running down his hand and
dripping down on the desk and the floor, a knock on the door came and, before
Umbridge could answer, Snape entered her office with a triumphant expression on
his sullen face, obviously expecting that Harry wouldn't be here. However, when
he saw the boy hunched over the parchment and saw the drops of blood on the
thick pink carpet underneath his chair, Severus' face fell. He scowled and came
closer.
"Mr Snape, I am afraid we didn't have an appointment tonight, as you can see I
am occupied with detention right now," Umbridge stood up and tried hard to
sound sweet and friendly, however her disgust and ire were rather noticeable
even to Harry, who didn't want to look up and see Snape. Of course the bastard
would enjoy watching him bleed.
"Madame, I simply came to check if Potter truly was in detention with you,
since you seem to appoint it every time we have our lessons... What is the
meaning of this?" Severus growled, staring at the boy's bleeding hand. He
recognized the Blood Quill and for a moment felt completely lost. It was one
thing he was allowed to penetrate the student's mind by the headmaster's
orders, but it was a completely different matter altogether to bring a banned
dark artifact into the school and use it on the student body. Now that he
thought about it, there were a few children in different houses and years who
wore bandages on their hands and he had to brew more healing salve than it was
necessary for the hospital wing. Narrowing his eyes at the woman in front of
him, he towered over her, "Would you care to explain, madame, what is the Blood
Quill doing in the school full of children?"
"The Minister himself approved of this punishing technique!" she replied
haughtily, trying to master a glare that would rival the one she was receiving,
but she failed miserably.
Severus eyebrows shot up in astonishment. Was Fudge that stupid? Had he finally
lost the last remains of his braincells? The potions master stepped closer to
Potter and grabbed his hand, drawing a quiet whimper of pain from the boy's
throat. Squeezing the limb in his hands, Severus rubbed the blood away and
stared at the clear and spidery writing cut deep into the soft skin: "I must
not tell lies". He felt he was going to explode. This was outrageous. He was a
Death Eater, a ruthless murderer and not at all averse to torturing, but even
then he hated those who abused children, he couldn't stand the mere notion of
corporal punishment. Even Potter didn't deserve this, not from her anyway.
"What has he done to deserve this punishment?" he gritted out through his
clenched teeth, gripping the boy's hand tighter, afraid he might lose control
and just curse her on the spot.
Umbridge gave him a superior look and smiled viciously, "He was spreading lies
again! He was trying to persuade us that You-Know-Who is back! I was sanctioned
by the Ministry to put an end to this nons-"
"I don't care in the least what the Ministry or you think is appropriate, the
corporal punishments are prohibited in this school!"
Harry couldn't help but flinch at the sight of livid Snape. He thought he never
saw the man that angry before.
The toad of a woman gasped and stared at the potions professor as if he grew a
second head, "Mr Snape, you do realize that I have an authority to bring this
up to the Minister-"
Severus cut her off again, "And I have an authority to inform the headmaster.
Potter, gather your belongings and follow me!" he barked, grabbed the Blood
Quill and in a whirl of black robes left the office and a gobsmacked looking
Umbridge behind. Harry hurried to obey without a second thought. If Snape was
going to get the toad sacked or at least get rid of her torturing tool, than he
would not object to any of the man's commands.
"You idiot!" Snape snapped at Harry as soon as he caught up with the man's long
strides, "What were you thinking? You should have told professor McGonagall
right after that woman did this to you the first time!"
Harry stared at him in disbelief, "I did, but she simply told me to stay quiet
and stay out of detentions! As if I have already completed my first one! I
thought if Umbridge used it then she must have had a permission to do so-"
"Potter," Severus cut in harshly, "Don't. Ever. Think. It makes everything
worse."
"Why do you even care?" the boy cried as they stopped at the Gargoyle, guarding
the entrance to the headmaster's office.
Snape glared at him, "It must have escaped that brilliant brain of yours,
Potter, but I do work at this school and as a teacher I am responsible for
children's lives and health and I do not encourage or support corporal
punishments in any form!"
"Really?" Harry stared at him incredulously, "And what would you call our
lessons then?"
"Ten points from gryffindor for disrespect. Our lessons are not punishment -
however, for me they are - our lessons is a necessity. And I am only trying to
teach you because of the unique and dangerous situation you are in. I would
have never taught a child Occlumency!" Snape hissed menacingly. He couldn't add
anything else, though, for the Gargoyle jumped away and Dumbledore came down
the stairs to look at the two of them disapprovingly.
"What is the matter now, Severus, why are you and Harry arguing in the hall?"
"Umbridge used a dark artifact on Potter and several other students!" Severus
snapped and felt a small tingle of satisfaction, when the old wizard's face
suddenly paled. Serves him right for being such a fool.
"Upstairs," Dumbledore hastily went back into his office, followed by Snape and
Harry. Professor McGonagall was already inside - it looked like she and
headmaster were having tea. The stern professor turned to frown at the two
unexpected guests, but stared in horror instead, as her eyes caught the sight
of Harry's bleeding hand.
"Just the person I was looking for. Minerva," Snape sneered at her, hissing
venomously, "Were you aware that Umridge used a dark artifact on one of your
students? Multiple times?"
McGonagall paled and gaped at the potions master like a fish thrown out of
water, seemingly at loss. Dumbledore helpfully took cluttering saucer and cup
out of her shaking hands when she finally gathered her wits, "Mr Potter
informed me that that woman gave him and some of his classmates undeserved
detentions, that she made them write lines, but I never knew that she hurt
them, Severus, I swear!" She held her hand at her throat, staring at both men,
her expression full of pain and guilt.
"Harry, why haven't you told your Head of House that you were hurt during
detention?" Dumbledore looked at the boy intently over his glasses, that slid
down to the tip of his long, pointed nose.
Cradling his cut hand close to his chest, Harry scowled at him, "I thought she
had a permission to do that, besides, I am used to much worse pain." The
bitterness of his words made both headmaster and McGonagall wince, while
Severus decided that it was a rather logical answer for Potter. Abused children
learned fast not to trust adults with their problems. And judging by the belt
marks on the brat's back he indeed could endure a lot more than most children
and grown men could.
"Harry, but this is different, you should have told me! I would have never
turned you away!" McGonagall looked like she was going to cry, but Harry didn't
really feel sorry for her.
"How is this different from my summers with Dursleys?" he spat angrily, not
caring to whom he was speaking. "I asked every year to stay here instead of
going there and even though you knew what they were doing to me you still sent
me there and will send me there again!"
"Harry, we didn't know and you know very well that you are protected-"
"I might be protected from wizards, but not muggles. And I am supposed to be
protected here too!" he shouted furiously, cutting the headmaster off.
"Hogwarts is supposed to be the safest place there is, and yet I am being
tortured by that ugly toad Umbridge, by Snape, and Voldemort keeps driving me
nuts! Some fucking safety! And you just keep pretending like nothing is going
on!" he threw his hands up in the air, glaring at them.
"Potter, it's twenty points from gryffindor, watch your foul tongue!" Severus
shouted, however, he sounded rather amused. He couldn't help but be impressed
by Potter's bravery and sincerity. Nobody would have dared to speak to
Dumbledore in such offensive manner, and yet the boy was right, everything he
said was true.
The headmaster looked wounded, however, the guilt in his eyes overcame his
pain. "Harry, if there was any other way..." he shook his white head sadly.
"There was only one way - to never let me come here at all, to leave me the
hell alone and never let me discover magic. And honestly? I'd very much
preferred it!" Harry bit out and, sending one more hateful glare at Snape, ran
out of the office.
"Oh, Merlin, I'll go after him, he needs to see Poppy! And how many more of
them were cut!" McGonagall jumped on her feet and hastily left as well.
Severus arched his eyebrow at the old man in front of him, but Dumbledore said
nothing, seemingly lost in his unhappy thoughts. Shrugging his shoulders, the
potions master laid the Blood Quill onto the desk and turned to his boss,
sighing. "What are you going to do about Umbridge? She said Fudge sanctioned
the usage of the dark artifact."
The headmaster frowned, snapping out of his reverie, and glanced at the
innocently looking feather thoughtfully. "No doubt he did. I can't fire her,
since she was placed by the Board of Governors and has the Ministy's
protection. All I can do is destroy the quill and deny her the option of
holding detentions. If she wants to punish students, she would have to send
them to other teachers or Mr Filch."
Severus watched him for a moment, assessing the old wrinkled face, the tired
pale blue eyes that betrayed none of the man's thoughts or emotions.
"Did you know what his relatives did to him?"
He wasn't really going to ask, but something compelled him to do so. Perhaps,
it was the ridiculous similarity between him and Potter? Even blinded by his
hatred, he could still understand and somehow sympathize with the boy's
attitude. He knew what it was like to be abused by your own family, your only
family, he also knew what it was like to be forced to come back to the place
that could hardly be called home, despite all the embarrassing pleading and
begging to stay at Hogwarts. Oh, he knew very well just how angry Potter was at
the headmaster. And yet the boy kept bidding his every word. Pathetic.
"I didn't want him to grow up spoilt by his fame," Dumbledore sighed and
tiredly lowered himself into the chair behind his desk. "I wanted him to have a
normal childhood before Voldemort came back and started hunting him down."
The absence of a straight answer to his question told Severus much more than
the words could. Not only the old man knew - he allowed it to continue, when
all he needed to do was to come there personally just once and scare the
muggles shitless. He wanted Potter broken, wanted him loyal and eager to serve
in hopes that one day the great wizard would save him from the Hell they called
family. Unlike Dumledore, Voldemort never gave Severus any false hopes - he
promised to help him and he did. Perhaps, this was the reason why he was still
loyal to the Dark Lord.
"Was there anything else, Severus?"
"No."
There was nothing else to say.
xxx
Harry swallowed thickly, when the last student entered the room and ten pairs
of eyes stared at him expectantly. Hermione offered to gather at the Hog's Head
on the Hogsmead weekend and meet with all those who were interested in
practicing with them. He, however, never expected so many people to come for
their secret get-together. Beside Hermione and Ron, Neville came as well and
brought Luna Lovegood with him - a fourth year ravenclaw Harry barely knew.
Both Fred and George joined them - probably the only other gryffindors who
never blamed him for quitting the team or for being Snape's son - if anything,
they were actually excited about his parentage. Harry wished he could share the
feeling. Four more students whom he didn't really know were from Hufflepuff.
Coughing lightly and fidgeting nervously in his place, he began, "Well, as you
know, Hermione came up with an idea that we should practice real Defense in our
free time and after I looked through our textbooks from the previous years-"
"Who made you the leader?" one of the hufflepuffs interrupted him. He thought
his name was Zacharias Smith.
"Nobody," Harry shrugged, "I never said I was in the first place."
"Harry is much more experienced then we are," Hermione cut in, rolling up the
parchment with the names of everybody who came for the meeting. "He had seen
real action, he knows how to fight real enemies. We are here for actual
practice, not mesmerizing the texts for the exams - leave that for Umbridge's
classes," her lips curled up a little at the mentioning of the toad and
everybody snickered sympathetically. Well, if they didn't like him being in
charge, at least they all had the same reason to be here at all.
"I am not that experienced, believe me, I am not the best choice for a teacher,
but I will do my best to help you all," Harry tried a smile that came out
crooked and uncertain.
"Why do you think we need to know more than the school offers?" asked a girl on
Smith's right. Her thick yellow scarf covered most of her face and her words
sounded muffled.
"Because there is war coming. You might not know it yet, there might not be any
signs yet, but it will come, soon. When we least expect," Harry whispered
gravely, not meeting their eyes.
"How can we know for sure?" Smith frowned and gave them all an incredulous
look. "We've got only Potter's word for it, everybody else denies that You-
Know-Who is back." He was right, of course, but there was no way Harry could
really convince anybody until snakeface showed himself.
"You just have to take his word for it, like we do," Ron shrugged his shoulders
dismissively, as if it wasn't much of an issue.
Harry shivered, pulling his cloak tighter around himself and scowled, pushing
the annoying stray lock out of his eye. It didn't escape his attention how
everybody stared at him. He hoped the novelty of having the Snape clone around
would wear off soon, it was becoming really unbearable. He couldn't change,
could he?
"I know it's hard to believe when you haven't seen it with your own eyes, but
believe me - I'd rather you never will. I would have never lied about it, this
is not a game and the danger is very real. You don't owe me anything, it is
your choice, whether you would or would not participate." That was all he could
offer.
"But if you would join us, you have to keep it a secret!" Hermione added and
gave them all a warning look.
"Where would we meet and practice?" George, or was it Fred, smiled.
"There is a room on the seventh floor, next to the tapestry of Barnabas, it is
magically hidden. No one would disturb us there."
"The Room of Requirement!" Luna Lovegood's eyes brightened at that. "So the
legends were true, it does exist."
"Well, it does, although I never knew what's it called," Harry shrugged.
"Alright, I need everyone who is willing to participate to sign next to his or
her name. We will meet Tuesday evening after dinner," Hermione took the
initiative into her hands. "If you get into detention or whatever - simply warn
me beforehand. We will be waiting for all of you at the entrance to the room,
but after that everyone will have to come on his own, we must be discreet about
this. I will figure out a way of notifying you secretly in the future."
Surprisingly, everybody present signed up for their practices. Harry figured
they would make their final decisions along the way. But at least this was
something. Back in the common room, he immersed himself into the books
Hermione's parents kindly sent him. But no matter how hard he tried and how
carefully he followed the instructions, he simply couldn't make himself relax
and meditate. He was simply too riled up, or nervous, or exhausted. How was he
going to survive his lessons with Snape when he couldn't grasp the basics of
what he was learning. He knew everything there was to know about Occlumency,
but maybe he simply wasn't capable of yielding it, had no talent, no gift for
it whatsoever? It was a disconcerting thought. Harry never was a hard working
student, but he wasn't lazy. He simply never cared for his marks, since
Dursleys preferred to see him as a loser at school to make Dudley look better
in comparison. And years of beating his ambitions out of him took their tall on
his pride and his mentality. He simply had no motivation for trying any harder.
Besides, he was really good at some subjects, like charms, defense,
surprisingly potions, quidditch, and he took his success for granted. But right
now he realized he had to make it happen, he had to work his hide to learn the
bloody Occlumency, otherwise he knew, he was doomed. How far would Voldemort be
able to go in his mind games before Harry lost his sanity? He didn't know and
wasn't keen on finding out either.
xxx
Snape once again assaulted his mind. It was just as painful and vicious as
before. And once again the man plunged deep into his memories, trying to find
out Harry's dirtiest secrets. Enraged, he tried to push him away - Snape was
not impressed. Crying out, Harry gathered his strength and hit him with the
sheer power of his will. However, instead of simply knocking him out, he found
himself in his professor's mind, that looked like a labyrinth of thoughts and
memories, each one of them mirrored and turned upside down, misguiding and
nauseating him. He felt his own head spinning. But somehow Harry caught the
glimpses of the bastard's memories. One was of Lily, his mother. He saw a
redheaded woman, just as young and beautiful, as she looked on the photographs,
saying something harsh and spiteful into Snape's face, her plump lips twisting
in anger and disgust. Before he could see any more he was thrown away by the
spell. Harry felt his skull collide with the wall and his breath knocked out of
him. As the stinging tears poured out of his eyes, he slowly sank down onto his
arse, clutching at the pounding head.
Severus was also sitting on the floor, panting heavily, his forehead covered in
sweat. He should have known better than let Potter get to him. Fuming, he
squeezed his eyes and counted to ten, then to twenty. The idiot child clearly
had made no effort whatsoever to learn anything and quite frankly he hated to
waste his time and strength in vain.
"Mum..." Still overwhelmed with the pain and half blind, Harry tried to focus
on the dark blurry form of his professor, "My mum, what did she say to you?"
Severus sneered at him angrily, "None of your business, Potter! Stay away from
my mind, you arrogant prat!"
"But it is my business!" he couldn't believe his own voice was so loud and
could cut so sharply on his throbbing brain. "She is my mother and you... you,"
he tried to glare at Snape but, judging by the man's mocking scoff, he failed.
"I what?" Severus spat. He wasn't going to indulge Potter in his curiosity.
"You and she were close, I mean." It hadn't occurred to Harry before, but Snape
must have really known his mother if he managed to impregnate her. "Close
enough to make me," he mumbled uncomfortably. Not that he ever wanted to
discuss Snape's or his mother's sex life, really...
"And what does it have to do with our lesson? Or with anything at all?" Severus
stood up and scowled at the boy, his lips trembled in a barely contained fury.
Lily was a sore spot, the prohibited topic, he hated her, hated her for
everything she had done to him and now he was doomed and bound for life with
the unfortunate result of their acquaintance. If he could, he would have gone
back in time and strangled her with his bare hands.
Harry's sight finally sharpened and he stared into the seemingly bottomless
onyx eyes, that were watching him with disdain and resentment. "I never knew
her, I never knew what she was like." He held a breath and gathered his
courage. "Could you tell me about her?"
"No." As he said before: blood meant nothing. He wasn't going to be the one to
tell the brat of his whore of a mother, let those blasted gryffindors of his
tell him the tales of a beautiful muggleborn princess and her stupid
pureblooded prince. He hated her, so much now, after he found out that the boy
was his, that he no more regretted her death. He praised it.
Harry felt a sharp pang in his heart. What was he hoping for, really? This was
Snape, he wasn't going to take Harry in his lap and start telling him of his
mother, who so bravely sacrificed herself to save him. Snape had probably raped
her or forced her into sex anyway, the bastard surely must have found pleasure
in that. Feeling the tears threatening to pour out of his eyes again, only this
time of a heartache rather than the physical pain, he stood up shakily, not
looking at the spiteful, bitter man before him.
"I never saw her apart from photographs and that stupid Mirror of Erised. I
have never even heard her voice except the night she died!" he suddenly felt it
was important to let Snape know about it, to make him choke on this knowledge.
"All I ever heard her say was begging for my life while Voldemort told her to
step aside!" he tried shouting, but the lump in his throat was so big that his
words came out barely above whisper.
Severus was trying to comprehend when did Potter manage to look into the mirror
to see Lily, when the boy's last words suddenly registered in his mind. He
turned sharply and grabbed Potter on the arm. "What did you say?" he hissed
coldly, his eyes boring holes in the wide wet green ones that were so much like
Lily's only felt more like a distorted mirror to him, as if he was looking in
the eyes of a sixteen year old Severus Snape. "What did Voldemort do?"
"You go ask him!" Harry spat acidly and tried to wriggle out of the painful
grip. "He'll tell you all about how she screamed and how he mercifully gave her
a chance to live and she never took it!" He was screaming now, overwhelmed with
the memory of Voldemort telling him just that at the cemetery, before the Death
Eaters arrived.
Severus let go of his arm abruptly, shaken to his very core. Voldemort had kept
his word. He had actually listened to Severus' pleas and granted him his wish.
He didn't know what was more overwhelming: the fact that the man he hated for
so many years once again proved to be an honest master or the fact that he was
once again feeling guilty for what had happened, feeling responsible for her
death. He felt his head was spinning and his legs were giving away. Leaning
heavily on the desk he let out a shuddering whisper, "Get out." Potter was
looking at him with impossibly wide eyes, scared and confused. Gathering his
will and frustration he repeated louder, "I said get out!"
Harry didn't know what to think. Snape looked white as a ghost and his eyes
were glazed with some indecipherable emotion. He looked like he was going to
have a heart attack. What was it that Harry said that caused such a reaction?
Didn't he know what Voldemort had done? Why was he staring at him like that, in
pain, disbelief and fear?
At Snape's harsh words he jerked and ran for the door, tearing it open and the
next thing he saw was the broken sink of the girl's lavatory. The Chamber of
Secrets. Absentmindedly he hissed "Open" in parseltongue, rubbing on his face
as the tears streamed down his cheeks. He couldn't stop them. The memories, the
sight of his mother in Snape's head, it all became the last straw. He was
broken. Sobbing, he fell on the dump stone floor of the dimly lit chamber,
hiding his face in his hands, shaking violently. He hadn't cried so desperately
in years.
xxx
Severus sat in his favourite, tattered old armchair in the living room of his
private quarters. A glass of whiskey was clutched tightly in his hand, his left
eye twitched violently, as he stared into the fire and tried to wrap his mind
around what Potter had told him. It shouldn't have come as such a shock, but it
did and it hurt. Badly. He felt all his old wounds being opened again,
bleeding. He brought the prophesy to the Dark Lord and his master asked what
would he deem worthy of a reward for such an accomplishment. Drowning in self-
loathing and hating every breath he had taken, he asked to spare Lily Potter's
life. He hated her and yet he loved her madly and the mere notion that he had
betrayed her again drove him insane with grief and guilt. And when later he
stared at her lifeless body lying next to the blasted crib, he felt as if his
already rotten, crippled heart was torn to shreds and burnt to ashes. He went
to Dumbledore that night out of pure spite and black hatred towards Voldemort,
he bounded himself to the child that he loathed and wished never been borne...
His own child... Severus started cackling hysterically. Everything was just too
surreal. His lord kept his promise. He told her to stand aside and she didn't
comply. It was so much like Lily to jump at the wand point to shield the weak
and defenseless. And he hated his master for something he wasn't really guilty
of. He did kill her in the end, he did, but it was her own choice.
It took him ten long years to come to terms with what had happened, to realize
that he didn't hate Voldemort that much, but hated Lily, to finally admit to
himself just how much pain and destruction she brought into his life, much more
than happiness and light, that Dumbledore made a show of pointing out, when he
was cringing at his feet, sniveling and crying, begging for forgiveness. It
wasn't the Dark Lord who took his dignity, the only thing that was left for him
after the war, it was the redheaded woman. Because of her he was now torn
between the two masters. With a cruel satisfaction he thought, that he had made
the right choice after all, returning to the Dark and pledging his undying
loyalty to them once more was a wise decision. Now he could say with all
honesty that he didn't hate his lord anymore. No, Severus smiled gleefully, he
was grateful, grateful the man killed her. And despite the burning pain of
guilt in his chest, he felt as if some part of the overwhelming weight had been
lifted from his shoulders. She would have never died if he hadn't delivered the
prophesy, but than again... could that have changed anything? She could never
be his, dead or alive, she could never forgive him for one stupid mistake that
he made, for one betrayal that he committed, and she would have never told him
of the child, he was certain. The concealment charm was strong - obviously, it
was meant to be worn for a whole life. He was surprised she never went for
abortion, unlike the half-blood and pureblood wizards, Lily wasn't averse to
modern muggle inventions and medicine. She chose to live with an ugly lie
instead.
What an irony it was, really, to keep a child of a man she despised more than
anybody else in the whole world. Snorting into his glass, Severus gulped his
drink down and poured some more, smiling viciously at the flame, that seemed to
mirror his mood and growing frustration and hatred. He hoped both she and
fucking Potter were turning in their graves now. He dearly wished he could go
back to the cemetery and gloat at their ghosts, enjoy the pain in their eyes
upon seeing the boy slowly turning to look like him, being so much like him.
What would have Lily said, if she knew that not only her son resembled Severus
in more ways she could imagine, but that he had suffered just the same abusive
childhood his father had. He laughed out loud as he imagined her expression.
Oh, she would have been crushed, he knew better than anyone just how much she
hated her sister and that she would have never allowed her son to be placed
into that vile woman's care. No one in his sane mind would have allowed that,
not even Severus himself, but, alas... he never knew that the brat was his. And
now it was pointless to change anything, besides, he didn't care. Not in the
least. He threw the glass angrily into the hearth, swearing under his breath.
He didn't care for the stupid child! He might have cared back then if he only
knew, but now... he couldn't. Too many years had passed, he had changed, and
the mere notion that he had a child from the only woman he had ever loved made
him sick. It is an insightful saying that the line between love and hatred is
thin, he had crossed it and could never go back. He hated Lily, all that was
left for him was the bitterness and emptiness, a black hole in his chest. How
could he even accept the boy that was just as arrogant, bad-tempered, scornful
and bitter as... he himself was. Severus hid his face in his hands, slumped in
his seat, defeated and broken. He had hoped that it was over, but still Lily
kept haunting him, tormenting his tainted soul.
He didn't know how much time had passed, but when he came out of his stupor,
the fire in the hearth had almost died and the clock on the mantel showed that
it was already seven in the morning. Severus shivered in sudden cold and
numbness in his limbs. He jumped when the fireplace burned alive with green
flames and a very worried face of headmaster appeared inside of it.
"Severus, sorry to disturb you at such an early hour, but I am afraid Harry had
disappeared. He never returned to his dorm last night after your lesson. He
hadn't stayed with you, had he?" Dumbledore sounded very concerned, even
desperate.
Severus groaned in frustration. Potter causing trouble, again. "He was fine
when he left yesterday," he croaked. "Probably hiding somewhere in hope to gain
your attention. He is a teenager, Albus, his hormones are like ones of a
pregnant woman."
"Could you please join the search, my boy?" Dumbledore frowned in worry.
"Fine," Severus sighed in exasperation, "I'll check the dungeons and the second
floor. He couldn't have gone far."
Headmaster disappeared. Scowling, the potions master stood up and stretched his
stiff back and shoulders. Fucking Potter, can't live a day without throwing a
tantrum. He angrily summoned a vial of pepper-up potion and went out, drowning
it on his way up. There was one advantage of being related to the brat - he
could use his own blood to find him. Pricking his thumb, he drew some blood and
pointed his wand at it. Invenire meum sanguinem. Dark magic, of course, but it
should do the trick. A faint glow spread over his hand and a small flickering
spark of fire burst out of the drop of his blood. It slowly soared high up in
the air and flew forward, leading him in the right direction.
xxx
Severus stared at the black hole in the wall. Well, he heard of the story about
the Basilisk and the rescue of Ginny Weasley from the infamous Salazar
Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, but he never really gave it any thought... The
hell Potter even went there? Muttering profanities under his breath, Severus
lit up his wand and leaned closer to look at the bottomless dark tunnel going
down. How one was supposed to go down there? He couldn't imagine Voldemort
sliding on his arse every time he wanted to visit. Letting out a defeated sigh,
Severus stepped forward and levitated himself down, landing softly onto the
pile or rodent's skeletons. Jerking nervously at the sight of the huge snake
skin, he slowly walked forward. It was fortunate, that Potter had slain the
monster. The potions master snorted and shook his head at the brat's luck -
what normal wizard could face an ancient murderous serpent at the age of
twelve? It was impossible to keep the boy safe.
He came closer to the circular door in the wall. Gripping his wand tighter,
Severus stepped inside and involuntarily gaped at the sight of the huge marble
hall, with pillars so high they disappeared in the darkness of the ceiling. His
eyes slowly took in the Sytherin's statue and the enormous corpse of a basilisk
at its feet. It hadn't even started rotting. The preservation charms, no doubt.
Tearing his greedy gaze away from the source of priceless potion ingredients,
Severus looked around for the brat.
There he was, curled up behind one of the pillars, lying in the puddle of
water. He looked too young and vulnerable for a sixteen year old, and yet his
face was already marred by the lines of weariness. It was disturbing how
innocent and scarred the child was. Severus bent down and shook Potter on the
thin shoulder. No reaction.
"Potter."
The boy stirred, but didn't wake up. A slight crease of his eyebrows told
Severus that the brat was most likely immersed in one of the nightmares.
Sighing in exasperation, the potions master casted a featherlight charm on the
child, took him in his ams and lifted him up. He threw a last longing look at
the dead serpent - well, Potter was clearly able to come down here any time,
perhaps he could make the brat bring him here some day to collect the
ingredients.
When Snape levitated them both up into the bathroom, Harry finally woke up and
heard the harsh command to close the entrance. Frowning, he blinked at the man
who had been holding him in his arms and met a stern looking pale face of his
professor. His first impulse was to jump out of the uncomfortable close
contact, but he felt absolutely exhausted and could barely move his limbs. At
Snape's impatient growl he threw his head back and closed his eyes tiredly.
"Close," he hissed and the sink slid back into its place.
"What on earth made you go to that wretched place?" Severus scowled at the boy
in his arms, who looked too passive and weak for it to be normal. He decided to
put him into the hospital wing and make him Pomfrey's problem.
Harry slowly opened his eyes, and Severus looked away to not meet the deep
green - his most favourite and most hated colour.
"It is safe there... How did you find me?" he frowned at the potions master.
Really, Snape had never even been there before, how could he know where to look
for him?
"Used a spell to locate you," Severus muttered and pushed the doors of the
infirmary open. He dropped the boy on one of the beds rather unceremoniously
and turned to leave, sending a patronus to the headmaster on his way out. Harry
stared at the doe, that gracefully galloped through the wall and vanished.
Blinking, he looked at his professor, who stopped and turned sharply, looking
at him with a strange, complex emotion written on his face.
"It's hers, isn't it?" Harry asked hoarsely, grabbing on the covers to not let
his emotions show. "My mother's?"
Snape didn't answer. His face darkened and contorted in hatred. He quickly
left, not sparing the boy another glance. Harry frowned and looked down at his
clenched fists. Snape must have loved Lily very much, if he adopted her
patronus after she died. But why was there so much hatred in his words and eyes
addressed towards her? He couldn't help but wonder what had happened between
them, how was it even possible for the two so different people to be
together... if they ever were. Why did Snape have to be so difficult about
this? Why couldn't he simply tell him about his mother?
Harry groaned in frustration and fell back on the pillows. His head was
pounding again. Despite him being lulled to sleep by his tears and painful
sobs, the chamber hadn't brought any peace to his mind and he was once again
dragged into a nightmare about his uncle beating and raping him. He shivered,
trying to shake off the cold sinking feeling, but it was futile. If Madame
Pomfrey would keep him for the day he could ask for the Dreamless Sleep draught
and get so long desired rest. He sighed as the images of the previous night and
his Occlumency lesson came forth in his mind. Once again he cursed his luck for
making Snape his father.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter III
"Maybe you shouldn't do it, mate? Just leave it, the git would be all too happy
if you missed his horrible lesson," Ron whined, eyeing the door uncomfortably.
"No, Ron, I must warn him I can't come today or he would assign me detentions
and I will have to see him more than I am physically capable of," Harry sighed
and knocked firmly on the dark wood. "Besides, we are revising for his own
subject, surely he would find it amusing enough to let me go," he scoffed,
knocking again. No answer came, although Snape was always in his office at this
time. Frowning, Harry pushed the door open and entered the dark room.
"Harry, wait, you shouldn't enter without him, he will have our heads for
that!" Ron whispered urgently, tugging his friend on the sleeve of his robe.
But Harry didn't listen. It was very much unlike the potions professor to leave
his door open and the office empty, unlit. He took a few steps forward, looking
around, squinting into the gloom and caught the sight of the thin line of
light, coming from underneath a seemingly solid wall.
"Come on, Ron, what is the worst that could happen? He will take a hundred
points? Please," Harry huffed and came closer, blindly moving his hands against
the cold stone wall, frowning.
He was sure there was a secret door to Snape's personal quarters. A soft click
came after he pushed somewhere on his right. The part of wall slid away and he
found himself on the threshold of a small living room that looked everything
but what he imagined to be Snape's "sense of style". The room was warm and
decorated in soft browns and greens, filled with countless books and old tomes,
cramming the tall narrow bookcases, with two most comfortable winged armchairs
Harry had ever seen standing before the fireplace. However, his attention
quickly switched to the black form slumped on the floor beside them. He heard
soft moans and darted forward despite himself. It was the snarky potions
master, on the floor, unconscious. Harry couldn't wrap his mind around the
fact.
"Snape! Professor Snape!" he fell on his knees next to the man and shook him by
the shoulders. Snape wasn't answering, his face was even paler than usually,
his breaths ragged, uneven, he was moaning and hissing slightly, his eyebrows
creased in pain.
"Harry, what's wrong? What's with Snape?" Ron cried from behind him, looking
suddenly frightened.
"Why are you still standing here?" Harry snapped, and his friend paled, staring
at him in confusion. He briefly thought he must have sounded and looked like
Snape, but it wasn't the time to dwell on that. "Ron! Wake up! Go get Pomfrey
and Dumbledore, for god's sake! He's hurt!" The redhead squeaked and ran off as
Harry turned back to the man in his arms. He couldn't see well in the darkness
of the room, with the weak light from the hearth, so he slowly slid his hand
down the professor's black robes and stopped when he felt wetness under his
palm. Holding his hand up he saw blood on his skin. Oh fuck, Snape is bleeding.
Harry pulled the robe off of the professor and stared at the large gash in his
side - it looked awful, the maimed flesh pulsed angrily and he felt the bile
rise in his throat. He took out his wand to levitate Snape into the bedroom,
which he saw on the far left, but stopped abruptly as a thought came to him:
what if this was a dark curse? Maybe Voldemort punished him for a failed
mission or something? What if he used the magic and only worsened it? Fuck,
think, Potter, think. He took a deep breath and looked at the sweating Snape,
lying on the floor. Harry hated his guts, but he couldn't for the life of him
let him suffer so badly, nobody deserved this, besides, Snape had saved him
from Umbridge's tortures, hadn't he? Wincing at the sight of the ugly wound, he
grabbed professor by the shoulders. Despite being very tall and seemingly big,
the potions master wasn't as heavy as Harry thought him to be. Panting, he
dragged the motionless body into the bedroom, swearing on the way. Once inside,
he faced another problem - the bed. Groaning helplessly, he threw Snape's arm
around his shoulders and lifted the man up, eyeing the wound warily. The blood
seemed to keep running, slowly but steadily.
"I am not saying I am sorry for this," Harry growled and threw Snape harshly
down on the mattress, drawing a pitiful moan out of the man's chest. "Serves
you right, you bastard," he muttered and grabbed the long legs of his professor
to push them up. Just when he finally managed to arrange Snape on the bed
comfortably, Dumbledore and Pomfrey stormed into the room.
"What is wrong, Mr Potter? Have you seen him coming in?" the mediwitch asked,
waving her wand over Snape's form, trying to find the cause of his sufferings.
"No, I found him lying on the floor... I think he was cursed," Harry mumbled,
unable to look away from the horrible gash, that Pomfrey uncovered and started
examining.
"Did you use magic to bring him onto the bed?" she asked sharply, glaring at
him.
"No!" he straightened up and glared back at her defiantly, "I am not an idiot,
I know how dark curses usually react to magic. I dragged him here."
Pomfrey let out a small nervous laugh and shook her head apologetically, "I
always told Severus you are much smarter than he paints you to be." She took
off all the clothes, leaving Snape in his trousers only. Summoning some of the
potions from his cabinet, she poured them onto the wound and pushed one of the
vials into Harry's hands. "Thanks to you I will be able to eliminate the danger
in no time. It is not the darkest curse, but he lost a lot of blood. Give him
the potion as soon as he awakes - I will be back shortly, I need to bring some
salves and bandages from my cabinet."
"It is indeed lucky you were here to find Severus, my boy," Dumbledore sad
softly when Pomfrey left. Harry turned to look at the headmaster for the first
time. The man looked sad and old, his eyes didn't twinkle but seemed faded and
pained.
"Did Voldemort do this to him?" he asked, looking back at the pale, waxen face
of his professor. The thin, scarred chest moved slowly, tiredly, Harry couldn't
help but feel sorry for Snape.
"I am not sure, I was hoping Severus could tell us when he wakes. You see, the
Order fought Death Eaters today in the village in Suffolk," the headmaster
sounded grave.
Harry sighed, leaning against the bedpost. So much for studying tonight. It was
the only evening Hermione was able to free for the three of them to revise the
blasted potions, since the weekend was occupied with the Defense practice. It
was ridiculous how many more students came to their first lesson in the Room of
Requirement two weeks ago, he still couldn't believe they all trusted him that
much. Most of them were ravenclaws and hufflepuffs though, but Ginny managed to
bring a few younger gryffindors with her. Harry still felt awkward around the
youngest Weasley, due to her previously undying obsession with his person and
new cold distance she developed, since he turned out to be mini Snape. However,
when Ginny came to the Room of Requirement for the first time, she was as
friendly and kind as she used to be, and had that burning look in her eyes that
scared Harry off. He would never understand these girls.
A soft groan brought him out of his musings and he looked up to see Snape,
staring wildly around him, gasping ever so slightly. "Severus?" Dumbledore
called out, moving closer to look into the onyx eyes. "How are you feeling, my
boy? Are you in pain?"
"No," the potions master whispered. He jerked and his face darkened, when Harry
came into view and placed the vial against his lips. "What are you doing here,
Potter?" he growled as soon as the potion slid down his throat, leaving a
copper flavor to coat his tongue.
"Harry was the one who found you and brought you into your bedroom, if he
hadn't you could have died from the blood loss," the headmaster smiled at him
gently.
"The hell were you doing in my quarters?" Severus snarled, ignoring the old
wizard and glaring at the boy. Why does it always have to be the bloody
Potter?!
Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation and grimaced at his professor. "I was
looking for you, excuse me for saving your life, Snape."
"It's professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore chided.
"If you expect me to be grateful, you will have to wait until Hell freezes
over!" Severus barked out, trying to sit up and howled lowly in pain, that shot
through the wound. He looked down at it in disdain, gritting his teeth.
"Severus, no need to be so hostile," the headmaster sighed, raising his hand to
stop Harry from replying in the same rude fashion. "Would you tell us who
cursed you? I didn't know you were present during the fight," the pale blue
eyes watched him disapprovingly.
"I wasn't supposed to, but the Dark Lord changed his mind at the last moment,
he wanted to test my loyalty," Severus lied smoothly. He was supposed to be
there, he wanted to be there along with his fellow Death Eaters, Voldemort
never made him do anything against his own will. "I do not blame the Order, it
would have been impossible to tell it was me since we all wore masks," he
growled, inwardly fuming. He would kill this bitch Jones for injuring him. It
was his luck she was too light and too stupid to use darker, more dangerous
curses.
"Do you know who exactly hit you with a curse?" Dumbledore furrowed his
eyebrows in thought.
Severus huffed and lowered his eyes, "No."
"I see," the headmaster sighed. "Alright, I will leave you in Harry's company,
Poppy will come in a few minutes, I think," he shook his head, muttering
something under his breath as he left. Severus wanted to tell him what exactly
he thought about Potter's company, but the old man had already vanished.
"Potter, go away, you don't have to babysit me," he sighed tiredly and pinned
the boy with an icy glare, that he used at the first years and he knew to be
quite efficient against the brat as well. But Potter didn't look impressed, he
simply arched one of his thick black eyebrows and huffed at him as if he was a
child himself.
"I'm not leaving until madame Pomfrey is back," Harry crossed his arms over his
chest defiantly. He wasn't going to cower under the git's glares, he wasn't a
child anymore, he was sixteen and honestly? After what he had endured from his
family, Snape wasn't able to scare him. Besides, he knew all the man's tricks
by heart, he was rather predictable.
Severus wanted to howl like a wolf, for the last person he wanted to see now
was the brat. "Potter," he bit out and closed his eyes, "I will pretend you are
not here, do play along."
"May I ask a question?"
"What didn't you understand in what I have just said?" he gritted out in
irritation, massaging his temples. "Do I have to take points to make you shut
up?"
Before he could add anything else, he felt a cool wet cloth pressed against his
wound and hissed in sudden coldness and pleasure of ceased burning of the skin.
He cracked one of his eyes open to see Potter bent over his form, cleaning his
injury with certain, gentle movements. Severus could see his pale, exhausted
with the lack of sleep, concentrated face very close, the long black hair, his
hair, was tacked away behind the ears, and the Prince profile, his profile,
stood out strikingly against the black curtain on the other side. This was the
darkest curse he had ever endured, had ever heard of - being a father to this
boy.
"This is not about Gryffindor, but about you and me and you know that, and I
don't care if you take points or not." Was a tired reply. "Why did you join
Voldemort?" he saw the plump red lips move unevenly, and he looked up to meet
the dark green eyes, that were practically staring into his soul. Their intense
expression reminded Severus of his lord so much, he involuntarily flinched.
"None of your business," he caught Potter's wrist and stopped his tender
rubbing.
Harry scowled, but didn't move away, looking unwaveringly into the seemingly
bottomless onyx eyes. "Despite you saying it isn't, it in fact is. Why did you
join and why did you betray him, started working with Dumbledore? I must know."
"Why?" Severus sneered sarcastically. He must know! Ha! Little arrogant
bastard.
"Because I need to know I can trust you," Harry said simply and pursed his
lips, tearing his wrist out of the strong grip and continuing his ministrations
with the wound. He felt the heavy, searching gaze of the professor on his face,
but he wasn't going to back away now. He felt there was something much more
behind this all, honestly, he didn't believe that Snape, of all people, could
have been so easily injured in a fight, in which he shouldn't have participated
in the first place.
"You can't, deal with it." Severus really didn't know what else could he say.
On one hand Potter could trust him with his life, since he vowed to protect it,
but wasn't going to tell the boy about it - he didn't want to end up being a
slave to the bloody brat. On the other hand, Potter really couldn't trust him,
since he could easily bring him to the Dark Lord. The sigh that escaped the
boy's lips sounded rather disconcerting though, and Severus couldn't help but
raise his eyebrows questioningly. Just what was wrong with the idiot, again?
"Tell me about my mother then."
Not again!
"No." Severus scowled at him and batted his hand away.
Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep his temper at bay. "Why?" Ever since
he saw Lily in Snape's mind he couldn't stop thinking about her, couldn't stop
hoping that maybe if he drove the git crazy enough he would give up at least
something about her.
"Potter, there are no smaller words in the world with which I can convey this
to you," the potions master bit out harshly. "No means no!" When Potter opened
his mouth again he barked hastily. "A hundred points from Gryffindor! Maybe
your angry peers would teach you to listen!"
Harry threw the blooded cloth into the small basin with water and crossed his
arms over his chest and glared at Snape hatefully. "Must you be such a
difficult bastard all the time? You can take all the points if you wish I don't
give a fuck, they already hate me for being your son!"
"You had the choice to wear the glamour," Severus reminded with a weak, evil
smile.
"Yeah, to continue living a lie?" the boy huffed and twisted his lips in
disgust. "I'd rather they beat me, than pretend to be somebody I am not!" the
fire in his eyes impressed Severus despite his annoyance. Who could have
thought that the brat had some understanding of dignity? "Why are you so
stubborn in not telling me about her?"
"Potter, because I do not wish to speak of her ever again!" he finally snapped,
shouting at the boy. "I will not tell you anything about her, she is dead,
DEAD, and I am so bloody happy about it! Now, fuck off!"
Harry stared at the dark, distorted face and cold, hard onyx eyes - how could
Snape become such a bitter, broken man? Just what had happened to him, to turn
him into a heartless, coldblooded jerk? Was it all his mother's doing?
"Potter! Wake up! The bonding time is over, get the fuck out of here!" Snape
bellowed, his usually pale face took on a slight pink hue as he tensed his
muscles and vocal chords. However, he couldn't add anything else, as a very
angry Pomfrey appeared at the threshold of his bedroom.
"Severus Snape! Just what do you think you're doing? How dare you talk like
that to a student, to your own son, for Merlin's sake!" she stomped her foot
and glared at the snarky professor, making him cower just a little bit. Harry
tried to imprint this moment into his memory with as many details as it was
possible.
"It's alright, madame Pomfrey," he sighed and gave her a small strained smile.
"He is always like that with me... The blood means nothing, you understand,"
Harry added somewhat absentmindedly, frowning to himself. He gave her the basin
with the blooded water and moved to take her place at the door. "I am going
now, sorry for disturbing you, sir." He left, not sparing his professor another
glance and missed Snape's intense stare, following him out of the room.
"Severus, must you be so rude and awful to the boy? He thought he was all alone
in the world and now he found you, did you really think he wouldn't try to get
to know you?" The old mediwitch gave him a disapproving look and shook her
head.
The potions master didn't meet her eyes and muttered through the clenched
teeth. "He hates me, Poppy, and the feeling is mutual, stop this nonsense about
getting to know me better, please." He huffed indignantly and winced, when she
poked him harder than it was necessary, while covering his wound with a salve.
"Being the genius wizard that you are, Severus," her tone was chiding and
exasperated, "You do act so dumb sometimes." She raised her eyebrows,
unimpressed, when he glared at her in offense. "Don't give me that look, my
dear, sometimes you can't see past that long nose of yours. Really, Severus, if
you seriously believe just for one second that the boy hates you, than you are
a worse child than a first year gryffindor," Pomfrey sighed and gestured for
him to sit up, to roll the bandage around his waist. "People don't save lives
of those they hate, you know that, don't you?"
Severus said nothing, only scowled and looked away. He hated how Poppy still
managed to make him feel stupid and weak, wrong. Damned old hag.
xxx
Despite Ron's and Hermione's persistent interrogation, Harry never told him
anything about what happened to Snape. Tired and worn out without the proper
sleep, he felt like his frustration was getting the better of him. He couldn't
fathom how it was possible for him to hate Snape and simultaneously feel sorry
for him, feel... being pulled towards him. The man was unbearable, absolutely
intolerable and suspicious. Harry once again stood at the crossroads of his
feelings: he instinctively knew he could trust the professor, he knew that no
matter how harsh or violent the man could be he would never hurt him, but ever
since he started watching Snape closely, he realized that he was questioning
his loyalties. Just like in his first year he thought that the potions master
was after the stone, he was once again experiencing that nagging feeling in his
gut - something was off. Of course, Snape was a spy and he had to be
suspicious, it was his job, but still Harry couldn't get his mind off of it.
Dumbledore trusted the professor with everything, his own life, Harry's life,
but Harry was wary of this blind faith. He knew he couldn't trust anyone in
this world, not even his friends. He was alone and, ridiculously enough, he
felt much closer to Snape because of that. And that was, probably, the reason,
he desperately tried, hating himself for that, to understand the snarky git.
That was why he kept going to their fruitless Occlumency lessons.
Harry yawned, hearing his jaw click uncomfortably - he wasn't sleeping again.
The mysterious dream about the Ministry halls kept haunting him during the
nights, morphing into horrible nightmares afterwards. He slowly trudged down
the stairs in the direction of the dungeons. Unfortunately, Snape recovered
fast and demanded his presence this Friday. Harry yawned again, rubbing on his
tired, reddened eyes. He jerked and had to grip the banister to not fall from
the moving stairs, as he saw Vernon standing at the opposite archway in the
wall, with his trousers down and his filthy little prick in his hand. Gaging at
the sight, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and breathed harshly, feeling that he
started hyperventilating. He knew this vision all too well. He abhorred the
smug smile on his uncle's purple oily face, while he kept pumping his prick and
calling the boy his "little sweet slut". Gritting his teeth, Harry ran down
hastily, with his eyes still closed, and blindly jumped into the nearest
opening, navigating himself from the memory. He realized he was running like
mad only when he stopped at Snape's office and bent down, wheezing and shaking
all over, feeling his heart clog his throat. Now is definitely not the time for
a panic attack, god damn it!
Straightening himself, Harry knocked tentatively and entered. The office was
empty, however, a note was soaring up in the air in front of his face. Staring
at it incredulously, Harry read: "Potter, I will come in twenty minutes. Do not
touch anything. S.S." Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the paper, crumpling it, and
banished it with a wave of his wand. He walked closer to Snape's desk to sit
next to it, when he noticed a pensieve standing innocently on its dark wooden
surface. The dish looked just like Dumbledore's, it's golden rim gleamed weakly
in the candle light. Mesmerized, Harry stared at the dark grey substance
swirling in the water. Were these Snape's memories? Why would he put them in a
pensieve? Before their Occlumency lesson? Inwardly smacking himself on the head
for being so nosy and curious, Harry circled the desk and stood between it and
professor's chair, looking down, directly into the moving liquid. Glancing at
his wrist watch, he figured he could watch one of these memories before Snape
returned. Surveying the room around him suspiciously, Harry clicked his tongue
and hastily pushed down and plunged into the pensieve before his consciousness
got the better of him.
Shaking his head in a slight dizziness he felt, Harry blinked a few times,
staring dumbly at his... mother. Lily, barely sixteen herself, was shielding
young Snape from James Potter and Sirius Back. The two marauders were trying to
hex the gaunt, long haired boy, who was snarling at them in anger, while Lily
kept shouting at James to back off. Snape looked so young, so vulnerable and
so... pitiful. His worn clothes and tangled, though very clean and soft hair
made him look like a beggar from the streets. His mom turned to the future
potions master, "Let's go, Sev, they are not worth our time and effort." She
threw her long red hair back haughtily and tugged him on the sleeve of his
robe. Glaring back at the angry and disappointed gryffindors, Snape complied
and followed her obediently. Harry saw him squeeze her hand tightly and she
only smiled back at the boy. So they were friends.
Harry was suddenly sucked into another memory, the one that transpired much
later, around their seventh year, he presumed, judging by the way they all
suddenly looked older, more mature. Snape was fighting Potter outside, actually
winning their duel, as the mixed crowd of gryffindors and slytherins cheered
for them. But Sirius intervened - he cheated, throwing 'levicorpus' into the
dark boy's back. Snape's body jerked and flew up, turning upside down. Shouting
profanities at Black, he reddened in embarrassment to the accompaniment of the
other student's hysterical laughter. But James deemed it necessary to pull the
boy's trousers down, or, in Snape's position, up, and demonstrate his old, darn
underwear. Harry couldn't help but cover his mouth in disgust - he could
perfectly understand why professor hated Potter and Sirius so much, why he
hated Harry so much when he looked like James' clone. He saw him as another
arrogant Potter from the lion's den, loved by everybody, favoured by the
headmaster... Harry squeezed his eyes shut, feeling as his own face heated up
in embarrassment for what the marauders had done. He looked up when he heard
his mother's voice.
"James! Sirius! Stop this at once! Put him down!"
"Why do you care for this filth?" Sirius spat at the girl and angrily slashed
his wand in the air, dropping Snape on the ground.
"How can you say that? Sirius!" Lily threw her arms up in the air, staring at
the boy incredulously.
James circled his arm around her waist, "Leave him, Lils, the little Death
Eater doesn't deserve your attention," he tried to sway her aside, but she
struggled out of his hold and jumped up to the livid looking slytherin, who was
blushing fiercely, trying to pull his trousers back on.
"Severus, don't mind those idiots, you kn-" she began, feigning cheerfulness
but was cut off harshly.
"I don't need help from a mudblood!" Snape spat angrily in her face and Lily
shrieked, looking taken aback. She took a step back away from him, her lips
trembled as if she was going to cry. "I don't need your pity! You keep hanging
out with these bastards, well go on then, run to your sweet Potter!" the
slytherin couldn't stop, his voice was dropping lower and lower, colder and
colder, piercing right through hers and Harry's heart. "I don't fucking need
you!" Harry closed his eyes tiredly, groaning to himself. This was so familiar,
this was so like him as well - to take his anger and frustration on his only
friends. Snape, being Snape, couldn't keep his foul mouth shut and just had to
call her that.
Before he could emerge from the pensieve, he found himself in another memory,
from the evening of the very same day. He was staring at Snape, who stood at
the Fat Lady's portrait, scowling at her, shifting his weight from one foot
onto another uncomfortably. The frame slowly moved and Lily stepped out from
behind it, frowning at the sight of the dark haired boy.
"What do you want?" she asked in a small tearful voice. Harry gasped at the
expression on his professor's young face: the boy looked lost, broken, ashamed
and was on the verge of tears himself. Harry thought Snape was incapable of
looking so innocent, insecure and sincere.
"Lily, I... I wanted to apologize, please," he mumbled, looking at her with
wide wet eyes. "Please, forgive me for calling you that word, please, I never
meant to hurt you, I was just so angry..." he pushed his hands into his long
black hair, helplessly tugging on it in desperation.
"But you called me that, which means you thought of me like that," Lily
sniffed, hugging herself, not meeting her friend's pleading eyes. "I'm sorry,
Sev, I can't... not now, it still hurts. A lot." She sobbed softly and rubbed
on her face with a sleeve of her robe. Snape moved closer and reached out to
touch her, to comfort her, but at that moment James came out of the room and
shoved him in the shoulder violently.
"Get out of here, Snape!" he hissed menacingly, glaring from behind his round
glasses. "Lily doesn't want to talk to the scum like you!"
"Lily?" Snape looked at her uncertainly, for the first time in his life
ignoring Potter completely, but the girl only shook her head and leaned into
the gryffindor's warm embrace. Crestfallen, the future potions master stared at
her in disbelief, his eyes watering, burning with pain. He tried to say
something, but his voice betrayed him and all he managed was a quiet, almost
indecipherable sob. The boy turned harshly on his heels and ran away.
Harry stumbled away from the pensieve and fell into Snape's chair, staring at
the swirling liquid wildly. He caught his breath, trying to wrap his mind
around what he had just seen. The hurt, desperate look in Snape's eyes told
Harry more than he actually wanted to know. Lily was his only friend, there was
no doubt in that, and he loved her deeply. And he insulted her, nastily. But he
had realized his mistake, hadn't he? He asked her for forgiveness... Harry
frowned and rubbed on his slightly burning scar - what would he have done, were
he in Lily's place? Well, he had forgiven Ron and Hermione for being the morons
they were in the beginning of the fourth year, hadn't he? And it hurt, it hurt
like hell to see his only friends call him a liar and an attention-seeking
prat. And he had forgiven them earlier this summer, for their ignorance towards
him, hadn't he? Though this spot was still sore and sent little pangs into his
heart. He wasn't defending Snape, the man got what was coming to him for his
filthy mouth, but really, if Lily was his friend, she should have known him to
be a complete bastard and should have known better than to throw away their
friendship because of that.
Harry jerked and sprang on his feet sharply, as he thought he heard footsteps
in the corridor. He darted to the furthest corner of the office, and slumped
onto the old chair, trying to make it look like nothing had happened. Panting,
he listened, but nobody entered. Relaxing slowly and letting out a breath he
was holding, Harry dropped his head into his hands. Snape had already been a
Death Eater by then, but Lily never turned him away because of that, but she
did when he called her a "mudblood"... But the memory of Lily shouting, that he
saw in Snape's mind, was from the other time, after Hogwarts it seemed. Had
they made it up with each other or had it all only become worse? The more he
found out about his mother and Snape, the more questions he got and no answers.
"Potter!" Harry jumped up in his seat and fell down on the floor along with his
chair. He blinked sleepily, staring at the dark form of the potions master that
was towering over him. "Potter, I was out for only twenty minutes and you
almost blacked out. Do you sleep at all?" Snape pinched the bridge of his nose
in exasperation.
"I wanted to ask you to give me the Dreamless Sleep draught, sir, Madame
Pomfrey wouldn't give me any more," Harry frowned and stood up, swaying from
side to side, as the heavy slumber still clouded his mind.
Severus narrowed his eyes at the boy, "If Madame Pomfrey hasn't given you any I
am not going to either, Potter, you will become addicted to it, if you take it
more often than necessary." He sighed heavily and strode to his desk, throwing
an examining look at his pensieve - everything seemed to be in order, just like
he left it. Turning back to the boy, Severus noticed the deep dark circles
under his eyes, a slight tremor in the hands, hunched shoulders. My, but Potter
looks like shit. Nutrition potions didn't help anymore, the boy looked like
Death, shitty Death.
"I doubt you will be able to do anything productive tonight," he growled,
sneering at the brat.
Harry looked up at Snape and sighed, "Is there any other way to get rid of the
nightmares?"
"Through Legilimency," Severus smirked.
Fuck. "Oh," Harry hung his head down and let out another miserable sigh.
"Potter, next Monday is our last lesson before the winter holidays, if you
would come once again in an unfit state, I will stop teaching you Occlumency
altogether, is that clear?" the potions master hissed coldly and waved his hand
to open the door.
"Yes, sir," the boy left without even looking at him. Imprudent brat.
Severus clicked his tongue in annoyance and turned back to his desk. He pointed
his wand at the pensieve to retrieve the memories back when it struck him: the
ever nosy Potter hadn't asked him about the dish. The brat must have surely
looked at it, wondered what it was... Severus scowled at the swirling substance
- no, he was asleep when he came in, he couldn't have taken a look in, besides,
if he had, Severus wouldn't have heard the end of it. Perhaps, Potter was too
tired to even notice it or maybe he simply didn't know what a pensieve was, he
was raised by muggles after all. Humming in agreement with this conclusion,
Severus directed the substance back into his mind. He would be taking out all
of his memories connected with Lily every time they had their Occlumency
lesson, he didn't want the brat get any ideas into the thick head of his that
he could poke around his professor's mind for the information.
xxx
How did they end up calling themselves Dumbledore Army was beyond Harry. He was
staring dumbly at the ever growing group of students before him, who cheered
excitedly for their new name. He felt Ron patting him on the back and grinning
like mad.
"Oi, mate, that is a fine name," the redhead punched him playfully on the
shoulder and Harry swayed a little, scowling at his friend and moving aside. He
huffed at Ron, who stuck his tongue out, and threw his long black hair back,
with a now trained movement of his hand. "Fuck, Harry, are you getting some
kind of masochistic pleasure out of it?" Ron wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"What?" he gave the redhead an incredulous look, as they moved to sit down,
while everybody spread out around the Room of Requirement to have a little
break and a nice chat between themselves.
"Looking like Snape! For Merlin's sake, mate, cut your hair! If they get greasy
one day, I swear, I will shave your head while you're asleep," Ron cried,
waving his hands energetically around.
"Oh cut it, Ron!" Ginny plumped down next to Harry and took him by the arm,
"Long hair fits you very nicely." She smiled at him and snuggled closer.
Harry's eyebrows shot up in alarm and he looked at Ron, who only shrugged his
shoulders helplessly at that.
"Er, thanks," Harry blushed and tried to get his arm free but it was futile,
Ginny held onto him as if her life depended on it. Thankfully, Hermione called
everybody up and ready to continue their practice.
As soon as the students took their stances, Harry moved to stand in front of
them and held his wand high before him. "Today, beside revising what we've
managed to cover so far, I would like to show you a useful spell that saved my
life." He looked around and saw every pair of eyes looking a him excitedly,
expectantly. "This may seem unnecessary to you, but I believe it is imperative
you learn Patronus Charm." At their surprised glances and murmur he elaborated,
"It is not only used to scare off the dementors, it is also used to send urgent
messages. Plus, Patronus is a very powerful spell that requires a lot of
concentration and positive emotions. It is very difficult to create a fully
corporal Patronus, but I have managed to do it two years ago, so can you."
Hermione stepped forward, smiling at him encouragingly and added, "Patronus'
corporal form resembles an animal that reflects your personality or represents
something very dear to you, so it would also be fun to find your 'spirit
animal', wouldn't it?" Everyone perked up at that and Harry demonstrated wand
movements and an incantation, explaining what they needed to do in order to
make the spell work. He moved between the students, correcting their casting,
their pose.
"Oi, Harry, why won't you show them yours, so that they knew what to expect?"
Ron smirked, excited to see their faces when they met the proud stag.
Nodding, Harry concentrated. However, it was very hard to remember anything
remotely positive that could feed his Patronus and he tried to imagine a
dementor standing before him to at least force the spell to succeed. "Expecto
Patronum!" A thick silver mist shot out of the tip of his wand and a bright
light blinded him and those who stood close for a moment. Blinking the black
dots away, Harry stared in bewilderment at his Patronus - it wasn't a stag
anymore. It was a huge wild cat, its roar echoed loudly around the room. The
students were ecstatic and enthusiastically threw themselves into casting,
while the three friends stood there frozen, looking at the Patronus with wide
eyes.
"I've read that Patronuses can change sometimes, due to an intense emotional
experience," Hermione mumbled, "Or a breakdown." She gave Harry a worried
glance and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "It's fine, you know, absolutely
fine."
"I know," Harry answered absentmindedly, still watching the graceful beast,
that lowered its body on one of the mats and looked at him through the cunning
narrowed eyes.
Well, he should have expected that. James was never his father, the stag was a
representation of a lie he was living all these years. This, this was his own
Patronus, that wasn't imposed on him. This panther was a reflection of his
personality - a loner, a survivor, a fighter, independent and cunning, bad-
tempered enough to be a slytherin but brave and fierce, noble as a true
gryffindor. Smiling, he let go of Hermione's hand and moved closer to stroke
the cat, that purred pleasantly and leaned into his touch. Affectionate.
Sighing, he canceled the charm and the panther dissipated into the thin air. He
turned and looked at his friends expectantly, silently commanding them to pull
themselves together and start practicing.
Only a few students managed to draw a weak mist out of their wands, but Harry
gave them all a small smile, "Do not worry, nobody can cast it from the first
try. Keep practicing during the holidays and collect more happy memories for it
to work. Next time we meet in the new term, we would revise Patronus and see
how well you progressed. Thank you and Merry Christmas to you all!" The
children answered with congratulations of their own and slowly left, hugging
each other on their way out and promising to write and send presents. They all
were leaving Hogwarts on Tuesday, as was Harry, for the first time in all of
his school years.
"Isn't it great that we are finally going to celebrate Christmas all together?"
as everyone left Ron threw his arm around Harry's shoulders, which was much
harder for him now, since the other boy grew just as tall as the redhead was
himself.
"Yeah, I can't believe Dumbledore allowed me to leave and stay with you guys at
Grimmauld's," Harry smiled and hugged Hermione by the waist, pulling her
closer, as the three of them exited the room and slowly walked back to the
gryffindor tower.
"We will all be safe there, with the members of the Order constantly around,"
the girl nodded, tucking her bushy hair behind her ears and smiling at her
friends brightly.
"Mum's gonna kill us with her pastries and cakes," Ron drawled dreamily as his
eyes glazed with lust and hunger.
Snickering at the sight of him, Harry turned and whispered into Hermione's ear,
"Do you not wish sometimes that he looked like this talking about you?"
Hermione blushed fiercely at that and smacked him on the back of his head.
"Harry! Shut up! How could you-"
But he interrupted her hissing with a little wink, "Come on, Mione, I know you
like him, I can't wait for you guys to finally admit it to yourselves and get
together. All those longing looks and sighs are starting to grate on my
nerves."
She gasped but kept silent, glaring at him all the way to their tower. But
Harry kept smiling at her cunningly and wriggling his eyebrows. He loved
antagonizing her, besides, he was honest in what he said: they really needed to
deal with their feelings towards each other. It would make him all the more
happy and content - they would spend more time together and less with him,
which meant they would be safer.
xxx
He stood before the dark wooden door in the deserted Ministry hall. It was the
same blasted door from the dream he had been seeing over and over again. He
felt compelled to touch the handle, to push it down. His hand reached out and
grabbed on the cool metal. With a soft click the door opened slowly, revealing
a circular room behind it. Harry took a hesitant step forward, looking around
in wonder - there was nothing inside but doors, that led only god knew where.
Frowning, he moved into the center of the room and it started spinning around
suddenly, with a nauseating speed that almost made him throw up. Panting,
sweating, Harry swore loudly and stumbled forward to grab the first doorknob
that he could catch. As soon as he touched it - the room froze. The door opened
before him and he stepped inside, swaying from side to side, trying to steady
himself. Blinking, he squinted into the darkness - that was the oddest place he
had ever been to. Rows and rows, countless rows of tall cases with shelves
filled it, each shelf had dozens of strange glowing orbs on it, they gleamed
weakly in the dim light that seemed to come from nowhere. Harry stared at it
all in bewilderment, not knowing what to do. He turned to leave, but some
unidentified force made him stay. His feet moved on their own accord and
brought him further and further into the seemingly endless room. As he listened
to the sound of his own soft steps and slow heartbeat, Harry tried to guess
just what was this place, why did he come here...
He sat up on his bed, hyperventilating. Shaking, he put his arms around his
thin chest, trying to catch his breath. Row 97 - the letters and numbers were
practically imprinted into the retina of his eyes, for every time he closed
them he saw the writing. And his scar hurt, unbearably so. Tears burst out and
covered his cheeks, as he kept biting his lips and whimpering in pain. What the
fuck the snakeface wanted from him? Harry fell back onto the pillows, breathing
harshly, rubbing the cold sweat and tears away. He was so tired, so bloody
tired, he couldn't carry on like this.
xxx
"Potter, are you ready?" Severus asked, scowling at the boy in irritation.
Potter looked awful, the Dark Lord wasn't torturing him in his sleep, nor was
he showing him anything that scary - just what kind of nightmares was he
experiencing that he couldn't go to sleep like all the normal people did? What
was so frightening in his dreams he preferred to suffer rather than go back and
face it?
Harry straightened and tried to put on a determined look. "Professor, I have a
problem with meditating, I can't clear my mind completely, no matter how much I
try, how much I relax, I simply can't," he glanced up at the still annoyed
potions master. "Is there any kind of a spell or a potion that could help me,
at least in the beginning, I just... I don't think I ever felt relaxed in my
life and I just..." he swallowed and looked away, trying to find the right
words. "I just don't know what it's like to relax and not think about anything,
to be content, calm."
Severus arched an eyebrow incredulously. "And you couldn't tell me this when we
had begun our lessons?" At Potter's dismayed expression he sighed and rubbed on
his face in exasperation. "Potter, you are a victim of physical abuse, of
course you have psychological problems, neurological as well. What exactly
keeps you tensed, what can't you let go? Unless you deal with it, you wouldn't
be able to master Occlumency." He gave the brat a pointed look and stared at
him expectantly. This was the root of the problem, wasn't it? The secret Potter
guarded so fiercely - it was the reason of his nightmares, of his visions, of
his constant stress.
Harry closed his eyes, willing the lump in his throat to go away. He couldn't
tell Snape about it, he couldn't. It was too embarrassing, too personal,
horrible, filthy, indecent. "I can't tell you, sir," he breathed out and looked
down at his feet, trying to pull himself together. He wouldn't cry, not in
front of this man.
Severus crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on the desk, pursing
his lips into a thin straight line. "That is where we are coming to a stall,
Potter," he clicked his tongue and glared at the boy, "There is no point in
teaching you while you have this block. The Dark Lord would easily destroy your
mind simply because you can't get over something, no doubt, dramatic and
heartbreaking." He placed his hand over his heart mockingly, but the brat
didn't take his bait.
"I will deal with it over the winter holidays," Harry muttered, frowning and
clenching his teeth hard.
"We will see," Severus smirked and raised his wand. "Let's get it over with
then. Legilimence!"
As Snape stepped forward to cast the spell, Harry noticed the pensieve behind
him on the desk and felt his heart fall down into his gut. The memories, if the
git found out that Harry saw them, he would kill him, no doubt in that. Fuck,
fuck, fuck! Harry squeezed his eyes, as the pain seared through his brain,
hysterically pushing the memories of his childhood forward, trying to cover up
his crime. Snape kept ruthlessly cutting through them, causing him more and
more pain. Harry sank down on his knees, grabbing onto his pounding head. His
heart rate was so fast he thought he had gone deaf - so loud it drummed in his
ears. Taking deep, shaky breaths, Harry kept throwing the insignificant images
at the potions master, trying to force him out, but his attempts were too weak.
When Snape brushed over the memory of the last DA meeting, Harry jerked
violently and cried out, gathering all of his raw power and throwing it at the
man. Severus wasn't expecting such a hard blow and stumbled back, as the boy
invaded his mind. The images associated with their last topic were floating on
the surface and Potter all but fell into them, disoriented in Severus' complex
labyrinth of thoughts and memories.
Harry saw Snape, barely nine years old, small and thin, unhealthy pale and
scared - he was hiding in the cupboard, wincing at the sounds of screams and
slaps of flesh somewhere in the distance. He tried to push himself into the
wall and dissipate into it, it seemed, but the big rough hands found him and
threw him out and onto the wooden floor.
"Hiding again, you, little shit?!" the tall, ugly man screamed at the boy, and
Harry saw the unmistakable resemblance of their faces and scary scowls - it was
Snape's father. He hastily pulled the belt out of his trousers and reached out
for the trembling, but stoically silent boy. "I will teach you, you filthy
coward. Where is you fucking magic now, eh? Where?" he slapped the child on the
back, on the side, on the head, frantically waving the long leather tail,
panting and growling in satisfaction. Snape took all the hits in complete
silence, Harry could see his lips bleed - he bit them to keep the sounds from
escaping his throat.
As the potions master tried to push him away, Harry stumbled into another
memory. Horrified, he stared at the sight of his... grandmother, whose face
looked like one huge purple bruise. She was wailing, trapped in the dusty
corner of a room, trying to shield herself from the blows of her husband's
fists. Her skeletal weak arms shook and barely covered her head.
"Stop it! Stop it, you bastard!" Harry turned to see Snape, a little older, run
inside the room and hit his father with an empty whiskey bottle on the man's
broad back. A furious roar and a harsh blow on the head - the boy fell down,
blood ran down his face.
His mother shrieked and threw herself on the enraged man, hanging on his
strong, veined arms, "Please, don't hit Severus, I'm begging you, don't hit my
boy!" She was hysterical, her tearful black eyes were wide in terror, her lips
barely moved, trembling in pain in fear, "Hit me, hit me! Do whatever you want
to me but don't touch Severus, please, please!!!" Instead of answer she was
pushed roughly against the wall, her breath knocked out of her.
"Get up, whelp!" the man turned back to Snape, who was still on his knees,
looking like a wild animal trapped by a hunter. "Get up and face me like a man,
you, sniveling idiot!" He stumbled and loomed over the boy, grabbing him on his
silky black locks, breathing harshly into his face - Snape grimaced at the
smell of alcohol and tried to turn away. "What, do not appreciate the smell of
a real man, don't ya?" His father laughed, baring his crooked teeth. He slapped
the boy on the face once, twice, but seeing that his son wasn't going to make
another sound or take the bait, he roared again and grabbed him on the throat.
"I will squeeze respect out of you, bastard!" Harry fell back on his arse and
arms as he caught the glimpse of Snape being strangled, his eyes wide in pain
but burning with insane defiance and such intense hatred, it was hard to
imagine a little boy was capable of such an emotion.
Blinking and squinting through the fat tears, Harry stared at his professor,
who stood frozen a few feet away from him, his face white as snow. Severus
couldn't speak, so angry, he was, so frustrated and embarrassed and fucking
mad! But as he focused on the bloody Potter, he couldn't help but wince at the
sight of him, losing his mask of indifference - he brat sat there and cried,
sobbing loudly and kept staring at him with these impossibly bright green eyes.
"Get out," he finally managed to grit through his teeth, he felt his lips
tremble in rage, as his palms sweated and he had to clench them into fists, to
get himself under control. But Potter didn't move, he cried and cried, looking
at him with an expression that Severus had never seen in his life before. There
was no pity in the boy's eyes - only understanding, pain, grief and something
else, something he couldn't put his finger on. Even Lily Evans' eyes lacked
this back then, when they were friends... Severus shook his head, itching to
slap himself on the face to snap out of the trance.
"Stop crying and get the hell out of here, Potter! If you wouldn't vanish in
another minute I swear I will hurt you!" Severus hissed menacingly, glaring at
the brat. The fuck is he crying ?
Harry couldn't move, couldn't even breathe it seemed. His heart was stuck in
his throat and hot tears kept streaming down his face, he couldn't hold them
anymore. He felt as his lips swelled and nose started running, but he didn't
care. The image of the small, helpless boy being beaten by his own father stood
in front of his eyes and the harsh reality of the tall, intimidating, bitter
man leaked through, overlaying it. And as he blinked the blurriness away, the
little scared boy hidden in the cupboard and the menacingly hissing professor
became one. His chest ached and burned in the immense pain that gripped his
heart in a vice - how many more similarities were there between him and Snape?
Could Harry one day too turn into the cold, heartless, harsh man that his
father was? His father. Harry closed his eyes and bent his head down, trying to
overcome the sudden exhaustion and weariness that washed over him. He felt sick
to the stomach.
"Potter, if you do not leave immediately, I will not answer for my following
actions!" Severus snapped and took a threatening step forward, which came with
great difficulty. He couldn't, he didn't know how to deal with a crying child.
The whole situation was ridiculously stupid - Potter invaded his mind, dared to
look at his intimate, horrible childhood memories and now had the audacity to
go all hysterical on him. "Potter!" he barked impatiently, frustrated and
terribly confused.
Getting onto his feet was just as hard as finding his breath. Harry slowly rose
up and looked back at Snape, feeling as a new wave of tears started welling up
in his eyes. "Oh fuck," he whispered and grabbed on the rigid body of the
gobsmacked professor. "I'm sorry, so sorry, Snape," he embraced his father,
sobbing into the thick fabric of his teaching robe. "I'm so sorry, for
everything," he whispered as his shoulders shook frantically and his arms kept
pressing the man closer and closer.
Severus stared at him horrified and completely at loss. All his anger suddenly
disappeared, in favor of the dull ache that nestled in his thin chest. Nobody
had ever embraced him, except Lily, but that was so long ago he almost forgot
what it felt like. And now Potter, of all people, was clinging to him and
crying into his shoulder, crying for him. To say that he was shocked would be
an understatement. He caught his breath and stared at the boy's tear-stained
face dumbly. Why was Potter looking at him like this, did he think they were
going to find some kind of closure in their shared pain, similar past? That was
rather naive of him, Severus didn't care for his childhood, nor did he cared
for his own.
"I'm sorry," Harry let out a shaky breath and slowly let go of Snape. Keeping
their eyes locked, he stepped back and inhaled deeply, fighting yet another sob
that was threatening to escape his lips. "Please, forgive me." He closed his
eyes in a sad resignation and walked out of the office, with his shoulders
hunched and his head bowed down.
Severus stared after him, shivering in a sudden chill that ran though his very
bones, as the boy set him free of his hold. Potter was warm, his tears hot - he
could feel the wetness on his skin, as they soaked through the layers of his
clothes. Scowling, Severus looked around the room frantically, lost, in a
desperate need to do something to distract himself, to forget... No, how could
he forget, he never would. Potter saw him at his weakest, at his worst. He had
the ace up his sleeve now. Why didn't he laugh? Why didn't he mock, baited?
Feeling his anger coming back, Severus sank down into his chair and dropped his
head into his hands. This was so wrong on so many levels in his little world he
built around himself. He could feel his carefully constructed walls crack and
shake dangerously. Bloody Potter.
xxx
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Chapter IV
The tall massive form of Azkaban loomed over him, casting a deep freezing
shadow that seemed to devour all the light around. The black sea raged,
furiously slapping the rocks of the lonely island, standing out starkly against
the heavy dark grey sky. Voldemort pulled his cloak tighter around himself,
shivering, and slowly approached the solid wall with no windows and doors, not
even a tiniest crack indicating it could be trespassed. Avery, Malfoy and Nott
stood silently behind him, but he could easily sense their anxiety and fear.
Turning to them, showing his snake face from underneath the black hood, he
glared at the three men - this was no time for backing out, he needed his
followers back and when was the best time to break into the prison if not on
Christmas day? There would be little to none resistance and only a few
witnesses - he planned to stay hidden for some time yet. A sudden violent blow
of wind tore his hood off of his bald head and he growled lowly to himself
spelling it to stick to his skin. Sometimes he missed being insane - he never
cared for such insignificant rubbish as his appearance before.
Waving his wand in an intricate pattern, Voldemort tapped on the wall softly
with its tip and the thick impenetrable stone started to melt slowly. When a
hole big enough for him to pass formed, he gestured for the wizards to enter
first. Their wands at ready, the three men tentatively stepped inside the
building. According to the plans that Lucius managed to copy at the Ministry,
they were going to cross through the west wing that was temporarily on
reconstruction and was mostly deserted.
"My lord, are you certain the dementors would not attack us?" Avery mumbled,
when Voldemort entered last.
"Avery, are you a wizard or what?" the Dark Lord snapped. At the man's
fearfully widened eyes gleaming from behind his golden mask Voldemort sighed in
exasperation, "You do know how to cast Patronus, don't you? Well, don't ask me
another stupid question again or you will become a squib!" Swallowing loudly
Avery nodded and shut up.
In truth, Voldemort wasn't sure his pact with the wretched soul suckers still
stood, but then again, he was the Dark Lord, he didn't care for such
trivialities - contrary to a common belief, there were other ways of fighting
dementors beside the Patronus Charm. Dark magic easily tamed dark creatures, a
wizard had to just be willing enough to use the necessary cruel means. As they
quietly walked forward, he tried not to think of the state his most faithful
servants would be in. It was devastating to say the least to know what they had
gone through and imagine what crucible awaited them once they were free.
Severus had told him about Black and his adequate recovery, but the rebellious
wizard had one huge advantage - he was an animagus and his rare ability saved
most of his sanity, while Voldemort's followers had been enduring dementor's
hunger in its full severity for almost fifteen years. He had a disturbing
suspicion that they were already lost to him.
The most dangerous criminals and murderers were held on the third level, where
dementors reigned. Alerted and concentrated, Voldemort stepped into the the
corridor with the holding cells - it was quiet, freezing cold and oppressive
here, he didn't like it at all. No, he'd rather get vanquished once again than
be put in this concrete coffin. They'd probably execute me on the spot, if they
caught me. Laughing bitterly to himself he strode forward, glancing through the
bars on his way, but his Death Eaters were not here. Nott went forward and
carefully peeked around the corner - no guards were present at this time of
day. Nodding to his companions, he continued ahead, his steps echoed softly
through the corridor. Their slow inspection was going to take some time.
"Oi, ye! C'me 'ere!" one of the prisoners woke up and yelled at Malfoy's back.
Hissing profanities, Lucius threw a sleeping spell on the man, but it was
pointless. The prisoners awoke and started banging on the bars of their cells
as they saw the wizards freely walking past them, most of them recognized Death
Eaters masks and started crying for help, begging to be taken out, to be
recruited.
There went his few witnesses. "What was the fucking point of taking you three
with me if you've caused a chaos worse than a whole army?!" Voldemort barked at
his followers and clenched his wand tightly, itching to crucio each one of
them, long and mercilessly.
But instead he turned and raised his arms, glaring at the excited, crazed
people in the cells. They all instantly shut up and cowered at the sight of the
ominous blood red eyes. Whispering a long incantation in latin, the Dark Lord
waved his hands and a thick mist enveloped all the prisoners in cocoons and
they fell down, asleep. Growling lowly under his breath, Voldemort strode
angrily further, not looking back at his companions.
"Idiots, I am surrounded by idiots."
When they finally reached the end of the fartherst wing, they saw them - their
comrades lay in piles of filthy, blooded clothes, barely breathing. The sight
was devastating to say the least. Sighing, the Dark Lord melted the iron bars
away and gestured for his followers to help the others. Levitating the
motionless bodies behind them, the four wizards carefully made their way back
to the hole in the wall, never meeting another soul. That was why this
government and this society needed changes, Voldemort thought bitterly to
himself. Just how easily they have kidnapped the most dangerous criminals in
the country? How elementary had Black's escape been - nobody noticed a bloody
dog on the island surrounded by the sea? Snaking his head in disappointment,
the Dark lord took out the long rope that was made into a portkey and threw it
at Lucius, who, in turn, tied it around everyone's hand. "Home," the blonde
said quietly, and all of them disappeared into the night.
xxx
When Harry woke up from a surprisingly calm, dreamless night he found
Grimmauld's in a state of complete chaos. Carefully moving along the walls and
looking around in confusion, he watched countless members of the Order running
back and forth through the fireplace. The other children looked frightened and
excited, herded by Molly into the living room. Escaping her sharp eye, Harry
smoothly glided past everyone and crept into the kitchen. Sirius sat at the
table, staring dumbly at the folded newspaper lying before him, his head held
in his hands helplessly. Frowning, Harry slowly approached his slumped form and
peeked over his shoulder.
'AZKABAN BREAK OUT. DEATH EATERS ON THE LOOSE.' Staring at the headline wildly,
Harry suddenly felt very cold and anxious. The memory of the cemetery brought
back the images of the empty spots in the circle of the dark wizards, kneeling
before the resurrected monster - those spots belonged to these Death Eaters,
now they would reunite with their master and the war would start for real.
Trembling weakly, he sank down on the chair next to his godfather.
"Bellatrix Lestrange," Sirius growled suddenly, grabbing on the newspaper and
crumpling the part of it with a photograph of a black haired, insane looking
woman, that bared her crooked teeth and mutely snarled at him. "She is my
cousin. She was the one who tortured Longbottoms into insanity." His voice was
grave and shallow, it pained Harry to see the deep lines of grief and
desperation appear on the man's face, making him look older, tired, sick. "And
now she is free and even crazier than before. I dread the future, Harry," his
grey eyes met the bright green ones.
"They will be caught." Harry didn't really know what to say, he wasn't good at
comforting people in distress. He patted Sirius on the hand awkwardly.
The two of them turned their heads harshly at the sound of roaring hearth -
Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace and walked straight to Harry, startling
the raven haired boy with his fierce, threatening look.
"Harry, we need to talk," he gestured for the boy to follow him out. Dumbledore
shut the protesting Sirius up with a glare and the wizard slowly sat down,
looking taken aback. It was a rare occurrence that the kind old headmaster
looked and acted livid.
When Harry entered the drawing room, the old wizard spelled the door shut and
warded, and towered over him, looking austere. "Harry, I need you to tell me
honestly, was there anything in your visions or dreams about what happened?"
"What?!" Harry stared at him in bewilderment. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not
Voldemort's personal receiver!" he stood straighter and glared back at the
wizard. This was preposterous - did the headmaster really think that if he saw
something about the Death Eaters' plans in his visions he would have hidden
that information?
"Harry, just answer the question," Dumbledore sighed impatiently.
"No, I never saw anything even remotely connected to the break out," Harry
crossed his arms over his chest, scowling at the man. "I would have surely told
you if there was anything to tell, sir." He sensed the pale blue eyes boring a
hole in his, for a moment he even feared the headmaster would use Legilimency
on him, but Dumbledore visibly restrained himself. Nodding to the boy, he
stormed out of the room without another word.
Harry followed the old wizard into the drawing room where Snape sat with a book
in his lap, drinking tea in a pleasant silence. Dumbledore loomed over him,
speaking in a hushed voice, it was impossible to hear what he asked and what
the potions master replied. Frowning, Harry tried to make out the words but it
was fruitless, however, he had a very good idea what was the topic of their
conversation. No doubt headmaster wanted to know just why Snape had never
warned the Order, and, certainly, the potions professor pleaded ignorance.
Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, Harry pinned the tall dark form of his father
with a cold glare. He knew, he felt something was very wrong. When Dumbledore
stormed out and hurried back to the fireplace, he carefully entered the room
and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Do you have something to say, or are you going to just stand there and stare,
Potter?" Severus drawled, turning the page of his book, not sparing the boy
another glance.
Twisting his lips in anger, Harry huffed, "How come you didn't know what was
coming, sir?"
"You are not a member of the Order, nor you are my employer, I am not answering
your questions," Severus still hadn't looked up, simply arching his eyebrow as
an indication of his ire.
"You don't have to. I know you lied," Harry growled and scowled at the snarky
professor.
"And?" the potions master finally raised his eyes. His face was as impassive
and bored as always, however, on the inside Severus felt a little nervous.
Potter was no idiot, whatever he may have said about the brat – he was
intelligent enough to connect all the dots. He had no evidence, of course, but
if he went to Dumbledore with all his suspicions and guesses, the old wizard
would no doubt listen to him and take the information into consideration. This
didn't bode well with Severus' position. Not well at all.
"I have no evidence, of course, and surely the headmaster wouldn't listen,
since I always tell him what a villain you are," Harry drawled sarcastically,
stepping closer to the seated professor and looking down his long nose into the
bottomless onyx eyes. "I have no proof, but I think you don't spy for
Dumbledore, I think you spy for snakeface. Sir," he spat the title as if it was
a foul word and glared menacingly at his father.
"Oh, I am a villain of the story now," Severus smirked, raising his hands in a
mocking surrender. "Can't be the father of the Savior of the Light now, can I?"
He smiled nastily at the boy, frantically thinking of his way out of this.
Trapped. By the fucking teenager! How had he fallen.
"Your loyalties have nothing to do with being my father," Harry tried to sound
uncaring, but his voice trembled traitorously. Was he really that desperate?
Was he really so lonely and broken he was ready to accept Snape being an
outlaw? A murderer? Voldemort's servant?
Severus raised his eyebrows in shock, clearly befuddled and taken aback. He was
getting tired of being constantly surprised by the brat.
"Potter, I am loyal to the Light."
"Does Dumbledore know you were at the cemetery?"
Damned Potter!
"What do you think? You seem to have had grasped the concept of this fine art
at last." Severus knew he was playing with fire now. It all came so suddenly he
was so not ready.
Harry looked at him intently. "I think he doesn't know. I am quite certain it
was almost impossible to escape Dumbledore that night, but you did anyway. The
way you cowered before that monster... It was no farce of yours. This, now,
this is a farce." He hated himself for not hating Snape for his treason, for
not loathing him for serving his master, for feeling sorry and having so much
compassion for the bitter man.
"Is it? And what are you going to do about it?" Severus cursed inwardly, for
letting Potter to force him in the corner.
"Nothing," Harry shrugged his shoulders and looked away. "I will simply never
trust you and hold it over you."
"How very slytherin of you." Did he say this aloud? Fuck.
The brat snorted, "Of course. I am, after all, a Slytherin." At Severus'
perplexed expression he shook his head and sighed. "The Hat wanted to put me
into your house, told me I could become great there. But I convinced it I
belonged in Gryffindor."
The potions master's eyebrows shot up in yet another surprise. Potter could
have been in his house, could have been one of his snakes. Salazar, should he
be crying or laughing now? Convinced a Hat... how does one convinces the bloody
Hat that is almost a thousand years old? Severus felt completely at loss here.
The brat was just too much to take in at once.
"I'll be watching you, professor," Harry glared at him for the last time and
left.
Potter never threatened him before and now his promise sounded too adult and
serious to dismiss it. Severus stared at the spot where the boy had been
standing - just what was he going to do now? How could he secure his position
now with Potter blackmailing him?
xxx
Row 97. Harry stared at the odd gleaming orbs, cramming the shelves of the
case. What were those? He squinted, trying to make out the writings on the
labels in the gloom that surrounded him. Some were marked with letters and
years, some with names. What was he looking for? Or was it Voldemort who was
looking for something?
"Smart boy."
He turned sharply, but there was nobody there behind him. The high, cold voice
came from nowhere, it seemed. From his own head?
"What do you want?" Harry pressed his back against the shelves, grabbing on
their dusty edges for balance.
"I want so much, Harry, our short encounters are not enough to tell you all
about it," the low hissing laugh echoed softly around him, tickling in his
ears. He felt as if something scratched on his throat, he wanted to cough.
"What is this place, why are you showing it to me? What kind of games are you
playing, Voldemort?" he growled, scowling at the darkness.
"My, my, aren't you afraid of saying my name, child?" the Dark Lord sounded
amused, if the monster was even capable of having a sense of humor.
"It's just a name you are hiding behind!" Harry spat angrily. "Why should I
fear it? A word, an anagram," he scoffed.
"Oh? Are you well versed in its origins?" Voldemort was actually intrigued.
"You told me about it yourself," Harry sounded more subdued now, as he started
moving, trying to find his way out of the dream. He didn't know what was
snakeface trying to achieve with this, but he wasn't all that keen on finding
out.
"Did I? How curious... What does it mean then?" He had his suspicion, he heard
about his horcrux journal's sad end from Severus and surely gathered all the
information about it from Lucius's head after he crucioed him into
unconsciousness. But none of his followers, nor their children knew just how
close did the boy get to the journal, how much he knew about it. How much
Dumbledore knew about it for that matter?
"Tom Marvolo Riddle is what it was made of, it means 'Flight of Death' in
french," Harry breathed out shakily, as he ran through the countless rows
straight into the darkness, feeling panic slowly crawl from his gut up into his
chest. He couldn't see any doors, any indication that the room had any walls at
all.
So he wrote in the journal and met his younger self. Voldemort wasn't pleased.
His sixteen years old self was impulsive and arrogant, more so than he was now,
and a child after all, he could have told the boy too much for the boy's own
good.
"Very pleased to meet you, Harold Severus Prince." Eye for an eye.
"What?" Harry stopped abruptly and stared around in bewilderment. The fuck was
this bastard calling him?
"Harry, please, did you really think I wouldn't find out about your parentage,
your real identity?"
"No," he scowled and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly, "I am Harold
James Potter still, and why the fuck are you calling me Prince?" He shuddered
as the high-pitched, icy laugh cut through the air and his head, causing him a
slight pain in the scar.
"Oh, I see, good old Severus never told you about his real name. I can
understand him, of course, he doesn't want you anyway... But Dumbledore? Why, I
thought he never kept any secrets from you!" His loud chuckles rang in Harry's
head and he tried, tried in vain to brush off the nagging feeling of being
betrayed once again. The headmaster once again left him in the dark. And he
couldn't help, but feel the pang in his heart at hearing that his father didn't
want him... What was he hoping for, though, really?
"I don't care," he said loudly, clutching onto his jumper to calm his shaking
hands down. "What is this place and what are you looking for?"
The Dark Lord clicked his tongue in exasperation, "This is yet another truth
Dumbledore hid from you, child." He sighed dramatically. "Why don't you come
here and find out yourself?"
"You're luring me into a trap, you bastard, I am not that naive," Harry
muttered as he closed his eyes and concentrated on pushing the foreign presence
out of his mind like he had done in several of his Occlumency lessons.
"I am pleased to see you've inherited your father's sharp mind. And tongue as
well," Voldemort chuckled again, sounding highly amused. He sensed the boy's
force fighting his and felt excited to find out just how far could Harry go,
how powerful he was.
Harry pushed and pushed, feeling the searing pain in his forehead intensify,
escalate maddeningly. Fuck, fuck, fuck, it hurts! He fell on his knees and
screamed on the verge of his lungs, "Get the fuck out of my head, you sick
fuck!!!"
It felt as if his chest and head both burst out under the pressure. Voldemort
was impressed, the raw power of the boy could easily rival his own. What a
truly interesting challenge Harry was. As he was being pushed violently further
and further away he saw that the scene he created for the boy slowly merged
into the cemetery at the Riddle Manor, and he saw Harry slumped on his knees
over the form of the boy that was portkeyed along with him. The little Prince
was crying, frantically shaking the lifeless form of his friend, calling out
his name. And there was darkness and Voldemort opened his eyes to see the faint
morning light peek through the heavy curtains in his bedroom.
Harry held Cedric's cold body in his arms, knowing very well that he was dead
and was never going to open his eyes again. But he called him anyway, he shook
him. "I'm so sorry, Cedric, I am so, so sorry, please, forgive me!" He dropped
his head onto the boy's firm chest, cladded into the yellow robe. "It's my
fault, it is all my fucking fault..."
"My fault, my fault..." Harry kept tossing and turning amongst the wet sheets
and covers of his bed, as the tears ran down his cheeks.
With a sharp intake of a breath he finally woke up, staring wildly at the dark
wooden beams of the ceiling, panting, sobbing hysterically. The fuck did that
bastard want from him? Every time Voldemort sent him these visions they turned
into the nightmare about the cemetery. Groaning to himself in exhaustion, Harry
tried to sit up, but his trembling arms couldn't hold his weight. Where had all
his quidditch dexterity gone? Fuck it. He rolled onto his back and rubbed on
his sweated face with a hem of the equally wet sheet.
"Should have let the fucker kill me then," he muttered and turned his head to
look into the window.
It was dawn already, he could clearly see the white snowflakes falling slowly
down against the gradually reddening sky. They were going back to Hogwarts
today. Dumbledore had never once visited since the break out of the Death
Eaters and, honestly, Harry wasn't all that excited to see him again. He dearly
wished he didn't have to believe Voldemort, but the snakeface was right, wasn't
he? The headmaster never told him anything, not about Snape's real name, not
about whatever it was hidden there at the Ministry. Sighing and rubbing on his
puffy, stinging eyes tiredly, Harry decided he will have to find out on his
own. Perhaps, there were some books on the Ministry structure and departments
in the school's library? As for the Prince name... he doubted Snape would tell
him anything willingly. He would have to find a way.
xxx
"Potter knows." Severus sat across his lord in an armchair, staring into the
fire in the hearth, while Voldemort was watching him - his long fingers were
steepled in front of his plump rose lips, the blood red eyes searched the pale
face of the potions master. "He knows that I am a traitor."
"And how would it affect our plans?" the Dark Lord didn't sound angry and that
was disturbing, Severus couldn't know what to expect.
"It wouldn't." At his master's inquiring look, Severus added, looking up to
meet the piercing gaze of ruby eyes, "He accepted it. Said he would blackmail
me, but he accepted it."
Voldemort barked out a laugh, tilting his head back a little. "How
disconcerting! If I hadn't known the little Prince better, I would have said
that he is an idiot but alas! The more time I spend with him in his dreams, the
closer I get to know him... It is a true wonder just how forgiving and
compassionate he is." He shook his head, chuckling softly. "I wonder what would
he say when he finds out you were the one to tell me the prophecy?" The smile
he gave his favourite potions master was particularly cruel.
"What am I to do if he tells Dumbledore?"
Voldemort smirked sarcastically at that, "Severus, do you really believe the
old codger would take teenager's words over the words of his own spy?" He
crossed his legs elegantly and rested his chin on the knuckles of his curled
fingers. "Besides, I seriously doubt the boy would go to him. Tell me, had he
told Dumbledore anything about his visions, about what I am showing to him
almost every night?" The fire reflected in the blood red eyes made them look
eerie, demonic and Severus shivered, shifting closer to the fireplace.
"No, no matter how kindly headmaster asks, Potter keeps to himself... I admit I
couldn't get to them during our Occlumency lessons. This is unbelievable, but
he is actually able to conceal some of his most precious or most damaging
memories and thoughts," he looked at his master thoughtfully, frowning.
"The little Prince is indeed a very peculiar, intriguing specimen," the Dark
Lord nodded, smiling ever so slightly. The potions master could see a mirthful
gleam in his half-lidded eyes. "Did you know he still blames himself for the
death of that boy at the tournament? Only a few days ago he once again managed
to push me away from his mind and his subconsciousness pulled him into yet
another nightmare of his... It is interesting how I seem to be incapable of
penetrating his worst dreams, can't even watch them," he rubbed his dimpled
chin, the smile never leaving his lips. "I caught only the very beginning of
it. A true wonder how deeply his self-hatred and guilt are rooted inside of
him. He regrets so much, it is most impressive how he still holds on."
Regret. A concept his lord wasn't familiar with. Regret was passed on in the
Prince family for ages, ran through their blood, showed in the curves of their
lips, lines on their faces. "Potter is most impulsive and is easily impressed.
He is also a child still, of course the death of one of his peers influenced
him and broke him, perhaps," Severus scowled at the fire, rubbing his palms
against his rough, woolen outer robe.
"Do you still regret the death of a mudblood of his mother?" Voldemort tilted
his head to the side, watching the raven haired wizard curiously. "Do you still
hate me for it?"
Startled by the question, Severus looked up sharply, "I regret great many
things in my life, my lord, but not this, not anymore. I wouldn't have returned
if I hated you, master."
The Dark Lord gave him a satisfied nod. "But you still bear the guilt,
Severus."
"It looks me in the eye every day at school," he laughed bitterly and scowled
immediately, tensed, when he realized he was having a heartfelt conversation
with the Dark Lord Voldemort of all people. What had he come to...
"All these complex emotions are completely foreign to me, you know that very
well," Voldemort smiled indulgently and brushed a few stray locks of his soft
hair back, behind his ear. "But you don't have to be all that closed off in
front of me, Severus. You have nothing to hide anyway, I know you, no masks
necessary when we are in private." He stood up and stepped close to the potions
master only to bent down and take him by the chin firmly, squeezing it slightly
in his long, ice cold fingers. The blood red eyes locked with the onyx ones,
hypnotizing Severus. "I am pleased you do not hate me anymore, Severus Prince,"
the deep baritone reached to the potions master's very core, "And I wish you
would remember, that I always keep my word."
The Dark Lord saw that Severus knew the truth now, knew that he had given Lily
Potter a chance to save herself, three chances, but she rejected them. He saw
the understanding and devotion in the bottomless onyx eyes and he liked what he
saw very much indeed. The little Prince proved to be very useful even when
Voldemort had no plans to execute whatsoever, but thanks to the boy, the snarky
brilliant potions master was once again his. Completely. "I will warn you,
Severus," his face leaned closer, only inches away from the long crooked nose
of the other wizard, "I will be using your son in many different ways and I
expect you to stand by and watch and accept. You might not like them, it is
understandable, but you will not interfere or hate me. As I have promised you
already - no harm would come to him, and that is the promise I am going to
keep, - I am not going to inform you about what exactly, how and why will I be
doing to him. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord," Severus breathed out, feeling and, probably, looking completely
gobsmacked. Never before had his lord warned anybody about what was coming,
never before had he given anybody permission to dislike and disagree with his
choices and actions. This was so uncharacteristic for him, the potions master
barely restrained himself from pinching his own arm in a bout of fear it all
was just a dream.
"Good," Voldemort smiled cruelly and slid his hand up to cup the man's cheek
and rub on the high cheekbone with his thumb, "Very good." He placed a soft
kiss on the other cheek and straightened, still smiling, and walked away, his
long crimson robe dragging on the floor behind him. Severus dumbly watched its
tail disappear in the darkness of the doorway, frozen in shock and disbelief.
The Dark Lord was sane, there was no doubt in that anymore. And he was even
more dangerous now, completely unpredictable. Very dangerous indeed.
xxx
Voldemort hadn't spoken to him in his dreams again, but Harry kept constantly
seeing the mysterious room with orbs with no exit out of it. After spending a
whole night being sucked into the horrible nightmare of one of his first raping
punishments with Vernon, he stopped sleeping again. He knew this was going to
pay off really badly in the future, especially at his first Occlumency lesson
of the term but couldn't do anything about it. Snape was right - he wouldn't be
able to move further unless he dealt with this. But how could he? How normal
people usually dealt with this?
He was being summoned to Dumbledore's office. Whatever for he couldn't guess.
With the traditionally whimsical note from the headmaster clutched in his hand,
Harry strode down the second floor, sighing inwardly, as he saw Snape's tall
dark form approach the very same destination form the other end of the
corridor. They silently met at the Gargoyle and nodded to each other, not
looking the other in the eye. Seeing that the potions master wasn't going to
say the password, Harry rolled his eyes and muttered, "Mars Bars." After their
last unpleasant encounter he tried to think of his father as rarely as
possible, but the potions class didn't help all that much.
However, Harry praised all the gods in the existence for Snape keeping up
ignoring him altogether. Now that he grasped the very basic theory behind the
brewing, the practical part came naturally to Harry, as if it was something he
was born to do. Figures. He was, after all, a potions master's son. A son of a
very valuable, rare specialist, as he found out in one of his books - it turned
out Snape was one of the only five potions masters that resided and worked in
the United Kingdom. He never imagined how special the snarky professor's job
was and he was what... teaching the hundreds of dunderheads at the school?
Harry realized he knew absolutely nothing of his parent. Was Snape inventing
new potions? Was he writing for a scientific journal? Had he had any kind of
recognition for his talent in the wizarding world? But he was a Death Eater,
wasn't he? Surely, if wizards and witches knew him to be a criminal and a
murderer they would have never bought his potion, let alone acknowledge him as
a potions master... Harry stopped abruptly and stared at Snape's back as they
entered the office: the Prince name! That must be it! He must have been working
under his real name as a potions master, and used his father's name as a Death
Eater! That was why nobody in the school knew, and those who did never talked
about it.
"Potter, your eyes are going to burst out of their sockets," Severus glared at
the brat who was looking at him as if he saw him for the first time in his
life. Just what was going on in that damned head of his again?
"Harry, Severus, thank you for coming on such a short notice," Dumbledore
smiled at them both, watching their interaction curiously. "Please, sit down.
Tea?" he motioned at the usual visitor's chairs in front of his desk and
flicked his fingers for the tea set to appear before them.
"Good afternoon, sir," the two raven haired wizards drawled in unison and
glared sharply at each other, drawing a fit of mirthful laughter out of the
headmaster.
"Well, well, my boys," he chuckled, as he poured them some tea, "It is good to
see you. I have to apologize for the most unkind way we parted at the beginning
of the winter holidays, but I am sure you would understand my position," he
looked at both of them kindly. "The situation was catastrophic."
"Had the Ministry found anything, anyone?" Snape asked as a matter-of-factly,
sipping from his cup, pointedly avoiding to look at the boy next to him.
"They had not," Dumbledore shook his head, sighing tiredly into his china.
"Nothing new under the sun," the potions master raised his eyebrows and twisted
his lips in disgust, showing how much impressed he was.
All the freed convicts were safely hidden at Lucius' manor, however, the Dark
Lord planned to move them to the Riddle manor or to some other secured base,
for the Malfoys were constantly under the radar and there was no telling when
Dumbledore would issue a search on their grounds, supported by the Head of the
Auror Division Amelia Bones.
"Had they... the Death Eaters, I mean, had they... killed anybody?" Harry asked
hesitantly, careful not to meet the headmaster's eyes.
"No, as far as we know, they hadn't. They all are in a much worse state than
Sirius was, I presume. It is highly unlikely they are capable of anything right
now," the old wizard twirled the porcelain cup in his hands, frowning ever so
slightly. "This is what I wanted to talk to you about, Harry, and you,
Severus," he gave them both a pointed look. "One of you must have noticed
something, in either the visions from Voldemort or in his presence, the others'
gossip?"
Here it comes. Now Potter would point his finger at Severus and he would have
to fight his tooth and nail to prove the the old codger that he was no traitor.
"I haven't seen anything about his plans or his Death Eaters," Harry said
deftly, keeping his eyes trained on his boots, "As I've already told you, sir."
"Yes, Harry, but you never told me what do you see in your visions, so I can't
really believe you, can I?" Dumbledore looked at him sternly. "Do you still see
Mr Malfoy?"
"No, I don't." Malfoy slowly disappeared from his visions as he started seeing
the mysterious room with the row 97. But Vernon stayed, oh, he stayed. He would
never leave, Harry was certain of it.
Severus arched an eyebrow in surprise. Potter wasn't complaining about his
loyalties, was he going to tell the headmaster the contents of his nightmares?
His lord wouldn't like this.
"So, what do you see then? Harry, I wouldn't believe until you tell me the
truth," the old wizard sounded kind, gentle, but Harry wasn't fooled.
On one hand he wanted to tell if only to solve the riddle of the vision, and on
the other, he didn't want to do anything with Dumbledore ever again. He was
tired of being neglected and used by practically everyone. Ha, and he used to
think his life at Hogwarts would be better than in Surrey. How pathetically
naive of him. Snape was right, Snape was once again right - he needed to grow
up.
Looking at his father, who was looking back impassively at him, Harry cleared
his throat and placed his still full cup on the table. "I know nothing of the
snakface's plans. But I know you are hiding something from me, sir," he looked
up at the headmaster, scowling at him darkly.
Well, what an interesting twist! Severus leaned back in his chair, crossing his
arms over his chest, prepared to enjoy the show.
"Did Voldemort show you something, Harry?" Dumbledore was watching him gravely,
dreading the worst. Tom couldn't have known the boy was his horcrux, if he did
Harry wouldn't have been sitting here.
"What is kept in the row 97 in one of the rooms at the Ministry?" Harry asked
back, his scowl getting deeper and angrier. Severus couldn't help but wonder if
he himself looked that menacing when he scowled like that.
Dumbledore's eyes went wide for a second before he composed himself and
hoarsely replied, "What room are you talking about, my boy?"
"One of those behind the door in the circular room, I don't know their names,
all I know it is very deep underground in the Ministry, it is filled with orbs
that are marked under the different names and Voldemort needs something from
the row 97." Harry noticed Snape shift uncomfortably at the mentioning of the
orb and turned to him, "What are those orbs, sir?"
"Those are no concern of yours, Harry, however, thank you for telling me you
saw them," the headmaster looked very pale as he stood and moved to the
fireplace to call someone. Harry strained his ears and caught something along
the lines "The Department of Mysteries, Hall of Prophecies" and stared at Snape
again, who tried to look everywhere, but at him.
"Is there a prophecy? About me?" he suddenly realized what was going on.
Voldemort wanted it, Dumbledore hid it from him, Snape looked like he'd rather
be dead... Harry stood up sharply, moving away from Dumbledore who tried to
sooth him. "Tell me once again why exactly Voldemort tried to kill me the first
time?" his voice boomed around the office, making all the portraits inhabitants
lean excitedly forward.
"Harry, please, you understand this is what Tom is trying to do, he wants me to
tell you the prophecy so that he could steal it from your mind-"
"Oh for Merlin's sake, Albus," Severus sprang up on his feet, interrupting the
old wizard, too tired to keep up all this farce, "Tell him already!"
"No," Dumbledore cut off.
"Fine!" the potions master towered over the boy and spat into his face, "It was
prophesied, that a child would be born at the end of the seventh month, the one
capable of vanquishing the Dark Lord with the power he knows not, marked by him
as his equal," he pointed his potions stained finger at the lightning bolt
scar. "And as it turned out only you and Neville Longbottom fitted that
description."
"Severus, you would not go further," Dumbledore's voice thundered
threateningly, but Severus ignored him, looking straight in the green eyes that
were watching him an unexpectedly calm resignation.
"I was the one who overheard the prophesy but not all of it, I was the one who
delivered it to the Dark Lord and condemned your mother to death," his voice
fell to a barely traceable whisper, but Harry heard everything he needed to
know.
That was the corner stone off all this madness, wasn't it? Snape blamed himself
for Lily's death and that was why he hated him so much, wasn't it, for
surviving, for being the constant reminder? The notion that there was some kind
of a prophesy didn't really concern him all that much. He should have expected
something like this - he was never ordinary, after all, all the fucked up shit
always happened to him and him alone.
"If you expect me to run in hysterics out of the office, you will be waiting a
long time," Harry offered the pale and surprisingly nervous potions master. "I
am not crying over this, sorry."
Severus stared at him in bewilderment. "Are you retarded, Potter? I said-"
"Yes, I heard you loud and clear, you were the one who delivered the prophesy.
But how could you know it was about me? If you didn't even know mum was
pregnant?"
Both Snape and Dumbledore looked at him in surprise. "How can you know this,
Harry?" the headmaster came closer to gaze intently into his eyes.
"Sirius told me about when they found out she was pregnant, it was pretty late,
when the belly was already showing, so I doubt Snape could have known earlier
than that and could have known when exactly was she expecting?" he shrugged his
shoulders as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "So he delivered
the prophesy, so what? I know that Voldemort offered her to spare her life, so
no point in dwelling on that anymore," he looked away, shoving his hands into
his robe's pockets.
"I never knew that," Dumbledore gave Severus a questioning look and stared back
at Harry, feeling quite disturbed by the lack of reaction from the boy.
Severus couldn't master a mere sound out of his throat. He was watching the boy
before him dumbly, as if he was somebody else. Why wasn't Potter blaming him?
He was blaming himself, he was guilty, he was the reason she died, just why was
the brat dismissing it all?
"What angers me the most, though, is that you never deemed it necessary to tell
me about all this, sir," Harry glared at Dumbledore, his eyes cold and hard as
stone.
"Harry, you must understand, I wanted to give you a luxury of a normal
childhood, you were too young to know about it, it was and is still dangerous
for you," the headmaster chided, waving his finger at him, as if he was a five
year old who broke a bottle of milk.
"Really?" he snorted indecently and stroke an arrogant pose, crossing his arms
over his chest just like Snape always did. "I spent eleven years being abused,
the first year here I had to face Voldemort, possessing the teacher, whom I
killed. No, don't give me that rot about my mother's protection - it is a fact,
I burned him to ash. The second year I had to kill a fucking Basilisk and found
out I was a bloody snake charmer, and let's not forget the lovely Tom Riddle,
possessing everybody away! The third year I had to fight the blasted dementors,
a hundred of them for god's sake!" Harry was shouting at this point, his cheeks
took on a reddish hue and his eyes were all but blazing fire. "The fourth year
I had to compete in a dangerous tournament that wasn't suited for children and
yet nobody took me out of it! I had to watch Cedric die, fight Voldemort again
and now he is roaming in my head like his it is his fucking personal
playground! Where the fuck were you all those times? Why the fuck hadn't you
told me what was going on?!"
Dumbledore took a step back, looking ashamed and wounded, and angry and sad at
the same time, while Severus was impressed once again. It was rather pleasant
to watch Potter figuratively slap the old coot on the face again and again,
throw all his shit back at him.
"So, no, I am not impressed you've hidden something as insignificant as a
bloody prophesy from me. And here I thought what the hell was snakeface
blabbering about when I met him in my first year! It is as simple as that!" he
flicked his fingers mockingly in front of the old wizard's face. "I am his
fucking equal, I am his destined slayer! No wonder the man is nuts about
skinning me alive, if I were in his place I would have already had my head on a
stick at the front porch of whatever shithole he's living in!"
Severus had to cover his mouth with his hand to not let the nervous laughter
break out. He knew he was going to show this to his lord in the pensieve.
"Harry..." Dumbledore began, but the boy flew into a rage.
"Harry what? It's been am sixteen years I am Harry and all I've seen was only
shit from all of you! You know what, sir? I don't believe you anymore! I'd
rather believe Voldemort - at least he never hid anything from me, saying
everything into my face!"
"No!" the headmaster looked truly terrified by the thought. "No, Harry! He
would trick you, he would hurt you so much, you are incapable of imagining just
what he can do to you!" he grabbed the boy's hands into his and squeezed them
tightly, trying to convey his fear and worry through the touch. "Don't you see?
This is what he is trying to achieve. He wants you to feel betrayed and alone,
for you to have nobody to rely on! But, Harry, you are not alone! I never
betrayed you, I only wished to prolong your innocence, to give you a chance of
happiness!" two thick tears fell down his wrinkled cheeks and Severus huffed at
the sight of suddenly ashamed Potter. So much for the impressive outburst.
"I... I am sorry sir," Harry squeezed the old hands back, looking like a child
that he was. "But you did a terribly shitty work. My innocence was lost long
before I even killed Quirrell," he closed his eyes resentfully, twisting his
mouth in disdain and once again Severus wondered what was the secret the brat
was guarding. Something so horrible he hated himself so much for it... just
what could have child done?
"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore pulled him into a tight embrace and the potions
master turned away, overwhelmed with a memory of Potter holding him the very
same way. "I only wish you would forgive me one day, when you will understand
everything. I promise you, that day will come soon." Dumbledore rubbed soothing
circles on the rigid back of the boy, who all but cowered in his arms, more a
stone to the touch than a human being.
"How can you expect me to trust you, sir, when you can't pay me back with the
same?" Harry carefully freed himself out of the old wizard's hold and stepped
back wary to be closer to the exit. "Are you going to tell me the prophesy?"
"No, Harry, I cannot," the headmaster shook his head sadly. "It is truly
dangerous, no one can predict what would Voldemort do when he finds out its
full meaning. I will not throw away your life like that."
"I see. Then I will not be taking any more Occlumency lessons from professor
Snape, sir," Harry's lips trembled - none of the older men could tell if it was
in anger or in tears, for the boy quickly turned away and calmly walked out of
the office, with his back straight and his chin held high.
"Severus..." Dumbledore turned to the potions master helplessly, but the raven
haired wizard shook his head.
"No, Albus, no. I warned you of the consequences of your silence. Here, you
have them now. I am not begging Potter to come back, nor am I convincing him to
take more lessons," Severus frowned and moved to leave as well. "Let me warn
you again, Albus. If Potter is anything like me at sixteen," he sighed, feeling
reluctant to do this, but knowing it was the right thing to say to save his
place in the old coot's good graces, "Then he will run into trouble hot headed
the very first opportunity he gets. Mark my words, I will not always be there
to save his hide." With that he left, feeling suddenly much, much better than
he felt in many years. It wasn't Potter's forgiveness though, that lifted some
part of the weight he had been carrying on his shoulders his whole life - he
was telling himself, it wasn't it.
xxx
Severus had never heard his lord laugh so hard and so loud before in his life.
The man's face turned red and he rubbed on his eyes to brush away the tears of
mirth. He waved at the pensieve and the silver substance floated back to
Severus' temple.
"Thank you, Severus," the Dark Lord chuckled, holding his side, "This was most
entertaining. I can't remember when had I laughed that much the last time."
"I knew you would enjoy this, my lord" the potions master kept staring at the
red eyed wizard in amusement. Who knew the Dark Lord had such a contagious,
booming laughter?
"I have to admit I like the little Prince more and more now, the way he handles
Dumbledore is truly impressive. If only I knew back then, that all I had to do
was to insult him and swear like a sailor, I doubt we would have had any war at
all," Voldemort snorted to himself, and shook his head in wonder.
Harry kept surprising him, constantly. He reminded him of young Severus very
much, with his stubbornness, fierceness and sharp tongue. The boy was also
impossibly attractive, beautiful. Voldemort always found Severus to be rather
interesting in appearance, not handsome, but striking, unusual. His son
inherited his features, but they took on a more aristocratic, feminine look and
made Harry, probably, most irresistible young man he had ever seen. And he had
his fair share of both men and women in his days, that were thought to be the
most beautiful then. Shaking himself he tried to push the unwelcome fantasies
away. He heeded Harry to change the wizarding world, to show Dumbledore and his
little friends their places, there wasn't a place for any kind of intimacy.
Noticing Severus' arched eyebrow and disgustingly understanding look he sighed,
"What?"
"I hope you realize, my lord, that Potter is not going to indulge you in your
platonic desires," he drawled sarcastically, inwardly cringing at the thought.
The Dark Lord could get anybody into his bed, willingly or forcibly, it was a
matter of persuasion, really. Some went soon after courting, some needed a few
threats, some even required their relatives to be held captive and under the
wands of Death Eaters, but all in all, the man always got what he wanted. In
case with Potter it was almost impossible, since the boy had nothing and no one
dear to lose and was ready to die rather then surrender.
"Don't worry, Severus," Voldemort smiled, "Harry is going to indulge me in my
political needs, and that is all. However, I would gladly admit, his defiance
and bravery turn me on." He chuckled softly to himself at that. "Such a proud,
wild little prince he is."
"When are you going to retrieve the prophesy, my lord? Surely, Rockwood could
take you inside and help you steal it," Severus offered, changing the subject
to the more important matter at hand.
"Yes, he could. But I will go after it when Harry is ready. Remember, I need
him to give it to me, I want him to surrender. And, of course, we need to
kidnap him after that, to scare the herd of the sheep that call themselves
wizards," Voldemort drawled, looking at his fingernails.
"What would happen after that?" the potions master decided to use the
opportunity to find out more, since his lord was so forthcoming at the moment.
"We'll see, but he will be returned to them at some point, of course.It all
depends on how long I will have to work on his submission," the Dark Lord
smiled evilly.
When Severus left, Voldemort slumped in his armchair, stretching his long thin
legs in front of the fireplace and stared at the flames, rubbing on one of his
temples absentmindedly. He couldn't for the life of him get the images of
magnificently angry Harry out of his head. He wondered if Dumbledore and Snape
even felt his power leak out at that moments - despite seeing only the memory
of it, he sensed it very clearly. The air itself seemed to vibrate around the
boy, his green eyes seemed to take on a brighter, more vivid hue, all but
burning inside. Harry reminded him so much of his own younger self. The same
impulsiveness, arrogance, righteousness. Passion. He felt the urgent need to
possess it all, to claim it his. The more he visited the boy in his dreams the
more he felt it - their connection. The unimaginable precedent, the mysterious,
most wonderful accident. How was this connection possible? He couldn't fathom
it, that was why he wanted to hold Harry a prisoner for some time, to study the
phenomenon, to understand what was its source. To, maybe, develop it even
further?
But just how exquisite the boy was... Licking his lips, Voldemort growled at
himself and summoned a drink. He didn't want to go there. Just the thought of
being close to the little Prince made his groin heat in pleasant anticipation.
It was so long since he last had lusted after somebody, such a young man
especially. Closing his eyes, he sighed as the image of the young pale face
clouded his mind once again. Everything was perfect in this raven haired
wizard, every little detail he could remember seemed to be sculptured by the
genius master with the outmost delicacy and care. The permanently lingering
sadness in the boy's features made him look so innocent, so pure, so tempting.
It was just in his dark nature to hunt the precious beautiful things down and
make them his, and Harry was no exception. If anything, he was his new
obsession. Such a sweet, sweet little beast. What would it be like to taste
those red lips? Fuck, not now. Sitting up sharply, Voldemort downed his drink
in one big gulp and scowled at the bulge between his thighs. There could be no
intimacy between them, this couldn't get any more personal than it had already
been.
xxx
Finally freed from his Occlumency sessions, Harry realized he had more time for
his studies and immersed himself in Defense and Potions, spending his every
free period at the library. Hermione looked at him with great pride and
respect, while Ron helplessly shrugged his shoulders and constantly tried to
lure Harry back into the quidditch team, but it was fruitless. Although he
loved flying, he didn't feel he wanted it now. Something was telling Harry he
wouldn't fly until he left Hogwarts for good. In order to do that he needed
every help he could get and since Dumbledore was out of the question, as were
his friends, he had to improve himself, had to study on his own. It was a
question of survival, not happy childhood behind the safe walls of his first
and only home there was.
By the end of January their DA group grew in number. Three more gryffindors
from the twins' year joined them, as well as a few more hufflepuffs and
ravenclaws. After Umbridge introduced her new "rules" as she called them,
sanctioned by the Minister himself, all the students realized that not only
they were left without any kind of decent Defense lessons, but were
dramatically limited in their curriculum and free time activities. Dumbledore
was also strictly limited in his actions and was going to be reevaluated as a
headmaster, though Harry didn't really worry about the old wizard - it was
highly unlikely anybody would sack him, but even if they did it wouldn't last
for long. The word about their rebellious working group spread like fire all
over the school. So much for the secrecy. Students started coming up to him
with questions and suggestions. Most unexpected was Draco Malfoy's inquiry.
"So, Potter, I've heard you are leading a studying group in Defense?" the
blonde boy sat down at his table in the library late Friday evening, when Harry
was writing his potions essay. He looked up in surprise and met the pale grey
eyes that were watching him curiously, no previously burning malice could be
seen in them.
"Yes, I am. I doubt you would be interested, though," he shrugged his shoulders
and turned back to his work. He didn't want to turn the boy away, but he was a
son of a Death Eater. He wouldn't be teaching his future enemy, would he?
"Why is that?" Draco smiled, resting his elbows on the desk and leaning closer
to peek into the book Harry was working with.
"Well, we are covering basics from the school curriculum mostly, I am certain
your father taught you everything there was, I gathered as much from some of
the purebloods from ravenclaw," he drawled nonchalantly, scratching on his
parchment, stealing quick glances at the blonde before him.
"Oh, but I've heard you're teaching some rather advanced material, that is
covered in the seventh year, for example," Draco purred, narrowing his eyes
ever so slightly. Harry knew that look - it was a challenge. Malfoy knew
perfectly well what was the group preparing for and he was testing him, was
pushing him to see if he would take in a dark wizard. If he was fair. But would
it be fair to train the Death Eater in making?
"Draco," he sighed, putting his quill away and folding his hands in front of
him, and looked at the boy intently, "I know what you're doing. I will take you
in only if I have a guarantee you would not get marked and would not support
Voldemort. But I know I can't have it."
Draco looked surprised, impressed even. Taking on his usual haughty smirk he
lifted his shoulder, "And why are you so certain of this?"
Looking around and making sure nobody was in the hearing range, Harry leaned
forward and whispered, "We both know your father is a Death Eater. Whether you
want to follow in his footsteps or not, doesn't really matter, I am quite
certain either he would make you take the mark, or Voldemort himself would. You
are a good duelist, a talented wizard and a pureblood heir. Sorry for sounding
stereotypical, but you are a perfect candidate."
"My, Potter, but you are actually smart!" the blonde sounded amused. He looked
at Harry for some time, as if weighing his chances, and finally sighed, hanging
his head down. "You are right, regardless of my personal preferences, I am
going to be marked. But you proved your point well enough for me so I would
keep my mouth shut if anybody asks..." he smiled slyly, as his eyes gleamed
mischievously.
"Yes, well, thanks, I guess," Harry raised his eyebrows, giving the boy a small
smile in return. It was unusual to converse with Malfoy so casually and civilly
but, everything be damned, he enjoyed it. He dearly wished he could be friends
with the narcissistic ferret, but the precipice between them was too wide for
each to cross. It wasn't even their own doing, but their ancestors' - how fair
was that?
"Speaking of the pureblood upbringing, you could have done with one, you know,"
Draco chuckled softly, tucking a stray fair lock behind his ear elegantly.
"I am not a Potter anymore, I am not a pureblood, you know that," Harry shook
his head and looked down in his book.
He had to raise his eyes again, in surprise now, when he heard Draco snort
rather indignantly. "Potter, you are a Prince, there can't be any purer than
that even if your mother was a mudblood."
Harry wanted to scowl at the 'mudblood' in regard of his mother, but dismissed
it in favor of the mysterious name being mentioned. "As you know, Draco, Snape
and I are hardly managing to breathe the same air, so I haven't the slightest
idea what the Prince name means. I found out I am one by accident, I doubt he
would have ever told me."
"Oh!" Draco rubbed his hands together excitedly and shifted to sit in his chair
more comfortably. "Let me tell you all about the Princes, I do so love gossip!"
Harry couldn't help it - he laughed loudly, marveling at the change in the
boy's whole attitude. Instead of the haughty rich pampered lord there sat an
ordinary, if a little eccentric, teenager, who gestured rather actively and
spoke fast and funny. "Alright, fire away, I am intrigued," he leaned back in
his chair, crossing his legs. This was going to be much more interesting than
potions.
"Well," Draco began, looking very pleased with himself and the newly found
audience, "The Princes used to be a very prominent family and could rival with
Malfoys in their wealth and influence. They were most famous for their gifts in
potion making, the talent which was passed on from generation to generation,
presenting the country with a steady flow of potions masters. However, the
Princes lost half of their fortune in the war with Grindelwald - I don't
remember the name of the head of the family at that time, but he decided to
side with the Dark Lord and payed for it dearly. He was executed after
Dumbledore brought Grindelwald down," the blonde wrinkled his nose at that,
showing how much he thought of the headmaster. "Anyway, Severus' grandfather
became the head of the family which was rather large, but the epidemic of the
dragon pox that broke out in the fifties took all of his children and siblings
away, leaving him alone with his wife and youngest daughter Eileen, your
grandmother. As the potions masters and the suppliers of the most apothecaries
in the country, they spent a shitload of money on research and developed a cure
from the pox, but it was too late. Your grandmother was, what you call it, a
black sheep in the family. She left after graduation from Hogwarts and, instead
of taking an apprenticeship, married a muggle. What the hell was she thinking
we would never know now. Her father went nuts, of course, and disowned her," at
that Draco winced and that told Harry just how dreadful that must have seemed
to the purebloods. Sirius, who never gave a shit, was surely a great exception
amongst them.
"That is why when Severus was born, he bore the name of his muggle father.
However, his grandfather cooled off a bit and tried to make peace with his
rebellious daughter. She wasn't keen on going back to her family, but she asked
him to take Severus in if anything happened to her. And that's where Dumbledore
comes into the play!" the blonde all but jumped in his seat excitedly, drawing
another smile out of Harry. "Even though Severus lived in poverty with his
mother and filth of a father, his education was paid for from the Prince's
vault, and his grandfather held a long termed correspondence with the old coot,
regarding the future of his only heir. When Eileen died he, lying in his
deathbed himself, his wife long dead by then, sent Dumbledore his last letter
for his grandson in which he told Severus about his true family and asked the
headmaster to escort him to the bank to find his family ring, money, property
and all that stuff, to become the Prince he was supposed to be since his birth.
But Dumbledore never did that," Draco looked disgusted. "I bet he thought if he
wouldn't let Severus get all the money, he would sway him away from the Dark
Lord, who had already found great interest in his potions talents at that time.
Anyway, left ignorant and poor as a mouse, Severus joined the Dark Lord without
a second thought and started making his own money. By the time we both were
born, I think, he found out the truth. The Dark Lord told him who he truly was,
when he stumbled upon some random documents, it doesn't matter what they were.
Anyway, when Severus realized where he came from, he went to Gringotts and
received his inheritance, took the ring and took the name of Prince, but in
secret, of course. Also found the blasted letter, which Dumbledore sent into
the vault with the possessions of Lord Prince, when the solicitor placed them
there. Can you imagine - the man willed a mountain of money for the school and
the old goat still hadn't told Severus the truth! He works under this name ever
since and is ugly rich. So what I'm trying to say is simply this: he can pay
for your proper education, you know what I mean," the blonde wriggled his
eyebrows at that, looking at the raven haired boy cunningly.
"Wow," was all Harry could say to this. Draco was definitely resourceful when
it came to information. He entertained the idea that the blonde might have been
just as intelligent and know-it-all as Hermione was, only he covered it up well
under the mask of a self-centered arrogant prince. "Why do you call Snape by
his given name?"
"Oh, I've missed the juiciest detail, haven't I?" Draco laughed indulgently.
"He is my godfather."
"Oh," Harry stared at him dumbly, not really knowing what to say. He and Draco
were kind of... family now. His own godfather was the blonde's uncle so they
were connected all around.
"Exactly, oh," Draco smiled and batted his eyelashes. "We are family, Prince,"
he winked at Harry conspiratorially, "But we will keep it a secret for a time
being."
"Yeah, we will," the raven haired boy smiled at him helplessly, looking shy and
uncertain.
Draco patted him on the shoulder as he stood up to to leave. "Wouldn't you take
me into your group now?" he pouted pretentiously.
"No," Harry laughed, "But you almost got me there," his smile grew wider,
brighter.
"Thought so," Draco leaned closer, flashing a blinding grin at the other boy.
"I like you, Harry. Hope the feeling is mutual," his superior smirk in place,
he turned and strode out of the library, not looking back. Harry watched him
leave with a smile still plastered on his face. It is mutual, it is.
xxx
Umbridge plunged her sharp claws deeper and deeper into the student body and
the school itself. The headmaster hadn't spoken to Harry ever since the
beginning of the term, being constantly under pressure of the toad. The curfew
was moved to 9 pm for all the students, the outdoor activities were restricted
and only quidditch remained. Ron kept complaining his every waking minute about
the passes they all had to get from the vile woman, how unfairly she treated
the twins and Lee Jordan by forbidding them to practice. By the end of February
the Hogsmead weekends were cancelled altogether and the students tried to go on
strike against her latest decree, but all their attempts were futile. It all
ended up in a mass giveaway of detentions in the Forbidden Forest.
Unfortunately, Ron was one of those lucky ones who got their fair share.
And so Hermione and Harry sat in the window alcove, not far from the main
entrance of the school, waiting for their friend to come back from the forest.
It was almost curfew, but there was no sign of him or other students on the
lawn outside.
"Maybe Mr Filch would lead them back through the eastern wing?" Hermione
suggested from behind the book her nose was buried in.
"I don't think so. The toad had probably ordered him to bring them back late,
so that she or prefects could catch the lucky ones in the corridors and take
more points," Harry replied from behind his own tome.
He was slowly going through every book there was on the Ministry structure and
departments and on prophesies. If only their teacher was more competent he
would have simply asked her, but since she was Trelawny, he highly doubted she
could be of any help whatsoever. He still kept seeing the very same row 97 with
the blasted orbs, but he didn't get any further than that. He knew his prophesy
was somewhere on one of those shelves, but as it all was an illusion he
couldn't reach out and take it. He had to go to the Ministry itself in order to
find it.
"Harry," the girl's voice brought him out of his musings, "Harry, I've been
meaning to ask for some time now." He looked up to meet the warm brown eyes of
his friend. "You didn't seem all that happy during our Christmas holidays
together and after that you really seemed to close off. It's not that I am not
glad you spend your time studying and reading, you actually became absolutely
brilliant at potions, it's just that..." she frowned at the hem of her skirt
that her hands were clutching, "Well, you seem so distant, so... not like our
Harry anymore."
He scowled in reply, for he should have known that sooner or later Hermione
would have brought the subject up. "I know, Mione, but this is how it must be
done. There is a great danger ahead, the war is coming, I can't risk yours and
Ron's life, not anymore. I used to act without thinking back then, but after
what happened to Cedric... I wouldn't be able to live if I saw your lifeless
bodies lying at my feet while the snakeface bastard laughs in my face."
"Oh, Harry, but we are your friends," she took him by the hand gently, "We will
stand by your side no matter what."
Sighing tiredly, Harry looked at her with his puffy bloodshot eyes, "Don't you
understand what I'm saying, Hermione?" At her confused expression he shook his
head in exasperation. So much for the most brilliant witch of the generation.
"You and Ron are my only weakness. The closer you are to me, the more is the
threat you would be taken from me one day. I cannot allow this to happen. I'd
rather stop being friends with you both altogether than let anything happen to
you." He squeezed her hand, begging silently for her to understand, to see it
from his point of view.
The tears welled up in her eyes and she sniffed quietly. "Something is going
on, isn't it? Pain in your scar, your nightmares, it is not just the war isn't
it?" she whispered, sorrow and fear written on her face. "I see how you
sometimes rub it and scowl as if in pain, I see how little you sleep, Harry.
What is happening? At least tell me what is going on? I could help with a
research or something..." Hermione squeezed his hand back helplessly.
"I'd rather you didn't know anything," he looked away. "I will tell you and Ron
when we are back in our common room, alright?"
She nodded and opened her mouth to add something but was interrupted by the
high voice, that could only belong to Malfoy.
"Well, doves, I hate to ruin the idyl you found yourselves in, but it is curfew
and you must go to your tower at once," Draco drawled, smirking at them, as he
came closer and leaned against the pillar.
"Alright," Harry stood up and pinned Hermione with a glare before she could say
anything. "Do you know why are the others so late from the forest?" he looked
at Draco and saw the bow twist his lips in disdain. Contrary to popular belief
slytherins got just as mush punishments and detentions as gryffindors and the
only thing that saved the blonde's hide from getting one himself was his
prefect position and his father's support of Fudge.
"Madame," Draco spat her title as if it was a foul word that offended him,
"Wished to supervise their work personally today, so I doubt they will be back
any time soon. Now, move, move," he waved his hand at them impatiently and
Harry nodded, taking his friend by the arm and stirring her away in the
direction of their common room.
"What was that?" Hermione stared at him as they quickly walked up the stairs,
"You and Malfoy all friendly with each other?"
"I decided it was time to grow up and leave as few enemies to deal with as
possible," he muttered, glaring at the Fat Lady and ignoring her affronted
squeak, as she opened the passage for them without any password being said.
"This was very mature of you," his friend admitted, "But why Malfoy of all
people? He is going to become a Death Eater sooner or later, you know that."
"Yeah, and this is exactly why I wish to be friendly with him. The last thing I
need is him interfering with my business. Besides, he is not at all what he
seems, I got to know him better and I can even say he is nice, when he wants to
be," Harry shrugged his shoulders as he plumped down onto the sofa and opened
his book again.
"Are you sure he isn't playing at something?" Hermione narrowed her eyes
suspiciously.
"I am quite certain," he said simply.
It is Snape who she should be really worried about. Scowling at the thought of
his father, Harry hid behind the dusty pages, indicating their conversation to
be over. He didn't want to think about the snarky professor any more than he
had to during their potions lessons, but ever since his confession Harry
couldn't help but think back on what might have been. What ifs wouldn't do him
any good, but the lonely, broken child in him couldn't let go of the pointless
fantasies. What if Snape had never overheard the prophesy and so Voldemort
never knew about him? He would have lived happily with his mum and his...
stepdad. Would have he been happy? Knowing the truth now, Harry doubted he
could answer this question. But he would have to fight snakeface anyway, his
family could have died anyway, and hadn't Voldemort come for him that night, he
wouldn't have been vanquished for the long twelve years the world lived in
peace and picked up the pieces. If Voldemort stayed alive and the war
continued, there was no saying what would have happened? Who would have won?
Whatever angle he was looking at it, the way it all turned out was the best of
all, except for his mum dying and him being left with Dursleys.
And another atrocious fantasy that kept him awake at nights was one of Snape
being his father for real. What kind of a parent could he have been?
Ridiculously, Harry was certain the bat would have been a very good one,
completely different from his own muggle one. And that was what pained Harry
the most. The notion that he could have had it all if it wasn't for mistakes of
some other people. Had Dumbledore told Snape the truth and let him get his
inheritance, would he have joined the Death Eaters then? Perhaps, he would have
married Lily after all. Fuck. He didn't want to think about it all, it made him
regret every day of his own pathetic life. What if, what if, what if... Here
and now he was alone, he couldn't have his father, he couldn't have his
friends, he couldn't even trust Dumbledore anymore. Sure, the headmaster always
acted in their best interests and wanted only what was good for them, however,
it all seemed twisted to Harry. Sometimes he even thought the old wizard was no
better in his manipulations then Voldemort was.
xxx
It was in the middle of March, Saturday evening, when Umbridge caught him in
the corridor. "Mr Potter, where are coming from looking like this?" she
shrieked, pointing her short fat finger at his disheveled hair and clothes. He
was hurrying to get to his common room after the DA practice they had, and had
no time to pamper himself up.
"Excuse me, madame," he looked down at his boots, silently praying she would
only take points.
"Well, clean yourself!" she barked. "I will have to add a new decree concerning
the proper appearance of a student. And you would serve a good example to all
of your housemates. Detention!" the toad exclaimed triumphantly.
Fuck. "Yes, madame," he sighed heavily and tried to rearrange his robes, but it
was futile.
"I think it would be better if Potter served his detention with me," came a
silkily voice behind them and they both turned to see the tall dark form of the
potions master step out of the shadows.
"I am sure he would be quite alright with Mr Filch, we can't let the family
relation affect the efficiency of the punishment, can we?" the toad smiled
sweetly at Snape, but her eyes became two narrow slits, so hard she squinted
them in anger. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find any flaw in the
snarky professor's work at the school and so had no grounds to get rid of him.
"I have tons of dirty cauldrons to clean and ingredients to prepare – Potter
hates this, I can assure you," Severus spoke respectfully, but was watching the
small plump woman with evident disgust. Harry only stared at the two of them,
not liking any of the alternatives.
"Fine, but his detention is a week long," Umbridge clicked her tongue and
turned to leave. "And it's twenty points from Gryffindor!" With that she walked
away.
"You know, you don't have to save me from her all the time, like some fairy
tale knight or prince, sir," Harry scowled at his professor. "Oh, wait, you are
a Prince, after all," he huffed, rolling his eyes.
Severus scowled back, as his lips paled in anger, "How do you... No, don't
answer that. Draco, isn't it?" At the boy's uncaring shrug of the shoulders he
sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "He and that long
tongue of his... I noticed how suddenly civil and well behaved you two became
towards each other, I wondered what was the meaning of the unexpected
change..."
"Do I have to serve detention now or could we start tomorrow, perhaps?" Harry
muttered, not looking at the man.
"It starts now," Severus hissed and strode in the direction of the dungeons,
expecting the boy to follow him.
He didn't know what compelled him to save Potter from Umbridge, but he knew
something was going on at the school and the brat was once again in the center
of it all. He wanted to find out what exactly and just how bad it was before it
was too late. Besides, the toad of a woman had it for Potter, she was keen on
making him a fool and a lunatic even more than he already was and she wasn't
afraid to use any means in order to achieve that. He was having none of this.
After his slytherins told him just what had Filch made them do in the forest,
he started taking them out of the detention and they eagerly spend their
evenings preparing ingredients for him. No, he didn't care for Potter, but the
boy was a walking disaster, he would have surely gotten himself eaten or killed
in the forest.
When they entered his office he warded the door and motioned for the boy to sit
down. Grudgingly Harry lowered himself on one of the chairs, tagging on his
tangled, sweated hair.
"Potter, let's address the Prince matter first," Severus began, not really
knowing how to actually address the issue.
"It is no concern of mine, yeah, I got it. Could have at least told me Draco
was your godson," the boy gave him a bored look.
Narrowing his eyes in irritation, Severus bit out, "Fine." Shifting to sit on
the edge of his desk more comfortably, he continued, "Why do you look like
you've been either shagging or training? I hardly believe you are up to the
former, judging by the way you barely touch another human being, so what are
you up to with the latter?"
Perfect, he found out about the DA. "Nothing," Harry mumbled, drawing the tips
of his boots together, suddenly fascinated with them.
"Potter, I have nothing against students practicing in their spare time, it is
Umbridge who will raise Hell if she finds out. Do you really think it is not
suspicious and obvious, when almost forty students come red and sweated every
Wednesday and Saturday to dinner, panting as if they had been running around
the pitch for hours? Only an idiot wouldn't recognize magical exhaustion. You
might also want to reconsider the way of gathering everyone in time. It is hard
to miss the line that stands at the stairs to the seventh floor waiting to get
inside whatever place it is you're using in there." Professor spoke
nonchalantly, but Harry heard his warning - nobody was going to stand up for
them should they get caught, the other teachers were too afraid to lose their
positions after what happened to Trelawny.
The toad had issued yet another decree that prohibited to start any kind of
student groups or clubs, that were not sanctioned by her personally. Which only
left quidditch and the tea club for future ladies, discarding the chess club
and several others as well.
"Yes, I know, sir, we will be more careful next time," Harry sighed and finally
looked up at Snape. The man looked surprisingly calm, if a little annoyed, but
that was his permanent state Harry thought.
"Am I right to presume you are teaching Defense?" Severus asked, watching the
boy closely. Potter was slowly developing his impressive power and that could
have only been achieved through constant spell practicing. What else could he
teach the others, really? All the other subjects were covered efficiently by
more than competent professors. At the boy's silence he tried once more, "How
advanced are you already? I doubt you use any of the textbooks that were ever
introduced in the curriculum?"
"I use the ones that are in the library and in the Restricted Section," Harry
admitted. There was no point in hiding - Snape knew everything already.
"Are you preparing them for the war? Is that why there are no slytherins in
your group?" These were stupid questions, he knew, since that much was obvious
what was the reason behind their practicing. Umbridge's incompetence was just
an excuse.
"You know all the answers already, sir. Just what do you want?" the boy sighed
tiredly, rubbing on his bloodshot eyes. He looked awful and Severus couldn't
help but feel slightly worried the brat would simply fall on his face and die
suddenly.
"To warn you. And to give you this," he held out a vial of the Dreamless Sleep
draught out for Potter to take. At the boy's perplexed expression he
elaborated. "Since you are magically working yourself up, you need some decent
sleep otherwise you might exhaust your body and mind to a critical point and
find yourself in a coma."
"Well, thanks," Harry took the vial tentatively, hating the warm ball that
formed in his chest and started slowly rising into his throat. Even the tiniest
demonstrations of caring turned him into a pile of goo. How pathetic was that?
"You still have cauldrons to wash," the potions master reminded, sitting down
at his desk to start grading.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," the boy lifted himself up and shed his wrinkled robe,
rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt. Severus tried not to look at the
ugly scars that marred the pale skin, but his eyes were practically glued to
them. How many more were on the boy's back... Pursing his lips, he scowled at
the essays in front of him. He wasn't going to pity Potter, nor was he going to
care. The child didn't ask for it during the sixteen years of his life so he
definitely didn't need it now too.
xxx
For the last two weeks Harry had been seeing the vision of the Hall of
Prophesies every night and once or twice during the day. It frustrated him to
no end, for he couldn't sleep, nor could he concentrate on his studies. He kept
rubbing his scar, feeling Voldemort's sudden impatience. The man was absolutely
unbearable. Exhausted and angry, Harry completely stopped socializing with
others and left the DA in Hermione's and Ron's hands, physically incapable of
doing anything more than dragging himself from one classroom to another. He
even asked Snape to let him brew the potions later in detentions for he was
afraid he might blow everyone up. Surprisingly, the potions master agreed
without one snarky remark. That seemed suspicious, but Harry had no strength to
dwell on that for long.
At the beginning of April Dumbledore had been sacked and Umbridge became the
headmaster. They hoped in vain that she would leave her DADA position - her
useless lessons continued, with a renewed vigor she plunged herself into
pestering them about the importance of being the law abiding wizards and
witches. Every Defense lesson started and ended with the proclamation of the
almightiness of the Ministry of Magic and the assurance that no Dark Lord was
out there to be scared of.
Sitting in the back of the room, having had fallen into a heavy slumber, Harry
was once again seeing the disturbing nightmares about the cemetery. Voldemort
hissed at him with his forked tongue, baring his sharp inhuman teeth and
laughing at his pain. He slowly approached Harry, who was tied to the
gravestone and bent down to look him in the eye.
"Harry, Harry," he hissed coldly, "You'd better wake up or you might miss
something very important." With that he stepped back and the background of the
scene of his dream cracked and burned down, morphing into the Hall of
Prophesies with its orbs, ominously gleaming at Harry from the shelves.
Voldemort held Snape by his long lank hair, his wand pressed against the
frantically pulsing vein on the potions master's throat. "Wake up, Harry, wake
up," snakeface laughed.
Swallowing harshly, Harry stared at Snape who looked deathly pale, but still
serious, seemingly unaffected, but he could hear his heart beat maddeningly
against the ribcage. Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry told himself it was just a
dream, just a stupid vision. The git was somewhere in the castle, he would have
never made himself a bait, for Harry Potter of all people.
"Are you sure this is a dream, Harry?" Voldemort grinned ugly, as his eyes
shone mischievously.
Harry woke up when his head connected with the floor and his breath got knocked
out of him. Coughing, as the tears poured out of his eyes at the sharp pain, he
shook his head in bewilderment. This was the last drop, he was done with that
scaled wanker. Standing up shakily, he excused himself before an unimpressed
Umbridge and asked for permission to go to the hospital wing. Not trusting him,
she ordered Malfoy to escort him.
"Potter, what happened? One minute you were sleeping soundly behind your book,
the next you fall down with yelps and profanities on your lips," Draco gave him
a somewhat worried look.
"It's nothing, Voldemort is simply playing rough," Harry mumbled
absentmindedly, figuring it was now or never when he was going to escape from
the school and get into the Ministry. He was almost certain Snape was here, of
that he was safe he had no doubts whatsoever. Biting his lip and frowning to
himself, he halted his walk and turned to the blonde. "Draco, do you know if
there is a working floo in the school? I need to get into the Ministry, now."
"Harry," the other boy's eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Are you sure you're
feeling alright? You sound delirious."
"I am absolutely fine. I must get there, Draco, please," he looked at the
blonde pleadingly. If somebody could help him now, it was Malfoy.
The boy huffed, "Well, if you say so. But I was never there and I left you at
the hospital wing!" At Harry's vehement nodding, he sighed and tagged on his
collar nervously, "In the headmaster's, I meant headmistress' office is the
only working floo, though I can't say if it is locked with a password, but I
saw Umbridge use it to go back and forth between the school and the Ministry."
"Thank you, Draco, I owe you," Harry squeezed his hand and ran off, checking on
his way that his wand was hidden safely in his sleeve, as was his invisibility
cloak in his back pocket. Shrugging helplessly at the raven haired wizard,
Draco walked to the infirmary and back into the classroom, looking innocent and
bored for all the world. As soon as the bell rang he quickly walked into
Snape's office.
"I don't know if you care or not," he drawled, peeking from behind the half
opened door, "But Potter had just escaped to the Ministry." At Severus'
impossibly wide eyes he snickered, "Well, I guess I was right to warn you."
With that he left, feeling like he had done enough good deeds for one day.
xxx
"If the fucker wants me to come, I will fucking come," Harry growled under his
breath, as he neared the Gargoyle, panting harshly after running as fast as he
could. "Well, go on, let me in, I don't have time for your bloody passwords,"
he barked at the stone statue and it slowly moved away under his glare. Nodding
in satisfaction, he crossed the staircase in a few quick jumps and burst into
the office, cringing and gaging at the sight of sickeningly pink walls and the
countless plates and saucers with the blasted kittens. He grabbed the handful
of floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. Stepping inside the green
flames and throwing his invisibility cloak over himself, he took a deep calming
breath and said, "Ministry of Magic".
He found himself sprawled on the black marble floor of the Ministry's main
hall, thankful he had his cloak with him, that covered his indecent landing.
Standing up, he looked around and scowled at the unexpected emptiness and
silence around him. Usually this place was crammed with wizards and witches
running back and forth between the departments. But now it was eerie deserted.
Anxious and tensed, Harry drew his wand and slowly walked towards the lifts. He
didn't like this, he felt in his gut this wasn't normal. Once inside the narrow
cabin he eyed the buttons uncertainly. Gathering his courage he breathed out
and quickly pushed the lowest one with the label "9. Department of Mysteries"
next to it. The lift fell harshly down and Harry landed on his arse, unable to
keep his balance. A soft female voice announced that he had reached the ninth
level and Harry crawled forward and slid the doors open.
The long dark corridor was just as empty as it used to be in his visions.
"Lumos." The gloom was so thick, that the light of his wand barely helped him
see where he was going. Soundlessly he crossed the distance in a few quick
strides and burst the door open without any hesitation. His nerves got the
better of him and now he felt adrenaline rush in his veins and help him think
clearly. There was no turning back now. He was going to hear the fucking
prophesy and let Voldemort do whatever it was he wanted to do to him. He was
bloody tired to fight other's war.
The circular room didn't spin and Harry crossed it, opening the first door that
was closest to him - it was the right choice. There they were - the damned
orbs. He took off his cloak and hid it safely in his pocket, spelling it to
stick to the fabric. Having shed his robe on his way to the headmaster's
office, he was now wearing his black trousers, white shirt and a gryffindor
tie. Cursing himself for his stupidity he shivered, frantically rubbing on his
arms and shoulders - it was freezing cold in here. Breathing out clouds of
steam, he carefully moved forward, knowing by heart where row 97 was. Nobody
was here it seemed, but he knew that he wasn't alone. The hair on the back of
his neck stood up in anticipation, as he approached his destination. Moving
along the shelves, he scanned the names, looking for his own. When he reached
the middle he noticed it - an ordinary orb, just like the many others around
it. It stood a little to the side, its label hanging low. He saw his name being
added later it seemed, than Dumbledore's initials and somebody else's. After
the Dark Lord 'Harry Potter' was written in red ink. The irony.
When he took the smooth heavy glass in his hands, he heard soft steps behind
him, but didn't move, knowing full well he was surrounded by now.
"Mr Potter, kindly pass me the orb," Lucius Malfoy purred at him from behind
his golden mask.
Smiling wryly at him, Harry finally turned around to see five masked Death
Eaters circled him. They all wore golden masks. "My, but I am being honored it
seems. The famous Inner Circle came after the mere boy," he laughed mirthlessly
and drew his wand, spelling the orb to stick to his left palm, just in case.
"Stop being ceremonious with the brat, just get the orb and be done with it!" a
hysterical female voice exclaimed next to Lucius.
"I will only give it to snakeface directly," Harry drawled, looking bored.
"How dare you-"
"Enough!" Lucius cut the woman off and stepped closer to the boy. "Potter, give
me the orb and you would not be harmed."
"Like I care. Call snakeface and I will give it up willingly," he stuck his
tongue out at them and slashed his wand through the air suddenly. Unprepared,
none of the Death Eaters shielded themselves from his blasting curse and all
the five of them fell onto the floor, shattering the dozens of orbs on their
way. Harry darted to the left and ran quickly to the exit. He heard the insane
screams of the enraged witch and hastened his pace - he wasn't planning on
giving up so easily.
The door appeared locked and he blasted it off its hinges, stumbling into the
circular room and falling down on his knees as it started spinning like mad.
Through the haze of flashing lights Harry saw the Death Eaters running towards
him and he practically jumped to grab one of the handles and pushed himself in
a random room. It was filled with clocks, countless clocks of all sizes and
kinds, their ticking was horribly loud and dissonant, even the sand fell with a
deafening volume in the hour-glasses. Pressing his hands over his ears, Harry
blindly navigated through the maze of the piles of clocks, completely
disoriented. He felt a spell pass him a mere inches and threw his own back,
hoping it didn't miss. Fuck it. He climbed the closest pile, breaking the glass
doors of the grandfather clocks on his way up, and crouched at the top,
watching the dark figures wonder around and gesture frantically at each other.
He squinted into the darkness and thought he saw a door. It was so far away, he
wouldn't be able to reach it without getting caught. Think, Harry, think. He
looked around helplessly. Wood, glass, steel, gold, cuckoos, hour-glasses,
wood... As idea stroke him, Harry grabbed the first wooden clock he saw and
concentrated, remembering McGonagall's lessons. He tapped the clock with the
tip of his wand and whispered the incantation. Slowly the small box in his hand
transformed into a plain looking broom. Hoping against hope that it would work
properly, he mounted it and with a sharp intake of air pushed it up.
Surprisingly, it worked. Trembling and heeling slightly to the right, and
ticking loudly like a time-bomb, the broom took him directly to the door,
easily crossing the distance. Harry spelled the door open and flew through it,
landing roughly onto the hard stone floor, as his broom suddenly transformed
back into the clock. Shutting the door and warding it close, he stood up
shakily, and looked around. He got into a huge auditorium, with rows and rows
of desks and benches going high up into the darkness - they all faced the big
clearing on his left, where a lonely archway stood. It looked ordinary at the
first inspection, but as Harry stepped closer he saw some kind of translucent
veil move inside, trembling as the weak ripples appeared on its surface. He
stared in fascination, itching to come closer and touch it, he even thought he
heard voices coming from behind it.
"I would be careful with this particular thing if I were you," a cold low hiss
behind him brought him out of his stupor, and Harry turned on his heels
sharply, to meet the blood red eyes gleaming in the darkness somewhere among
the desks. Voldemort slowly walked down to the clearing, his heavy black robes
rustling softly against the stone floor. Swallowing hard, Harry stepped away
from the veil and carefully stumbled to the opposite wall, seeing a door there
out of the corner of his eye.
The Death Eaters finally blew the warded door from the other side of the Time
Room and burst inside, with curses on the tips of their tongues, but as soon as
they saw the Dark Lord standing before them, looking unimpressed, they hastily
kneeled.
"Look, your dogs finally found their master," Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes,
feeling arrogant enough to bait the monster.
"Indeed," the Dark Lord smirked back at him and stepped closer, "Shall we?" he
gestured at the orb in the boy's hand.
"Of course," Harry bowed mockingly and, canceling the sticking charm, threw the
glass at Voldemort's feet. It shattered into millions of shards, flying all
around, as the bluish mist rose from where it had fallen and the grave,
unnatural voice chanted, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord
approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh
month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have
power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other
for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to
vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."
"Oh, how convenient," the boy laughed bitterly, "All we have to do is to kill
each other."
The Dark Lord wanted to object but at that moment the door behind Harry burst
open and a handful of members of the Order of the Phoenix stormed inside,
firing spells at the Death Eaters. More dark wizards ran down the stairs to
join their comrades. Voldemort moved to grab the boy, but Dumbledore beat him
to it.
"What have you done, Harry?!" he dragged him out of the room and suddenly into
the main hall. Trying to break free out of his hold, Harry noticed Sirius and
Lupin both staring at him with wild eyes, as they shielded themselves from the
enemy's assault. The fuck were they doing here?
"Let me go!" he screamed, trying to worm his way out, but the headmaster
appeared to be impossibly strong for an ancient man, that he seemed.
"Harry, stop this instant! You are leaving before you managed to worsen this
even further!" Dumbledore roared. He had to let the boy go, however, when
Voldemort caught up with them and blasted him away, straight into the golden
fountain.
"Professor!" Harry jerked to help him, but the clawed hand grabbed on his
shoulder painfully, drawing blood. He turned to almost bump his nose into the
Dark Lord's chin as the icy cold hand moved to take him by the throat.
"Look at me," Voldemort hissed, creasing his none-existent eyebrows, staring
into the boy's eyes intently. Being so close to him, touching him was literally
intoxicating. "Don't you feel it?" he asked, sensing as if he was drowning in
the green orbs. Harry dearly wished to say he didn't understand what was the
bastard talking about, but he felt it. The moment the monster touched him he
felt ecstatic. It felt as if his touch was something he craved for his whole
life, it was like a breath of fresh air.
"Yes," he managed to gasp, as his knees gave away and he slowly slid down,
dragging the mesmerized Dark Lord with him.
"Harry, no! Get away from him!" Dumbledore screamed, but none of the wizards
heard him. The Death Eaters and the Order moved to fight in the hall, the
curses flew all around them, but to Harry it all was insignificant, he thought
he spent hours staring into the burning blood red eyes.
"How can this be?" Voldemort whispered, pressing his finger against the
lightning bolt scar and jerking at the sensation. "What are you?" he breathed
out, moving closer, practically pulling Harry into his arms.
His thoughts were in complete disorder, this overwhelming sensation of
closeness and familiarity confused him. It was like touching himself, holding
himself... He stared at the scar again. The boy was a parselmouth, equally
powerful, magic came to him like breathing, he was so much like Voldemort
himself... How could he give him all this that night? Magic wasn't something
you could easily share with another human being, especially so young as Harry
was then. It had to be some kind of ritual, involving blood or...
"Fuck, you're a horcrux!" the Dark Lord cried out in shock, scaring the boy.
Before Harry could ask what the fuck was horcrux and why was snakeface looking
at him as if he was Santa Claus, the invisible force tore him out of the
monster's hands and dragged him back to Dumbledore.
"Harry!" the old wizard cried frantically, running to meet him.
"No! He is mine!" Voldemort roared, startling everyone around and stopping the
fight altogether. He raised his wand and cancelled the other wizard's spell.
"He is mine! He belongs to me, always did! You will not take him from me
again!" With that he stared at Harry, who was lying helplessly on the floor,
looking between the two men in complete befuddlement. The fuck was going on?
Wasn't snakeface supposed to kill him?
"I will never kill you, Harry," Voldemort stated firmly, loudly, so that
everyone could hear, "Nor will I ever harm you. The prophesy doesn't mean
anything anymore, it's nullified."
If Harry could look back he would have seen his father breathe out in
overwhelming relief. Severus stood with his mask off of his face, so that none
of the sides attacked him. It wasn't safe for him to stay much longer though,
but he needed to see what was going to happen to Harry next. The situation he
was in was still perilous, and the word horcrux ringed a bell in his mind. He
was positive he read about it. Whatever it was, his lord was ready to fight for
Harry to have him. This didn't bode well with Dumbledore's stern expression.
Not at all.
"Do not listen to him, child! It is a trick!" Dumbledore bellowed and moved
closer to him. Harry scattered away from both of them and springing onto his
feet, pointed his wand somewhere between the two wizards.
"I've no bloody idea what the hell is going on here, I do not belong to anyone
and I am going to make my own decisions, thank you very much!" he closed his
eyes for a second, thinking frantically what to do. So, he found out the
prophesy, but Voldemort proclaimed it nullified. What, did it mean he was free
now? That he wasn't supposed to kill anybody? Oh, great, he was
hyperventilating, oh, and retching, of course, how could he expect to go out
without throwing up. Bending down he did just that and jerked, seeing blood
instead of vomit on the floor. "Well, shit," he stared dumbly at it, then at
the headmaster, and then at Voldemort. The look he received was so intense, he
cringed involuntarily.
Seeing that Harry was in no state to make a right decision and that he was,
obviously, sick, the Dark Lord turned and found Severus' eyes. Nodding ever so
slightly to the raven haired wizard, he launched himself at the old wizard.
Startled, Dumbledore began fending himself, looking away from the boy's
crouching form. Severus smoothly glided past the once again dueling Death
Eaters and the Order's memebers, and gathered Harry in his arms, leading him to
the apparition point. Smelling the familiar scent Harry relaxed, leaning into
the tall thin frame and closed his eyes, letting the strong hands pull him
closer and envelop him into a tight embrace. The potions master silently
apparated them both to the Riddle Manor.
xxx
"Potter, Potter! Wake up, you, petty excuse of a wizard!" somebody kept
screaming at him and poking him roughly into the ribs with the sharp tip of a
shoe. Stirring on the cold stone floor, he groaned in exhaustion and slowly
opened his eyes. He focused on the pale and very angry face of Bellatrix
Lestrange.
"The fuck do you want?" he mumbled, trying to look around and see more, but
everything else was too blurry.
"I will teach you to talk respectfully to your betters, whelp!" she screeched
and pointed her wand at him, "Crucio!"
Harry screamed, as the milliard of sharp knifes, it seemed, plunged into his
flesh and kept drawing back to bring another blow onto already open, bleeding
wound. The pain intensified tenfold with his every move and he wailed louder,
trying to shake the awful sensation off. His brain felt as if it was set on
fire. Clutching onto his head, Harry rolled from side to side, praying to die
that instant.
"The hell are you doing, you stupid wench?!" The pain suddenly stopped,
subsiding slowly and through the deafening pumping of his heart in his ears
Harry heard Bellatrix' shrieks. Forcing himself up, he crouched, trembling all
over, to see Voldemort holding the witch under his wand with such a murderous
expression on his snake face, that Harry felt truly scared for the first time
during the whole day. When her screams turned into hoarse whimpers and
blubbering, the Dark Lord let her go, glaring at her and everyone around - the
three of them were surrounded by a tight circle of Death Eaters. "If anyone
lays a finger on Potter I will personally skin them alive!"
"May I ask a question before I blacked out?" Harry raised his shaking hand,
drawing a few chuckles from the wizards around him. Voldemort slowly turned to
look at him, his pale scaled face darkened and distorted in anger. "What is a
h-"
The Dark Lord spelled him silent and shook his head, "We are not going to
discuss this now. Get up," he waved his hand and Harry flinched violently,
expecting to be tortured again, but instead he was gently placed on his
unsteady feet. "Everyone dismissed. Potter, wait here, I will come for you in a
minute." With that Voldemort strode out of what appeared to be a Great Hall,
bare of any kind of furniture, with only one tall fireplace and a throne
inside. Harry scowled at the wizards, who were eyeing him curiously on their
way out. Patting himself on the arms and legs he realized that his wand was
taken, but his cloak was still in place. Well, that was promising. He might be
ale to run away after all.
"Little shit," he heard behind him. Turning, he barely dodged a strange purple
curse, that the blooded and battered Bellatrix threw at him. "I will not hurt
you, little one," she crooned sweetly, "I'll just make you a little better! For
what you made my lord do to me!" She fired once again and Harry jumped to the
side, colliding with a wall, hearing the loud crack of the bone, but paying it
no heed - broken limbs were nothing new. Feeling naked and unprotected without
his wand, Harry did the only thing he could do: something he read in one of the
Defense books in the library. He concentrated and reached out for his magical
core at the same moment as Bellatrix' curse hit him in the stomach. It felt as
if he was blowing up from the inside and everything around him burned, smelling
awfully. The last thing he heard were horrible screams of the damned witch and
Harry knew no more. Well, shit. He blacked out.
xxx
Chapter End Notes
     There is a small piece missing, in which Ginny kissed Harry right
     after Christmas. I cannot find it anywhere, I must have added it when
     posting this for the first time at FF.Net.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter V
"Good morning, Mr Potter," a deep baritone woke Harry up and he sat up sharply,
wincing at the searing pain in his head. The last thing he remembered was
Bellatrix Lestrange hitting him with some kind of a dark curse and his own
magic lashing out to shield him. Blinking owlishly and squinting at the bright
light, he tried to make out the dark form seated next to his bed. Bed? Looking
around in confusion, he took in the comfortably furnished bedroom, decorated in
green and silver, mixed with dark wood. It looked and smelt masculine and he
wondered for a moment if it was somebody's private space.
"I was under the impression I am a prisoner here," he muttered, finally taking
a better look at his visitor or was it a guard?
"What, is a cold dump dungeon cell is more to your liking? We could easily
arrange that," the stranger drawled. He was very tall, even seated he still
impressed with his height; he wore tight fitted trousers, a long black jacket
over the thick red velvet camisole, the high collar of his shirt suggested it
was white; his face was covered with a half-mask of gold, that concealed most
of his features, leaving only his plump rose lips and a dimpled chin visible;
the chestnut hair cascaded in soft waves, framing his face, barely reaching to
his smoothly curved jaw. He tucked his hair behind his ears and took a more
comfortable position in his chair, looking at Harry mirthfully with his dark
brown eyes, grinning brightly.
Ignoring the comment about the dungeons and sensing some strange familiarity
with the man's appearance, Harry crossed his arms over his chest, not caring
how silly he must have looked, sitting on the bed like a spoilt child. "And
just why are you smiling?" he demanded angrily.
"Did you really think all of us Death Eaters are gloomy and murderous? Do you
wish me to be all snarky and scratchy like our dear old Severus?" he chuckled
softly and Harry had to grit his teeth to not let his smile show. He hated the
fact that this man, whoever he was, felt so at ease with him and made him feel
more relaxed and comfortable than he ever imagined he would be in the enemy's
lair.
"Are you a guard or what? What are you doing here?" he frowned at the wizard,
wishing he stopped flashing those very handsome smiles of his.
"I am here to talk to you. Do you expect Lord Voldemort would have time to deal
with a hormonal teenager?" the strange visitor asked sarcastically, smirking.
"And you have? Are you his lackey of some sort then?" Harry arched his eyebrow
skeptically.
The man hummed in amusement, "You could say so, yes."
"Why are you hiding behind a mask? Afraid to show your face? Just like your
master is afraid to be called by his given name?" he scoffed and leaned back on
the bed board, watching the other wizard impassively. He knew his wand was in
snakeface's hands, there was no way he could fend against Death Eaters, but he
was going to take his chance and mock the bastards while he could.
A cold, cruel smile graced the lips of his visitor, "No, I am simply not on the
list of wanted criminals and have no wish of getting on it any time soon, so
just in case somebody would try to invade your mind and see my face, I am
covering it." His voice got particularly smooth at that point and Harry
realized he was mesmerized by it. It was some kind of magic, no doubt, to make
him more forthcoming.
"So, I suppose asking your name is also futile - you would give me a
pseudonym."
"And you would like to know my name?" the man was genuinely surprised. "Why, I
am honored."
"Please, I am making a polite conversation here or was there something else you
came for?" Harry rolled his eyes and looked at the window. Now this was a
possibility. He could try it later.
"I wished to ask you how you feel, nobody has any idea what Bella cursed you
with and had it affected you at all or not?" the stranger rested his chin on
his hand, leaning forward to take a better look.
"I'm fine, thanks," Harry bit out, watching him warily. The familiarity of the
man's gestures and posture was maddening. He thought he reminded him of
someone. Perhaps, he was somebody from the Ministry or even the Order itself,
he was sure he saw him before and heard his voice. He just couldn't put his
finger on when and where had they met. "Does Snape know I'm here, wherever it
is?"
"Of course not, otherwise the Order would have blown the place up already," the
man smiled slyly, rubbing his chin with his long pale fingers. His fingernails
had a bluish hue to them and it made Harry think the wizard's hands were always
cold to the touch... He pushed the strange thoughts away.
He nodded, "Then it means he knows where I am, the wanker."
"Aren't you going to inquire about his health?" the stranger asked, amused.
"Pff, what for?" Harry huffed, "I know the bastard is perfectly alright. It all
was just a trap to lure me in and kidnap me."
"But if you knew it was a trap, why did you come?" the wizard sounded confused
and it made Harry laugh inwardly.
Smiling crookedly he waved his hand, "I got so fucking tired of those blasted
visions and not knowing what was that shitty prophecy about, I decided to put
an end to it all." The smile faltered when he remembered Voldemort's words
about a horcrux. He frowned at the memory of the snakeface proclaiming that
Harry belonged to him now and nobody was going to kill him. Well, that was both
reassuring and not really.
"I am afraid it is only the beginning, Mr Potter." He turned to look in the
dark brown eyes that were watching him intently, curiously, with no malice or
hate whatsoever. Just who was this man and why was he here? He didn't behave
like an evil dark wizard at all. Had Voldemort sent him with some twisted plot
in mind? "You should take these as soon as possible." He followed the man's
gaze and noticed a few vials on the small table beside the bed. "These are
healing potions. Your arm was broken and you were diagnosed with a stomach
ulcer, so it would be in your best interest to drink them. I will bring more
later."
Harry looked down on his arms in confusion - they both were perfectly alright.
His clothes were also clean and ironed for that matter. "How long..."
"You were unconscious for almost three days," the masked wizard said, his brown
eyes void of any emotion. He flicked his fingers and a small tray of food
appeared by Harry's side. "You should also eat."
Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Harry pushed it away. "I can't."
"Perhaps, later?" the man stood up, towering over him and smiled brightly, "I
will leave you now, Mr Potter, have some rest." He left, shutting the door
softly behind him.
Jumping up from the bed, Harry darted to the door but it was locked and even
warded. Well, this was to be expected. He moved to the window and opened the
folds - the cold morning air made him shiver and he breathed in deeply, sighing
pleasantly. Looking down he saw that he was being held at the second floor -
not that high for a jump. He leaned forward and bent lower to see if there were
any cracks or ledges on the wall to climb down but his hand pressed against the
hard surface of air, unable to reach further - the bloody window was also
warded. Swearing under his breath, Harry shut it with a loud bang and sat down
on the edge of the bed, thinking hard. The only way out was overpowering the
strange man that visited him, but this was a rather stupid plan for he didn't
know where he was, how many Death Eaters were here and just what would
Voldemort do to him should he try and run.
Looking around, he once again wondered whose room this was. It was definitely
lived in, everything in it screamed personal. He stood up and moved towards the
old, tall wardrobe beside the window. Its heavy doors creaked when he pulled
them open - there was plenty of male clothes, mostly robes and long jackets,
suits and crisp, perfectly white shirts. He didn't really think what he was
doing when he pressed the fabric to his nose and inhaled that strange, nice
scent that seemed to linger around the room. It definitely belonged to the
owner of these. Frowning at the thought that he was occupying somebody's
bedroom, Harry closed the wardrobe and continued his inspection. The bookcases
flanking the fireplace were filled with mostly muggle literature, which
surprised him greatly - who would have thought that the Death Eaters could
enjoy something created by the filth of humans they loathed so much. He found a
few shelves with old tomes on magic, but they were all written in latin.
Chagrined at his own stupidity, he left them be and moved to examine the small
bureau by the door - pushing its lid up he found it to be full of papers,
envelops and different kinds of quills, but everything was warded and he
couldn't read any of these, nor could he write anything down either.
He opened one of the drawers and found a golden locket on a long chain inside -
it looked rather plain, nothing special about it except the letter S in a form
of a snake engraved on its surface. It was locked, but the more he stared at
the small serpent, the more he entertained the thought of trying his horrible
ability of talking the language of the snakes. "Open," he hissed at it in
parseltongue and, surprisingly, it did. It was empty inside, but there was some
strange feeling that Harry got from the trinket - as if it used to be filled
with something very dear, familiar to him. As if it used to belong to him once,
many years ago and as he found it again, he experienced the feeling of longing.
Curious, he put it on - it hang around his neck as if it belonged there, its
weight pressing pleasantly against his chest, the cool chain tickling his skin
ever so slightly. Whatever this thing was, he found he liked it very much.
He noticed a hidden door on the opposite wall - pushing it open he peeked
inside a spacious bathroom of plain white tiles. It was most ordinary and Harry
almost closed the door, shrugging his shoulders in disinterest, when his gaze
fell on the mirror - it hid a small cupboard behind it, in which people usually
kept their cosmetics, at least Dursleys did so, and they were most normal
people in the universe. Curious, he looked inside: there were a few potion
vials, most of which he recognized by the colour; a razor and a shaving cream -
these got Harry by surprise. He knew that wizards didn't really need to shave,
they could easily use spells to get rid of the hair. Only muggleborn students
used razors as far as he knew. So the owner of this room was at least familiar
with the muggle world.
Intrigued, Harry stepped back into the bedroom and looked around once again.
Even the furniture and the way everything was kept reminded him of muggles.
Well, Voldemort himself was a half-blood, wasn't he? It was plausible there
were more crazy fascists like him, who were raised or at least born amongst
those they hated so much. But why would snakeface put him in here? Was it a
mocking consideration of Harry's own origins or what? He took the vials from
the small table and downed them one by one without a second thought - they did
look and smell like healing potions, there was no harm in taking them. The
sight of food still wasn't giving him any inspiration and he walked over to the
bookshelves. He hadn't had the opportunity to read much while living with his
relatives, so he might very well start now. There was no telling how long he
will be held in here.
xxx
When Voldemort heard the sound of a blow up and Bellatrix' piercing shrieks he
knew someone was going to be skinned after all. Enraged he stormed inside the
hall with cruciatus curse on the tip of his tongue only to see Harry lying
unconscious on the floor with his arm bent at an awkward angle and Bellatrix
thrashing not far from him, clutching onto her bleeding face. He checked the
boy first - nothing serious, only a broken bone and a magical exhaustion. The
little Prince threw an impressive fit of a wandless shielding. The Dark Lord
also sensed a residue of some kind of a curse he couldn't really identify,
which he thought to be impossible.
Fuming, he leaped at the wailing witch, "What have you done to him?" But she
only cried, cradling her head. Forcing her hands away he saw she lost her eye -
it was completely destroyed, by fire it seemed, only an ugly black gash was
left in the socket. "Got what you deserved, Bella," he growled, watching her
disdainfully. "I warned everyone and you as well not to touch Potter. I would
not give you the new eye, this is going to be your punishment. However, I could
get you a glass one, very much like the one Moody uses, hmm? How would you like
that?" The witch cried louder, cowering before his feet.
"Unless you tell me what was the curse you threw at him, I will not even look
at you, let alone trust you with my plans and work. You are banished from the
Inner Circle. Permanently or temporarily - depends on you," he sneered at her
and tore the hem of his robe out of her hands. He stepped back to Harry and
took him into his arms, surprised by the boy's lightness. Severus told him that
his son wasn't eating and sleeping, exhausting himself to the verge of his
powers, but he never expected it was that bad. Sighing, he took him into his
own bedroom. He could have placed him in one of the guest rooms, but by simply
looking at the pale handsome face he rejected the option. Harry belonged only
in one place - his bed. He bore a part of his soul after all, if he himself
felt comfortable there, so would Harry.
Placing the boy carefully on the bed, Voldemort halted for a moment, looking at
him intently. Snapping himself out of his stupor, and pushing the unwelcome
thoughts away, he summoned the necessary potions and forced them into the boy's
throat, rubbing it gently to help him swallow. The novelty of their physical
contact subsided, but it was still very pleasant to touch the little Prince.
Smiling, Voldemort canceled his glamour and sat down on the mattress next to
his guest and bent down a little to brush the stray locks away from the pale
face. Caressing the soft skin with his cold fingers he marveled at how innocent
and vulnerable the Savior looked, how had he managed to stay so kindhearted and
Light, being constantly tainted by his dark, rotten soul... Probing the boy's
broken arm, the Dark Lord fixed the fractured bone and secured it with a spell.
How was he going to make the little Prince cooperate with him? Perhaps, he
should try and show Harry his human side? Make him understand the reasons
behind his actions? The boy, despite being a cynical, sharp tongued brat, had a
big heart, as they called it, and was hungry for acceptance and affection.
Perhaps, he could use this to his advantage?
xxx
Entering the room soundlessly, Voldemort found Harry asleep in bed, still
dressed, with a book in his hands. Smiling knowingly, he came closer to look at
the title: 'The Count of Monte Cristo'.
"My, but it is not that bad, Harry," he chuckled quietly, putting it on the
bedside table.
A glimpse of gold caught his attention and he stared at the Slytherin locket
lying innocently on the boy's chest. Harry had searched the room, just as he
predicted he would, but it seemed he had forgotten to ward his bureau. Shaking
his head and laughing softly to himself, the Dark Lord decided to let the boy
have it. He had absorbed the soul that resided inside of it, there was no harm
in the old heirloom anymore. The tray of food was left untouched. Was he going
to force him to eat now? Perhaps, the house elves could do it, antagonize the
boy until he gave up and took the food he needed to function normally.
"Are you a maid as well?" he heard Harry snort indecently, when he
involuntarily smoothed the covers over the boy's form.
"No, I simply prefer everything to be in order," he smiled and sat down onto
his chair, watching as the boy began stretching, but stopped abruptly,
remembering where he was and who was sitting next to him.
"Are you really going to sit here every time I wake up?" Harry muttered,
pulling the covers under his chin and covering himself almost completely,
embarrassed and uncomfortable in the other's presence.
"It is possible, I haven't decided yet," his visitor smirked, as his brown eyes
laughed at him from behind the mask. "How are you feeling, Mr Potter?"
"Fine, thanks," the boy mumbled, watching him closely.
"May I call you Harry, by the way? It is not that you are a Potter anyway,"
Voldemort tilted his head, smiling at the boy's sudden shyness.
Harry's first impulse was to tell him to fuck off, but if he was going to
constantly converse with the man, perhaps, he should let him. Being called Mr
Potter wasn't at all pleasant either. "What should I call you?" he asked back.
"What would you like to call me?" the man offered, crossing his long legs and
leaning onto the arm of his chair, looking completely at ease.
Well, that was a strange question, wasn't it? Staring at the charming dimple on
the wizard's chin, at his plump rose lips, Harry blurted out the first name
that came to mind, which surprised him, really, for it was a very rare name,
"Marvolo." Why did he even remember it, for god's sake?
Tensing, Voldemort carefully asked, "Why Marvolo?"
The boy shrugged his shoulder, "No idea. It seems to fit you. What, don't you
like it? Would you prefer Albus instead?" he asked sarcastically, raising his
eyebrows. The Dark Lord couldn't help but smile at the mischievous gleam in the
bright green eyes.
"Marvolo it is," he nodded.
"Is this your room?" Harry suddenly realized that everything around him fitted
the man as well. Even if the name he chose wasn't muggle, it strangely suited
the whole image that had slowly formed in his mind.
"You are too smart for your own good," the soft deep laughter seemed to echo in
his stomach, and Harry widened his eyes at the unusual feeling of flutter at
his heart. Hell, the man was simply laughing, what was wrong with him? He hid
his head under the blanket, to conceal his blush. "Oh, Harry, you weren't so
shy just this morning." And another wave of pleasant sounds washed over him,
making him practically squirm. He pushed his face into the pillow to will the
damned heat away, inhaling involuntarily, and jerked at the sudden realization
that if this was Marvolo's room, than he slept in Marvolo's bed and this scent
belonged to him. Harry wanted to jump off the bed and never touch it again, but
something deep inside of him asked him in that small, cunning voice if he
really wanted to do this? He loved this smell, he had to admit it to himself.
"Where do you sleep?" Voldemort heard a muffled question.
He smiled. "Don't worry, I'm using another room."
"And why did you put me in yours when you could put me in that other one?" the
boy was still hidden under the covers and Voldemort itched to tear them off of
him to see his face and... everything else.
"Don't you like it? I thought you would be more comfortable here." At that
Harry moved the blanket away to look at him, and the Dark Lord noticed his
blush. A smug smile stretched his lips, despite his best attempts to stop it.
"It's nice," he stared at the smile, asking himself since when had he started
googling indecently at other men, at other people for that matter. He had never
had any thoughts of that kind before, but he found Marvolo attractive. He
wasn't blind, of course, he could see and appreciate beauty in others'
appearances, he could determine a handsome boy or girl, but he never were
attracted to them. Oh, fuck. But now he was. To a bloody Death Eater, no less.
He hadn't even seen his face, only a part of it, but his body was telling him
this was enough.
"Why, thank you."
"Why are you nice to me? Why is Voldemort all kind and caring all of a sudden?"
Harry sat up, trying to stir his mind from the notion that he had just had his
first crush. "I am Harry Potter, I am the reason he died once, the reason many
of you were killed or imprisoned..." He looked at Marvolo intently, creasing
his eyebrows. It all was truly confusing for him to understand yet.
"Death Eaters were told not to harm you and so they would not. As for the Dark
Lord... you will have to ask him yourself," the wizard told him, suddenly
looking and sounding serious.
"He is not insane anymore, is he?" Harry whispered, remembering the scene at
the Ministry. Despite looking the monster he was, Voldemort felt and acted
absolutely... normal. As normal as a Dark Lord could. But his eyes, his ominous
blood red eyes, they looked seriously, consciously, and when he told him he
wasn't going to kill him, they looked even... human. He doubted he saw any kind
of emotions in them, but there was something. Fear?
"No, he is not." Voldemort watched the boy closely. Could Harry understand the
Dark Lord? Could he accept him, like he accepted Severus? "You don't seem to be
afraid of him."
"There are worse things in this world than some hissing megalomaniac," Harry
sighed, scowling at his hands that were tracing patterns on the embroidered
cover. It was a true miracle, really, but ever since he came here, he never
once saw or thought of Vernon. Perhaps, Marvolo was giving him a particularly
potent soporific potion?
Yes, he knew that very well. "Muggles?" Voldemort asked simply, thinking back
on everything he knew about the boy's home life.
"People in general. I do not separate muggles and wizards - we are all the
same, human beings, with the same desires and fears, sins," Harry closed his
eyes resentfully. He jerked and opened his eyes harshly as the mattress sagged
a little under Marvolo's weight - he sat next to him, so close, his thigh
brushed against Harry's. Flinching, he scooped up, pressing himself into the
bed board, staring fearfully at the masked wizard.
"Tell me more," Voldemort said, wondering at the sudden change, sudden fear of
contact.
"What?" Harry croaked, perplexed.
His insides trembled both in fear and delight at such close proximity, he
couldn't understand himself. A man, a dangerous man, bigger, stronger than him,
both physically and magically, was touching him - it screamed violence, pain,
as his mind helpfully provided the images of Vernon towering over him with a
belt in his fist. But at the same time this man radiated calmness, comfort, he
wasn't doing anything else beside sitting close to him and watching him. Harry
barely held back a surprised sob, when he realized that somewhere deep inside
of him a thought was born that Marvolo could sit just a little closer, so that
he could smell his oh so pleasant scent.
"Tell me more about those desires, fears and sins." The deep baritone vibrated
in his own chest it seemed, and he looked up to meet the intense gaze of the
dark brown eyes, framed by the gold shinning brightly in the candle light.
"No." Fear. "I don't want to talk anymore," he grabbed on the covers tightly,
averting his gaze. He was frightened. Not of Marvolo, but of himself.
Seeing that the boy was closing off again, Voldemort sighed and nodded, "Fine.
Take your potions, and, please, eat tomorrow. Otherwise your ulcer will
worsen." Feeling suddenly embarrassed that a Death Eater was taking such great
care of him, his master's orders or not, Harry mumbled in agreement shyly. As
soon as Marvolo left he drank from the vials, hoping that he would fall asleep
again and forget himself and his heavy, gloomy thoughts.
Voldemort came back an hour later. He sat down on the edge of the bed again,
watching Harry sleeping. His thin chest rose steadily underneath the white
shirt, his red lips were parted slightly as he breathed. Wondering why did he
fear physical contact, the Dark Lord carefully cupped Harry's face with his
cool hand, caressing it gently. The boy sighed at the touch, clearly enjoying
it. Maybe, if he got used to him, he would let Voldemort touch him in his
waking hours, would ask to be touched? Sliding his hand down, he rubbed on his
shoulder and chest lightly, barely pressing through the fabric of the shirt.
Harry didn't wake up, didn't move away. Encouraged, the Dark Lord took his hand
in his and held it, stroking the long raven hair that were scattered all over
the pillow with his other hand. Placing his nose against the pale skin of the
boy's limb, he inhaled his scent, trying not to think that soon it would mix
with his own and linger in the sheets of his bed. He brushed his lips against
the knuckles, watching Harry's face all the while - he looked peaceful, the
dream banishing potion he added into the healing ones helped him get the so
long needed rest. But soon he would have to sleep without its help and
Voldemort hoped he would be able to see the boy's nightmares. Surely, if he
helped Harry to deal with his problem, the boy would help him in his mission in
return, wouldn't he?
xxx
Watching Dumbledore pace the length of the kitchen at Grimmauld's was grating
on his nerves, but he was telling himself he couldn't have everything. The
notion that the wretched mutt Black would never again open his filthy mouth
helped him take the situation in strides, calmly.
"Severus, are you sure?" the old wizard asked for the tenth time in the last
hour.
"Yes," he rolled his eyes, sipping his tea.
"How can you just sit here, while the boy is out there all alone!" Hestia Jones
snapped at him. "Why aren't you doing anything?"
Sighing and inwardly asking the spirits to give him strength, Severus put his
china down on the table a little too roughly than it was necessary. "First, I
can't do anything unless the Dark Lord summons me. Second, I have no idea where
Potter had been taken, since I was never present at the Ministry's battle.
Third, I can't just apparate to an unknown location, considering the Dark Lord
changes it constantly. Besides," he drawled, his eyes trained on the ceiling in
boredom, "He said he wouldn't kill the boy, hadn't he?"
"Oh, Severus, now that Sirius is dead you are the only family Harry has left,"
Molly sobbed into her huge handkerchief, being gently patted on the shoulder by
Arthur. The Order had been constantly meeting during the last four days since
Potter's disappearance, but there was little point to it, for none of them
could actually change anything.
Dumbledore lowered himself on his chair heavily, giving all of them a grave
look. "We won't be able to hide Harry's abduction any longer. As soon as the
agiotage from Voldemort's return subsides, they will start asking where the
Boy-Who-Lived is. And we can't even tell if he is safe and sound. Severus, are
you certain Voldemort never said anything about his plans regarding Harry?
Certain he isn't going to harm him?"
"Once again, Albus, I've told you already, I am not. How can I be? The Dark
Lord doesn't trust me anymore, doesn't trust anyone ever since he resurrected,"
the potions master muttered in irritation. "Until he wants to share his plans
with the Inner Circle there is no way I can learn anything about Potter's
condition."
"What about Malfoy?" Shacklebot boomed, leaning forward a little. "We could
search his manor."
"Nobody's there, of that I can assure you," Severus sneered.
xxx
Harry woke up, feeling pleasantly rested - like he hadn't felt in a very long,
long time. Playing with the golden locket on his chest absentmindedly, he
thought about how impossibly comfortable he felt here, in this place, this
bedroom. Touching his cheek, he frowned a little in concentration, trying to
determine if it was a dream or if he simply imagined that somebody had been
caressing him in his sleep. Nobody had ever touched him so gently before and
that was the reason why he was inclined to believe it all to be his wistful
thinking. Shaking it off, he looked around the room, noticing that everything
he moved had been placed back into its place. There was a bookmark between the
pages of the novel he was reading, that he simply left open on the table. Well,
wasn't Marvolo a control freak? There was breakfast on a tray on the other side
of the bed. He still felt nauseous about eating, but had to admit that the
masked wizard was right - the potions wouldn't help his stomach without the
proper food.
Just when he forced the last bit of porridge into his throat, the door into the
room opened and a small house-elf peeked inside, eyeing him fearfully. "Master
Harry is being summoned by Master Voldemort," it squeaked and stared at him
expectantly.
Oh, here it comes. "I am being summoned now," Harry scoffed to himself and got
out of the bed. "Coming," he muttered to the creature, putting his trousers on
and figuring that would be enough for the snakeface.
No fresh breath, no brushed hair, no shoes or socks. Yes, perfect. Holding his
head high, he followed the elf out. They walked through an empty corridor of
what seemed to be a rather old mansion in a very poor condition. Harry was
surprised by the contrast of his cosy and clean room against the dusty, dirty,
barely standing surroundings. It was also eerie quiet. Where were all the Death
Eaters he saw in the hall? Surely, he and Voldemort couldn't be the only ones
present, a house-elf doesn't count?
The little creature stopped and knocked on the dark cherry wood of a heavy door
and, after hearing a sound of approval, opened it wide and motioned for Harry
to come through. Tentatively, he stepped inside what looked like a study -
there were books and scrolls everywhere, filling the space almost completely,
he could swear even the desk, snakeface was sitting at, was made of tomes and
encyclopedias.
"Well, well, Harry, good to see you've made almost a full recovery," Voldemort
hissed and gestured at the opposite chair. Weary of the red-eyed monster, Harry
slowly sat down, tucking his hair behind his ears, watching snakeface's every
move, ready to run the very next moment. "No need to feel so nervous, you are
safe here," the Dark Lord gave him a feral smile full of sharp teeth.
"What... How long am I going to be held here? What do you want from me?" he
demanded, thinking he might just get on with it.
"As long as it takes for the sheep out there to realize that their happy days
are over and that you," Voldemort pointed his long clawed finger at him, "Are
no Savior."
"You are such a drama queen, snakeface," Harry huffed, rolling his eyes.
"A little respect wouldn't hurt you, while I most certainly would," the white
yew wand tapped on the edge of the desk impatiently.
"Yes, sir," Harry drawled reluctantly, pretending it pained him to do so.
"Better than nothing, I suppose," the Dark Lord sighed. "Regarding your second
question: since you are my horcrux and I am not going to kill you, I want you
to stop fighting me and the dark cause. Quite simple."
Raising his eyebrows in amused annoyance Harry wanted to inform snakeface that
he was an arrogant bastard, but hearing the blasted H word he quickly discarded
of this idea, "What the fuck is a horcrux? Sir."
"That dirty mouth of yours..." Voldemort shook his head and leaned back in his
chair, crossing his fingers in front of his ugly face. "A horcrux is, in short,
an object that keeps a piece of wizard's soul inside, working as a magical
vessel. The object must be magical itself, of course. Before you ask: in order
to fracture your soul you must kill another human being, in order to split it
and place into a vessel, you must perform a complex ritual." He gave the boy a
blank look.
"Why would a wizard split his soul?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose. The
concept was completely foreign to him, not that he gave this subject a lot of
thought, but the way he saw it a soul was most sacred possession of a human
being and ripping it in halves seemed barbaric to say the least. Killing
another soul in order to achieve it sounded preposterous. No, it was absolutely
insane.
"How do you think?" Was the answer he got. Looking into the piercing blood red
eyes, he tried to find a tiniest gleam of madness but there was none. Was the
monster just as sane when he split his soul?
"You are afraid of death, aren't you?" he asked quietly, suddenly
understanding.
"Aren't you?" Voldemort rubbed his hands together, as he always did when they
got particularly cold. It was his human habit he couldn't get rid of even when
he used to be a snake like creature.
"I am, but that doesn't mean I am going to maim my own soul," Harry scowled,
disgusted by the mere thought. A realization suddenly stroke him seemingly out
of nowhere. "Tom Riddle's journal... Your journal, it was a horcrux, wasn't
it?" Had Voldemort split his soul at sixteen? How could he even think of it at
that age? How... for god's sake but he was just a teenager, like Harry himself,
like Ron and Hermione... What could have compelled a young boy to do something
so horrible to himself, to kill someone?
"Yes, the one you destroyed along with my basilisk," the Dark Lord growled
angrily.
"I am not apologizing for this," Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "But
you said I am also a horcrux... how come I can be a vessel for your soul if I
have my own?" he was terribly confused by the notion that he had been bearing a
piece of monster's rotten soul inside of him and never even knew about it. But
Dumbledore had known all along, hadn't he?
"It is impossible in theory," Voldemort said thoughtfully, boring his eyes into
the lightning bolt scar. "However, practically it is very much plausible, as we
both can see. It is most curious that you received my powers, my parseltongue
ability, but managed to stay a light wizard, your own self. I believe my soul
merged with yours, for you were awfully young when it happened, you were only
developing as a human being."
"It wasn't your plan then?" Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.
The Dark Lord shook his head, "No. It was an accident. I was planning to create
another horcrux after I killed you, from one of Potter's heirlooms, but
alas..." he spread his hands and lifted his shoulders - a gesture so human and
ordinary, Harry had to bit his tongue not to laugh out loud. He frowned,
however, after the words sank in.
"Just how many of those little Voldemorts do you have?"
A cold hissing laugh made him shudder involuntarily. "I am not telling you,
Harry, it is quite enough you are one of them," Voldemort chuckled mirthfully.
He wasn't going to tell the boy he absorbed all of them, not yet. He wanted
Dumbledore to believe they still existed, to try and hunt them down - it would
buy him time to execute all of his plans without the old coot's interference.
"Can you take it out?" He hated how small his voice sounded but he wanted,
needed to know.
"It could kill you, since, as I've already told you, I think our souls merged,"
the Dark Lord sighed. There really was no telling what would happen if they
tried to take his soul out, besides, Harry was a perfect vessel in all aspects.
A powerful, intelligent wizard, and a beautiful one - no magical heirloom, no
matter how valuable, could rival with him. Harry was priceless.
"What if I kill myself?" He knew it was a childish thing to say for he knew he
didn't have the guts to do it.
"I dearly hope you wouldn't," Voldemort's lips stretched in a smile, though it
didn't reach his eyes. They turned cold and hard. "Besides, your death would be
in vain, you wouldn't be even remembered as a martyr - unlike muggles, wizards
do not accept suicides. And I will carry on with my work."
"But what would my life be if I stop fighting you? They would hate me even more
than they already do." Not that he cared, really, but the thought that his
friends might reject him for being a coward settled as a heavy weight in his
gut.
"You would have a normal life you dream about?" the Dark Lord offered.
Snorting indecently, Harry laughed bitterly, "With a chunk of you inside of me?
I doubt that. What if I killed myself or asked somebody else to do it unless
you ceased killing people and ruining this world?"
"It is not your place to dictate the terms of our, ah, agreement, besides, as
I've already said, your death would be pointless. I do value your life and the
well-being of my horcrux, but there is no choosing between them and my
mission," the monster drawled, giving him a cold glare, that conveyed very well
just what exactly did he think of Harry's threats. "You have a lot of time to
think about my proposition. I can give you anything you want. You already have
my word that I would never kill or harm you," Voldemort flicked his wrist to
lighten the fire in the hearth.
"How about a vow?" watching his movements carefully, Harry relaxed slightly at
the warmth that instantly spread around the room.
Little serpent in a lion's skin. "Fine. Would you like it to be sealed with
blood?"
"No fucking way," Harry grimaced, rubbing the long scar on his left arm
unconsciously, "Just a simple unbreakable vow would do, thank you very much."
The Dark Lord offered him his white hand to hold. Swallowing harshly, Harry
stared at it - he had completely forgotten they needed to bind the vow. At
snakeface's impatient grumping he grabbed onto his limb, trembling inside. But
nothing happened, the monster's hand was simply cold and a little rough to the
touch because of the countless small scales that covered it, but it wasn't
unpleasant as he thought it would be. And again he felt this strange comfort of
a physical contact - was it all horcrux' doing? Was it the monster's soul
craving his closeness and touch?
"I still hate you," Harry assured the Dark Lord, after the gleaming golden
binds that tied their hands together dissipated.
"Don't care," Voldemort said simply, seemingly loosing interest to their
conversation altogether, as he turned back to whatever he was working on before
Harry arrived. "Go now." At these words the same house-elf opened the door and
beckoned Harry to follow him. He opened his mouth to say something particularly
offensive, but was once again silenced by snakeface's wandless magic. Swearing
mutely, he stomped after the little creature, slamming the door shut behind
him. He didn't hear Voldemort laughing behind it.
xxx
In the evening Marvolo visited him again. Harry doubted he was a guard, even
doubted he was sent by snakeface. The way the man acted and spoke to him
suggested he was coming to see him out of his own sick will. Just who was he
and why was he living with Voldemort all alone in the huge empty mansion? When
the wizard put the vials onto the table beside him and sat down into his usual
chair, Harry asked him just that.
Voldemort laughed out loud at his inquiry, tilting his head back, showing his
beautiful pearly teeth and Harry clutched the book in his hands helplessly as
butterflies fluttered in his stomach and a small smile stretched his lips,
despite his best efforts to conceal it. This booming, rich laughter was truly
contagious.
"I do not live with him. This is my house," the man smiled brightly, still
chuckling, and crossed his legs, unbuttoning his jacket.
"Then why are you coming here every day?" he asked, trying to ignore the
traitorous warmth in his groin, suppressing the sensation of the man's laughter
still lingering inside him.
"Because I like talking to you, Harry." A smile he received was particularly
charming. "You are an interesting young man," Voldemort purred, leaning
forward. They were very close, since the boy was perched on the edge of the
bed, his bare feet mere inches away from the Dark Lord's knees. As he moved,
the long toes curled, and Harry visibly tensed, but didn't flinch away.
"You are no ordinary Death Eater, are you?" Watching him warily, Harry hugged
his knees tighter. Marvolo's face was so close now, he could see the specks of
red and black in his brown eyes; his plump rose lips quivered ever so slightly
as if he was trying to hold back his amusement.
"And you are no ordinary light wizard," Voldemort teased, enjoying the way the
boy's eyelashes palpitated at his closeness, reveling in warmth radiating from
the young body before him, inhaling its scent imperceptibly. "Why are you
afraid of me?"
"I am not," he widened his eyes, catching his breath, as Marvolo's knees
pressed against his feet. It was a tickling, not at all unpleasant sensation.
The wizard rested his elbows on his knees and slowly lowered his head onto his
folded hands, bringing it on the same level with Harry's. Oh, hell. These lips,
these eyes, this damned dimple. Harry breathed out shakily, blushing, when he
realized that his breath brushed against Marvolo's skin.
He wanted to kiss this lovely innocent mouth, to take all the air out of
Harry's lungs, but he knew that he couldn't force himself on the boy. They were
slowly building this unsteady trust between each other and Voldemort was eager
to strengthen it. The heat in his groin wasn't helping, but he refused to move
away. The closer he was to the little Prince, the more wonderful he felt. Like
a magnet Harry pulled him closer, tempted him with his every uncertain gesture,
with every flutter of eyelashes, drowned him in the deep green of his shining
eyes. Desire. Desire was a synonym to the boy's name.
"I think you are afraid of something. Or someone. I wish I could help you get
rid of your fears."
"You can't," Harry frowned and looked away.
There it was again - the thick wall between them. And he wanted Harry, wanted
so badly. Not just sexually - he wanted the light wizard, the kindhearted hero
of the wizarding world to want him back, to look at him without this constant
vigilance but with something akin to appreciation, admiration. Not like some of
his followers did, not with obsequious adoration and lust for his power, but
kindly, gently.
Sighing, Voldemort pulled away and rose up from his seat. "Sleep well, Harry."
The boy didn't answer and the door clicked loudly behind him.
This was going to be the last night he gave Harry a dream banishing potion.
xxx
A week passed and Harry was ready to go into a frenzy from boredom and
sleepless nights. Yet again he started seeing nightmares. There were no more
visions from Voldemort, but the cemetery and Cedric's corpse remained. Vernon
and his filthy cock remained. And a new kind of dream developed: in which Harry
was looked in the mirror and saw his own face morph into the ugly snake like
mask, as his green eyes narrowed and became red as rubies. He woke screaming
every time, clutching at the locket frantically, seeking comfort from the
contact of a cool metal and his heated, sweated skin. Marvolo visited him only
twice and, reluctantly, he had to admit to himself he missed the wizard's
presence. It calmed him even though it excited him as well. Hungry for magic,
he helplessly paged through the latin tomes, trying to decipher the spells from
the description texts, practicing the wand movements with his empty hand. Harry
even befriended the little shy house-elf, whose name was Easy. She used to
bring him food when he didn't look, but after he called for her a few times,
she finally dared to show herself. She instantly warmed up to him as soon as he
told her about his friend Dobby. He asked about her name once and Easy giggled
shyly, refusing to tell him, for she didn't want to embarrass her master. Harry
decided he would ask Marvolo the next time he sees him.
Tossing and turning in his bed, Harry panted harshly, tagging onto his shirt in
a blind attempt to lessen the heat. No matter how hard he tried, exhaustion got
the better of him and he fell asleep. He dreamed of one of the hot sunny summer
days at Surrey, when he came back from the grocery shop, with his hands full of
bags with food his aunt Petunia ordered him to get. Oohing and breathing hard,
as the sweat ran down his face and back, Harry dropped everything on the table,
leaning onto it as his body trembled, protesting the hard strain he had put it
through. Petunia and Dudley were not at home, visiting some place else, and he
dearly hoped Vernon would stay at his golf club until late evening. But it
wasn't his lucky day, he concluded, when he heard the tires rustle against the
gravel in front of the house. His uncle was back early. And when he entered the
kitchen with his face purple in rage, Harry knew he was in for it. It never
mattered if he was at fault or was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time
- he was Vernon's favourite mean of working up the pent-up frustration and
anger.
The beating was quick but thorough. Vernon always preferred raping to whipping
- it was a double pleasure he lusted after. Thirteen year old Harry could
hardly resist the force of his huge body and strong hands. Bending down
obediently, he watched with sinking heart his wrists being tied to the frame of
his bed securely. The less he struggled the less painful it was - he learned
this lesson the hard way. Muttering profanities under his nose and panting
harshly in his obvious arousal, Vernon tore the already ruined, blooded t-shirt
off of his body and licked hungrily on his lower back, growling in
anticipation, as his hands wondered lower to pull the oversized jeans down
along with darn pants. Whimpering weakly into the mattress, Harry squeezed his
eyes and greeted his teeth, preparing himself for the most disgusting, horrible
thing that existed in the world. It was so painful every time he pushed his
filthy prick inside of him, that the tears ran down his face despite his best
efforts to hold them back. He loathed the feeling of that abominable thing
stretching and pounding inside him.
"Yes, yes!" his uncle cried, hammering madly into his arse, squeezing his
buttocks so hard the bruises wouldn't wear off for weeks. "Little filthy slut,
do you like it when I fill your tight dirty hole, huh? Do you like it?
Yeeeesss." Vernon sometimes slapped him on the face, or even belted him on his
back, while fucking, but his favourite fantasy was that of Harry being a whore,
taking in every cock in the neighbourhood. He gaged as he felt sperm filling
him up and the prick jerk inside of him in release. Vernon cried out in
pleasure, grabbing on his hair and pulling his head back. "Now, clean it up,
you, whore!" Hastily setting his hands free, he dragged him down and pressed
his tear-stricken face to his already soft, ugly penis. Harry was afraid he
would throw up all over it and get punished even worse. "Do I have to fuck you
in your mouth, you, lazy piece of shit?" At his protesting cries Vernon dropped
him on the floor roughly and forced his huge flesh on top of him.
"No, no, please! No!"
Since Harry didn't have his wand he couldn't cast silencing spells at night and
Voldemort listened to his screams every time he fell asleep. He didn't
interfere, for usually Harry woke up almost immediately and never slept
afterwards. But tonight he kept crying and crying, stuck too deep in his own
subconsciousness to break free. Standing outside the door into his bedroom, he
hesitated to enter, hearing that the boy had finally woke up. But Harry kept
crying and sobbing harshly, clearly hysterical. Thinking it was time for him to
get to the bottom of this, Voldemort opened the door softly and soundlessly
stepped inside. The little Prince sat on the windowsill, his trembling form was
brightly lit by the light of the full moon; hugging his knees, he wept quietly
into the already wet fabric of his pajama, unable to stop.
"Harry."
His head shot up harshly and he stared at the dark form standing before him.
When Marvolo moved closer to him, he flinched violently away, "Don't touch me!"
"Harry," Voldemort repeated in a low, soothing tone, frowning at the boy's
reaction. "Harry, it's alright, it was only a dream."
"Don't," Harry shook his head vehemently, feeling as a new wave of tears came
over him. He hated himself for being so weak and so filthy, tainted, and he
hated Marvolo for being a fucking Death Eater and the only person that came at
night to comfort him. He couldn't be sympathized with, he didn't deserve it.
"Alright," he heard a soft sigh and a pale hand came into the view, holding a
handkerchief out for him. Cursing inwardly for feeling all touchy like a bloody
girl, Harry snatched it out of the wizard's hold and rubbed on his face
angrily, trying in vain to calm his shaking shoulders and chest. He had been
never offered a bloody tissue before. "I think you should get back in bed."
Before Harry could even open his mouth in protest, a pair of strong, cool arms
gathered and pulled him closer to a broad firm chest. Struggling against the
hold, he growled and wheezed in a choking attack of panic. "Breathe, Harry," he
was gently laid down onto the mattress. As soon as he broke free, Harry darted
to the other side of the bed, pushing himself into the headboard like a trapped
animal, trembling violently, feeling as his insides turn upside down, being cut
by the sharp fit of fear.
"Harry, it's alright, I am not going to hurt you," Marvolo sat on the edge of
the other side of the mattress, almost invisible in the darkness surrounding
him, Harry could only make out his tall black silhouette against the bluish
cold moonlight. His voice was so deep, so nice and calming, a complete opposite
of Vernon's. The wizard's scent and aura soothed his nerves and he started to
relax gradually, as his fear subsided, but he still didn't move. "I can help
you. If you tell me what happened to you, I would be able to heal you."
"No," Harry whispered, "No, I can't. I can never be healed."
Was the boy ashamed of himself? Voldemort couldn't understand that, the last
time he felt embarrassed was many many years ago, the very last time somebody
dared to raise a hand at him. But the memory of that feeling was almost
untraceable now, for he hadn't felt weak ever since. What else was there to be
ashamed of, really? He knew Harry to be the strongest, most stubborn boy he had
ever met, after Severus, of course, so the emotions he thought he could hear in
the little Prince's voice confused him.
"Why don't you lie down? I wouldn't touch you, I promise," he patted a place in
the middle of the bed.
"I can't sleep anymore," Harry breathed out shakily, jerking slightly as his
hysteria was slowly going away. Through the blur of his tears he noticed,
somewhat absentmindedly, that Marvolo wasn't wearing his mask and he wished,
that he could simply move closer and finally see his face. But he felt too
tired, too broken to care about this now.
Annoyed, for he knew he wasn't going to win this fight, Voldemort decided he
would play dirty. Better results often called for worse means.
"Harry, come here," he gritted through his teeth, filling his every word with
compulsive magic. It demanded much more power and intent from a wizard than,
for example, Imperius Curse, but Harry was immune to the latter, so he had no
other choice. As the boy slowly, reluctantly complied, no doubt fighting him,
and lay down beside him, Voldemort hovered over his form. "I hope I wouldn't
have to persuade you any more in the future. It is for your own good, little
one."
Harry couldn't decide if he was angry or grateful. He wanted to punch the
arrogant wizard for the cheek of forcing him to submit to his will. But at the
same time he couldn't deny that such close proximity to Marvolo made him feel
much, much better. He settled on silent fuming and deep breathing, hoping to
inhale as much of the man's scent as possible. He couldn't decipher any of the
features in the gloom, all he saw was the white of his eyes. Harry heard
Marvolo's slow, quiet breathing and listened in for his heartbeat - it was
there, steady and calming, like everything about the man.
He jerked as a cold hand covered his and squeezed it lightly. "How does it
feel?" He's asking how does it feel, what the hell is wrong with him?
"Are you retarded? Let go of me!" Harry growled, but as much as he wanted he
couldn't pull away.
"You are," Voldemort retorted and rubbed the tensed limb gently. "Relax, Harry.
I am simply holding your hand, concentrate on something else."
"Like cursing you into oblivion?"
He chuckled softly, "Yes, if you wish." Harry stirred at the sensation of
pleasant warmth that these sounds sent down his stiffen body. The cold hand was
so soft, so gentle in its touch, he thought it was impossible to enjoy
something as simple as that. Even though it was forced on him, he realized it
did bring him strange, almost spiritual comfort. "I will cast a sleeping spell
on you, it is very mild but it will help your mind and body to relax, alright?"
He wished he could listen to this wonderful voice for the whole night instead
but knew it was a very unhealthy, wrong desire. "Yeah, go ahead."
When Harry's breathing became steady and clear again, Voldemort reluctantly let
go of his hand. The little Prince was so warm, he wished to coil around him
like a snake around the hot stone under the sun. Taking advantage of his
position, he bent down and loomed over Harry, propped on his elbow, almost
lying on top of him. Yes, the heat from the boy's body was irresistible.
Sighing, he slid his other, still cold hand over Harry's chest and shoulder,
trying to explore him through the thick layer of his clothes. Snaking his
fingers around the long thin neck he moaned softly - how could anybody be so
hot and still look so pale. It seemed the blood boiled in Harry's veins. Moving
his hand up, Voldemort caressed his face, taking his time to map the high
cheekbones and the soft, soft lips. It was too early to kiss them yet. Grumping
to himself in displeasure, he leaned closer and kissed the lightning bolt scar,
drawing a soft contented sigh from the boy. Smiling, he pressed his lips
against it one more time, not moving away for a long time, reveling in the
closeness, intimacy of their contact. He realized he was making it all much
worse and more difficult for himself, but temptation was stronger than sense.
xxx
The next morning found Harry in a strange mood. He was embarrassed of himself
and his yesterday's behavior, hated his own guts for being the sniveling shit
that he was, and oh how he hated Marvolo. The man just couldn't keep his hands
away, could he? Touching always meant pain to Harry, violence and something
very foul and dirty. But the bloody wizard turned him into a pile of goo by
simply holding his hand. And this time Harry was sure he touched him when he
fell asleep, he felt it through the deep slumber he put him in. It enraged and
excited him simultaneously. How dared he touching him so shamelessly, kissing
him on his scar for god's sake?! But what was even worse - Harry knew he
enjoyed it, and no matter how hard he was trying convince himself otherwise,
his body disagreed. It knew what it liked and it liked Marvolo. Fuck. Groaning
in frustration, Harry pressed his forehead against the cold glass of the
window, squinting at the bright spring sun.
"Good morning, I hope you slept well?" He didn't turn to meet the damned
wizard, stubbornly staring at the green lawn outside his room.
Voldemort came closer and looked at the boy intently - he seemed to be in some
sort of denial. Oh, well, weren't they all? He leaned against the windowsill
beside Harry and crossed his arms over his chest, watching the little Prince
expectantly.
"The fuck do you want?" Harry snapped impatiently, scowling at the glass.
"Harry, Harry," the Dark Lord sighed, clicking his tongue, "Language."
"Fuck language, the hell you were pawing me yesterday? I told you not to touch
me!" he glared at Marvolo, finally gracing him with attention. The blasted
golden mask was back in its place, as was the alluring smile.
"You wouldn't deny you enjoyed it, though, would you?" Voldemort drawled
smugly, stretching his long legs, as he shifted to sit more comfortably.
"You are a bastard," Harry muttered, crossing his arms over his chest
defiantly, involuntarily mirroring the other's pose.
"That dirty mouth of yours," the Dark Lord sighed in feigned exasperation and
suddenly moved forward and placed a quick wet kiss onto the boy's red lips.
"That's better," he purred, as he pulled away a little and looked at Harry's
gobsmacked expression and impossibly wide eyes. He couldn't decide if he liked
a surprised Harry better than an angry one.
"The f-fuck did you do this for?" Harry stumbled back, staring at the wizard
wildly. He couldn't even master enough anger to shout at him, so shocked he
felt, so... elated. This was a completely foreign sensation, he never felt even
remotely close to pleasure as he did now.
"Felt like kissing you, so I did," Voldemort shrugged his shoulders elegantly
and tilted his head to the side, watching the boy amusedly. Was the little
Prince that innocent he had never been kissed before? How any more luckier he
was going to get with him?
"No, no, no, this is so fucked up!" Harry cried and ran into the bathroom,
locking the door behind him.
Panting harshly, he pressed against it, barricading himself from Marvolo. The
heat that was spreading all over his body calmed his stomach and he dumbly
realized he didn't feel sick after being kissed. He didn't feel sick after
being kissed and touched by a man. By a bigger, much stronger, dangerous man.
Oh, how he wished Ron was here to tell him that he was imagining things, that
"normal blokes didn't fall for other blokes, especially Death Eaters." But no
matter how hard he tried to make his inner voice sound like his redheaded
friend, it spoke to him in that small, cunning voice again, that he associated
with, surprisingly, Draco Malfoy. It asked him if he really cared for what the
normal blokes did when he wasn't normal at all and everything in his life was
as far out of the norm as possible. It also asked if he truly wanted to give
these new, wonderful feelings up for the sake of morals and principles that
were forced on him by his wretched relatives. What would Snape have said, he
wondered. Harry didn't know why, but he thought his father would have told him
to shut it and be the slytherin that he was. Could he, though?
xxx
He hadn't seen Marvolo for a week. Easy took him to meet snakeface one more
time, but their conversation wasn't fruitful. Harry demanded to be returned to
Hogwarts or at least to get his wand back. Voldemort denied him his wishes and
gave him a few newspapers instead to "read and consider" as he phrased it.
There were articles speculating on whether Harry was killed, abducted or had
simply run away as a petty, insane coward that he was. He knew that was exactly
what the monster wanted to achieve - they all turned their backs on the Boy-
Who-Lived the second he left them to face the Dark Lord on their own. Every
reporter wrote about his "debt" to the wizarding society, about his obligation
before them and the Ministry to put his own life out on the front line. Hating
the fact that Voldemort had been plotting this from the very beginning, he
couldn't help but feel righteous anger build up inside of him. He had no debts
and obligations whatsoever, he owed them nothing, nor was he a coward, for,
unlike they, he never hid behind a child's back in the moment of crisis. Hell,
they openly admitted he was a bloody sacrifice they were more than willing to
make in order to go on with their stupid, pathetic lives.
Crumpling the papers and throwing them around in irritation, seething, Harry
growled lowly and punched the wall hard with his fist. He hated, hated them
all, wizards were no better than muggles, all the same, wishing only to use him
for their own benefit. Fuming, he stared at his flabby limb, frowning at the
numbness that slowly crept up his fingers. Wonderful. He broke his hand.
Gasping in a sudden sharp pain, he plumped downed onto the chair and dropped
his head in his healthy hand helplessly. He had been living these last five
years knowing that he was supposed to do the right thing. It had always been
killing Voldemort, as he had been told. But now... now he didn't know what was
right. Could he really leave it all behind? The war, the Death Eaters, the
Order, his friends, who would, no doubt, fill in the gaps in Dumbledore's
ranks. Could he let Voldemort kill the innocents and force his tyrannic regime
on those who would be left alive? Did he care for them? He did, he did,
Hermione always accused him of having the 'people saving' syndrome. But did
they, the people he wanted to save, care? Judging by what he had read and heard
during his five years spent in the wizarding world - they didn't give a shit
about him, he wasn't a person in their eyes but a tool. Bread and circuses -
that was all they cared about.
Harry loved magic, ever since he had discovered it he adored and cherished it,
as his most prized possession that was his and his alone, and no matter how
hard his uncle tried, nothing could take it away from him, it helped him
breathe when he could not, it helped him live when he was at the death's door,
it soothed him when he was in pain... But as he grew up he came to a conclusion
that he had been living yet another illusion. He was an outcast in both muggle
and wizarding worlds, and his magic couldn't help him change that. Nothing
could, no one. He knew Voldemort had his own selfish reasons but there was
logic behind his arguments - if Harry wanted a normal life he had to let go of
everything he knew now. But this was the hardest part. For twelve years he had
nothing, he was nothing, a slave, an empty spot, and than he found some kind of
closure in his magic, in Hogwarts he found home, friends... his father. How
could he give up something he had just found?
His eyes snapped open when a pleasant coolness enveloped his aching hand.
Looking up, he saw Marvolo bent over him, holding his limb and muttering some
kind of a spell. That bastard. Harry blushed fiercely, remembering the quick,
arrogant kiss. He thought his face was set on fire as he remembered something
else - his first wet dream, that he saw yesterday. It was nothing special, just
the touches and whispered words, but that was enough for him to wake up to the
very first erection in his life. He thought this would never happen to him due
to Vernon's thorough dedication to his job of ruining Harry's life and
personality. But there he was, lying in the other man's bed with a half hard
cock and a deep voice whispering nonsense into his ear. The fact that his body
worked properly brought him joy, of course, but the fact that it was the result
of his lusting after a man, and a Death Eater... was disconcerting.
He wanted to snatch his hand away, wanted to insult Marvolo, to tell him to
fuck off, but instead he snarled, "Where have you been?" Had he really missed
him?
"Oh, possessive, aren't we?" Voldemort chuckled, rubbing on the now healed limb
gently, enjoying the warmth of their contact. He thought it would be best to
give the boy some space before taking it all in strides. It had been more than
two weeks since he last slept in his bed and he wanted Harry, preferably now.
"You're a bastard," Harry muttered, curling and spreading the fingers of the
recently broken hand.
"What do I have to do with that foul mouth of yours, hmm? Should I shove my
tongue into it to make you talk decently?" the Dark Lord took him by the chin
and pushed his head up a little to look into the bright green eyes.
Harry wanted to move away, but such close proximity of these rose lips and this
intense gaze of brown eyes mesmerized him, sending shivers down his spine. He
swallowed harshly at the shameless suggestion, feeling stupid and lost. What
did normal people do in situations like this one? No, scratch that, he wasn't
normal, nor was Marvolo, obviously.
"Marvolo..." he breathed out and Voldemort was ready to purr like a cat at his
name being said so sinfully. "Fuck," Harry felt his mind was clouding and he
was losing the ability to think straight.
"Soon."
He perked up at the innuendo, but before he could say anything, the warm, wet
lips covered his and lingered much longer this time, letting him revel in the
sensation and once again realize that it didn't disgust him, didn't sicken him,
on the contrary, it made his stomach flutter in satisfaction. When they parted
he saw Marvolo licking his lips, savoring Harry's taste. It looked so
fascinating and alluring, that he involuntarily leaned forward.
"Hmm, would you like some more?" the wizard smiled smugly and Harry felt the
urge to kiss this annoying grin off of his face.
"Yes," he hissed and his hands grabbed onto the soft chestnut hair on their own
accord, as Marvolo pulled him closer, holding him gently by the shoulders.
Their lips pressed against each other again. How could this feel so good, he
wondered, gasping softly as the other man kept moving his mouth, sucking on his
skin and licking his lips, asking, no, demanding to be let inside. Harry parted
them slowly, uncertainly, but as soon as his tongue met Marvolo's, he whimpered
and harried to open his mouth as wide as possible. The things the bastard was
doing to him! Rationally, he understood that he was doing the very same thing
Ginny had done back then but this, this was so much more...sensual, mature,
passionate. Marvolo's taste was just as masculine and indescribable as his
scent. It bore both sweet and bitter notes in itself and Harry found he liked
it very much.
He didn't notice that he had stood up at some point and was millimeters away
from the wizard's body. The cold hands slid down his shoulders and onto his
arms, comforting and exciting in their both forcing and calming gesture. His
own hands let go of the soft hair to travel lower onto the neck. Marvolo was so
tall and strong under the layers of his always dark clothes. Harry realized he
wasn't breathing only when they pulled away, both panting harshly. His lips
stung pleasantly and he stared in wonder at the other man, surprised and scared
by the hunger in the brown half-lidded eyes. Letting go of him abruptly, Harry
took a step back, and another one. This went far enough, too far for his own
liking. His groin burned with heat, his head was spinning. Marvolo looked...
almost inhuman. His broad shoulder slumped, his long neck craned a little; the
narrowed brown eyes gleamed ominously, possessively; thin pale hands balled
into tight fists - his whole posture screamed predator, he was ready to leap at
his throat and tear him to pieces.
"You frighten me," Harry said hoarsely, looking at him with wide eyes.
Snapping out of his stupor, Voldemort straightened himself, grateful he wore a
long robe that covered his apparent arousal. "I cannot apologize for something
natural," he tried to understand what was it that scared the little Prince so
much. Surely, he didn't expect him to become violent in his lust? At the boy's
perplexed expression he added nonchalantly, "It is natural to want another man,
even more so to be unable to stop when both get carried away in their passion."
"Well, good you did stop after all," Harry averted his eyes, feeling his face
started reddening again. This was becoming truly annoying.
"Harry," Voldemort took a careful step closer and waited for the boy to look up
and meet his eyes. "You are a very beautiful young man. How can I not want
you?" He would have expected any other person to flush and shy away in
pleasure, or laugh teasingly, or gain confidence at such high praise but not
Harry, no, of course not. The little Prince scowled at his words and took yet
another step back, closing off again. What did he say wrong?
"I don't want to be here anymore," the boy whispered and turned his back to
him, moving to stand at the window.
Well, what could he say to this? I won't let you out before I fucked you
senseless? Didn't sound like something Harry would appreciate.
"I know. Just be patient, Harry."
The boy didn't turn to look at him and he frowned in irritation. He hated the
other's disrespect and often asked himself why did he let Harry get away with
so much. It wasn't because of the horcrux, definitely.
xxx
Marvolo. He was calling his name, gasping in pleasure, as the cold hands
caressed his body. He craved the skin on skin contact but no matter how hard he
tried his shirt just wouldn't come off. The soft deep laughter echoed inside
his own chest and his cock twitched pleasantly as a hot breath of the other man
brushed against his lips. This was so good and he wanted so much more... Harry
opened his eyes to the rays of the morning sun falling onto his face. Frozen,
he reached down with his hand and examined himself - yes, he was hard. It felt
like he was going to die from frustration and itching that seemed to spread all
over his body. He never did this before, never touched himself, too disgusted
with his own filthy self. Squeezing his eyes shut he tried to will the erection
away, he wasn't going to indulge himself, he couldn't let himself find pleasure
in this, not when he knew he would return to his relatives in just two months.
But his body didn't listen, no matter how much he tried to imagine Vernon
taking him, there was always Marvolo in his place, smiling a him and holding
him gently. Fuck, this is ridiculous! His thoughts went back to that kiss they
shared and everything the wizard told him. Did he really find Harry beautiful,
did he really want him? Was it possible to desire someone so horrible, so used?
His hand stroked his penis on its own accord, as the bitter thoughts dissipated
in favour of the memories of all the sensations Harry experienced with Marvolo.
He came, crying out the damned name, arching his back in unusual, pleasant
shock that went through his body. Was it always like this for the two involved?
His most unnatural, sickening contact with Vernon convinced him there could be
no pleasure, nothing satisfying in being with another person, a man especially.
All he knew about sex and any kind of physical closeness was that it resulted
in pain, violence, humiliation and tears. Humiliation. He sat up on the bed,
looking at his hand covered in his own sperm. How degrading was this, to
indulge one's self in an animalistic desire on somebody else's bed? Not
somebody, Marvolo's! Harry swallowed hard, feeling the heat spread over his
lower parts yet again. He had been masturbating in Marvolo's bed, thinking of
him. What it would be like if he touched Harry there? Gasping, he grabbed onto
his momentarily hardened cock. This was so embarrassing, he couldn't, he
wouldn't dream about another man touching him, no, no, no. But he was stroking
himself again, panting into the pillow that smelt of the tall dark wizard,
pressing into the sheets he slept on, moaning at the most inappropriate thought
that he wanted Marvolo to be here with him, now, at this very moment.
"Oh, shit!" he jerked violently, as he came. Sweat ran down his face and he
groaned lowly as he realized he tensed all of his muscles so much, it was
painful to relax now. Shaking, he dragged himself out of the bed and into the
bathroom. To clean himself off of his shame.
xxx
Voldemort stood outside the door once again, listening to Harry tossing and
crying in his sleep. He thought the boy's nightmares about him should have
gradually disappeared, since the Dark Lord was so kind and careful with him.
What was it that made the little Prince suffer so much? What horrors suffocated
him in his dreams? He itched to use Legilimency, it would have been so much
easier after he broke all of the boy's shields. But he knew this was the worst
way of handling the situation, not only would it turn Harry completely against
him but it would also hurt him, for Voldemort couldn't be gentle in penetrating
other's minds, didn't know how to, for he never needed to be ceremonial with
other people. Pushing the door open, he entered soundlessly and stood next to
the bed, frowning at the sight of sweated, white, tear-stained face, looking
pained in the moonlight falling through the window.
"No! No!"
Harry thrashed, clutching onto the crumpled covers that he shed and pushed to
the other side of the bed. His white sleeping shirt was dripping wet, sticking
to his chest as was his raven hair. Voldemort sat down on the mattress as close
to him as possible and carefully laid his hands onto the boy's shoulders,
pinning him down gently. Almost instantly Harry relaxed under his touch. A hot,
sweated hand grabbed on his wrist, seeking comfort and reassurance. Leaning
down, the Dark Lord brushed the hair away form Harry's face, caressing him all
the while and watching intently for any sign of discomfort or a nightmare
coming back. There was none. Pulling closer, he placed a kiss onto the scar on
the boy's forehead, knowing it would help him relax. A soft sigh escaped the
red lips and he moved down a little to kiss them as well. Just a quick peck,
nothing else. When he tried to pull away, thin arms circled his neck and Harry
buried his nose into his shoulder, whimpering pitifully. The Dark Lord doesn't
coddle. He tagged on the boy's arms, but he couldn't let him go, holding him as
of his life depended on it.
"Don't go," Harry mumbled desperately and Voldemort sighed, both in pleasure
and annoyance.
He wasn't cut out to deal with teenagers, but he felt differently for the
little Prince, so familiar and dear because of the horcrux connection that was
between them, the Dark Lord felt practically compelled to comfort him, as if
his own soul was in pain. Well, technically, it was. Gathering the thin body in
his strong arms he pulled Harry up into his lap and pressed him against his
chest. Wearing a thin shirt only, he marveled at the heat that enveloped him as
Harry embraced him. Holding the silently weeping boy, Voldemort wondered when
was the last time somebody embraced him, sincerely and tightly, not in
seduction but in seeking his comfort and his humanity. He couldn't remember. He
wasn't sure he had ever held anybody willingly in such fashion either. He was
holding his horcrux, he tried to remind himself, stroking soothingly the
shaking shoulders and the long raven hair, as his nose and lips were pressed
against the boy's forehead. Despite having no sexual aspect, their contact was
most intimate and the Dark Lord found he could allow himself to have it more
often, given that Harry would be willing to go further than kissing.
"Do you want me to stay for the night?" he whispered, rubbing the knuckles of
his cold fingers against the boy's wet cheek.
"Yes," Harry sighed and nuzzled into the crook of his neck, sobbing softly.
Voldemort wanted to ask what he saw in his nightmare, but something told him
the little Prince wouldn't answer. He hated not knowing but with Harry there
could be no rush. He needed the boy's trust.
xxx
"If you behave yourself, I will take you outside," he heard Marvolo purr behind
him and turned around sharply to see the man smiling at him his usual charming
smile as if he hadn't held Harry during the night, listening to his pathetic
weeping. It was sunny outside and warm, the grass looked so unnaturally green
it reminded him of those synthetic lawns most people bought in Surrey. But this
grass was real, tall and crisp, never once tended to by a gardner or a house-
elf. Nodding to the other wizard, Harry found his hands full of long black
cloak, no doubt one of those he saw in the wardrobe.
"Put it on then."
Embarrassed for what had recently happened, he silently complied and soon was
following Marvolo through the corridors and down the grand, half-ruined stairs.
"I would have let you roam around the house if it wasn't too dangerous. It will
crumble down soon, even magic can't preserve it now," the wizard said over his
shoulder, seeing that Harry was staring around, trying to get a better look at
everything. Yes, it did seem that Marvolo used only two rooms - everything else
was buried under the thickest layer of dust and dirt he had ever seen and was
quickly rotting away. If only Petunia could see this mess - she would have died
of a heart attack.
"Where would you live when it falls down?" Harry decided to have a small talk
to get rid of the tension he felt between them.
In your father's manor, preferably. "I will find something, it is not that hard
to find a decent house nowadays if you have money." They stepped outside into
the bright sun and Harry squinted and smiled involuntarily, enjoying the warmth
on his face. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Marvolo was also pleased
by being out in the fresh air. His golden mask shone blindingly in the
sunlight, making Harry squeeze his eyes and look away.
"Where are all the Death Eaters, during all the time I've been here I never saw
any of them?"
"Do you really expect me to let them live in my house?" the wizard snorted
incredulously.
"And what about snakeface?" he turned to look at the man, who sat down on the
grass and motioned for him to do the same. He complied with a secret
satisfaction that Marvolo could enjoy something so mundane and was ready to let
Harry do the same.
"The Dark Lord may do as he pleases. He put you here, after all," Voldemort
drawled, giving the boy a pointed look.
"Ugly privileged bastard," Harry muttered sarcastically, ripping off a few
strands of grass. The Dark Lord itched to take out his wand and curse the sharp
tongue of the little arrogant Prince, but decided that taking it into his mouth
was more beneficial to him and settled on talking instead.
"Does his appearance repulse you?" He was actually curious to hear the answer
to that.
"It is not what he looks like that repulses me, but what he had done in order
to become the monster he is," Harry frowned and looked up to meet the brown
eyes that watched him appreciatively. "Something truly horrible must have
happened to him," he added, lowering his gaze at his hands full of green. He
was telling himself he could not have any kind of compassion for the man that
killed his mother, Cedric and many, many other innocent people long before
Harry was even born. But the notion that Voldemort created his first horcrux at
the mere sixteen still frightened and saddened him greatly, he felt so sorry
for the young Tom Riddle, he wanted to smack himself on the head for being the
soft idiot he was.
The Dark Lord was staring at the little Prince in bewilderment, glad the boy
wasn't looking back at him. Harry's kind heart and wisdom would never cease to
surprise him, it seemed. Nobody had ever sympathized with him before, even the
ever loving and forgiving Dumbledore saw him as the manifestation of everything
evil in the world. Nobody had ever tried to analyze the motives and reasons
behind his actions, nobody but Harry bloody Potter that he tried to kill so any
times and now was lusting after. Fate was, indeed, a cruel insane bitch.
"By the way," he decided to stir the conversation in the other direction, not
trusting what he was feeling about the boy's confession, "I know what curse
Bellatrix tried to use against you."
"Oh?" Since he never felt any aftereffects or symptoms Harry completely forgot
about it. To be honest, he hadn't felt sick in weeks, he started eating and
hadn't thrown up once ever since he came here. Magic, wasn't it?
"She tried to castrate you," the Dark Lord burst into his booming laughter,
startling the boy. "But you were fast to shield yourself from it, as far as we
have determined."
Harry blushed, inwardly horrified at the prospect of being castrated. He used
to think himself impotent all this time, but apparently had been keeping some
secret hope, for he swallowed nervously, imagining what he could have become.
"Oh, come on, Harry," he heard Marvolo chuckle into his ear or was it in his
head, was he already imagining things? "She didn't hurt you and would never
have the chance to try again," the wizard murmured and leaned forward to kiss
him.
Harry told himself he didn't expect this and that was why he didn't pull away
immediately, but the small traitorous voice told him he was fooling himself.
And his body assured him he was fine and very potent, indeed. A cold hand
cupped his face and he gasped as a long hot tongue forced itself into his
mouth, teasing him. He pushed his own tongue inside Marvolo and moaned as it
was sucked on harshly. Circling his arms around the man's neck, Harry couldn't
help but shift closer to him, craving closeness. After the wizard held him
through the night he didn't feel so averse to being touched anymore, his body
seemed to trust Marvolo.
"Oh, Harry," Voldemort groaned into their kiss, wrapping his arm around the
boy's waist and pushing him gently down on the grass. The eagerness, with which
the little Prince answered, aroused him and he wanted more. He pulled away when
he felt Harry tense under his weight. Frowning, he looked into the frightened
green eyes. Then it hit him, and he inwardly cursed himself for being so blind
- Severus had told him that the boy had been constantly beaten by his uncle,
hadn't he? He must have surely felt uncomfortable being pinned down by a
bigger, stronger man. That was why he was so afraid of their contact at first -
he was afraid to get hurt. Shifting to lie on his side, he caressed Harry's
cheek, "How about you touch and kiss me, hmm?" At his surprised but visibly
relaxed expression, Voldemort took him gently by the shoulders and rolled him
on top of his body, circling his arms around the boy's thin chest.
Harry had never been in such position and felt a little lost at first. But
Marvolo's smug smile made him take the initiative into his hands and he grabbed
onto the man's chestnut hair, tugging on it lightly, as he finally covered the
annoying lips with his mouth. He couldn't believe he wanted to do it so much,
couldn't believe the wild sounds he was drawing out of the wizard's chest.
Exploring the other's mouth was the most unique experience he thought he had
lived through - it was hot and wet inside, so soft and sweet he could not stop
licking and probing everywhere. Marvolo laughed, pulling away to breathe and
Harry thought he would choke on the elation and pleasure that burned inside of
him, as he heard this deep rumble, saw the satisfied smile stretch the swollen
rose lips. He slid his hands down onto the man's chest, rubbing on it through
the layers of his clothes.
"Why do you wear so much?" Did he just said that? Blushing, Harry froze, which
made Marvolo laugh again.
"Would you like to take it all off?" he purred, as his hands roamed to the
small of the boy's back, snaking underneath his shirt. Harry jerked as the cold
palms covered his hot skin and felt as if somebody tied his insides into a knot
- this strange pleasant itching spread all over him again and he felt his cock
harden. He shifted and bit his lower lip as the friction send shivers down his
spine. Fuck, how is it possible to feel so good? His hands started undoing the
buttons of Marvolo's robe on their own accord it seemed, as Harry stared dumbly
into the glazed brown eyes. The cold hands moved, mapping his back, scratching
him slightly with the long hard fingernails. "Harry," Marvolo caught his mouth
in a passionate, wet kiss, as his hands found the cool bare skin of the
wizard's chest. Harry groaned, panting, stirring, trembling on the inside at
the sensation of Marvolo's nipples harden under his fingers, Marvolo's erection
pressing into his thigh. His head started spinning and he whimpered as their
lips parted.
Voldemort bucked his hips up to meet the boy's hard bulge, seeking the ever
needed friction for his own erection. Harry's touches were so innocent, so
uncertain, they turned him on. Growling like a wild animal he attacked the
boy's throat, sucking on it harshly, savouring the sweet taste of his skin. The
little Prince drove him mad, he wanted him, wanted to possess his body just
like he had already possessed his soul.
"Marvolo!"
Harry rubbed against his body, moaning, as the teeth bit into his neck ever so
slightly, not hurting but teasing. Drunk on the intensifying smell of their
scents mixed together and the tension building up in his groin, he thrusted
forward again and again in rhythm with Marvolo's low growls. Something clicked
inside of him, snapping him out of the lustful haze when the wizard's hands
found their way into his trousers and squeezed his buttocks - it was too close,
it reminded him of Vernon too much but it was too late to get out of this now.
Crying out in fearful satisfaction, Harry came, digging his nails into
Marvolo's chest as his fingers curled involuntarily at the intense pleasure of
his release. Voldemort closed his eyes in blissful contentment at the sound of
the little Prince's orgasm; it went straight into his cock and he grabbed
harder on the soft cheeks of the boy's arse, inwardly thanking the spirits for
it being in his hands. Coming under Harry's intense watching was fucking
incredible, the Dark Lord didn't hold back in moaning and withering underneath
him, biting his own lips and rolling his eyes back in overdose of lust and heat
in his body.
Harry knew that Vernon coming was the most atrocious, ugliest display he had
ever seen and he stared at Marvolo with a sinking feeling in his gut. What if
it was the same for all men? Would he be able to touch him after he saw him at
his worst? Tensing at the hardened grip on his arse, he was ready to jerk out
of their embrace, but the cold hands didn't go further, didn't hurt him, they
simply kept squeezing, admiring his flesh and, trembling in confusion, he
decided it was more than bearable. Concentrating on Marvolo's face, he inwardly
cursed the blasted mask, that hid most of his face that he didn't doubt was
just as beautiful and sinful as the plump rose lips. They kept moving, opening
up to let out most indecent moans, being sucked harshly in between the perfect
pearl teeth. The wizard's eyes were unfocused, clouded with passion, as growls
of desire rumbled in his chest. Even behind the mask Harry could see the blush
that spread all over the pale face. He gasped as the strong body underneath him
arched and pressed into his frame with such force, he had to grab onto the
man's shoulders for balance. When Marvolo came with most ridiculous and
pleasant whimper, Harry gave in to a wide grin that had been tugging on the
corners of his mouth - the blissful expression of the wizard's face was
absolutely adorable, even childish.
"Fuck, Harry, the things you do to me!" Voldemort groaned as the last drops of
his sperm left his pulsing cock and he finally relaxed his limbs, breathing
deeply. The sight of the blinding, wondrous smile made him chuckle mirthfully.
Was the boy expecting him to change or look ugly in the moment of release? He
patted the soft buttocks, "Next time we will do this in bed, naked," he made
his promise sound like a threat and laughed out loud at the fearfully widened
green eyes.
He still wasn't at all comfortable with Marvolo holding his arse and the man's
threat disturbed him, but the sweet numbness that spread through his body after
the orgasm calmed him and he told himself it was going to be alright, so far
Marvolo hadn't hurt him even once. If he did, Harry would simply use the same
trick on him that he did on Bellatrix. He wasn't going to let a Death Eater
overpower him. He wasn't weak. Not anymore. His serious thoughts were
interrupted by Marvolo's greedy mouth that assaulted his lips. How had he been
living without this before? His uncle had the answer to this question.
xxx
Harry spent the next few days in the most grumpiest, scornful mood he had ever
found himself in. Marvolo had to go away and he was all alone in the huge old
mansion. Easy tried to keep him company but was doing a poor job, since she was
prohibited to tell Harry anything about her master and there was nothing else
he wanted to talk to her about. His nightmares got only worse, since they
started as the wettest, most licentious sexual fantasies he never imagined he
could have, and gradually morphed into the raping scenes, repeating in a
vicious circle over and over again. He hated how Marvolo, rubbing against him
and moaning his name as a passionate prayer, would suddenly turn into Vernon
shoving his filthy little prick into his face, insulting him and telling him
just how dirty he was, how filthy, unworthy. There were no more hard-ons in the
mornings, only throttling fear that squeezed his throat and gripped his heart
in a vice. Harry couldn't get rid of the obtrusive, obsessive idea that Marvolo
was going to rape him, to hurt him, that all this was just a game for him and
he too thought him to be a sordid whore, a sex toy.
And yet he missed the tall dark wizard, he wanted to be held in the strong cold
arms, to be kissed and caressed, admired. The appreciative gleam in those brown
eyes stirred something deep inside his chest, making his heart ache so
pleasantly. Just look at yourself, going all soft because of some bloody Death
Eater. Muttering under his breath, Harry sat on the windowsill watching the
rain slap on the glass angrily as the night was slowly falling on wherever this
place was. Of course, Marvolo must have had dozens, hundreds of lovers, he was
such a spectacular personage, beautiful and alluring, and skillful. Scowling at
the thought, Harry snorted to himself and rolled his eyes in exasperation:
jealous of a man he barely knew! What a naive idiot he was. All it took Marvolo
was a few kisses and a few kind words and Harry was already trapped in his
snare, ready to give the man everything he wanted only to spend a little more
time with him, to hear his voice, to touch him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He burst the
folds wide open in anger and pulled out of the window to sit on the other side
under the showering rain. Freezing, he felt his bad mood dissipate gradually,
leaving him empty and sorrowful. What had his life become?
Easy brought him newspapers every day and he read the same articles that seemed
to be simply copied from one issue to another, telling the wizards and witches
of United Kingdom that their savior had most likely abandoned them and moved
abroad, away from the war and his obligations. There were also some information
on the more reforms and decrees introduced at Hogwarts, where Umbridge seized
control of completely everything, it seemed. Disgusted by the mere possibility
that the toad was tainting his dear school, ruining everything that Dumbledore
had built, Harry wondered if he would ever go back. Nothing would ever be the
same even if he did, he was certain. He was a changed man now, the old Harry
died, he was the Boy-Who-lived no more. Could he return to Hogwarts? Would he
be welcomed there? Sighing and knowing the answer too well, he paged to the
article about Dumbledore. The old headmaster went into hiding and the Ministry
was eager to hunt him down, accusing him of treason against the government. How
amusingly stupid and blind they all were, falling into Voldemort's intricately
spun web of lies and deceit, making it all so much easier for the monster.
Standing up, Harry took the few newspapers that were scattered all over the
bureau and threw them into the hearth, watching the flames soar higher. It was
the third of May already, he had spent almost a month here and he both hated
and liked this place. He couldn't call it a prison anymore, nor could he call
it a home yet. How sick it was of him to dare having such atrocious thoughts?
He jumped when the door into the room opened suddenly and a soaking wet,
covered in mud Marvolo appeared on the threshold.
"Good evening, Harry," he smiled, rubbing the drops of rain off of his mask. "I
am sorry for intruding on you like this but I need to have a shower," and with
that the wizard simply walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him,
surprisingly, not locking it.
Raising his eyebrows in bewilderment, Harry shrugged his shoulders and turned
back to look at the fire, inwardly seething at the notion that the man had
simply walked in after being away for so long and the first thing he wanted to
do was to have a bloody shower! Scowling, he poked himself hard in the ribs -
he was no bloody girl to throw tantrums for god's sake! As he heard the sound
of running water he couldn't help but imagine Marvolo undressed, standing under
the hot stream, stroking his tall pale body that was always so cold... His
cheeks burned as his body asked for more images and, barely registering what
was he doing, Harry soundlessly walked over to the door and listened in. What
was he expecting to hear, though, a man was simply taking a shower. But as he
strained his ears, leaning onto the dark wood he heard soft moans coming
through the noise of falling water.
He simply wished to clean himself up. But no, Harry just had to be all wet,
with his shirt sticking to his body, with his lean delicate statue showing
through. To meet such a tempting sight after a hard day dealing with
incompetent idiots was most disturbing. His cock simply wouldn't listen,
demanding attention, preferably of one green eyed boy on the other side of the
door. Growling to himself, Voldemort got into the shower and stood dumbly under
the hot water, hoping it would calm his libido down, but all his hopes were in
vain. What wouldn't he give to have the boy here with him, pushed against the
tiles with his thighs spread widely for him. His vivid imagination got the
better of him and he stroked himself frantically, moaning the boy's name,
pressing his burning forehead against the cool wall. He didn't care if Harry
would hear him, let the brat know just how much he wanted him.
Harry bit his lip harshly, as the groans became louder and he could clearly
make out his name being called out.
"Oh, Harry, ah, yes, my little one!" Marvolo whined and Harry felt as his knees
were giving away, as if he was hit with a jelly-legs curse.
The man was actually fantasizing about him while jerking off! He thought he
should be disgusted by the thought, but he wasn't, on the contrary, he felt
absolutely delighted and hot. It turned him on so much, Harry was afraid he
would come by simply pressing into the door and he stepped away and sat down on
the bed, trying to calm himself down, to will his hard, painful erection away.
He didn't hear the wizard come, for his heart was pounding deafeningly in his
ears. A moment later the door opened and clean and dry Marvolo emerged, wearing
only a pair of ill-fitting trousers and a white shirt, loosely buttoned on his
stomach, and a mask, of course.
"Well, I'm feeling much better now. What about you?" Voldemort smirked at the
sight of flushed face and hard erection of a still irresistibly wet Harry.
"Bastard," was all he could manage in reply, staring at the toned chest, barely
covered by the shirt.
"Let me help you with that," the Dark Lord came closer and smiled, as Harry
scattered away from him further onto the bed - he saw that the boy wasn't
frightened of him, he simply was inexperienced. Ah, but his ignorance turned
him on, teasing the teacher in Voldemort. He knew the little Prince would be a
good student.
Harry caught his breath, when Marvolo gracefully crawled onto the bed as a wild
cat, all but purring at him. He gently took him by the ankle and dragged him
closer, looming over his trembling form. Letting out a shuddering breath, Harry
whispered, "Please, don't." He was scared to death that a cock would be shoved
up his arse and he would find his nightmare come true, but he wanted Marvolo so
much, he thought he would faint from the intense contradicting emotions that
were tearing him apart.
"Don't worry, little one, you will enjoy this," Voldemort murmured and bent
down to kiss him soundly on the lips, sensing his nervousness. His hands found
the waistband of the boy's trousers and he unbuttoned them, pulling them down,
struggling against Harry, who kept stubbornly sitting on them. "I will not hurt
you," he growled lowly and tore the fabric off of him, catching his mouth in a
possessive kiss, muffling down his protests.
Harry grabbed on the bed covers, readying himself to fight the man, whose
tongue he was so eagerly sucking on. He jerked as a cold palm covered his stone
hard penis and stroked it gently.
"Shit!" he pulled his mouth away harshly to cry out, coming undone from the
mere touch.
Smirking knowingly, Marvolo lowered himself down and kissed the head of his
cock, licking the slit, as his hand kept pumping its length. Swearing foully,
Harry fell back on the mattress, bucking his hips up, absolutely sure he was
going to lose his mind. The hot, wet mouth took him fully in and he gasped in
shock, hiding his face in his hands. He hated doing this, hated when Vernon
forced his filthy flesh into his throat, it was absolutely disdainful,
repulsive, unbearable... But how fucking amazing it felt to be sucked by
Marvolo! Moaning loudly, on the verge of tears, Harry came violently right into
the man's mouth and sobbed in amazement as Marvolo swallowed it all, sucking
lustfully on the head to drain it completely.
"Would you like to taste yourself?"
He opened his eyes to see the wizard hover over him with a lecherous smile on
his face. He didn't look disgusted, quite the opposite, he seemed to have had
enjoyed every bit of it. Nodding uncertainly, Harry reached out to touch the
soft skin of the man's cheek as Marvolo moved closer and kissed him long and
thorough, coating his tongue with his saliva and Harry's semen, that tasted
surprisingly sweet.
"Harry, you are most delicious," the wizard murmured into his mouth and waved
his hand to put the fire out.
As complete darkness surrounded them, Marvolo took his mask off and attacked
his lips with a newly found vigor. Excited, Harry pressed both his palms
against the face, probing and mapping every millimeter of it, smiling into the
kiss as he felt the high cheekbones; long, thin nose with a small bump on its
bridge; big, almond shaped eyes, deeply set under the thick, arched eyebrows...
Harry couldn't quite put it all together to make up a comprehensible portrait,
but he didn't really care - everything he felt was absolutely perfect to him.
Mine, mine, Voldemort thought as he ripped the shirt off of the boy and shed
his own clothes with a flick of his wrist. He pressed into the hot body and
moaned wildly, as every inch of his cold skin sent shivers into Harry and felt
goosebumps cover the boy from head to toes. Their mouths clashed in yet another
passionate kiss, as they both tried to devour each other. The little Prince's
hands wondered down his body to explore his chest, back, waist and hips.
Shy and nervous Harry stroked the cold skin, marveling at its smoothness –
Marvolo was thin but strong, he could feel every muscle play under his palms.
He stopped, not sure what to do when he reached the backside. Thankfully he was
never supposed to touch Vernon, let alone stroke his fat ugly arse, but he
couldn't know if men really enjoyed it. He hated when his uncle grabbed him on
his hide, but if Marvolo held him there, perhaps, he would like Harry to hold
him in return? Slowly, he cupped the firm cheeks and gasped as the man groaned
pleasantly into his mouth, tensing his muscles under his hands and shifting to
rub against him. Encouraged, Harry squeezed them slightly, massaging the flesh,
drawing deep, rumbling sounds of appreciation out of the chest he was pinned
under. Marvolo shifted again, rearranging their cocks to lie pressed against
each other. Horrified, Harry jerked but was firmly held in place. Fuck, but the
man is huge! Vernon's shrimp was nothing in comparison with this, and this was
going to penetrate him sooner or later, he had no doubts regarding Marvolo's
intentions.
"Sh-sh," Voldemort stroked the boy's sides and stomach soothingly, "I would not
hurt you, just relax, Harry, this is going to be very good."
He grabbed on his hips and spread his thighs to nestle more comfortably between
them and pushed forward, rubbing his already aching, pulsing cock against
Harry's equally hard one. Voldemort doubted the boy realized how perfectly
sized he was, how delicate and sweet his penis was - it fitted right to a tee
in his mouth and felt absolutely amazing next to his own genitals. Rocking
their bodies, he intensified the friction, reveling in Harry's surprised gasps
and needy moans.
Harry panted harshly, jerking at every thrust of Marvolo's hips, as his eyes
rolled back in overwhelming pleasure, he smiled blissfuly, feeling their cocks
throb, slipping smoothly, coated in each other's precum. Marvolo was watching
him, he sensed his hungry stare, wondering briefly how could the man see
anything in total darkness, but couldn't for the life of him care less. As the
pace hastened, Harry screamed the other's name, grabbing on the broad shoulders
desperately.
Voldemort growled, breathing deeply through his nose, and kept staring at the
little Prince, loving the way he creased his sweated brow and spread his
swollen lips to call out his name. "Perfect, you are perfect," he breathed out
shakily and came at the same time Harry did, the boy's face taking on an
expression of complete and utter pleasure, as their sperm covered their
stomachs and pulsing cocks.
"Fucking amazing," Harry mumbled, smiling as Marvolo's long nose bumped into
his when the man leaned in for a kiss. Closing his eyes, he eagerly met the
demanding lips, sighing contentedly, for the first time in his life enjoying
the smell of sex in the air. "Fuck..."
"Soon," Voldemort replied, as they parted and gathered Harry up to put him on
the pillows and under the covers.
"Will you stay?" he heard the boy whisper desperately, holding onto him blindly
in the dark.
"Of course, it is my bed after all," the Dark Lord intoned, grinning smugly at
Harry's soft, hearty laughter - he had never heard it before and found he
enjoyed it immensely. He pulled the boy into his arms and buried his nose into
the raven hair, gently rubbing the soft buttock and thigh. Harry felt insecure
sleeping naked in one bed with another man, but Marvolo was so at ease with
him, held him so nicely, even his caress of Harry's arse felt rather good, so
he decided he could do it, could overcome his fears.
That night no nightmares disturbed his sleep.
xxx
Harry woke to a feeling of something hard pressing against his arse and jerked
violently, chocking out a hoarse cry, afraid that everything was just a sick,
unnaturally long dream and he was lying on his cot on Private Drive 4, and it
was Vernon who came to him in the morning to finish what he had started the
previous evening by beating him senseless. Cold arms pressed him tenaciously to
a broad chest and he heard a soft whisper in his ear, "Harry, it's fine, I am
not going to do anything without your permission." The sound of the so familiar
now, deep baritone calmed him down almost instantly and he relaxed into the
hold, breathing out in great relief as Marvolo shifted to move his erection
away. "It is impossible to stay unaffected with you in bed next to me," the man
sighed regretfully and caressed his chest.
Sensing Harry's tension subside, Voldemort frowned, wondering why was the boy
so uncomfortable. He abhorred the fact that they had to go so slow, for he
wanted to fuck, but on the other hand he wouldn't have desired Harry if he was
a slut that was eagerly spreading his legs for everybody interested, would he?
"Would you like to help me with my little problem?" he kissed the little Prince
between the shoulder blades, thinking that he needed to make Harry want to be
fucked, otherwise no matter how hard he tried, the boy wouldn't enjoy it and
wouldn't give it freely.
"It's not little," Harry chortled nervously. He hated giving blowjobs, and that
was exactly what Marvolo wanted, wasn't it? The man did it so easily, with such
pleasure, and he lay here, feeling sick to the stomach at the mere thought.
"You haven't even seen it," Voldemort noted chidingly, stroking the long raven
hair. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to, of course," he added
ruefully, feigning resignation and disappointment - the little Prince needed a
little motivation.
Rolling his eyes in exasperation and annoyance, Harry turned to face him
harshly, noticing that the blasted mask was back in place, "Please, no need to
go all dramatic on me, I can see through your slytherin plot."
"Oh?" the Dark Lord flashed him a shit-eating grin, "Tell me more." He propped
himself up on his elbow, watching the boy curiously. He loved when the little
Prince got all snarky and cynical, bit him back.
Before Harry could retort his gaze fell on Marvolo's naked body and the proudly
standing up cock. He squeezed his eyes shut involuntarily: it was huge, it
seemed even more so when he was simply looking at it. He should have guessed it
would be big, judging by the man's tall frame. Cracking one of his eyes open,
he stared at it in horror - he couldn't imagine how that could fit in his
mouth, let alone his arse. Gaging at the thought, he tried to look away but
couldn't really.
"You flatter me, Harry," Voldemort laughed, enjoying the boy's grimaces -
amazing how open this beautiful face was, how easily it could be read. "Do not
force yourself, I wouldn't enjoy something you don't," he tried to convey as
much sincerity as possible, seething inwardly at the frustration that was
already building up inside him.
Swallowing harshly, Harry sat up to get out of the bed and leave the man to
attend to his problem on his own when something stopped him. Looking back at
the naked wizard he thought about how far had he gone, how much had sex with
Marvolo helped him to deal with 'his problem', how more and more acceptive he
became of himself, how his confidence grew. Even though he was still afraid of
Vernon and still felt dirty and debauched, he knew he wasn't going to let the
bastard rape him ever again. Not after he found how pleasant a physical contact
could be, what was it like to be caressed and held gently. Vernon was his block
that had not only hindered his attempts at occluding his mind, but spoilt his
life in general. What if Marvolo was actually able to help him as he had said?
"I've never done this before," he lied, trying to cover up his nervousness and
reluctance, as he moved closer to the huge cock, that twitched in anticipation
when his harsh breath brushed against it.
"I like you the way you are, Harry," Voldemort purred pleasantly, leaning back
on the pillows, watching him intently. He was telling the truth when he said he
wouldn't enjoy something the boy forced on himself - he had dozens of
sycophantic Death Eaters who could blow him in such a fashion in order to stay
in his good graces.
Harry settled between his long legs and started from stroking his thighs. If he
was going to do this, he was doing it his way. Caressing the tender skin, he
covered it with fleeting kisses, slowly moving closer to the rigid erection.
Concentrating on Marvolo's soft moans and sighs he tried telling himself he was
going to enjoy this, telling himself that Marvolo wanted him to enjoy this.
Harry took the long hard cock into his hands, feeling it up, stroking up and
down the thick length. Gathering his courage, he leaned closer and kissed its
head softly, blinking as it pulsed in his hand in reply. He heard a needy whine
escape the wizard's rose lips and kissed it again, longer this time. It wasn't
at all disgusting to the taste or smell, rather pleasant in fact, it bore the
same scent Marvolo did, only it was mixed with sweat. Harry licked on the slit
and couldn't help but admire the way the man jerked in his hold, swearing under
his breath. Being in control had its charm, he could admit that.
Feeling more relaxed, Harry took the head into his mouth and sucked on it
gently, drawing a low growl out of the other's chest. Inwardly smiling at that,
he slid down the length, stopping when he felt he couldn't fit any more of it
inside - it was more than a half of it though - and sucked again. The
bitterness of precum coated his tongue, but he paid it no mind - it was far
more bearable than what he used to taste. Sliding up and down the cock, he
closed his eyes listening to Marvolo's unsteady breathing, his lustful moaning.
Harry tensed when cold fingers carded through his hair, but his head wasn't
forced down, instead, the man simply brushed his hair away and caressed his
cheek, calling his name quietly. Looking up, Harry saw Marvolo's flushed face
and parted lips, frozen in a small, alluring smile - it was a very pleasant
sight and he sucked on the cock's head harder, staring into the half-lidded
brown eyes unwaveringly.
Voldemort caught his breath, as his eyes locked with the bright green ones.
They burned him and the fire seemed to spread down his body and concentrate in
his groin. The heat was unbearable and he couldn't help but whine as Harry
sucked him in harder still looking at him. Bloody minx, challenging him like
that! It wasn't the best blowjob in his life, but it was yet another wonderful
orgasm, courtesy of the little Prince. Crying out hoarsely, the Dark Lord came
into Harry's throat, panting at the sight of his sperm running down his cock,
as the boy swallowed only a little bit of it, testing. Harry closed his eyes
when the hot seed hit the back of his throat and hastily pulled away not to gag
as it filled his mouth fully. He let most of it out, incapable of swallowing so
much. It tasted just like Marvolo's skin - pleasantly bittersweet. All in all
it wasn't that bad, he decided, letting out a loud squeak as cold hands grabbed
on his arms and pulled him up to be kissed senseless. Well, Marvolo's
passionate gratitude was worth all the hard work.
xxx
They both sat in the open window basking in the warm light of the setting sun,
while Harry was reading yet another article about the chaos and panic that were
slowly building up in the magical society. It appeared that Voldemort began
openly attacking those who were dead set against him, since he sent his own
bills and legislation for Wizengamot to study, along with the corpse of Amelia
Bones or what was left of her. Harry frowned slightly as he remembered
absentmindedly that her daughter was a member of DA. Most newspapers refused to
release the Dark Lord's new laws for the public to see, but two cheap editions
were daring enough to do just that and stirred a strong resonance in the
country. Reading through the long list, Harry couldn't help but be impressed -
there was no word about eliminating muggles or muggleborns. The conditions were
harsh, true, and the demands of violent punishments and the strict set of rules
for breeding between wizards and witches looked cruel to say the least, but
none of them suggested any actual damage to the wizarding world. As a person
with a first hand experience of living amongst muggles, Harry could relate to
most of what was drawn up.
"I see you appreciate the Dark Lord's work," Voldemort failed to hold back the
smugness in his tone but, luckily, Harry didn't notice.
"I didn't expect him to be so... reasonable," he said thoughtfully, looking up
from the paper in his hands. "Why was everything so different during the war?"
"Let's say he played with fire for far too long and had to pay for it with his
own sanity and life." The Dark Lord watched the boy intently, anticipating his
decision. The little Prince had more than enough time to consider his offer.
"I hope snakeface would stay sane from now on," Harry huffed, plunging back
into the text. "These are rather good, harsh, but efficient. But I still can't
accept that he has to kill every person who dares to speak against him."
Well, this was an evident progress, wasn't it? "This is a messy method, yes,
but revolutions always call for blood and death, as you would remember from the
history of mankind - it is the fuel for the engine of the machine that is going
to rebuilt and revaluate itself," Voldemort pointed out.
"Is he going to establish a dictatorship?" All the tyrants usually lost their
minds and humanity, too drunk on their power and control over people - they all
knew how it ended the first time and Harry truly didn't want the repeat of
that.
Smiling somewhat ruefully to himself, Voldemort sighed, "He is not interested
in ruling the country but in improving it. This is a much harder work that
requires quite a lot, both physically, intellectually, even spiritually."
"Well, if he keeps on doing it all on his own, he would exhaust himself into
coma or another crazy killing spree long before he achieves anything," Harry
noted acidly, which made the Dark Lord stare at him in amusement.
"How truly perceptive of you," he smiled, thinking that the little Prince
understood him much better than he thought he did. It was both frightening and
fascinating. "If you stop fighting him and openly admit your agreement with his
legislations, I am certain it all would go much easier, since people would
start actually thinking and considering their chances."
Harry shook his head, scowling, making Voldemort itch to kiss it off of his
face, "I can't, not now... I am not ready yet." This was too big a decision to
be made so lightly.
"It's alright," the Dark Lord moved closer and kissed his scarred forehead,
reveling in the wave of pleasure that rushed through both of them. The boy
leaned into it, dropping the paper down and circling his arms around
Voldemort's neck. So affectionate when he is not scared to be touched. Smiling,
he pulled the little Prince into a tight embrace, sighing contentedly at the
heat that surrounded him, and traced the curves of the beautiful face with his
lips, halting to kiss the hungry, sweet mouth.
"Why are you always so cold? Your hands are like ice no matter how warm it is
inside," Harry grumped good-naturally, actually enjoying the shivers that went
down his spine every time the cold palms snaked under his clothes to steal some
of his body's heat.
"I have no idea, I was always like that as long as I can remember. Probably the
result of my very poor, hungry and constantly freezing to death childhood."
Voldemort didn't like remembering his past, he never talked about it with
anybody, but Harry was always the exception nowadays and he thought he could
give him a little information about himself. He would have to tell him the
truth sooner or later, that Marvolo and Voldemort were the same person, and if
the boy trusted him and liked him even more, maybe he would accept his little
deceit easier. He smiled as the boy embraced him even tighter, no doubt feeling
sorry for him, wishing to comfort him. "You could help me get warm, you are so
good at it," he purred, stroking the hot skin of Harry's back and sides.
"You are such a profligate," Harry mumbled into Marvolo's neck, kissing it
lightly, feeling his groin slowly heat up as all his blood, it seemed, hurried
to concentrate there.
"How about some motivation? Would you like to have your wand back?" Voldemort
was almost certain that the boy wouldn't use it against him, wouldn't try to
escape. He knew the little Prince was hungry for magic, he spent almost a whole
month deprived of it, but it was for his own good, otherwise his body wouldn't
have been able to heal and recover.
Harry barked out a laugh, "Are you seriously bribing me?" Of course he wanted
his wand back, what kind of question was that?
"You have completely recovered from magical exhaustion and your body is healed,
it is safe for you to use it again," the Dark Lord shrugged, carding his
fingers through the silk raven locks. "Given that you wouldn't try to run."
Was he actually considering the possibility of sleeping with Marvolo in
exchange for his wand? How whoring was that? Besides, they were sleeping
together willingly... Oh, but the bastard wanted to take him, didn't he?
Shuddering, Harry tried to pull away from the man, but Marvolo only scooped him
up and engaged him in a passionate kiss, holding him in his arms, as Harry's
legs circled the wizard's waist on their own accord and his hands grabbed on
the soft chestnut hair.
"I am not giving you your wand for sex, Harry," he heard a low growl when their
lips parted, "I am giving it to you on the condition you wouldn't try to use it
to escape from here."
The way Marvolo was panting and squeezing his buttocks told Harry the man was
telling the truth, at least he hoped he was. But could he stop now, when he was
already so painfully hard, feeling the other's equally stiff erection under his
arse, when these lecherous rose lips drove him mad, taking the last air away
from his lungs? If he was completely honest with himself, he didn't want to
stop, he loved how confident and strong Marvolo made him feel, how much was he
cared for and desired.
Sensing that the Little Prince was just as turned on and hungry as he himself
felt, Voldemort carried him over to the bed and laid him down, sucking on his
tongue and lips all the while. Harry was still terribly self-conscious but he
didn't flinch away from his persistent touch anymore, didn't shudder when his
clothes were being taken off of him. As the night fell on the manor, and
darkness filled the room, the Dark Lord threw away the annoying mask, enjoying
the way the boy covered his face with featherlight kisses, slowly undoing the
buttons of his vest and shirt. There was so much intimacy in these simple
gestures, he could swear Harry knew exactly how he affected him, what he needed
to do to make him come undone. When they both were finally naked, Voldemort
pressed his cold body against the boy's, moaning at the unbearable heat that
enveloped him into a passionate embrace along with Harry's arms. Rocking and
stirring on top of him, the Dark Lord sucked on the long thin neck, enjoying
the needy whines that escaped the red lips. Harry bucked his hips up to
intensify the friction, barely noticing that Marvolo started slowly making his
way down, as a wet mouth sucked on his nipples, banishing the last coherent
thoughts out of his mind, clouded with lust.
"Fuck!" he cried out when the man's lips covered the head of his throbbing cock
that was ready to burst in pleasure.
"Yes," he heard Marvolo hiss and hadn't fully processed his answer until the
hot tongue reached for his entrance and licked on it teasingly. Harry jerked,
suddenly sober and scared, but strong cold hands held him firmly in place.
"Relax, little one, it won't hurt."
"But, but..." Harry wanted to protest, to tell him he couldn't do this, he
couldn't touch his whoring arse like that when it had been violated by
Vernon... But all the words left him, it seemed, as Marvolo started kissing and
sucking on the ring of tight muscles, licking it vigorously. He cried out when
the tongue thrusted inside his hole. This was impossible, this couldn't feel
that good. A cold finger suddenly penetrated him, slipping past the soft walls
of his inside, and he jerked violently. "No, please, don't-"
"Calm down," Voldemort kissed his softening cock, sensing that the boy was too
scared to feel satisfaction anymore, but he wasn't going to stop. They had
started it and he intended to finish it right here and now. He could and he
would show Harry how good it was. Kissing and caressing the boy's penis and
balls he gently moved his finger in and out of him, rubbing soothing circles on
he stomach with his other hand. The little Prince was so tense, all his muscles
went rigid with nervousness. "Harry, it's fine, don't be scared," he forced his
second finger inside, pushing carefully forward.
"No, please," Harry kept withering, panting harshly, as the fingers caused a
slight burning in his anus, "You are too big, Marvolo, I can't... it won't..."
Tears started streaming down his cheeks as the pain mixed with pulsing pleasure
of his cock being kissed and sucked on. He screamed, convulsing, as the fingers
spread apart inside of him, stretching him.
"It only looks like it doesn't fit, but don't worry, it most certainly would,"
Voldemort murmured, scissoring his fingers, marveling at the boy's tightness.
Kissing his groin, he quietly hissed a spell to help the muscles lose their
tension, as he gently pushed a third finger inside to the sound of Harry's loud
sobs.
Harry couldn't stand the frustration and pain, it drove him insane. Everything
that Marvolo was doing to him was gentle and careful, the ache he felt wasn't
even close to the one he was used to when Vernon raped him, but he couldn't
stop crying and shudder under the man's soothing touches and kisses, feeling
slightly sick to the stomach, for, no matter how hard he was tying to convince
himself, he couldn't believe that this was going to be pleasant, that this
wasn't going to hurt him, to taint him even worse. He felt his muscles started
gradually relaxing and gasped as the three fingers stretched him further. His
uncle never prepared him before... Whining, Harry covered his face with his
hands, weeping, trying to push away the horrible images out of his mind. How
could he enjoy this with Marvolo when all he could think about was that ugly
bastard Vernon?
"Harry," his hands were gently pulled away and he looked up to sense more than
see the dark brown eyes stare at him. The cold fingers brushed away his tears
and the wet, warm mouth covered his trembling lips, kissing him long and
gently, numbing his pain. "It will hurt at first," he heard a soft whisper,
"But I will be careful and you will enjoy this, trust me."
Trust me.
He wanted to trust Marvolo so badly, he wanted to believe his every word, but
could he? Harry heard a spell being muttered and felt very wet inside, as if...
A strong arm pulled him into a tight, reassuring embrace, as a cold hand
caressed his half-hard penis briefly. When the soft lips covered his again, he
felt the hard cock slowly push inside of him and he jerked, catching his
breath, frozen in terror. Gradually stretching him, the thick flesh slipped in
painfully but gently and Harry heard Marvolo moan pleasantly into his mouth.
Voldemort tried to be as much careful as it was possible, barely restraining
himself from going wild at the sensation of hot inside constricting around his
throbbing cock. Fuck, but Harry was incredibly tight, he felt amazing. Moaning
indecently, he thrusted his tongue into the boy's mouth, mirroring the motions
of his body. Holding Harry tightly, he slowly pulled out of him and pushed
back, slightly changing the angle to find the one that would do the trick. The
boy kept crying and trembling underneath him, but the more they kissed, the
more he seemed to relax. Wishing he could slam into him, Voldemort went very
slow instead, halting after his every move, waiting for the little one to
adjust to him and to pain.
"I want you," he whispered, "I want you."
Sobbing, Harry listened, clutching on the the broad shoulders as if his life
depended on it, groaning in pain. Marvolo was so huge, he couldn't believe he
managed to fit almost all of his cock inside of him. He stretched him so hard,
Harry feared he wouldn't survive it. But the pain was slowly becoming duller,
as he steadily got used to it, and to the man's length and thickness. Marvolo
grabbed on his hips and lifted them slightly and up, as he thrusted inside once
again, Harry gasped at the unexpected pleasant sensation of the cock brushing
against something inside of him. The feeling was so intense and unusual, he
completely forgot about Vernon, and the fear, that was gripping his heart in a
vice, subsided. All he was concentrated on now were the sounds of Marvolo's
lustful moans and their hearts beating fast in their chests pressed against
each other. Every painful push into his anus made his stomach flutter as a wave
of pleasure washed over him, making his cock pulse in desire, and he cried
softly, trying to find his breath and gather his wits.
"Marvolo, ah!"
The sweetest sounds he craved so much caressed his ears and Voldemort thrusted
harder, faster, making most indecent sounds he never imagined he could produce,
feeling as his mind was clouded with insane pleasure. Harry's tightness and
heat brought him to the verge of ecstasy and he was certain he would burst out
when he heard and sensed that his little one was finally enjoying it, him, his
cock.
"Please!" Harry didn't know what was he begging for, definitely not to stop.
The pain was still there, he doubted it would ever go away, but the pleasure
was so much stronger, and his penis was squeezed so nicely between their
sweated bodies, and Marvolo kept kissing him so passionately, heartedly... He
felt his very soul soaring high in elation. The quicker and harder the man
moved inside him, the less pain and the more satisfaction he felt. It all
seemed so magical, so unreal, ordinary people couldn't feel so good, they
couldn't possibly have this when all they did was inflicting pain and hurting
each other, him.
"Harry, Harry, ah, yes, so tight." He was blabbering nonsense into the swollen
mouth as his own lips felt too numb to kiss properly.
Voldemort knew he was coming, right now, he was going to burst and black out,
it seemed, for the intensity of their contact was inhuman. He realized he was
practically hammering into Harry's arse, as the boy kept crying and wailing in
pleasure, he couldn't care if he hurt him anymore, he knew Harry would enjoy it
all the same. The burning heat spread all around his cock and slowly rose into
his groin, churning his gut. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Never in his life had he felt
that good taking somebody. As the last spark of sense died in his mind, he
briefly wondered if the magic of horcrux affected them so much, but hadn't had
the strength to dwell on the thought, as something inside of him snapped and he
growled pitifully, tensing his every muscle in the most painful and most
incredibly pleasant release.
Hearing Marvolo coming was the last drop and Harry screamed his name, arching
his back as his magic lashed out and enveloped the two of them in an unbearably
hot cocoon. He felt the thick sperm filling him up to the core, as the rush of
pleasure surged through him from the tip of his leaking cock to his very brain.
He started weeping again, in happiness now, feeling reborn, cathartic, as
Marvolo jerked for the last time and relaxed on top of him, moaning and
breathing heavily. Crying even harder when the wizard started kissing his tears
away and humming his name, Harry desperately tried to understand why, why had
he been treated so horribly, so harshly, by his own family no less, why a man,
that was supposed to keep him safe, hurt him the most, turned him into a weak,
helpless, practically invalid, forced him to live in a nightmare, in constant
pain and fear; and a Death Eater, a dark dangerous wizard, his supposed enemy,
the one who could have and should have mocked him and used every opportunity to
turn his life into Hell, actually cared about him, showed him what it was like
to be held, liked, appreciated, taught him not to fear physical closeness, gave
him so much pleasure... Harry knew he was hysterical now, for he started
hyperventilating, still overwhelmed with magic, that lingered in and outside of
his body.
"Breathe, little one, I know it was good but no point in killing yourself over
it," Voldemort laughed softly.
Well, good was an understatement, really. It was absolutely unimaginable,
indescribable. He never felt magic during sex, it just never manifested itself,
but what he felt now was so unusual, so strange... so fucking wonderful. Sated
and tired, but immensely pleased, he carefully pulled out of Harry and rolled
onto his aching back, making the boy lie on top of him, stroking his body
soothingly. Harry must have felt it too, maybe it was even stronger, harder on
him, since he was young and sensitive. The boy calmed down a little, though the
tears still ran down his face, and he nuzzled into the crook of Voldemort's
neck, sniffing quietly. How much Harry reminded him his own younger self. The
only difference between them was their magic affinity and their morality, but
in every other aspect Voldemort found more similarities than he could imagine
they shared. He couldn't say it disturbed him, Harry bore a part of his soul,
after all, but it gave him these foreign, unwelcome emotions he really didn't
want to have. He liked the boy, true, he desired him, yes, he admired his
intelligence and beauty, of course, but he couldn't feel anything else, more,
towards him, simply because he was incapable of it. Or at least he thought he
was. Willing the strange thoughts and feelings away, Voldemort gave in to the
pleasant exhaustion and let the sleep take him, lulled by the sound of Harry's
steady heartbeat.
xxx
If a month ago somebody would have told Harry that he was going to have sex
several times a day, every day, he would have told them to fuck off. The next
week that he spent with Marvolo was the craziest time of his life, and,
possibly, the best. The man gave him his wand back and let him wander around
the house, though it wasn't a very enjoyable way of spending one's time, for
the place was old and practically ruined, Harry could understand why Marvolo
kept him locked in his room - he had to constantly spell the floor and walls to
hold when he walked down the corridors; a chandelier fell down once, almost
hitting him on the head; his bathroom was the only one working in the whole
manor. Apart from his bedroom and a study, only kitchen where Easy reigned was
somewhat fit for proper use.
Marvolo, it seemed, got addicted to being physically close to Harry and
practically never left the place during those days, eager to touch and kiss and
take. Still apprehensive and nervous about being fucked, Harry bravely overcame
his fears every time, trusting the wizard not to hurt him, for Marvolo never
once did. His nightmares stopped, as the man guarded his sleep, holding him
every night. Their magic continued to act weirdly every time Marvolo took him
and Harry blamed it for his short morning sicknesses, that followed not long
after. It wasn't anything dangerous, he didn't even threw up, just felt
slightly nauseated when he woke up, though the disconcerting sensation subsided
rather quickly and he decided he wasn't going to pay it any heed.
If Harry thought he lived before that, than this now must have been heaven. He
did miss Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione, Sirius and even Snape, but never once had
he tried to escape. During the last three days he and Marvolo found a new way
of spending their time together - they started dueling. To his surprise, Harry
hadn't lost his agility and skill that he improved during the months of leading
DA and could hold against the Death Eater for quite a long time. Voldemort
found the little Prince to be a very talented wizard, and a fast learner –
perhaps, in a few years he could become a truly dangerous and powerful
opponent. The thought that he dueled the Harry bloody Potter on a daily basis
and took him to his bed afterwards tickled on his nerves and ego, constantly
stretching his lips in a smug, satisfied smile. He dearly wished Dumbledore
could see them and shove it up his old arse.
The latter, however, didn't keep him waiting for long. On the first day of the
second week of May, when Voldemort and Harry were outside, sitting on the stone
wall of the old well after another dueling session, sharing cool water from one
cup, the alarm of the wards being attacked alerted the Dark Lord and he stood
up sharply, squinting at the tiny figures that could be seen on the edge of the
grounds. Dumbledore and his dogs from the Order. Just how had the old coot
found this place? The blows they brought onto the wards were so powerful, they
resonated inside, hitting the barely standing walls of the manor. Loud,
creaking sounds came from inside of it and suddenly the roof fell in. The house
was crumbling down under the force of magic.
"What is it?" Harry jumped up, staring at the clouds of dust over the building,
also sensing disturbance in the air around them, "What is going on?"
"Dumbledore has come for you, I believe. Took him some time," the Dark Lord
muttered angrily. He knew he would have to let Harry go at some point, holding
him a 'prisoner' forever couldn't help his plans, but he wasn't ready to part
with him so soon, not now. Scowling behind his golden mask, he squeezed the
boy's shoulder, "Stay here, I will be back in a minute. I need to get my
books."
He hastily strode inside, levitating himself to the second floor, for the
staircase had finally fallen down. Throwing a quick glance around the bedroom,
he summoned all of his personal belongings that were few, Harry's gryffindor
tie and the papers from the bureau. He turned back, when he was about to leave,
rolling his eyes in exasperation and summoned all the muggle books, shrinking
them down into a small cube. Entering his study, Voldemort spelled hundreds of
tomes and rolls to fit one ancient chest that he had been using for his whole
life, it had seen its better days but it still was the most capacious one he
could find. Most of his magical books couldn't be shrunk down in size and he
navigated them into the chest, grabbing onto the doorframe for balance, as the
house started rocking and groaning under the force of the wards being breached.
Harry stood at the well dumbly, staring at the red and green and golden spots
of light that were flashing up in the sky as Dumbledore was breaking through.
And where was snakeface looking, while his horcrux was being taken from him? He
nervously clutched his holly wand, feeling lost and uncertain about the
situation in general. He was a prisoner here, yes, he wanted to go home, though
he doubted he had one anymore, but he liked being here, and he hated the fact
he had to leave so soon. But what made his heart ache was the thought that he
might never see Marvolo again. Dumbledore would never let him, no doubt in
that. If only he knew his real name or knew what he looked like, he could have
asked Snape... He jerked as a cold hand squeezed his arm.
"Harry, I have to go now, I can't fight them all on my own," Voldemort looked
into the bright green eyes that were begging him to stay, but he ignored their
pleading, he couldn't stay and the boy knew that very well.
Frowning, Harry grabbed on the locket that he hadn't once taken off ever since
he found it. "Your locket, take it!" But Marvolo stopped him, and put the chain
back around his neck.
"No, it is yours now, let it be my gift to you. I am taking your tie in
exchange," the Dark Lord waved the red and golden cloth before his nose,
smiling cunningly, and hid it in his pocket. Seeing that the boy didn't respond
to his baiting as he usually did, but scowled instead, Voldemort sighed and
took him by the chin gently. "Harry, we will meet again, I promise," he leaned
closer and kissed him, unable to hold back a moan, when Harry grabbed him on
the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer, answering back as if he was
never going to see him again. Foolish boy. As he heard voices shout in a
distance he knew his wards had fallen. Pulling away from the red lips he
glanced to his right and saw a group of five people hastily running towards
them. "Goodbye, my little Prince," he kissed the lightning bolt scar and
vanished into the thin air, leaving Harry stare helplessly at the empty spot
before him.
xxx
When Dumbledore reached him, the house let out a last loud growl and fell down
completely, turning into a pile of ugly pieces of stone, with steel armature
and wooden carcass sticking out in places. Harry noticed Easy waving at him as
the elf disappeared in a flick of its small fingers. He had forgotten to ask
Marvolo why was she named like that.
"Harry, Harry! My boy, are you alright?" He turned to look into the pale blue
eyes of the headmaster, feeling suddenly cold under the warm late spring sun
and hollow inside, as if a part of his soul was taken away from him.
"Hello, professor," he muttered, gazing blankly at the four more wizards
gathered around them. They all were members of the Order and they were the last
people on Earth he wanted to see.
Dumbledore examined him briefly, looking for the signs of torture and finding
none. If anything, Harry looked healthier than he had ever seen him before, he
gained weight and his cheeks took on a slight pink hue, as if he spent a lot of
time outside, exercising. Was Tom really looking after his horcrux? No, he was
void of any emotions, he couldn't possibly care for the boy except to have him
close to assure the safety of his soul. He had probably trusted him into the
hands of his followers.
"Harry, let's go, I will take you to the headquarters," he took the boy by the
arm and apparated the two of them to Grimmauld's, leaving the other wizards to
search the grounds. It was most unfortunate that the house had fallen down, he
was hoping to find another horcrux or, at least, some of Tom's documents and
books on Dark Magic.
As Harry was led into the kitchen, and as he sat down at the table, he suddenly
noticed how quiet it was here, devastatingly empty. The headmaster warmed up a
kettle of tea and poured him a cup - it smelt strongly of herbs and he tensed,
thinking suddenly that he never once shared such kind of tea with the old
wizard, and such strong smell could only be used to cover another, that didn't
belong in his china.
"Where is Sirius?" he asked, not even touching the steaming cup.
"All in good time, my boy, all in good time," Dumbledore told him softly and
looked at the fireplace expectantly. A moment later it roared and Snape stepped
out of the green flames. Harry almost laughed at the sudden wish to jump up and
embrace the man and ask him to take him back to Voldemort. But he really was
glad to see the snarky professor.
"Ah, Severus, finally we may have a talk. As you see we found Harry, safe and
sound, thank Merlin," the headmaster gestured for the potions master to sit
down. Severus stared at the boy, who was staring back. His lord wasn't going to
let him go yet and Dumbledore hadn't warned him he was going to attack Riddle
Manor, and seeing Potter now was rather disconcerting. Especially disconcerting
since the boy looked all but happy to be back and since there was a truth serum
in his tea and he, obviously, had figured it out as well. He couldn't say he
was glad to see Potter safe, he knew he wouldn't be hurt in the Dark Lord's
hands, but it didn't mean he hadn't been thinking about how the two survived
each other's company.
"Where is Sirius?" Harry repeated, but nobody answered.
"Harry, please tell us what has been happening to you during this time? What
has Voldemort told you, has he done anything to you?" the old wizard folded his
hands in front of him, looking at him intently, searching his face for the sign
of god knew what.
"No, he hasn't done anything, in fact, I only talked to him twice." Severus and
Dumbledore exchanged a bewildered look between each other, and the potions
master's surprise was quite genuine. He was led to believe his lord spent all
of his free time with the boy.
"Were you alone there all this time?" The headmaster raised his bushy white
eyebrows feeling confused. Had Tom fought so viciously only to leave his
horcrux all by himself? Come to think of it - the grounds and house seemed
abandoned, and the tall man in black that left Harry right before they reached
him looked like an ordinary Death Eater to him.
Hoping that Dumbledore wouldn't try to use Legilimency on him, Harry gave him a
determined look, "I was guarded by different Death Eaters, they changed every
few days." There. He didn't know Marvolo's real name after all, so what he said
was half-truth, wasn't it?
Severus knew it to be a lie. Nobody could be inside the manor without the Dark
Lord present, this was how the wards worked. Even if he keyed the boy in, he
definitely wouldn't have keyed in his followers, even most trusted ones. But if
Potter lied, he must have had a good reason to do so, and Severus decided he
would keep his mouth shut for now. If only he had talked to his lord before
this meeting, he would have known what information he could disclose to the
headmaster.
"And what were you doing there all this time then?" Dumbledore felt more and
more confused. He was expecting anything else, even physical and psychological
tortures, but not... nothing.
"Reading, eating, sleeping mostly," Harry shrugged his shoulders, inwardly
sighing in relief. So far it all went rather well. "You know, I would really
like to see Sirius now, may he come down and listen as well?" He didn't want
him to listen, but his godfather's presence would surely relax him, maybe he
would even stop this stupid interrogation completely, since Snape sat like a
stone monument, not helping the tension between the three of them at all.
"Black is dead," Severus bit out, thinking they might just as well deal with
this now.
"Severus!" Dumbledore gasped, glaring at him disapprovingly.
Trust Snape to open his mouth. "What?!" Harry stared at him with a sinking
feeling in his gut.
"He took out five Death Eaters at the Ministry trying to save your
irresponsible hide, but wasn't fast enough to escape aurors. They arrested him
and he got Kissed the same night," the potions master drawled nonchalantly. It
was a truly ridiculous accident, but what else could he expect from Black?
Kissed. Harry buried his face in his hands in devastation. Two years ago he
almost died saving Sirius from a fucking hundred dementors and the man got
Kissed for killing bloody Death Eaters. He suddenly felt so sick like he hadn't
had in a very long time. Sobbing and retching at the same time, he fell on the
floor, throwing up vomit and shuddering violently in a fit of hysteria. Just
like that, his godfather was gone and nobody cared.
"Harry! Are you sick?" Dumbledore sprang up on his feet and circled the table
to crouch next to him and took him by his sweated shoulders, but Harry couldn't
answer, as his stomach churned and he threw up again.
He distantly heard Snape floo calling Madame Pomfrey and when he opened his
eyes again he found himself in his room, in bed. Blinking blindly around he at
first thought he was back in Marvolo's manor, but the small voice in his head
reminded him it fell apart in front of his eyes and he sulked, scowling at the
now clearly visible surroundings and the three people standing by his side.
"Mr Potter, it is so good to see you!" The mediwitch smiled at him and took his
wrist to feel his pulse, waving her wand over his form. Both Dumbledore and
Snape stood aside, watching him closely.
Severus was frowning worriedly - he had been personally preparing the healing
potions for the boy's stomach and exhausted magical core and his lord informed
him Potter had completely recovered. But something was wrong again. Grieving
people didn't just vomit their bile, losing consciousness in the process.
"Hmm, this is strange," Madame Pomfrey ceased her brow in confusion and looked
at Harry sternly, "Are you sure you are not trying to prank us right now?"
"What?!" Harry snapped. He felt absolutely awful, he couldn't stop thinking
about Sirius and his stupid stupid death and how it was his fault again and
here she was, asking him if he was fooling around. The nerve! "I don't even
know what happened! For fuck's sake!"
"Language!" It was her turn to snap at him. "Alright, I understand, excuse me
for accusing you but I don't understand how is this possible..." The mediwitch
frowned thoughtfully and waved her wand again, and again. Dropping her hands
helplessly at her sides, she looked up at the potion's master, "Severus? Could
you? I don't trust my own eyes."
Arching his eyebrow in surprise, Severus came to stand beside her and took out
his wand. He had had a medical training along with his potions mastery and
could diagnose just as good as Pomfrey did. Taking on a concentrated
expression, he moved his hand slowly, hovering it over the boy's form, looking
through the runes and symbols that were appearing before him, indicating the
state of the organs and blood pressure. When he came to the stomach he halted
and stared at the runes. Well, what he saw was literally impossible.
"Potter, has anybody casted any kind of spell on you while you were there?" he
looked into the scared, completely unaware of what was going on bright green
eyes.
Frowning, Harry thought back on all the time he spent with Marvolo, "Bellatrix
Lestrange tried to curse me when I had just been brought there, but my magic
shielded me. I lost consciousness and don't really remember what happened
then." Yes, Severus heard she lost her eye in their fight. She lost another
when the Dark Lord decided to find out what she used against Potter.
"And do you know what kind of curse it was?"
"She tried to castrate me," Harry rubbed on his face tiredly, not understanding
how was this relevant in his current situation.
Severus cleared his throat uncomfortably and glanced at both Dumbledore and
Pomfrey uncertainly. He never thought he would have to ask Potter this
question. "Did you have sex during your stay there?"
Harry's hands slowly fell down on his knees as he stared at Snape in shock,
fear, anger, embarrassment and every other emotion he could master. He thought
he could die right on the spot. "This is none of your business," he croaked and
flinched at severity of his father's glare.
"Potter, answer the question! Did you or did you not?"
"Why would you ask something like that?" Harry slumped against the headboard,
hugging his knees and looking around fearfully. Dumbledore came closer, staring
at him in wondrous terror, clearly having had figured out what was the matter.
"Because you are pregnant, idiot!" Severus barked out, frantically trying to
come up with a possible explanation for the Dark Lord, for the man told him he
hadn't touched the boy even once. "You have a womb inside of you and there is
an embryo in it!"
"What?! But how is this even possible?!" Harry cried, thinking he might throw
up and faint again. Oh he wished that very much, that and to not ever wake up.
Marvolo. He and Marvolo. And this was.... he couldn't finish the thought.
"This is what I would like to find out! Your magic must have reversed
Bellatrix' curse and gave you something she had," Severus pinched the bridge of
his nose. The situation was absolutely ridiculous and terrible.
"Harry, were you raped?" Dumbledore looked at him sorrowfully, trying to pat
him on the hand.
"Fuck, no! I wasn't! I did it, yes, I had sex but I wanted it!" Harry pressed
into the board wishing he could dissipate into it, shouting at them. He
couldn't believe it was happening to him. No, this wasn't real, this was a
nightmare, he would pinch his arm and wake up...
"Was it a Death Eater?" the headmaster asked gravely. Tom couldn't have fallen
so low, could he? Besides, he wasn't even human, it was doubtful he could...
"Yes," Harry let out a shuddering breath, thinking about what was he going to
tell Marvolo, how was he going to tell him at all. "No, I don't know his name
and don't know what does he look like, he wore a mask."
"And you just gave it to a Death Eater-"
"Severus," the headmaster interrupted Snape, ignoring his dark scowl, "How is
this possible? How could Harry have conceived a child?"
"Bellatrix' reversed curse gave him some kind of a magical womb, there doesn't
seem to be any more foreign organs... I believe the child was conceived through
magic in a traditional way. The child would be growing and feeding on Potter's
magic only, preserved by combined powers of his both parents. Potter would not
be able to give birth, thankfully," Severus rolled his eyes and Harry felt his
knees give away. "It would have to be taken out surgically." At that Harry
grabbed onto the bed covers, trying very hard not to vomit. This was too much,
this... there couldn't be anything worse than this, could it? He was even a
worse freak now, fucking pregnant, to think! He started laughing hysterically
as tears poured out of his eyes.
"Harry, would you like to get rid of it?" Pomfrey asked tentatively, "It is
your body and life so if you do not wish to bear this child, we could-"
"What?!" Harry cried. "Of course not! I am not... this is a human being we're
talking about!" This was Marvolo's... child. He couldn't just get rid of it,
just couldn't.
"Potter, you are not thinking straight, this had never happened before, this is
a foreign, inhuman, magical organ in your body, there is no telling how it
would affect you! You might die!" Severus raged, "It would be feeding on your
magic, how are you expecting to study? No, better tell me how are you going to
defend yourself without magic?"
Harry had nothing to say to this and as he looked at Dumbledore, who was giving
him a suspiciously speculative look, he suddenly realized what the man was
thinking about. What if it was a horcrux? What if all this was possible because
Harry had already had a piece of foreign soul inside of him and when his and
Marvolo's magics combined it found an opportunity to become corporal... in a
way. What if the child would become a monster that Voldemort is?
"I think Harry should return to Hogwarts for now, maybe try and pass his OWLs
if he feels like it, go on with his life as if nothing has happened,"
Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Perhaps, he will change his mind by the end of
the term. If not, then we will see what we can do regarding his living
arrangements."
"Not you too!" Severus threw his arms in the air in exasperation. He didn't
like this, not one bit. It was enough that Potter was his son, he didn't need a
fucking Frankenstein grandchild. "This child is unnatural, I hope you realize
that?"
"Well, except for the fact that it was created in an unordinary way, there is
nothing unnatural about it," Pomfrey chirped in.
"Yet." Snape gave her and Harry a pointed look.
"How would I return? What about Umbridge?" he frowned at the headmaster, weary
of him and his manipulations.
"What about her? She knows Voldemort is back, she and the Minister know you
were abducted," Dumbledore stroked his beard, smiling and twinkling at him.
"She has no right to expel you or deprive you of your right to pass
examinations. I am sure Ronald and Hermione would love to help you catch up and
would make it all much more bearable for you, don't you think?"
"I guess..." Harry slowly got up from the bed and backed away from them in the
direction of the bathroom. "I... I need some time alone, if you don't mind."
Madame Pomfrey wanted to say something, but the headmaster shook his head and
beckoned her to follow him out. Leaving a few potion vials behind, she walked
out, closing the door behind her. Snape stood in his place, unmoving, watching
Harry closely. "Potter, what are you hiding?"
"Nothing, I've told you the truth."
"This Death Eater - have you just really spread your legs for him, not caring
who he was?" the potions master tone was particularly venomous.
Sighing and closing his eyes tiredly, Harry leaned back against the wall. "No.
He and I talked... a lot. And then it happened. And I honestly don't know his
name, he told me to call him whatever I like and he wore a mask all the time."
Why was he telling Snape all this? The man obviously didn't care.
Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Severus came closer and narrowed his onyx
eyes slightly, "And you did this willingly? With a Death Eater? Why the sudden
change of heart?"
"What change? I wanted him, he wanted me, what else do you need to know to
believe me?"
"I don't like it, Potter, something is very wrong here. Heed my warning: this,"
he pointed at Harry's stomach, "Is really dangerous. You are the most
irresponsible person in the world. Put together it leads me to a conclusion
this is going to be a catastrophe. Imagine what would the Dark Lord do when he
finds out?"
"He wouldn't if you don't tell," Harry looked at him pleadingly, not giving a
shit he was begging Snape, of all people.
"I can't give you such a promise," Severus shook his head, scowling at the boy.
He turned to leave and halted at the threshold. "Think really hard about this,
Potter. This is not a decision to be made lightly."
Harry slid down the wall and onto the floor, feeling as the long pent-up
frustration got the better of him and he wept, sobbing violently, wept about
poor Sirius, who died because of him, about Marvolo, who he didn't know how to
find, about the child that was growing inside of him. It all was just too much
to bear, he thought he was broken before... How naive it was of him.
When Severus stepped onto the landing, he had to lean on the banister to catch
his breath. Fuck. It all was so fucked up. He couldn't believe Potter had
submitted to a Death Eater willingly - the boy didn't trust anyone, he never
touched anyone, he must have been forced into it. And if he wasn't, then who
was this... other father and what had he done to make the boy... He felt his
head was spinning. Bearing a child, imagine that... No, not pregnant,
technically not, since the womb wasn't even connected to his reproductive
organs, simply a carrier of a child born of magic. Why had the most impossible
scenarios always happened to Potter? And what was he going to do about the Dark
Lord? As soon as the man finds out he would surely demand to have the boy back
and there was no telling what would he do to Potter, to the child...
"You will not tell Voldemort about this." He turned sharply to Dumbledore's
voice coming out of the furthest room. The old wizard stepped out and gestured
for him to come closer. When Severus did, the headmaster took his potions
stained hand in his, "You will not tell him, Severus, and you will give me a
vow, now. If Harry decides to get rid of it - he does that, if he decides to
keep it - we will help him hide it. Either way, Voldemort must not know." The
pale blue eyes were boring into his, conveying the graveness of the situation
and the man's determination.
Hanging his head down, the potions master scowled at his boots. Trapped again.
Giving vows again. "I am not going to protect this... child. Only Potter," he
growled. At Dumbledore's nod he sighed heavily. "I, Severus Snape, swear on my
life and magic..."
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter VI
The first thing that Hermione did when she saw Harry was rather painful. She
launched at his neck simultaneously hitting him on the arms and chest with her
small weak fists. "You, idiot! Why haven't you told us anything? Ran off just
like that! We thought you were dead!"
"Yeah, mate, this was really stupid of you!" Ron joined in, slapping him on his
back as if Harry was choking. Well, one more slap and he would, really.
"I'm sorry, I really am," he held his hands up defensively, backing away from
his friends.
The common room stayed completely quiet during their interaction, all the
gryffindors were staring at him as if he grew a second head. Shaklebot brought
him into the Great Hall this Sunday morning and announced in front of everybody
that he had been held a prisoner by the Dark Lord and Death Eaters, but finally
managed to escape. Umbridge wasn't all too happy to have him back, since she
had to admit earlier that, indeed, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back and
another civil war was very much likely to begin soon.
And so Harry stood in the painfully red common room of his tower and wondered
just how long would it take them to calm the fuck down and leave him alone. He
dreaded they would start making a hero out of him again. He felt Ron tug on his
jacket and pull him up the stairs into their dorm. Hermione followed, shutting
the door behind the three of them.
"So," Ron sat down on the chair, crossing arms over his chest, "Tell us, how
was it?"
"What was?" Harry looked at him dumbly.
The last three days he spent at Grimmauld's went by in a senseless haze. All he
did was sleep and stare at the wall in his room. He didn't talk to anyone,
barely ate, didn't do anything else, but prayed to wake up from this horrible
nightmare that was his life. All his thoughts were of Sirius, Marvolo and that
thing that was growing inside of him. He hadn't had the nerve to call it a
child, really.
"Your abduction and imprisonment!" the redhead jumped in his seat excitedly. "I
bet they tortured you but you never gave them anything!"
"Ronald!" Hermione gasped, slapping him on the back of his head and sitting
down on the bed next to Harry. "How can you say something like that?!"
"Nobody tortured me, Ron," Harry shook his head.
"Well, what happened, what were you doing all this time?" his friend leaned
closer, staring at him with wild admiration.
"Were you hurt, Harry?" the ever rational and sympathetic Hermione asked,
taking him by the hand gently.
Sighing, he looked at the two of them, "Nobody hurt me, I spent my time living
in a very comfortable room, reading, eating and sleeping. And before you
started beating me again: I am not sorry for not telling you and not taking you
with me. It was a total fuck up and I couldn't have survived your deaths."
"Oh, Harry, we are so sorry about Sirius," the girl carefully circled her arms
around his shoulders in a soft, comforting embrace. He appreciated it very
much, he really missed being held and caressed. Who would have thought it was
possible?
"Don't think, even for a second, that it was your fault, mate," Ron's face
turned suddenly serious as he frowned slightly. "Sirius was never supposed to
be there, Remus couldn't stop him from leaving the headquarters. And he beat
all of the masked bastards, Shaklebot said he was brilliant there."
"Yeah," Harry laughed bitterly, "Bet he was even more brilliant when a fucking
dementor sucked his soul out of him." He closed his eyes resentfully, as the
images of the past filled his vision. He had seen what it looked like to be
almost Kissed, and his chest constricted in sickening pain as he imagined
Sirius soulless body and glassy, empty eyes with no light in them.
Hermione hugged him tighter, "Oh, Harry, don't. It is not your fault, really it
is not."
"So, what of this prophecy thing you told us about? Have you found it? What
does it say?" Ron changed the subject for which Harry was grateful. No matter
what they said, he knew he was guilty, just like he was guilty of Cedric's
death.
"It doesn't matter anymore, Voldemort heard it and said it's been nullified,"
he shrugged carelessly.
"But how?" Hermione perked up at that, creasing her brow in concentration.
"Well, how should I know? He said it's pointless, I'm more than okay with
that." Harry knew he couldn't tell them of horcruxes - snakeface might have
given him a vow but it didn't include his friends. The monster wouldn't think
twice to kill them if they knew. It was safer to keep them in the dark. Harry
snorted inwardly - wasn't he a lot like Dumbledore now? No, no, he wasn't, he
kept hidden something that had no relation to their lives, but could truly harm
them.
"But has he... has You-Know-Who done something to you?" Ron frowned, looking at
him worriedly.
"No, nothing."
"But what was the point in holding you there, then?" Hermione raised her
eyebrows incredulously. Harry shrugged his shoulders. The point was to make him
give up, to back away, to stop fighting, to stop being everything he was before
and be whatever he wanted. Only the latter wasn't possible. For the first time
in his life he felt like a prisoner at Hogwarts.
"I'm not sure I can tell you, but something has happened to me, something that
doesn't have anything to do with snakeface. I want you two to ask Dumbledore
about that, if he tells you, well, then I will not hide it from you," he gave
his friends a small smile. Honestly? He felt he couldn't bring himself to tell
them the truth, to tell them he was... with child. He shuddered involuntarily
at the thought. He wanted the headmaster to do the dirty work for him, for he
was afraid they would reject him, would turn away from him and never accept him
again. This way he would at least keep his dignity intact, or what was left of
it anyway. "And now I really need your help with covering everything I've
missed, I want to pass the bloody OWLs."
xxx
Never once since he was 'saved' from the ruined manor had Voldemort tried to
invade his mind through their link. He had never done it during his stay with
Marvolo either. This was somewhat disturbing, Harry thought, as he was walking
in the direction of the dungeons. He didn't want snakeface to send him visions
or anything, but he couldn't quite believe that the man would leave him alone,
he was his horcrux after all. That was why he decided to ask Snape to test his
Occlumency shields - he had dealt with his block, hadn't he? Perhaps, this was
the reason?
He hadn't had any nightmares about Vernon anymore as well. Though he saw Sirius
sometimes, dying again and again at the lake in the deep of the Forbidden
Forest, looking at him with accusing, empty grey eyes. Or he saw himself with a
huge belly, with a black human form showing through it - he usually woke up
sweated and sick to the stomach after that and ran into the bathroom. Harry
tried to think of the thing inside of him as little as it was possible - he
hated it, it disgusted him and at the same time he had this naive, childish
hope that maybe, just maybe, it would turn out alright, would become a normal
magical child... The mere thought that he was going to become a father drove
him insane. This was so not okay, he was absolutely not ready.
"Harry, good to see you with all your limbs intact!" He stopped to see Draco
coming out of the shadowed alcove. Could he ask him about Marvolo? For god's
sake he didn't know the name, what was he going to say? Do you know a tall man
with brown eyes and a dimpled chin and a rich seductive voice that makes you
come? Hardly.
"Hello, Draco, good to see you too," he gave the blonde boy a modest smile as
they continued further together.
"So how was your time with the Dark Lord? Have you enjoyed it?" Draco smiled at
him mischievously with that annoying twinkle in his pale grey eyes - as if he
knew something, but clearly he didn't.
Shaking his head in amusement, Harry smiled back, "It was fine. Please, don't
ask if he has done anything to me, I am so sick of it."
"I wasn't going to," the blonde rolled his eyes, "I know he hasn't. You look
much better than you ever did before, so, obviously, he took a good care of
you. What I wanted to ask, though, was what Bellatrix has done? Nobody seem to
know what really happened between the two of you."
Harry wanted to hit himself hard on the head. The witch was Draco's aunt, he
completely forgot about it. "I'm sorry, Draco, I didn't mean to hurt her, but
she was going to castrate me and, well... you know," he winced helplessly.
"It's fine," Draco waved at him dismissively, "I was just curious, that is all.
No need to apologize, I barely knew the woman, met her only twice and,
honestly, I could have survived without it," he drawled haughtily. "So as I
understand you took her eye first?"
"First?" Harry raised his eyebrows, perplexed. He had no idea what happened
after he shielded himself, Marvolo had never told him.
"Well, yes, the second time I met her, not that long ago, she had no eyes and
was rather suicidal," the blonde laughed coldly. "Father said the Dark Lord
took her second eye when she refused to tell him what curse she threw at you."
"He took her... what? Why?" Harry stared at him at bewilderment, frozen in his
place.
"As a punishment, Harry," Draco arched his eyebrow, giving him a skeptical
look, as if he was an idiot. "Isn't it obvious? The order was loud and clear:
nobody touches you. He hates repeating himself and dealing with arrogant
stupidity, believe me." He couldn't believe him. Snakeface doing something so
horrible for him. He felt deranged.
"This is sick," was all he managed to say.
"Don't think about it, Bella was a lost case, he would have killed her sooner
or later anyway, for she completely lost it, you know?"
"Do you know many Death Eaters?" Harry decided to change the subject and
something compelled him to think of finding Marvolo again. How pathetic it was
of him.
Draco shook his head, "Most don't know each other, only the Inner Circle knows
each other's faces. What, are you looking for someone?" he smiled cunningly.
"No," he sighed in both disappointment and relief. The Inner Circle was small
and as far as he knew - nobody could fit Marvolo's description there.
They stopped at Snape's office and the blonde boy turned to leave him there, "I
don't know what is so special about you, Harry, but you are a nice boy. I hope
we will find more common ground between us, in time," he winked at him and
strode away.
"I hope so too," Harry said softly.
xxx
A month went by so fast, Harry was shocked to find it was already June and the
examinations began. Umbridge and Fudge left him in peace after two weeks of
constant interrogations and psychological tortures - he couldn't give them
anything at all, for he truly knew nothing. All the information about
Voldemort's activities he had was from newspapers. The toad even had the
audacity to give him Veritaserum, but since Snape was the one who was supposed
to administer it, he poured a fake potion into Harry's tea. If it wasn't for
his father, he might have been locked up in one of the laboratories of the
Department of Mysteries. But since he never told them anything valuable, they
finally agreed that he was useless and let him study.
It was the evening after one of his last examinations, potions, when Snape
summoned him into his office. "Potter, sit down, I have a message from
Dumbledore."
Harry obediently lowered himself onto the visitor's chair, too tired after the
sleepless night to even talk. He numbly jerked his head, indicating to the
potions master that he was listening.
"Potter," Severus gave him an incredulous look, "You should get some sleep, as
much as it pains me to admit this, but you are smart enough to pass the OWLs
with flying colours, there is no need to exhaust yourself so much." It was
unbelievable, and yet, subconsciously, he knew it was more than possible that
the boy prepared an ideal potion and gave the right answers to all the question
on the written part of his exam. He was his son, after all.
"I missed a lot and I haven't been feeling very well as of late, so I got a
little nervous that I wouldn't get an adequate mark." Why was he so nervous
about the marks, though, Harry couldn't fathom. He had absolutely no idea of
what he wanted to do after graduating, and with a child coming soon, there was
no telling if he would be doing anything at all, ever.
"I see," Severus frowned and sat down at his desk, looking at the boy intently.
Potter hadn't been showing any signs of magical exhaustion yet, for the fetus
was too small, but he knew it would manifest itself soon and than the boy would
be completely defenseless against even muggle deceases. How could he keep him
save for the Dark Lord if he could die of pricking his blasted finger? "I met
Dumbledore yesterday and he asked to tell you that you will have to stay with
your relatives this summer."
"What?!" All exhaustion vanished out of him as Harry sprang up on his feet. "It
is impossible! I can't go there!" He felt dread freezing his gut and tying it
into a knot.
Raising his eyebrows in annoyance, Snape flicked his fingers and Harry fell
back into his seat. "Potter, the Dark Lord is starting a war, it is official.
You saw how desperate Umbridge and Fudge are to keep their own hides out of the
fire. There is nothing about in papers yet, but believe me when I tell you: it
is actually happening. No matter what he had promised you, your life is in
danger. The Order is afraid that if not the Dark Lord, then the Ministry would
try to use you to their own advantage and this," he raised his long index
finger to make a point, "Is inadmissible. You can't be placed into a safe house
yet, so there is no other place for you to stay safe but behind the blood wards
on you relatives' house."
The more Harry was listening, the more sick he felt. Vernon. The fat bastard
would be there, the bane of his existence, he would have to constantly fight
him off, to protect himself and the child... Holding back a violent sob that
threatened to escape his throat, he hid his face in his trembling hands. "Can't
I stay at Hogwarts?" he knew very well he could not, but he felt he needed to
ask just to be sure.
"You know the answer to this question," Severus muttered. As much as he thought
he didn't care for Potter, sending the boy back into an abusive family pained
him greatly. But he couldn't give him up to the Dark Lord either because of the
bloody vows Dumbledore had bound him with. There was no way out of this. Except
for one, but it went against the old wizard's wishes. "However, you are turning
seventeen at the end of July. You will become a legal adult in the wizarding
world and as such, you can act freely and make your own decisions regarding
your living arrangements. The headmaster wouldn't be able to stop you if you
decided to leave after your birthday." There, he said it, all was left for him
to do now was to hope that Potter wouldn't fuck everything up. Again.
And just why hadn't he known that he was going to become an adult so soon?
Dumbledore keeping information from him again! Harry wanted to punch someone,
to blow up something, so angry he felt, so wronged, but this was not the place
and not the time. "So after I am seventeen no one can force me into anything,
right? And I will be able to use magic freely during the summer?"
Snape nodded. Great. He would leave Dursleys the very same day and go to
Weasleys. Yes. He only had to survive a month and a half and he would be free
at last.
"That was all I was supposed to tell you, you may go now and have some sleep,
for Merlin's sake!" Severus glared at the boy. Potter stood up and moved to the
door, but before opening it he suddenly stopped and looked back at him with
this strange expression he saw him wearing these past few weeks. Something akin
to resignation and joyful determination.
"Professor, you... you asked to consider the situation I'm in," Harry mumbled,
licking on his dry lips uncertainly. "Well, about keeping the child or getting
rid of it. I have decided I will keep it and raise it when it's born." He let
out a shaky breath, he didn't know he was holding, for it was one thing to
admit this to himself, and a completely different one to say this aloud, to say
this to his father.
Scowling, Severus sighed and looked away for a moment. "It is your decision,
Potter. I can't make you do anything against your own wishes. Although, I would
tell you once again that your situation is very dangerous and unpredictable.
More so, you are a child yourself," he sneered at the boy, though it didn't
come out as malicious as he intended to make it, "I seriously doubt you are fit
to raise another one."
Harry scowled back, dearly wishing to tell him that he had friends who were
more than happy to help him, but suddenly realized that both Ron and Hermione,
though enthusiastic and trustworthy, couldn't actually be of any help, for they
themselves were children, they had a school to study at, a life to live. And
his life was becoming completely different, he was becoming more and more
distant from them. The circumstances he had found himself in made him grow up
much faster and now that he was looking at his intimidating, snarky professor,
he knew there was only one person he could rely on in this.
"We could do it together."
"What?" Severus stared at him dumbly.
"It is your grandchild, you can't deny it," Harry shrugged his shoulders,
gripping the handle of the door tightly to not let his emotions show. What he
felt like now was to run and throw himself on Snape's neck and cry into his
shoulder, but this was most inappropriate, and he knew it wouldn't be
appreciated. Besides, he had to learn to act like an adult he was going to
become soon, like a future parent. "I'm not asking for anything, I'm just
saying we could raise it together, you could take a part in his or her
upbringing. You are a teacher after all, you are much more experienced than I
am."
"Potter, I do not appreciate your sense of humor," Severus sat up rigidly,
feeling and, probably, looking completely gobsmacked. It wasn't every day
another person came to him and offered to raise a child together, no, scratch
that, his own son was willing to start some sort of family with him... Shaking
himself out of the haze of crazy thoughts, Severus cleared his throat that was
suspiciously tight and scratchy. "I would not even consider your... offer."
"There is still plenty of time for you to decide," Harry's heart bled at the
harsh, uncaring words but he didn't show it. He wanted to add something else,
to find the right thing to say that could convince Snape, change his mind, but
knew it was pointless. Throwing his father a last, sorrowful glance, Harry
opened the door and left.
Scowling darkly, Severus got up on his feet and paced the length of his office,
twisting his fingers in front of his chest. The child that was growing inside
of Potter wasn't normal, it was created of magic and it would never be an
ordinary wizard or witch - that was obvious. But no matter how much he wanted
to believe it, there was this little irritating ball of warmth in his chest,
that rose up in his throat and blocked his respiratory tract. Only a year ago
he found out he was a father. In less than another year he was going to have a
grandchild. The concept was completely insane, impossible, something like this
could have never happened to Severus Prince. No, no, he was telling himself,
rushing around the space, he and Potter could never be a family, there was too
much between them and not enough at the same time. Perhaps, he didn't hate the
boy after all, but he couldn't accept him as his son, his heir, his... But his
own grandfather hadn't left him, had he? Even though he had disowned his own
daughter and despised her for marrying a muggle, he accepted Severus, even if
he thought him to be an abomination, a disgrace, he took care of him and left
him everything, his name, most importantly.
Could he reject the two of them? He was all alone in the whole world, there
were no relatives left - they all died in war or of the bloody pox.
Dumbledore's annoyingly kind voice rang in his ears, asking him if he really
wanted to spend his life in loneliness? Growling to himself, Severus helplessly
plumped down onto the nearest chair. Before Potter turned out to be his, he had
no doubts whatsoever about the future, he always knew what he wanted to do,
what he was going to do with his life. And now... now he wasn't sure. He kept
reiterating to himself over and over again that he wasn't responsible for the
boy, that sixteen years was too much of a time, too wide a rift between them.
He couldn't possibly feel anything for someone who represented everything he
despised so much. He couldn't let himself repeat the same mistake of letting
somebody, no, not somebody, Potter, get close to him. The boy was his mother's
son, he was just as careless, selfish, as Lily used to be, and Severus had no
more strength and will left to be hurt again. He hated feeling so weak and
insecure under the gaze of those brilliantly green eyes, he hated the fact that
Potter didn't loath him for what had happened, he couldn't stand the boy's
kindness and acceptance - this wasn't what he usually got, definitely not
something he deserved. And now Potter had the nerve to offer him a chance to
have something he prohibited himself to ever dream about - a family.
How could the idiot accept this abominable child for that matter? Severus
sprang up on his feet again, unable to sit still. For the life of him he
couldn't fathom the easiness with which Potter threw his life away, his future.
He could have had anything he wanted, he could take any high ranking job at the
Ministry straight out of school and everybody would have kissed the hems of his
robes for that; in a few years, with a support of the Order and Dumbledore, and
some influential light wizards of Wizengamot, he could easily become a
Minister. But instead, Potter was going to give life to a child of an unknown
dark wizard, was going to risk his own well-being for its sake, wished to raise
it... Shaking his head in bewilderment, Severus stared at his potion stained,
scarred hands, curling his fingers. He felt helpless before Potter's
irrationality and hotheadedness, before his selflessness and arrogance. He
balled his hands into tight fists and squeezed his eyes in resentment. Could he
have raised such son if he had him right from the beginning? Could he have
saved him from his own darkness and one of this cruel, unfair world? This was
one question he feared to find an answer to. It was miraculous, what kind of a
generous, forgiving person Potter turned out to be, growing up under the blows
of his own uncle, living in a family that didn't want him, despised him for
what he was. How ridiculously similar their childhoods were, and yet how
different they became, how innocent the boy remained, how pure, and how rotten
to his very core Severus ended up to be... Just what was he going to do?
xxx
"Mate, this is so fucked up," Ron was staring wildly at the tips of his old,
battered boots, shaking his head in bewilderment.
They sat in their usual compartment of Hogwarts' Express, going hime after
having had finally passed all of their OWLs. His friends had spoken to
Dumbledore the previous night, as Hermione was determined to convince him to
let her parents have Harry for the summer or at least let him stay at the
Burrow. The headmaster, of course, denied her all of her wishes and told the
two of them about Harry's intricate situation. And now they both were silent,
lost for any kind of words suitable for this. Harry could not find a proper
name for it, he didn't feel like calling it pregnancy, it made him sick.
"Yeah, it is," he agreed, heaving a long tired sigh, as he watched the scottish
landscape flash hastily behind the window that was wet with rain, that seemed
to be following them to London.
"Are you... are you sure you want to keep it? I'm not saying that professor
Snape is right to call it unnatural and all that," Hermione mumbled, shifting
uncomfortably in her seat, "But, Harry, it is truly dangerous. It is not even a
pregnancy, there is a foreign being growing in an artificial womb inside of
you, feeding on your magic... I feel so scared!" her eyes were wet as she
looked at him fearfully.
"I am scared too," Harry frowned, "But after I gave it a lot of thought, I've
realized I cannot kill it. I... It is another human being, Mione. No matter how
was it created, it would be a person, with his or her own soul, mind, desires
and fears... I could not possibly disregard all that in favour of the notion
that it is going to be dark and somewhat twisted. No one can predict what would
happen." He rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms on the rough fabric of his jeans
and looked at his two friends pleadingly. "You must understand, it is not a
monster. We are not born evil or good, we become one or another in the course
of our lives, guided or pushed by other people."
"What, do you honestly believe You-Know-Who was not born evil?" Ron let out a
nervous laugh, that sounded more like a choking squeak, and stared at Harry
uncertainly.
"Of course not!" he clutched onto the locket hidden under his shirt
involuntarily, like he always did when he sought comfort. "Did you really think
he came into this world looking like an ugly snake with plots of the universe
domination in his head?" Harry shook his head, laughing bitterly at the image.
"Ron, I am certain he could have grown up a decent, kind wizard without the
maniacal desire to kill everything that breathes, if he had been brought up
accordingly. You know how awful my family is to me, imagine what it must have
been like to live in an orphanage, with no parents, no relatives even?"
He knew so little of Tom Riddle, practically nothing. The young Voldemort was
reluctant to give away much about himself, and even though he was a cunning
slytherin, to the very last moment Harry refused to believe he was capable of
anything evil, violent, even when he stood there, in the Chamber of Secrets,
over Ginny's barely warm body. Of course Riddle wasn't a normal boy - no normal
person would make a horcrux at sixteen, but knowing Voldemort, Harry was
certain there must have been a serious reason for him to do that. He wished he
knew what compelled the young wizard to commit the awful crime.
To think of it, that all the abused children grew up so similarly and yet
became so different in the end. He himself, no matter how much he hated Vernon
and wished him dead, he couldn't kill him, there was no such power in him, in
his mind, that could let him take another life. He knew he was weak, but the
mere thought of committing a murder, even if it was a righteous one, though he
honestly doubted such existed, made him sick. And what of his father? Snape had
killed, he told him, didn't he? Snape, who was just as harshly abused, feasted
on his hatred and anger, his pain, he turned them into his armour, his weapon.
Was it the same for Voldemort? Was he so hurt, so broken inside, that he
discarded of everything human in him, in favour of cruelty and bitterness, rage
and malice that turned his heart into a stone?
"I can't," Ron's hoarse answer snapped him out of his reverie. "But that is no
excuse to possess my sister and than take her life, you know," his face turned
redder than his hair, as he fumed, boring his blue eyes into Harry's.
"I never said it was. I am simply saying he was made into a monster that he is
now."
"I see logic and sense behind your arguments, but I still can't find as much
compassion for him," Hermione murmured softly, hugging her knees and staring
somewhere over Harry's head unseeingly.
"I will understand if you wouldn't want to know me anymore," he said, biting
his lower lip as a tight lump clogged his throat. "But I am keeping this
child."
"Harry, mate, don't say that!" Ron's face fell and he sniffed, looking at Harry
with his huge puppy eyes. "We will never turn you away because of this! You
know, you get into a completely fucked up shit all the time, but..." he
shrugged his shoulders helplessly, "We kind of got used to that."
Harry covered his face with his hands, as a hysterical laughter burst out of
him and tears of relief welled up in his eyes. Trust Ron to make it alright.
"Oh, Harry, of course we would never reject you, you are truly an idiot if you
dared to think even for a minute that we could do that!" Hermione threw her
arms up in the air, taking on her usual bossy tone. She leaned closer to pat
him on his knee. "It's just that we are so young, and a child is such a huge
responsibility."
"Yeah, especially with a war looming at the horizon," Ron added, rubbing on his
ear nervously.
"I know... Thank you, it really means so much to me, that you can accept this,"
Harry gestured at his stomach helplessly.
"Of course," Hermione smiled tightly. "I'm just worried what would happen when
Voldemort finds out. He would surely use it against you."
"Well," he sighed and scowled at the quickly changing view on the other side of
the glass, "We will have to do everything in order to not let him find out,
won't we?"
It was truly ridiculous how history seemed to repeat itself, Harry inwardly
laughed. His father was also abused and hated in his youth, his mother was also
pregnant and went into hiding as a war broke out, his child was also conceived
from a Death Eater whom he hardly was ever going to see again... It all went in
vicious circles over and over again - but that was exactly why he was going to
keep this child. He wanted to stop this consistency, wanted to make it all
differently, right. His child wasn't going to be abused or left at the
orphanage, no matter dark or light, he or she wasn't going to be belittled and
humiliated, wouldn't have to fight to survive, wouldn't have to bend down and
let a monster have control over him or her. He would make sure his child was
loved and cared for, would grow up to be a kind, compassionate, decent wizard
or witch. It was a vow he gave himself and he intended to keep it.
xxx
Harry knew it would be hard. But knowing and actually going through it were two
completely different matters. Vernon's twisted, purple face was the last thing
he wished to see on Earth. Go on, you can do it, you're not weak. Taking a
long, deep breath, Harry straightened his shoulders and walked over to his
uncle's car, dragging his trunk behind him. He left Hedwig at the school -
there was no point it taking her with him, since he couldn't communicate with
anyone, again. And Dudley would have surely killed her, so it was safer this
way. He gave his Firebolt to Ron, for he couldn't and didn't want to fly, and
his wand and Invisibility Cloak were in his pocket. Nothing valuable was there
for his relatives to destroy.
"Get in the car, boy!" Vernon snarled and pushed his huge, obese body into the
driver's seat, while Harry hastily threw his belongings into the rack and slid
into the back seats quiet as a mouse. The more imperceptible he was, the less
reason there would be for Vernon to go bonkers on him.
As they drove through the city, Harry looked around, trying to sway his mind
away from the heavy, gloomy thoughts, and made notes of places he wanted to
visit. He never once saw London properly, except for that one time when
Dursleys had to take him to the zoo. He entertained the thought that, as soon
as he turned seventeen and left his blasted relatives for good, he would
certainly travel around the city - war or not, Voldemort wasn't going to spoil
his life, besides, it was snakeface's idea after all. The more Harry thought
about it, the more inclined he was to agree to the Dark Lord's offer and give
up fighting. He had another human being to care for now and, frankly, choosing
between his child and the wizarding world wasn't an option, not for Harry.
Family, that he was going to start, came first.
His uncle parked at the house and urged Harry to get inside before the
neighbours saw them. After he left his trunk in the cupboard under the stairs,
Harry ran up into his room and hid his wand, cloak and locket under the
floorboards before anybody could see them. There, safe now. Heaving a sigh of
relief, he sat down on his bed, inwardly calming himself. He could do it. It
was only a month and two weeks.
"Freak! Get down here and make dinner!" he heard Vernon scream from the living
room.
"Already cooking!" Harry exclaimed, jumping over three steps at once as he
descended the stairs. Moving swiftly, with practiced ease, he took the
necessary products out of the fridge and quickly cut, sliced, mixed and spiced
everything before throwing it onto the cooking pan. He had no wish to
antagonize the whale of his uncle on his very first day here.
It was most disconcerting, that all this time, during the last month, Harry had
been having dreams about Marvolo, both sexual and not. And as he lay in his bed
at 4 Private Drive, he stared at the ceiling, biting his lips, drawing blood,
shocked that his body was still capable of reacting to his memories and
fantasies in the very place where it had been abused, humiliated so many times.
Had Marvolo truly healed him or was he just a sick freak? He closed his eyes
and imagined that he was back in the dark bedroom of the mysterious masked
wizard, imagined that his scent filled the air and that his cold hands were
holding him. Harry knew he shouldn't have let his wishful thinking take over
his sense - he and Marvolo, it seemed almost unreal, he would have thought he
dreamed it all if it wasn't for the small warm ball of magic that pulsed
sometimes in his stomach. He cherished the only real evidence that Marvolo was,
in fact, a real human being, it reassured him, gave him spiritual comfort. The
thoughts about the smiling rose lips finally lulled him into deep, undisturbed
sleep.
Vernon's patience lasted only for a week. After a particularly hard day at
work, his uncle had had too much whiskey and decided it was high time to vent
his pent-up frustration on his nephew. As Petunia and Dudley were at home,
Harry knew he wouldn't try to rape him, it was their little dirty secret, so he
braced himself for the whipping. Of course he realized he couldn't fight Vernon
physically, but he could make it as less painful and damaging for himself as
possible. His uncle entered the room with a belt already in his hand. Harry
stood defiantly, glaring at him hatefully as the pig eyed him speculatively. He
had grown, became taller, broader, he knew that, his hair had also grown out,
reaching past his shoulder blades and Petunia had made a show of cutting them
off just yesterday, leaving them curl upwards a little, barely reaching down to
his jaw. Harry didn't care for it, what he cared for was the safety of his
body.
"You've grown, freak," Vernon narrowed his eyes at the boy's lean form and
smacked his lips, obviously regretting the fact that his family was downstairs
and he couldn't shove his filthy pecker up Harry's arse. Ugly bastard. "Turn
around," the man growled and the buckle of the belt clinked in his hands as he
straightened it.
Pursing his lips and facing the wall, Harry took off his oversized t-shirt and
pressed it to his abdomen. He jerked, greeting his teeth, as the first blow
reached his back, the buckle scratching on his shoulder. And then another one.
And another. Vernon kept shouting hoarsely, cursing him for all the bad luck,
for all the difficulties he had to face housing him, for all the money he had
spent on a worthless shit that Harry was. Harry stood silently, simply swaying
under the hits, but otherwise not giving away any signs of hurting. He wasn't
going to indulge Vernon's sadistic streaks. When his uncle finally got tired
and bent down to catch his breath, he simply put his shirt back on, biting into
his lip as the rough cloth brushed against the fresh wounds. Purple in face and
wet, stinking with sweat, Vernon growled at him that he was grounded for three
days and left the room, locking it behind him. That was more than alright with
Harry, he could only hope he would spend the rest of his summer stay here just
as relatively easily and safely as it could be.
xxx
With his head tilted slightly to the side, Voldemort stood before the ruins of
Riddle Manor, clearly enjoying the view. He wasn't quite sure what had
compelled him to come here again, but now that he had, he realized that he felt
both pleased and somewhat disappointed that the damned house had fallen.
Pleased, for with the walls the last memories and pieces of his muggle heritage
had crumbled and turned to dust; disappointed, for he no longer could sleep in
the bed he and the little Prince had shared, could not smell his wonderful,
sweet scent. He hadn't tried to invade his mind, thinking that the boy would
have enough of intrusions and tortures from his light wizards, but when he made
an attempt to renew their connection yesterday, he found that Harry could now
block him out completely. It seemed that Severus did teach him something after
all. It displeased him, however, if the boy was able to block him, then he was
able to block Dumbledore as well and that was worth his ignorance. But he still
felt that strange longing he hoped would dissipate in time, while he was away
from his little Prince - how wrong he was. After they parted, he realized that
their closeness and prolonged contact had intensified the link between his and
Harry's souls and being apart brought him great discomfort and even insomnia.
For the last two weeks he had been constantly dreaming about the boy and waking
to a very hard erection that was difficult to sate. He wanted Harry back. His
body and soul craved him.
At first he thought it all to be the result of the long fourteen years he spent
in a form of a spirit and therefore in celibacy, and of the fact that Harry had
been his first sexual partner ever since he gained his body back. He also
blamed the boy's youth and innocence, that affected him rather strongly,
refreshingly. But as the time went by and his hunger wasn't subsiding, he began
looking for a way to subdue it. As it turned out, he didn't want anybody else
but Prince. No matter how hard he tried, how hard different men and women tried
- he couldn't get turned on at the sight of their beautiful bodies. He hadn't
touched even one of them, for they bored and irritated him, for they were no
Harry. And Harry haunted him in his sleep, frustrating him to the verge of
insanity. Voldemort wished he could visit the boy at least once, at night, just
to take him quickly, or slowly, very slowly... But it was impossible, for
nobody knew where was the place his relatives lived, so well it was protected
with magic. Severus couldn't tell either.
As he leisurely circled the piles of stone and wood, he thought about the first
time he came into this once luxurious manor. The time he stood in his buttered,
mended, second-hand clothes from the orphanage in front of the three richly
dressed muggles that were his only living relatives, except for his uncle
Morfin, whose wand he was hiding behind his back. He could never forget that
hot summer evening when he walked to the Little Hangleton with his black
leather journal in his pocket, determined to create his first horcrux with the
help of his father - the filthy muggle could have his use after all. Of course
he was curious to meet the man that had condemned him to rot in that hell hole,
had discarded of him as if he was some piece of garbage. Tom Riddle Sr would
have surely gotten up and screamed at him to get out, if it wasn't for their
striking resemblance - he was the spitting image of his father, if just a
little taller, thinner. Riddle Sr was shocked into silence, while his own
father, an old, austere looking man rose from the dinning table they were
seated at and demanded to know who the hell he was. Voldemort remembered so
very clearly how loud his stomach rumbled at the sight of the most delicious
food that covered the long table completely, barely leaving space for the
plates and glasses - it reminded him of Hogwarts, only this amount of meat and
expensive fruits and vegetables was not meant for more than fifty students, but
for the three rather well-nourished people only.
"Are you blind, old man?" Was what he answered to his grandfather, whose belly
was just as fat as his was emaciated.
"Is this the bastard that filthy witch had conceived with you?" the old man
roared, spitting saliva at his gobsmacked son.
The old lady of the house tried to sooth him, tugging him on the sleeve of his
expensive tuxedo, and addressed Voldemort, who was watching the scene before
him impassively, "We do not wish to have your kind here, please, leave us
alone!"
"But our feelings are quite mutual," he smiled at her charmingly, tucking the
stray locks of hair behind his ear shyly. "I came here to eliminate your kind,
for I have an important task to complete and you are going to help me with it."
"If you want money you are not getting any!" Tom Riddle Sr came back to life
and finally stood up to try and tower over him with his height, but was
flagrantly beat to it. "Leave now, we do not do charity," he kept clutching on
the hem of his jacket nervously, as his blue eyes stared fearfully into
Voldemort's identical ones.
"Yes, I've noticed. You left my pregnant mother on the street without a penny
in her pocket," he hissed at the abominable being spitefully, disgusted by the
mere thought that this man was the one whose blood ran in his veins.
"She is a witch, she poisoned him!" the old man cried, shaking his fists at
Voldemort as if it was his fault.
"She was a witch," he corrected nonchalantly, twirling the wand in his fingers
impatiently. "She died in labour, while you kept filling your guts with more
food than there is at my orphanage." And before the old man could reply to
that, Avada Kedavra spell escaped his lips and a jet of bright green light hit
his grandfather in the chest and he fell down, dead. It had been his first
murder, he had only practiced on animals in the Forbidden Forest before. It
felt so good, and the woman's shrieks of horror felt even better.
"You-you..." Riddle kept pointing his finger at him, staring wildly at the
black, crooked wand in his hand.
"Yes, I am a wizard, just like my mother was," he smiled at him endearingly and
turned to throw the Killing Curse again, at his grandmother this time. Her cry
died out in a violent choke, as she too fell down to never get up again. "She
could have given you the world, you know, with the powers that were dormant in
her blood, but boil and burn in mine. But you are just a pathetic excuse of a
man, a filthy muggle, of course, you could not appreciate my mother's greatness
and your luck."
"What do you want? I will give you everything I have, please, just spare me!"
Riddle fell on his knees before him and Voldemort felt the bile rise in his
throat - this bastard, this filthy piece of scum that was guilty of his
mother's death dared to plead for his life! Couldn't even take his death with
dignity, like a real man. Oh, but he simply had none, did he?
"I want your life," he said simply, looking into the scared, tearful blue eyes,
"Eye for an eye, Riddle, your life for hers and for mine as well."
Voldemort knew he would never forget the disbelief, the ridiculous hope that it
all was a dream, the horror of realization and the pain that were written on
his father's face that twisted, taking on an ugly animalistic look, when Avada
Kedavra took his last breath. He would have preferred to torture him with
Cruciatus, but he felt too weak, too exhausted after firing three Killing
Curses at once. Before he could even register that the man he hated most in
this world was finally dead, his stomach churned and Voldemort fell on his
knees, retching violently right onto the expensive persian rug. He was only
sixteen, his body was too young and malnourished to take on such a strain. But
with bile, that was pouring out if him, he felt the filth of his father leave
him as well. He was clean now, pure. When he stood up, swaying on his shaking
legs, and moved to leave, for he had to give the wand back to Morfin, in order
to frame him for what he had done, his gaze fell onto the table. So much food,
which he could never afford to taste and probably wouldn't be able to in more
years to come... Shrugging his shoulders, he stepped over his father's corpse
and sat down in his chair at the head of the table, digging enthusiastically
into the plate.
Smiling at the so long hidden memories, Voldemort watched the ruins of his
past. That dinner was the most delicious one he had ever had in his life, he
thought he could still taste the juice of fresh mango and pineapple, that were
almost impossible to find in the war time. How many years had passed, how much
had changed, but some things remained the same. Humming under his breath,
Voldemort slowly walked to the small, ugly shack his mother used to live in
with Morfin and their father Marvolo. The dead snake still hung nailed to the
door, rocking ominously in the wind. He entered, probing the wards he had set
seven months earlier when he came for the ring - Dumbledore hadn't visited yet.
With an evil grin stretching his lips, Voldemort walked over to the fireplace
and took the small black box from the mantel. Throwing the rubbish it was
filled with away, he placed the exact replica of the Gaunt ring inside, careful
not to let it touch his skin - it would show just how smart and invincible the
old goat really was when he would, no doubt, grab it, hurrying to destroy the
horcrux that was supposed to be inside. The ends justified the means, and he
wouldn't be a slytherin if he didn't play dirty, now, would he?
xxx
What Harry dreaded the most had finally happened mere ten days into July on one
gloomy Sunday. Dudley went for a sleepover to one of his cronies and Petunia
was attending a Knitting Club meeting next door and wasn't going to be back
until very late. And since it had been raining for the whole day Vernon stayed
at home, angry and bored, with no golf to play and no 'respectable' men to hang
out with. Harry's sixth sense was screaming at him danger and he decided to
spend the day under the rain, hidden in the crown of the only tree that grew on
the lawn, which was easy to accomplish since Petunia ordered him to cut the
grass. He never questioned her stupid, irrational chores for it was easier to
simply comply to them than listen to her shrieks for the rest of the week. His
backside hurt from sitting on the hard, narrow branch, but he stoically took
the pain, knowing all too well what else could hurt him much, much worse.
However, his uncle's boredom got the better of him and soon Harry heard the man
wandering around the house and calling for him, swearing rudely.
It didn't take him long to find the boy. "Get down here at once, or I will work
on your pretty face - none of your freaks would recognize you!" He started
shaking the tree and Harry fell down on his back, wincing at the sharp pain -
the tree wasn't the best idea, he had to admit that. "Get inside! Now!"
Reluctantly, Harry obeyed and trudged into the house. When he started taking
off his wet trainers, Vernon grabbed him on the collar of his shirt and pushed
harshly against the wall. Fear of what was coming and rage blinded him and
Harry pushed him back, barely making his huge body sway.
"Get your hands off of me!" he snaked from underneath the meaty hands and ran
up the stairs, deafened by the blood pumping loudly in his ears. But he still
could hear Vernon's ragged breath and profanities thrown at his back.
"You will learn to respect me, boy!" his uncle ran after him and practically
blown the door off of its hinges as he slammed into it when Harry tried to shut
it in his face. "Little shit!" he grabbed on the raven hair and tagged on it
violently, trying to bring the tall boy down onto the floor.
"No, no!" Harry struggled, and finally crushed his fist into the disgusting
purple face. Wailing, Vernon let go of him, clutching onto his bleeding nose.
Harry hastily moved away, gripping the back of the chair, thinking that he
might very well use it against the fat bastard.
"You whore! You will pay!" his uncle roared, spitting saliva and leaped onto
him, aiming to hit him on the head. Harry slammed the chair into his obese
form, but it didn't make much damage - the wood was too old and worn and simply
cracked. Enraged beyond possible, Vernon hit him on the face so hard, Harry
fell down on the floor unable to withstand the strong blow. He instinctively
coiled, covering his abdomen, hoping that he would manage to shield it from the
more beating that was to come.
"Unworthy bastard!" the man screeched, throwing his heavy body on top of the
boy's and grabbing onto his throat. He kept intensifying the pressure,
screaming all the while as Harry tried to breathe, wheezing and choking in the
iron grip. He scratched on the man's hands with his fingernails, but it was
fruitless. Tears blurred his faltering vision and, as it darkened, he jerked in
fear that, if he blacked out, Vernon would no doubt take advantage of his
unconsciousness and rape him. The image of such horrible perspective gripped
his heart in a vice and Harry cried out hoarsely, gathering all of his strength
to push the bastard away. His magic lashed out and blew Vernon into the wall,
while he rubbed on his constricted, aching throat, trying to sooth the pain
away.
Vernon shook his head, trying to gather his wits, and glared at Harry
spitefully, "You, piece of shit," he groaned, trying to get up, "I will fucking
get you, I will tear you apart, you, whelp!"
"Don't you dare touch me!" Harry spat back. "I will use magic against you, to
hell with school, if you lay your finger on me again I swear I will turn you
into an invalid!" He unconsciously held his hand over his abdomen, trying to
feel if the child was hurt - his magic pulsed in reply, reassuringly. It was
fine.
Staring at him wildly, Vernon snarled instead of answering the threats and
leaped forward, grabbing onto the boy's ankles and waistband, trying to tear
his jeans off of him.
"No, don't touch me! You, bastard!" Harry wriggled in his hold, blindly
slamming his feet into the fat chest. Vernon was so fucking heavy and his magic
wasn't ready for another blow, concentrated on protecting the fetus. Fuck! He
couldn't let the man rape him, not after what happened with Marvolo, not with
his child inside of him. "Stop! Stop!" he screamed, frantically trying to pull
his back back up.
"Slut! So innocent aren't ya? Let's see how many cocks you had!" his uncle tore
the pants off and pinned him down with his weight, holding him by the throat
with one hand, while the other hastily pushed down his sweatpants. Harry
squeezed his eyes, begging his magic to fucking blow the bastard up, when the
sound of the door being opened snapped both him and Vernon out of their
struggle.
"Vernon, dear, I'm home! That stupid Margaret just couldn't keep her mouth shut
and ruined the whole evening with her intolerable stories..." Petunia's voice
muffled as she went into the kitchen.
"Fuck!" the man muttered angrily and slapped Harry on the face. "Next time you
will pay for this, whore!" He quickly raised his huge body, dressing up and ran
out of the room, shutting the bathroom door behind him. Tears poured out of his
eyes in relief, as Harry coiled on the floor, sobbing into his fist and
thanking Petunia for being the dumb bitch that she was. He was so close today,
so bloody close. As his shoulders shook violently, he circled his arms around
his stomach, nursing it, willing the sickness to go away. He was safe, for how
long he couldn't even try to guess, but for now he was safe.
He didn't know for how long had he been lying there on the floor, but he was
woken up by the rustle of feathers above his head. Blinking tiredly he strained
his ears - it was still evening, the telly was working downstairs, as his aunt
and uncle laughed at some random program. Harry looked around dumbly - had he
imagined an owl in here? He couldn't exchange mail and both his friends knew
that very well, so they wouldn't have written to him. He slowly gathered
himself up and moved over onto the bed. The wings rustled again and this time
he saw it - a small barn owl, the most common type, used by both Hogwarts and
the Ministry. With a sinking feeling in his gut he stretched his hand out to
take the letter, already bracing himself for it to be yet another notification
of yet another hearing. But there were no seals and the envelope was too small
for an official message.
"Harry, do refrain from using wandless magic at home. This time Shaklebot was
present when the alarm went off and covered it up for you. There might not be
another lucky opportunity. A.D."
He wanted to scream, wanted to burn the fucking house down with just the power
of his will. How could headmaster tell him something like that? He knew very
well just where Harry had to live, who were his relatives, how could he so
calmly order him to stop defending himself? His child? But before he tore the
letter into pieces, he caught the sight of the bird, still perched on the edge
of his desk, waiting for a treat and a rebellious idea formed in his mind.
There was no one in the Order he could rely on but his father. He turned the
letter around and, having snatched the chewed pencil from the windowsill,
scribbled on the paper frantically. He grabbed the poor owl and tied the note
to its leg.
"Find Severus Snape! It's urgent!" and he pushed it out of the barred window.
If his father wouldn't help him, then he had no other choice but to run, all
his instincts screamed at him to get out as soon as possible. He had this
horrible premonition that Vernon wouldn't be satisfied with simply raping him,
not after what he had done.
xxx
Voldemort and Severus sat at in front of the fireplace in the inimitable, vast
library of Prince Manor, that the potions master reluctantly opened for his
lord. Severus didn't care for the house, but it unnerved him greatly that the
Dark Lord chose him of all the Inner Circle to bear the honour. He couldn't
help but think that there was some cunning plot behind his mast's moving in to
his home.
Voldemort frowned at the piece of parchment with Severus' scribbles on it,
having a hard time concentrating on the potion formulas that he was supposed to
evaluate. Something didn't feel quite right this evening, he couldn't tell what
exactly, but his chest hurt a little, as if his soul was going through some
sort of a torment. He dismissed it at first, too busy discussing the urgent
matters of upcoming war with Lucius and Severus, but now that the two of them
were alone and the disturbing sensation intensified, he couldn't help but think
about Harry. What if the boy was hurt and he felt it through their link? But
before he could make his observations to the potions master, a small owl burst
into the open window and landed in the man's lap with an indignant hoot.
Surprised, Severus took the note and opened it, to see Dumbledore's writing.
Staring at it dumbly, he noticed his lord' suspicious look out the corner of
his eye. Just what the hell was this and why would Potter send him his
correspondence which, by the way, was prohibited to him? The brat just couldn't
wait until his birthday to use magic, could he? Huffing, he wanted to crumple
the paper, but noticed something was written on its other side. Turning it
around he raised his eyebrows, unable to mask the surprise and sudden
apprehension.
"Snape, I need your help. Please, I'm begging you, take me away from here. My
magic can't protect me, I fear for another life I am responsible for. He will
kill me. Surrey, Little Whinging, 4 Private Drive."
Willing his hands not to tremble, he crumpled the paper and threw it into the
flames, standing up sharply, "My lord, please excuse me, but I have to go now."
He didn't care for the boy and he definitely didn't care for the unborn child,
he was telling himself, as his mind laid out a map of London meticulously
before his eyes and searched for the appointed place.
Narrowing his eyes at the man, scowling at the growing sense of foreboding,
Voldemort twisted his mouth. "Does it have to do anything with Harry?"
Feeling like a man with a noose around his neck, Severus licked on his dry lips
nervously, "Yes, my lord. The boy needs my help."
"Oh, I see," he nodded, arching his eyebrow. "Well, go then, wouldn't want to
hold you back if this is so urgent."
The coldness and particular flatness of the Dark Lord's tone warned Severus
that the man knew there was more to it and was, no doubt, already plotting to
extract the details out of him sooner or later. During the last week his master
had been particularly moody, snapping at everybody and throwing curses around
like confetti. He was clearly under pressure and something was telling Severus
it had to do much more with Potter than with war.
Bowing respectfully, the potions master stepped into the green flames of the
activated fireplace and flooed to the Leaky Cauldron. He never saw Voldemort
grabbing the forgotten owl and pointing his wand at it.
"Well, well, well, let's see just where did you come from, shall we?" The Dark
Lord snapped its neck, tearing the skin and muscles and, as the blood poured
out, hissed a long incantation, waving his white yew wand in circles. Surrey.
Severus would lead him to the initial destination. In a whirl of black robes
Voldemort vanished from the library, reaching the county in a flash, racing
through the starry night sky, like a strike of lightning. Landing on the small
hill in the park, he drew his wand high up in the air and hissed the spell in
parseltongue, concentrating on sensing Severus' aura in the area. The stream of
faint green light erupted from the yew wood and led him forward.
xxx
Severus stared at the small house, absolutely identical to a hundred similar
ones around it. He hoped against hope that Potter was exaggerating, but
something was telling him the boy would have never lied, not about this. He
himself had never abused his own inferior situation, it was horrible enough for
him to make up more. Taking a deep, calming breath, the potions master pushed
his shiny, clean, long raven hair back and straightened his shoulders. Having
transformed his outer robe into a simple black jacket, he pressed the doorbell
button and schooled his face into his most severe scowl - he had never dreamed
of meeting Petunia Evans ever again, but since there was no other way of
dealing with the problem...
"We are not buying anyth-" her horse face showed from behind the open door and
she stopped abruptly, as her eyes assessed his face. "You?!" she shrieked and
hurried to shut the door, but he stopped it and forced his entry.
"Where is Potter?" Severus wasn't in the mood to have a small talk about their
shared past and looked around, wrinkling his nose in disdain.
"What do you ha- No!" Petunia suddenly put the two and two together, staring
into his face and slowly realizing that it was the exact copy of the boy's,
only harsher, more angular in its features. "You are his father!" the woman
pointed her finger at him, stating the obvious.
Rolling his eyes in exasperation, he barked, "Potter! Potter, come here!" But
instead of the boy, the fattest, hugest man balled out of the living room, his
red sweated face twisted in anger.
"Who the fuck are you? What is your business here?" he roared. Severus noticed
his nose looked puffy as if it was broken, and the knuckles of his meaty hands
were blooded.
"I came for Potter. Have you beaten him again?"
At his inquiry they both paled considerably, and Petunia involuntarily pressed
herself into the wall, scared he would do something to her. While the whale of
her husband stepped closer, rocking his obese body threateningly.
"What has that piece of shit told you, eh? He is a filthy liar, an abominable
bastard-" before Vernon could finish his torrent of invectives, Severus grabbed
him on his throat, pushing his wand between the rolls of fat that supposedly
hid his ribs, enraged.
"Shut your filthy mouth, muggle scum, you have no right to talk of my son like
that!" the righteous wrath burned in his chest. This pathetic ugly muggle was
just like his father, just as rotten, unworthy of Potter's mere finger. No
matter what his feelings towards the boy were, he wasn't going to stand there
and let the fat fuck insult him. Enjoying the fear in the small piggy eyes, he
decided a little lesson wouldn't hurt the man and violently burst into his
mind.
Harry limped onto the landing, thinking he imagined Snape's acid voice as he
once again fell into a heavy exhausted slumber. His eyes went painfully wide at
the sight of his father holding whining, obviously hurting Vernon by the
throat, staring straight into his eyes. No, no no! He darted forward but it was
too late, Snape had already invaded his uncle's unprotected mind and saw
everything. Severus slowly let go of the man, blinking dumbly at him, as his
vision clouded with the horrible images of a scrawny, ten year old Harry being
raped for the first time. First time out of so many more. He felt his stomach
was almost in his throat - so sick he felt, so terribly disgusted. He raised
his head, scowling in overwhelming confusion and horror, at the sound of the
creaking floorboard - the boy stood on the landing of the second floor, with
his hands pressed to his mouth, as fat tears ran down his cheeks. Ashamed,
scared, vehemently shaking his head in denial, Harry ran back into his room,
slamming the door shut behind him and pressed his trembling body against it.
"I will fucking kill you! After I'm done with Harry, you're dead," Severus
hissed barely above whisper, as angry tears burned his eyes.
This was what the boy had been hiding from him all this time, this was the
block that didn't let his mind relax, this was what gave him horrible
nightmares, depriving him of sleep and rest. He could relate to and close his
eyes at the beatings, for he went through the same himself and found it only
hardened one's will and character, but rape, humiliation... It was
unacceptable, completely inadmissible, absolutely disgusting, disgraceful,
mean, dirty, unfair, unfair, unfair. His limps trembled as rage and pain tore
his chest apart. Harry, the kind, forgiving, selfless, arrogant and
irresponsible Harry Potter, who was the favourite celebrity of the whole
wizarding world and the most annoying brat in the history of his teaching
career, had been constantly raped for six years by his own uncle and had never
said a word, never complained, never asked for help, he accepted it as he had
accepted every other blow that Fate had sent him. This was unbelievable, this
was so horrible, Severus thought he never felt so helpless and miserable in his
life before. He was a dark wizard, a Death Eater, a spy, he killed and tortured
but he had never imagined... it just wasn't done in the wizarding world,
children were sacred, they were cherished and spoilt, loved beyond limits, even
most violent of his comrades would have never fallen so low. And it happened to
the Boy-Who-Lived, to a child that vanquished the bloody Dark Lord, to a child
that bore the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, to his son...
He slammed his fist into Vernon's face, breathing harshly, and stormed past the
confused and scared Petunia up the stairs, as the fat son of a bitch slid down
onto the floor, wailing at the pain in his head, nursing the finally broken
nose. "Potter!" Severus knocked on the door impatiently, staring dumbly at the
locks and the cat-flap on it. "Potter, open the door this instant!" He had no
idea what was he going to say and to do. He heard a quiet shuffle and the door
slowly opened under his push - the boy was sitting on the edge of his bed,
hugging his knees, crying silently. His awry cut, raven hair stuck out messily,
as he pushed his hand into them in desperation and humiliation.
Swallowing harshly, Severus carefully approached him, biting the inside of his
cheek, feeling completely lost. He was having a hard time wrapping his mind
around what he had seen. "Harry," he tentatively crouched in front of him, and
the boy looked up, clearly surprised his professor called him by his given
name. "Harry, I... I received your note and..." he looked around helplessly,
trying to say something comprehensible. "I will take you away, yes, you are
definitely not staying here." There. He said it.
"Severus," Harry wept harder at the sight of a pale, crestfallen professor,
whose eyes were shining brilliantly, as tears welled up in them. For the first
time in his life somebody looked at him with such pain and sorrow, that he
couldn't hold back anymore. He threw himself at his father's neck, letting out
a loud, pitiful wail of pain and grief. And this time Snape held him back,
enveloped him into a tight embrace and one of his hands found its way into his
now short hair to stroke him gently. "Se-Sev-verus," he sobbed into the man's
firm shoulder, "Severus."
"Sh-sh," he stroked the silky hair, his hair, as tears ran down his cheeks.
He was not a kind man, he was used to violence and pain, but the way Harry had
suffered was too much even for him. He felt his son's sobs reach down to his
very heart and cut on it harshly. And he thought Harry would hurt him, when the
boy himself was completely broken and there was nobody to pick up the pieces.
Harry was just as lonely and heartbroken as he himself was, even worse. Any
other man would have ran away, rebelled against the unfair, horrible treatment,
would have used magic a hundred times to defend himself, consequences be
damned, but not Harry. He was so scared to lose Hogwarts, to lose magic - the
only thing that could never betray the wizard it belonged to - he was ready to
endure all this just to come back to those who used him for their own purposes.
And now he was going to give life to a child, his magic betrayed him for.
"Harry," he rubbed his tears away and looked at the boy's tear-stained,
exhausted face, "Pack everything you need, I'm taking you to Weasleys." There
was no other alternative. He couldn't take him to Prince Manor, nor could he
take him to Hogwarts. At least Molly and Arthur knew of his unusual situation
with the child and could take care of him for the time being.
"Alright," Harry nodded numbly, looking into the bottomless onyx eyes of his
father.
He came for him, he was taking him away, he wasn't disgusted to touch him,
wasn't calling him names, but held him and cried for him... he acted just like
a father would. Harry started weeping again, clutching onto Snape's jacket,
hating to have to let him go.
"Let go, Harry, we must leave," he wanted to send the boy away as soon as
possible to come back here and tear the fat bastard to pieces. Nobody had the
right to do something so terrible and abominable to a child, let alone his son.
Reluctantly, Harry pulled away and crawled to the end of his bed, bent down and
lifted several of the floor boards up, revealing a small hole. He took out his
wand, the blasted cloak that Severus itched to get his hands on years back and
a golden locket of Salazar Slytherin, which the potions master instantly
recognized. No, this could wait, he would ask the boy later about just how had
he found the legendary heirloom that was believed to be lost forever, yet every
slytherin student knew it as well as his own name, since it could be seen
around Salazar's neck on his portrait.
"My trunk is under the stairs, where I used to sleep, but it's only clothes and
books there, I don't really need it, do I?" the boy mumbled, rubbing on his
reddened, puffy eyes.
"No, your wand and cloak is everything you need, everything else, I am sure,
Weasleys would be able to provide you with. Come," Severus took him by the arm
and led out of the room and down the stairs.
Vernon was back on his feet, as Petunia was frantically trying to stop the
bleeding by pressing a towel to his nose. He shot Harry and Severus hateful
glares, "I am calling the police, you, freaks!"
"You do just that," the potions master sneered at him, barely restraining
himself from leaping at the man and strangling him to death. "One snap of my
fingers and they will take your despicable hide to prison straight away,
without a trial. I wonder how you would talk when you'll get a taste of your
own medicine. You are aware of what decent criminals do to children rapists,
aren't you?" he spat the last words into his face venomously. Harry tugged him
on the sleeve of his jacket, shaking his head and staring at him fearfully.
"Don't you wish him dead?" he asked when the boy dragged him out into the
street.
"No, he is not worth it, Severus, they are not worth it! Please, let's just
leave, please," Harry could see the murderous gleam in his father's eyes. To be
honest, Harry had never seen him so angry, so dangerous, so fucking scary. He
even felt the heavy, oily, dark aura around him, that the man had been
obviously hiding from the students - he never imagined his father was so
powerful.
Still glaring hatefully at the two most abominable creatures he had ever seen,
Severus nodded and wrapped his arms around the boy's shoulders. In a whirl of a
wind they were standing at the Leaky Cauldron entrance. The potions master took
Harry's cloak and threw it over his form, concealing him completely. Holding
the rim of the cloak in his hand, Severus pulled the boy inside and, looking
around and seeing that nobody was around at such late hour, he walked over to
the fireplace and called the Burrow. "Molly! Arthur!" he barked into the empty
but lit living room. A moment later wet with soap, holding her gloved hands up,
Molly appeared in the range of his vision.
"Severus? What's wrong?" she cried, clearly surprised at such a late hour call,
but even more so at the snarky professor's severe expression.
"I need to come through, there is a problem that needs your attention."
"Of course, of course," she waved her wand and unlocked the fireplace for him
to come through. As soon as he and Harry both were safely inside the small cosy
living room, he tore the cloak off of the boy and Molly shrieked in horror as
she took in his blooded face, battered body, torn clothes. "Harry, dear! What
happened?! Is... is the child alright?" she stared at his abdomen which he
instinctively covered with his hands in a defensive gesture.
"Yes, it's alright, Mrs Weasley, I..."
"His uncle almost killed him, Potter found a way of contacting me, I took him
out of there, he needs a place to stay for a while," Severus reported hastily,
itching to get back.
"Oh, but of course! Harry will stay with us just as long as he wants, he knows
we love having him here!" Molly threw her gloves away and pulled Harry into a
heated hug he didn't fight.
"Don't tell the headmaster anything yet, I will notify him personally," he gave
her a pointed look and the witch nodded, her expression deadly serious,
understanding flashing in her eyes.
"No, no! Severus, don't do it!" Harry snaked out of the woman's hold and hung
on his father's hand. "Don't do something you will regret later!"
"I will never regret showing this bastard what are the consequences of abusing
a child," Severus tried to shake him off, but the boy's grip was unbelievably
strong.
"Please, Severus, they would know you did it! Please, don't. For me," Harry
looked him in the eyes and Severus wanted to flinch away from the way they were
piercing through his very soul. And again he had that distinct, disturbing
sensation that the boy reminded him of the Dark Lord so much.
Seeing that Harry was actually worried for him and not for the disgusting
relatives of his, the potions master sighed in surrender, "Fine, I would not
hurt them, not really. But I can't just leave this..." he finally managed to
tear Harry away from himself.
"Thank you," the boy whispered, looking at him with such gratitude and
devotion, Severus felt at loss for words for the first time in his life. Lily
never looked at him like that. Harry embraced him briefly again and pulled away
hastily, letting him leave with as much dignity as he could master. But when
Severus stumbled out of the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace, he felt he couldn't go
back to Dursleys, not right now. Not when so many emotions, long forgotten and
unwelcome, seized his chest, burning him from the inside. He had saved Harry so
many times before and this one time wasn't as precarious as previous ones,
really, but... He felt as if something very significant happened between them,
something of a grand scale.
xxx
Voldemort stood, invisible, under the street lamp right in front of the house
number 4 on Private Drive. He saw as Severus entered and he strained his ears,
adding a spell to hear better. He didn't hear that much, but some of the parts
of conversation he had caught alerted him. He saw a murderous expression on the
potions master's face when he and Harry walked out and to the small gate at the
edge of the lawn - well, it wasn't as if Harry hadn't been abused before, was
it? Severus had been clearly overreacting. However, the sight of Harry's cut
off hair and blooded, bruised face stirred anger inside him as well. How could
that ugly muggle dare to raise a hand on this beautiful boy? Most importantly
on his beautiful boy? He growled to himself at the thought that his horcrux,
his little Prince, a strong, independent, sharp tongued wizard was helpless at
the hands of some bastard. And what for? Some petty blood wards? Harry looked
broken, he had been crying for a very long time and was now trying to stop
Severus from killing his relatives.
"Don't you wish him dead?" he saw the potions master stare at the boy in
bewilderment, beside himself with rage. Voldemort was intrigued now - knowing
Severus, there were only a few things in this world that could make him so
furious that he could not control his magic.
"No, he is not worth it, Severus, they are not worth it! Please, let's just
leave, please," Harry was begging him, frantically pulling him away.
The ever forgiving little Prince, so naive and kindhearted, certain that
everybody deserved a second chance. Voldemort shook his head, sighing at his
little one's softness and unbelievable compassion. The fat, moustached muggle –
Harry's uncle, obviously – stood at the threshold, clutching on his bleeding
nose and swearing into the darkness. Oh, but Severus got truly enraged if he
even manhandled the pathetic ball of flesh. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, the
Dark Lord watched the small, boring house through the narrowed blood red eyes.
Harry was obviously hurt, so much that he had to ask his father for help,
Severus was ready to kill for what had been done to his son and never told him
anything about it. He had to get to the bottom of this before he decided what
to do with his little Prince.
Nodding to himself in satisfaction, Voldemort leisurely strode towards the
small gate, opened it soundlessly and, canceling his disillusionment charm on
his way, stepped onto the porch and pushed the front door open. When he entered
the house, he couldn't hold back a grimace of utter disgust at the ugly display
before his eyes. And his little Prince had been living here for his whole life!
He would have hated himself too if he had condemned himself to live in this
atrocious place. Better than his orphanage, of course, but still unbearably
loathsome and just as dangerous.
"Are you lot going to burst in here uninvited all night?" the horse like woman
gritted through her teeth, glaring at him from behind the doorframe that led
into the kitchen. Oh, that must have been Lily Potter's sister - muggles rarely
reacted well to wizards even if they were aware of magic.
"Oh no, my lot wouldn't disturb you anymore after tonight," he smiled viciously
at her, baring his pearl teeth, and shut the door softly behind him.
"And just who the fuck are you, red eye? The ugly one has taken Potter
already," the whale of a man pushed himself through the doorway and glared at
him.
"I am Lord Voldemort," the Dark Lord bowed mockingly, smirking at the fearful
understanding in the woman's eyes. "Yes, the one who killed your sister and her
husband Potter, the one who tried to kill Harry and gave him that lovely scar,
yes." He smiled charmingly, tucking the stray locks of his hair behind his ear.
"But, but," the woman stammered, "That old wizard, he told us the boy had to
live here because my blood kept him safe from you!"
"Pff," Voldemort huffed, "Your house is secured with the blood wards that would
have prevented me from entering if I hadn't had Harry's blood in my body. Which
I, fortunately, have," he flashed her a brilliant, scoffing grin.
The Dursleys stared at him dumbly and then began shouting, vying with each
other, that if he came to finish the boy - he had been taken, they had nothing
to do with this, and something else along the lines. He didn't listen. Rolling
his eyes in exasperation, he flicked his wrist and the two of them fell
motionless onto the sofa in their living room.
"Now, I came here to find out what had happened. You see, Harry belongs to me,
I can't just ignore his distress, can I?" he raised his eyebrows inquiringly at
them as if expecting them to answer. Folding his hands behind his back,
Voldemort stepped closer to the uncle and hovered over him, smiling evilly.
"Let's start with the fat one."
His Legilimency was even more painful and damaging than Severus', for he had no
habit of leaving those whom he interrogated alive or sane. Since he had entered
this small, decaying mind at all, he decided he would start from the very
beginning. Harry appearing on their doorstep, in a basket, like Moses that
muggles seem to like so much, with only a letter and a blanket with him - trust
Dumbledore to handle an infant. Harry at the age of three, showing signs of an
accidental magic - setting the curtains on fire after being denied food. Oh,
but that must have been his soul manifesting itself, Voldemort smirked. Images
of the little Prince being forced to sleep in the small, dark cupboard under
the stairs called forth the unpleasant memories of himself being punished by
the caretaker, which he'd rather never remembered again. Harry at the age of
five getting his first beating and belting. The boy was so small, so scrawny,
just like he used to be at his age, he barely survived the blows - his powerful
magic was the only reason he never died in this place.
Harry at the age of ten. Being dragged by his hair into the fat man's bedroom.
Voldemort halted for a moment, having this odious sensation of his insides
rising in his throat along with his bile. Catching his breath, he watched
further. Harry being thrown onto the bed, undressed harshly. The boy tried to
struggle, cried, but was too weak to even punch the oaf of his uncle, his magic
too exhausted to protect him. The Dark Lord wished he could turn away or close
his eyes when he heard the child's screams. Trembling on the inside, he quickly
shifted through the rest of the memories: Harry being raped again and again,
for the whole year, celebration of Harry's going away to Hogwarts, Harry
getting a welcome back beating and a mouthful, Harry being raped and abused
violently every summer, Harry fighting his uncle today, slamming his fist into
the bastard's face, his magic lashing out to push the man away, but
suspiciously drained to act out again and his aunt's fortunate interruption.
Emerging from the mind of one of the most vile men he had ever seen, Voldemort
stumbled back, heavily lowering himself onto the coffee table, and rested his
head on his hands helplessly. What had he done? If he had known that Harry had
been raped he would have never forced himself on the boy. The mere thought made
him gag and he winced painfully, trying to push the bile down. For the first
time in his life he felt ashamed. And filthy again. He haven't felt so filthy
ever since the orphanage. After he killed his father he was cleansed, reborn,
purified, and where was he now? Fuck, fuck, fuck. That was why Harry was so
afraid of him, so reluctant to touch, so disgusted by the prospect of giving
him a blowjob, that was why he cried when he took him... A thunderous roar
escaped his chest, as Voldemort sprang up on his feet - the very walls of the
house started cracking and rocking wildly, windows cracked and shuttered as his
magic went out of control. Why, why hadn't Harry told him the truth? How could
he let him force him into having sex - the only thing that Harry despised most
in this world. Clenching his fists, breathing hard and growling like a wild
beast, Voldemort glared at Dursleys hatefully, his beautiful face twisting into
an ugly, horrible mask of a creature that barely resembled a human or an
animal.
"Do you have any idea what have you done?" he whispered not trusting his voice.
"Do you have any idea whom you have been raping all these years?" his whole
body shook, as all the objects in the room went flying and blowing up around
him. Screeching in horror at the display of a dark, overwhelming, oppressing
power, Petunia stared at her husband at these words, who was pasty white and
whose tongue was too numb from pain and fear to answer. So the horse never
knew. "Why don't you call your son back home, woman? Perhaps, we should deal
with this situation accordingly," his lips trembled as he started hissing 'S'
as a angered rattle snake. "Eye for an eye." He could barely contain his fury,
shame and pain settled in his chest, hurting him. He never thought he could
feel so pathetically human, so miserable.
At the woman's vehement pleading not to hurt her son, he gave her a crooked,
ugliest grin she had ever seen. "Oh, how very noble of you. Wouldn't appreciate
your son being raped by his own father, would you now? But raping Harry was
nothing out of the ordinary, the abomination that he was, isn't that right,
Vernon?" he spat the name into the man's face. At the bastard's pitiful wailing
and useless struggle against the immobilizing spell Voldemort realized he
couldn't take it anymore, he needed to get rid of these horrible emotions right
now. "You have defiled something very sacred, scum," he breathed out shakily,
suffocating, involuntarily setting what was left of the furniture around him on
fire. Pointing his white yew wand with a trembling hand at the screaming excuse
of a man he gritted out, "Crucio."
xxx
When Severus came back to 4 Private Drive he was met with a sight of a burning
house and the Dark Lord sitting on its porch comfortably, watching the flames
devour the last bits of it. Staring in astonishment at the scene, he could
hardly find any words, his voice, it seemed, betrayed him.
"Ah, Severus, took your time, missed all the fun," Voldemort drawled,
inspecting his fingernails with fascination. "I apologize I took your so much
desired revenge from you - I've gotten carried away a little."
"My lord," was all the potions master could say to this. In truth, most of his
anger subsided and he doubted he was going to kill Vernon, maim - certainly,
frame - surely, but leave him alive to dwell on his sins.
"Yes, I know, should have left them live, like you told the fat man - send him
to prison and let the others do all the dirty work, but I do not think that
muggle prison would have sufficed. I'd prefer to place him into Azkaban for the
dementors to feast on, but that would have made Harry's secret known to the
public and that is inadmissible," his lord said nonchalantly, having not spared
a glance at Severus. "Besides, when I said I would skin anyone who touched my
Harry I was quite serious. Shame I can't demonstrate this," he waved his hand
at the fire, "To my followers. This would have taught them all very well,
indeed."
His Harry. Had the Dark Lord actually avenged the boy? But why? The blood red
eyes finally met his and he flinched, terrified by the black hatred he saw in
them.
"Tell me, Severus," Voldemort rose and walked over to the potions master. "Did
you know that Harry had been raped?"
"No, my lord." At last he didn't have to lie. "I found out today."
The Dark Lord circled him slowly, predatorily. "Does anybody else know?"
"No, the boy doesn't trust anyone."
"And yet he sent for you and you readily ran to save him," Voldemort narrowed
his eyes that burned Severus with their icy glare.
"He wasn't actually expecting I would come. He wrote he thought his uncle was
going to kill him, and since I am under a vow to protect him I had to come and
check." He had told the truth, most of it anyway. The aura of his lord was
particularly heavy, suffocating, insane, and as he watched Severus, the potions
master thought it reminded him of the first war, when everybody lived in
maddening fear of being under his yew wand. Only now the man was even more
unpredictable and therefore more dangerous than ever.
"There is something more, something you are not telling me. Is this also sealed
with a vow?"
"Yes."
Lifting his upper lip in disdain and anger, Voldemort clicked his tongue and
finally stopped moving, standing beside Severus, with his back to the flames.
"Where is the boy now?"
"At Weasleys', my lord. He is safest with them now." If only he could hide the
boy at Prince Manor, but alas, the unborn child eliminated this option.
"What of Dumbledore?" the Dark Lord looked away, thinking what kind of wards
were put on the redheaded wizards' property, wondering if he could cross them
without breaching.
"I was going to notify him I took Potter after I... well, he knows already, I
suppose," Severus glanced at his lord warily. Clearly, his reluctance to simply
put Harry into the Dark Lord's hands gave away enough for his master to suspect
and act upon it.
"What could be worse than a horcrux that Dumbledore is trying so hard to hide
from me?" Voldemort muttered thoughtfully, revising everything he knew about
Harry.
If he could offer his lord three guesses, perhaps, the man would have solved
the riddle on his own, but Severus knew right now he wouldn't appreciate his
sense of humor or lack thereof. They both walked out of the small gate and
Voldemort halted, suddenly flashing him that brilliant smile of his, "Oh, and
Severus, I left their son for you to play with. As far as I know he enjoyed and
participated in hurting Harry, therefore, he deserves to be punished. You may
do as you wish."
"Thank you, my lord," Severus bowed down respectfully and when he straightened
his back Voldemort was already gone.
xxx
The rest of the night Harry spent being fussed over by the whole Weasley
family. None of the other children knew of his condition except Ron, who swore
to keep his secret safe with him. After he took a long, hot bath and after
Molly healed all of his fresh wounds and bruises, he was taken into Percy's
room, while the twins adjusted some of their clothes to his size and Ginny
prepared a light supper. Sated and pleasantly tired, Harry thanked them all
heartedly and finally got into bed. He knew he couldn't abuse their hospitality
for long and was slowly plotting in his mind, as it was gradually clouded with
a heavy slumber, where would he go. His father wasn't an option, unfortunately,
for Voldemort would surely find him there even if Severus never told him.
Hogwarts was out of the question, of course, as were the Order's headquarters.
It was dangerous to stay in the wizarding world altogether and Harry had to
admit that muggles were his best chance. So, what he needed to do as soon as
possible was: get the rest of his fund money from the bank and exchange them
for pounds, move to the farthest corner of the country, buy a small, most
boring muggle house he could find and ward it. He needed to find useful Wards
manual. A letter to Hermione was in order, first thing in the morning.
As he yawned, ready to black out, he heard his door open and somebody sat on
the edge of his bed. "Hey, Ron," he sighed, burying his face deeper into the
pillow and rearranging the locket under his chest more comfortably.
"Hey," the redhead shifted to sit more comfortably and looked at him
uncertainly, "How are you feeling?"
"Fine. Will be feeling even better if you let me sleep, no offense."
"Yeah, sure, sorry, I just..." Ron mumbled uncomfortably, rubbing on his neck
that Harry was sure was as red as his hair now, even though it was dark in the
room. "How is the baby?"
As if on cue, Harry pressed his hand to his abdomen and smiled shyly, "It's
safe." Feeling his friend's distress, he rolled onto his back and sighed in
exasperation. "Out with it, Ron, or your loud wheezing would haunt me in my
dreams."
"Eh... I was just wondering all this time, you know, that if you made a child
with another man, well..." Ron stammered horribly, staring at Harry in
confusion. "That you are gay, yeah?"
Oh. That got Harry by surprise. He never once thought about it, really, for he
had never had any reason to question his sexuality before - he simply had none.
But now that Ron noted it, he suddenly realized he didn't know. "I'm not sure,
I've never been with a woman."
Evidently relaxed, Ron continued more confidently, "Well, it's just that you
really have to try both before deciding yeah? Well, maybe after the baby is
born you could, you know..."
"Are you trying to hook me up with Ginny?" Harry asked incredulously, feeling
all of his sleepiness had gone.
"Maybe," his friend winced. "She's still so crazy about you, you know. I just
thought that if you are dead certain about being gay, that you could tell her
in the face and stop her sufferings. But if you're not, then... you could give
it a shot, eh?"
Hardly. He remembered their last encounter at Christmas and wrinkled his nose
at the unpleasant memories. Even if he would decide to try it one day, it would
definitely be another girl, not Ginny, never her again.
"That bloke you... were with," the redhead tried. "Did you, well... like him?"
"You have no idea." Oh shit, did he just say that out loud?
"Wow!" Ron stared at him, he could see the white of his eyes gleam in the faint
moonlight.
"Could we discuss this later? I really am tired and don't want to think about
him now, sorry," Harry wiggled out lamely.
"Yeah, yeah, sure," his friend stood up and patted him on the shoulder
awkwardly. "Rest well, mate. We'll talk later, yeah."
When Ron left, Harry wanted to bang his head on the wall. He truly didn't want
to think of Marvolo now, but sleep had left him and all there was now, was
darkness and the memories of the most pleasant sensations he had ever
experienced. He missed Marvolo so much, craved his touch and caress, his
comfort. Even more so after what happened. Was he really gay? He probably was,
if he enjoyed another man while the thoughts of women didn't really excite him.
Dwelling on this was rather pointless, he decided, since he couldn't have
anyone now anyway. The child was his main prerogative, everybody else mattered
very little. With astonishment and sad relief Harry realized that in mere weeks
he developed such fierce protectiveness towards his child, which at some point
he used to really despise. Now it seemed impossible to him, despicable. A
little wizard or witch was growing inside of him and he couldn't help, but
smile at the thought. Closing his eyes and clutching onto the locket, he
imagined what would it look like when it is born. Would it have his eyes?
Marvolo's hair?
Sighing, Harry slowly fell into a deep sleep, filled with blurry images of the
man that gave him so much. Exhausted beyond limits, he involuntarily let his
Occlumency shields down. The Dark Lord, who stood at the edge of the wards
around the Burrow, perked up at that, staring at the dark window that looked
into Harry's room. At last. Excited, he hastily reached for their mind link and
peeked into the boy's dreams. A wide, smug smile stretched his lips when he
realized that Harry was dreaming of him, of their sweated, heated nights
together. However, the grin quickly faltered in favour of the dark scowl. He
practically raped his little Prince, he hurt him and the boy still wanted him.
Voldemort tried telling himself that if Harry enjoyed it then it wasn't rape
but, honestly, that meant nothing. He forced him into sex, making it look like
seduction. He felt disgusted with himself because of it. What he needed though
was for Harry to consider it and tell him truthfully how he felt about
everything, that had happened between them, for despite what everybody said,
Voldemort did have moral principles, somewhat twisted, yes, but still they were
rather noble in his opinion.
Harry woke up suddenly, sensing in his very heart that Marvolo was somewhere
close. He frowned, berating himself for the wishful thinking, but his legs
pushed the covers away and dropped onto the floor on their own accord, it
seemed. Holding the locket tightly in his hand, Harry slowly approached the
window and looked out, squinting into the darkness. A tall dark figure stood at
the edge of the grounds and Harry swallowed harshly, just knowing it was him,
it was really him.
"Marvolo."
He heard him calling his name. How he wished to take him into his arms, but he
could not. The wards were surprisingly strong and complex for Weasleys, no
doubt Goblin made. He couldn't cross them without destroying them first and
that would be most dangerous for both him and Harry. The pale figure in the
window disappeared and he scowled, disappointed. Of course, the boy was hiding
from him, what was the point in staring at each other? He braced himself to
invade Harry's mind and talk to him there when he caught a soft sound of a door
being pushed open. His little Prince tentatively walked onto the lawn, his bare
feet rustling the grass. He wore a long white nightshirt that made him look
like a ghost and Voldemort's vision was once again filled with horrible images
of Harry's past.
"Marvolo," Harry whispered, barely making out the dark silhouette against the
night sky. He came very close to the wards, feeling their slight vibration
between the two of them. It was hard to believe that the man was actually here,
found him, kept his promise. "What are you doing here?" Couldn't find anything
even more dumb to ask, could you?
"I miss you, Harry," Voldemort looked into the green eyes, noticing the locket
clutched in the boy's hand. Harry's tie was also always with him, hidden in his
sleeve. "Why are you hiding from me?"
"I'm hiding from Voldemort," Harry bit his lip in uncertainty and nervousness.
Could he tell Marvolo about the child? Was it wise? Wouldn't the wizard tell
snakeface? Would he tell Harry to get rid of it? The man didn't look like the
family type, but then again, Harry barely knew him, even if it felt like they
knew each other forever.
Of course. He is hiding from him. "Why are you hiding from the Dark Lord? It
was my understanding you have found some common ground? He would never hurt
you, you know that."
What if it is a trick? This cunning little voice in his head asked, stirring
the annoying itch in his gut. What if this was the plan? To send Marvolo here
to kidnap him again? Choosing between the wizard and the child was extremely
difficult, but Harry once again told himself that family came first. Marvolo
was no family. In fact, he didn't know what the man was to him. A lover? An
acquaintance? His personal demon?
"It is not about me. It is about the war. I do not wish to participate in it
and I am hiding from everyone, snakeface included."
"So you are accepting his offer then?" Voldemort was pleased.
"Yes," Harry said simply, feigning easiness and impassiveness. Only the Dark
Lord couldn't be fooled. Not by his little Prince.
Narrowing his eyes, he took a step closer, mere millimeters from the first
layer of wards. "Harry, I know there is something else. You know you can tell
me."
"There is nothing." He hated lying to Marvolo, if it wasn't another life he had
to protect, he would have crossed the wards and threw himself into the man's
arms, not caring for the consequences.
Nothing my arse. "Harry," he knew the boy couldn't see him in the darkness but
he glared all the same, "I want you. Whatever it is you're hiding - I would not
judge or reject you for it." What could be worse than be raped? He liked Harry
all the same - it was his own self who disgusted him.
Marvolo always knew what to say to make his knees give away and his heart melt.
Bloody slytherin. He trusted him with his own life, but he couldn't trust him
with the child. No one could be trusted with it, no one except Snape. "You
promised to never hurt me and to see me again," Harry whispered softly.
"And I kept my word." Oh he knew where this was going. Harry was just as
gryffindor as he was hufflepuff.
"Promise not to ask and not to look for me anymore." Voldemort closed his eyes
resentfully. He knew it. Harry didn't want him anymore, couldn't stand him.
"When the war is over - I will find you myself." Raising his eyebrows in
surprise, he stared at the boy again. Was Harry giving him promises now?
"What do you mean?"
Harry licked his lips nervously and decided it was now or never. He carefully
raised his hand and pushed it through the wards, slowly, hoping against hope it
wouldn't set off the alarm. It didn't. He stretched it out and blindly found
the other man's face. "I have to hide for now, but when this is over, I will
come to you. I promise."
Voldemort watched in bewilderment, as the boy leaned forward, pushing his head
and shoulders through the wards and pulled him into a kiss. Moaning at the
contact he never imagined he desired so much, the Dark Lord grabbed on Harry's
face, carding his fingers through the raven hair, that was blacker than night,
devouring his sweet, hot mouth. Oh, Harry, what are you doing to me?
He felt a slight stubble on the man's cheeks and it made him smile - it was so
ordinary, so natural, so human. Marvolo was just as human as he himself was,
and he loved it, he loved the comfort and passion that came through the hungry
rose lips. He wished so desperately he could tell him the truth, but he
couldn't. But the promise he made was a true one, he would find Marvolo when
the war ended and the child grew.
"Promise," he pulled away and stumbled back behind the layers of wards, sensing
more than seeing that the wizard could barely stand their separation. He could
relate to that, oh yes, he could. Not waiting for an answer, Harry walked back
into the house, knowing that if he stayed a little more or looked back, his
desire to have the man would overcome his sense and everything would go to
Hell.
Watching the boy's retreating back, Voldemort licked his swollen, wet lips and
smiled somewhat ruefully to himself. Harry still wanted him, their bodies
didn't lie. The only problem was: this promise, Harry asked of him, he couldn't
keep.
xxx
Early morning found Severus standing next to Dumbledore, watching the remains
of the Dursley's house being taken away by the muggle services.
"So you say Voldemort followed you here and killed Vernon and Petunia while
your were taking Harry to the Burrow?" the old wizard sighed, rubbing his
tired, puffy eyes under the half-moon glasses.
"Yes. He doesn't know about the child, I simply said Potter was afraid his
uncle would kill him after he resisted him for once," he sneered, wearing his
trademark scowl, acting as if he couldn't care less.
"The child wasn't hurt?" Dumbledore's tone was laced with worry, however,
during years of working with the man as closely as Severus had been, the
potions master learned to read him rather well. The headmaster didn't care for
Harry's child, if anything, he wished it to die. Severus felt unease send
shivers down his spine, he didn't know why. He didn't care for the fetus
either!
"No, it's fine, as is Potter now in Molly's hands."
"Good, good," the old wizard stroked his beard thoughtfully, as his mind raced
with the speed of light, trying to come up with a decent plan for the nearest
future. "Let's keep Harry there for a while, say, until after his birthday. I
will arrange some sort of a safe-house for him under constant supervision. The
blood wards, it seems, wouldn't work against Voldemort, so we will have to
guard him ourselves. I will be gone most of the time, on my research, but some
of the members of the Order, Moody especially, volunteered to live with Harry
in shifts. So that we could control him and the child."
"How are you going to control a hormonal, even more so in his position,
teenager with a free reign over his magic and wand?" Severus snorted
indignantly.
Dumbledore folded his hands behind his back, as they started walking away from
the crime scene. "First of all, Harry doesn't know he would be a legal adult,
and even if the Weasley children tell him, I would still take his wand from
him. You said yourself, his magic betraying him to the fetus, we will assure
him that this way it would be safer for them both."
Ha, like Harry would ever give up his wand, now that he had a child to protect.
"Who would tell him about the Dursleys?" Feigning disinterest to the man's
plans was the best tactic now, he needed to pass this information on to his
lord - he would decide what to do. As far as Severus knew Harry, the boy wasn't
going to fight for either side anymore, but for his own, which promised nothing
good.
"I think it would be better if you told him, Severus, you took him away after
all." And so irresponsibly led Voldemort here - he could literally hear these
words left unsaid.
"Fine," he sighed disdainfully.
He hadn't slept the night. After he had parted with his lord, Severus returned
to Hogwarts and spent hours in the restricted section of the school's library,
searching for any reference to a horcrux. He had heard it several times already
coming out of the Dark Lord's mouth and knew it had to be the key to the man's
and Dumbledore's obsession with the boy. Finally, he found the ancient tome,
glamoured to look like a completely harmless book on poisonous plants. Looked
like the headmaster tried to cover it up after Voldemort found it so useful.
Hastily paging through it he stopped at the sight of the blasted word. A
horcrux. An object containing a piece of a soul of a wizard. A piece of a soul.
Containing a piece... The potions master moved back abruptly in his chair,
frantically massaging his temples, as every piece of a puzzle fell into its
place and made up the whole picture. Harry's scar hurting when in a close
proximity with the Dark Lord out of control of his emotions, Harry's
parseltongue abilities, Harry's raw, untamed powers, Harry's truly terrifying
resemblance to the Dark Lord sometimes, Voldemort's ability to invade the boy's
mind in a distance and send him visions, Voldemort's obsession with keeping the
boy safe...
He closed his eyes in exhaustion, dropping his head into his hands in desperate
helplessness. His son bore a piece of the Dark Lord's rotten soul inside of him
and now this piece, most likely, was growing into a corporal human being. And
that was why Dumbledore was so fierce in his attempts to return the boy under
his wing and control his every breath, that is why Harry had been kept with
muggles and not wizards for the most part of his life - the old coot was afraid
he would abuse his powers and turn into a monster. And being abused and raped
wasn't going to affect him, was it? Shutting the book with a much greater force
than it was necessary, Severus stood up and paced the narrow path between the
tall bookcases. Harry was a true enigma. The boy was cursed in his mother's
womb, it seemed. The worst shit possible always seemed to happen to him and yet
he grew up a kind, loving, compassionate light wizard with a bloody Dark Lord
wrapped around his finger. Impossible, the situation was completely impossible.
The potions master pinched himself on the arm, but he didn't wake up after
that. And what would happen if this horcrux would really relocate itself into
the child? Would Voldemort discard of Harry, as of some useless trinket? Would
he kill him? No wonder the boy was adamant to hide the fetus from the Dark
Lord.
"Who the fuck are you, Harry? You are no ordinary wizard, no normal human
being," Severus muttered absentmindedly, watching the sun slowly rise through
the tall, arched window of the library. He must have realized, that there was a
very frightening possibility that he would end up raising the new Dark Lord.
And he wanted him, Severus Snape, to participate in the child's upbringing. The
potions master realized, that he needed a drink. Several. Many.
xxx
Harry sat at the kitchen table, staring dumbly at the plate with toasts in
front of him. He felt like not eating again after he had personally sent
Marvolo away, the man that came for him, that wanted him... Groaning in
frustration, he shoved the bread angrily into his mouth, choking on the sweet
marmalade. This was no time for depressions, he had to eat to be stronger, to
be able to carry and provide enough magic for the child. "Fucking mother hen,"
he muttered, stabbing the eggs in his plate, drawing confused looks from the
redheads, sitting around him. Molly was the only one who shook her head in a
compassionate understanding - she had gone through this for seven times.
The fireplace roared in the living room and Arthur left the table to check on
who was calling. Moments later he came back, calling for Harry. Grateful for a
distraction from his battle with food, he hastily left the kitchen only to bump
into the tall dark form of his father, who was pacing between the armchairs. He
looked awful, obviously hadn't slept.
"Severus?" Harry wasn't sure he could constantly call him by his given name
from now on, but decided it was worth a try.
"Harry," the potions master turned to the matter at hand, wishing to get done
with it as soon as possible, "I have some news for you. Good or not - it is up
for you to decide. Sit down." Harry obediently lowered himself into an armchair
and stared at professor expectantly, as his insides churned in the overwhelming
sense of foreboding. "Long story short," Severus pinched the bridge of his
nose, "Yesterday, after we left, the Dark Lord came to your house on Private
Drive, killed both your uncle and aunt and set the whole place on fire. And he
knows about what your uncle has done to you, all of it."
Swallowing harshly, Harry blinked at him idiotically, before finally managing
to rasp out, "Killed?"
"Petunia was crucioed to death, while your uncle was skinned alive and than his
insides... well, you do not really need the details," he stumbled at the sight
of the boy's face turning pale and than slightly green in colour.
"But why?" Harry couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that snakeface once
again had committed something horrible for his sake. It would have seemed
romantic if it wasn't so absolutely revolting, insane.
"Because of what they have done to you. He avenged you," Severus watched Harry
closely, expecting any reaction, from fainting to a wild outburst of magic. But
the boy was simply sitting and scowling to himself, clutching on the blasted
locket under his shirt again. He had already drawn some conclusions about the
nature of this heirloom. As the last Sytherin heir, the Dark Lord would have no
doubt turned something as precious as this into a horcrux and the fact that
Harry couldn't part with it made him believe the thing was or used to be a
horcrux, and felt familiar to the piece of his master contained inside the boy.
"He is a sick bastard," Harry sobbed softly, covering his mouth with his hand.
Wasn't it just as sick and abominable of him to feel a great, overwhelming
relief at the notion that Vernon was dead? "I am sick too." He hid his face in
his hands.
"Do you feel relieved?" Severus sat down next to him, feeling the irritating
itch to hold him again. Inwardly seething at the stupid wish, he restrained
himself by crossing his arms tightly over his chest. At Harry's affirmative nod
he sighed, "It is alright to feel this way. It is natural, Harry. The bastard
used you, hurt you in ways most would not be able to imagine. He is dead now,
he would never ever hurt you again. It would have been wrong for you not to
feel relief, believe me."
"But what would happen to Dudley now?"
Now he wanted to punch the boy. After everything that had happened, this
kindhearted idiot was worrying about the well-being of his fat ugly cousin!
Unbelievable!
"He will be fine," Severus gritted out.
Finding the boy was easy, and after he had given it some thought, the potions
master decided it was either an eye for an eye or nothing. Dursley hurt his
son, he was going to hurt his. It was even easier to simply take all of the fat
whale's memories of raping Harry and force them into Dudley's head, replacing
Harry's face with his own. Only time would tell how the boy would deal with the
notion that his own father raped him and abused him, while his mother closed
her eyes on it. Judging by the expression in Dudley's face when he left him,
the boy wouldn't, he was nothing even close to Harry in the greatness and
generosity of personality.
"Good," Harry breathed out, closing his eyes in resentment. He didn't
understand the reasons behind most of snakface's actions and it galled and
scared him. As if there was something he was missing.
"Harry," he heard his father say quietly, as he bent closer to speak into his
ear. "What are you going to do about the child? What are you planning to do
now?" He heard a slight apprehension in the man's voice and knew it wasn't
misplaced. He felt it too. Felt the storm gathering. The war, Voldemort,
Dumbledore, the Ministry - they all were slowly surrounding him into a tight
circle, suffocating him and his child.
"I am planning to tell them all to go to Hell and shove their war up their
arses."
"You are running away, aren't you?" Severus saw the cold, stone hard
determination in the boy's eyes, expression so ridiculously similar to his own.
"Yes. I don't care what they think, do, write about me, I am tired of them all.
I am going away and hiding my child from them." Harry looked up at his father
and his eyes softened considerably. "My offer to you is still up. You are
welcome to join me any time, whenever you are ready."
"You can't trust me, you know that," Severus chided, cursing his heart for
feeling these stupid pangs again.
"Perhaps, I am trying my luck with you, but I think it's worth it, you are
worth it," he gave the man a small soft smile and patted him on the arm.
"Family comes first for me, Severus. Me and my child are already a small family
of our own, there is a place for you in it too." At the potions master's
attempt to object, he raised his hand, "I know we are very different and yet we
are very much alike. I am not asking to love me, I am simply asking to help
raising your grandchild, to provide each other with what we both had hardly had
before."
And that was how Severus decided he would keep his mouth shut and wouldn't say
a word to either of his masters. It was Harry's life and his choice whether to
live it or to leave it in the hands of manipulative, heartless politicians and
murderers. The boy chose to live and try and give the future Prince a decent
life as well. Who was Severus to judge him, stop him? If he had had a chance to
go back in time and have what Harry was offering him now - wouldn't he have
chosen it either, instead of condemning himself into the lifelong servitude and
peril?
xxx
Dear Harry,
I am so sorry I can't be there for your birthday! But the news that you are
staying with Ron pleases me so much! Though, I wish it could have turned out
differently with your relatives. But I don't want to sadden you, so please
smile while you are reading this, for me. Pleeeeaase. That's better. I'm also
sending you your present and the books you asked about with this letter. My
parents and I are traveling, as you know, and I found a wizarding town in
Switzerland where I visited the hugest book shop I have ever seen in my life! I
bought all the best books on warding that they had so I hope I didn't
involuntarily contribute to another crazy plot of yours? Use them wisely.
Write back soon. How is the baby? How are you feeling?
Love you very much, Hermione
Harry smiled as he read his friend's letter and put it into his inner pocket.
Today was the last day of his stay with Weasleys. No matter how much he liked
them, how much they cared for him, he wasn't going to endanger them further. He
packed his newly acquired books into his new bottomless traveling bag that he
asked the twins to give him for birthday instead of pranking material. He was
ready to go. Leaving them wasn't fair he knew, he knew it would hurt Ron the
most, but this was the right thing to do. His wand in the sleeve of his new
black shirt, his locket on his chest underneath it, his Invisibility Cloak in
the back pocket of his new black slacks, Harry went downstairs and out, into
the garden, to join everyone at the table. This was how he always dreamed he
would spend his birthdays, his real birthdays with his family. Noisily,
brightly, with lots of food and drinks and colorful balloons and fireworks,
courtesy of Fred and George. Molly and Arthur looked so happy, couldn't stop
hugging him and pecking him onto the top of his head, as if he truly was their
eighth child. This was the last time he was going to see them, this was the
last time they could be so happy and cheerful - yesterday's issue of the Daily
Prophet was filled with alarming articles about countless attacks on the
Ministry workers, light wizards and muggleborns. Voldemort was going to uphold
to his views and plans drowning the wizarding Britain in blood.
Ginny tugged him on his hand, asking him for a dance but he shook his head. He
didn't dance.
"Come on, Harry," she smiled at him cunningly, patting his thigh, obviously
pleased that he was past his fear of physical contact. But her touch hadn't
stirred any kind of emotions in him, it was flat, plain. Maybe her hands were
too warm? He got so used to shivers running down his spine when the cold hands
caressed him that everybody else seemed feverishly hot to him now.
"Sorry, Gin, not my cup of tea," he gave her a small apologetic smile.
"What, dancing?" she laughed brightly.
He shook his head and gently put her hand away, "No. Girls."
Every night and every morning he went to sleep and woke to the thoughts of
Marvolo and his cold, lean body underneath and on top of him. It was a true
torture to have such indecent, wet dreams all the time, to moan so lustfully
into the pillow, stroking himself, imagining other man's hands doing it but he
knew it could be years before he met Marvolo again. He couldn't live in
celibacy for so long, he would at least indulge himself.
"Oh," Ginny's face fell and she averted her eyes, blinking the fat tears away.
"And you are... sure of it?" There was so much hope in her tone, but Harry
decided it was better he rejected her now, once and for all, and she could
finally move on and forget him.
"One hundred percent sure."
"But how do you-"
"I've been with a man, so, yes, I know."
"Oh."
As the night fell and hundreds of stars covered the sky, Harry soundlessly
crept out of his room with his bag over his shoulder. Everyone was asleep
already, too full and drunk, too tired to even hear their own loud snores, but
he casted the concealing charms anyway. It was 1st of August already and he was
a legal wizard now, he could use his magic freely. He felt the slight pang in
his right hand and his holly wand warmed up considerably in his pocket. The
Ministry's tracking spell dissipated. Consulting with one of the books on
wards, he checked it for traces of spells anyway. Just to be sure. When he
crossed the wards, he felt little claws dig into his shoulder - Hedwig. She
found him a few days ago and refused to go away. Harry didn't fight her - at
least someone would remain in his new life.
His owl reminded him of a letter from Dumbledore he hadn't read yet. Thinking
this was a good time, he pulled the folded envelope out of his pocket and took
the paper out, as he kept walking down the road in the direction of the
village.
Harry, my boy,
Happy Birthday to you. I wish we could freely communicate with each other but
we both know it is impossible right now. Please, forgive me for everything that
had happened to you at your uncle's hands, but I had no other option. I hope
the child is alright and growing well, Severus told me it wasn't harmed. I will
see you very soon, my boy, the Order found a perfect safe-house for you to stay
at, where you would be constantly guarded and cared for and protected from
Voldemort. We still have the matter of horcruxes to discuss. I have a great job
for you as soon as the baby is born, I am sure you would agree with me that
eliminating Voldemort would save many innocent lives in this war, and so I have
found a way of destroying him once and for all. I know your Occlumency is very
good now, so we can openly discuss this now. Be patient and keep hope,
everything would turn out alright in the end.
Yours, A.D.
Yes, he would wait for the child to be born to only kill it afterwards, in an
attempt to destroy a horcrux. Harry laughed bitterly and set the letter on
fire, watching the flames dance in his palm. Blowing onto the ash, he proceeded
further. There was no going back, there was nothing to go back to. He took
Voldemort's offer, he wasn't going to fight, he would keep his horcrux safe, he
would raise his child in the muggle world, hidden away from everyone and, most
importantly, from pain and lies.
Putting his cloak on, he entered the pub and blindly felt his way to the
fireplace. Having checked that nobody was there to see him, he summoned the
powder and threw it into the hearth, stepped into the green flames and called
for the Leaky Cauldron. In a whoosh of green sparks he spun on his heels and
landed harshly onto the wooden floor. Thankfully, he was invisible and there
was a loud crowd inside, whose drunk cries and songs covered his inelegant
entry. Harry quickly sneaked outside and into the Diagon Alley, empty and eerie
quite at such late hour. Gringotts worked 24/7 he knew, so he went straight to
the bank. He could find a place to stay later.
Goblins eyed him suspiciously when he asked to take all the money from his
vault and exchange them into muggle currency. It was a lot. Enough to buy a
house, Harry thought excitedly, as he strode down the street, looking for a
place to stay, preferably, unnoticed. He simply wished to have a few hours of
sleep, nothing else. Thinking that Diagon was too popular and well-known for a
place to hide, he turned into the Knockturn Alley, suppressing the creepy
memories of his first visit there. A few prostitutes sat on the steps of a
brothel, staring impassively at the opposite wall, looking everything but
tempting. Someone threw up in a distance and than, probably, fell into his own
vomit, swearing loudly. Charming.
Harry hastily walked forward, clutching onto his wand, looking for a sign of an
inn of come sort. And there it was, the Duke Inn. The small wooden board with
barely visible golden letters on it rocked slightly in the cool night breeze,
its iron chains creaking ominously against the bearing; its windows boarded up,
covered in rude writings. Shivering involuntarily, Harry rearranged his hair to
cover his scar and tentatively entered. It appeared much more livable inside,
indeed. The small old witch behind the counter greeted him lazily, opening her
mouth wide in a yawn, demonstrating yellow, rotten teeth and gave him a key as
soon as he put the demanded two galleons onto the desk. No questions were
asked, no surplus words were spoken. Satisfied, Harry ascended the stairs and
soon found himself in a small, shabby, but rather clean room, with a bed and a
small furnace inside. That was all he needed for now. With wand securely
sticking to his hand by a spell, he lowered himself onto the thin cot and
momentarily fell asleep. There was a long, thorny path ahead of him and his
little one – they needed all the rest they could get.
xxx
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter VII
Morning met Harry with a bright sunlight, that caressed his cheeks warmly
through a hole in the thick, dusty curtains. He stood up and stretched, feeling
freer and better than he had ever been. He was on his own now, but he loved it.
Hedwig landed onto the windowsill, hooting softly in greeting, as he opened the
shutters and glanced at one of the narrow streets that met with Knockturn
Alley. It was empty and quiet, the creepy inhabitants of this area slept during
the day. Sighing contentedly, Harry leaned onto the frame, enjoying the summer
sun. He planned to visit Flourish & Blotts to buy more books on Charms,
Transfiguration, Potions and Defense. Even if he wasn't going to attend
Hogwarts anymore, it didn't mean he would degrade himself, on the contrary, he
would improve, study hard to be able to protect his child.
He took a few sandwiches out of his bag and finished them quickly, eager to
leave sooner. His head shot up at Hedwig's indignant cry - she was pushed out
of the window by a huge black hawk, whose red eyes gleamed ominously, as it
glared at the smaller bird. Harry's wand had been already pointed at the
intruder, but the hawk paid it no heed. Harry could swear it looked at him
mockingly. The bird huffed and stretched its clawed leg out, holding out a
parcel for him. It looked very plain, wrapped in black paper with a small note
on its side. Watching the bird through the narrowed eyes, Harry reached out and
snatched the package out of the beast's hold. It huffed at him again and stared
at the wall, obviously waiting for him to open it. Intrigued and a little
confused, he weighed the parcel in his hand - it was rather light, of a plain
cubic form. He opened the note that read:
"A belated gift for my little Prince. I have read them all and now it is your
turn."
Harry stared at the nickname incredulously. Only one man had ever called him
that - Marvolo. Hastily tearing the paper off, he smiled idiotically to
himself, pleased and warmed by the notion that Marvolo had sent him a birthday
present. Before the rational part of his brain could react and stop him, warn
him that it might be a trick, he took the small, compressed cube into his
hands, grinning at the sight of the tiny book spines. Marvolo's muggle
literature collection - he gave him his books. Harry felt tears prickle on his
eyes, as he clutched the cube close to his chest. These books were going to be
the first thing he would bring into his future home, the first books his child
would read when he or she was old enough.
"This is the best gift in the world. Thank you." Harry tied the note to the
hawk's leg and it left, spooking the poor Hedwig even more. He knew he
shouldn't have probably sent it, but he wanted Marvolo to know just how much
his present was appreciated. How much Marvolo himself was appreciated. Fuck,
Harry, what is wrong with you?
Covering his scar with his hair again, Harry carefully stepped onto the bricks
of the Diagon Alley. It was very early, the shops were only starting to open
and he waited impatiently at the bookshop entrance. Fortunately there weren't
many customers at this time and he quickly bought all the books that he needed.
He also collected a book on raising a magical child, thinking that, perhaps, it
wouldn't hurt to know just what to expect. He was completely inexperienced
after all. All in all, Harry decided, he composed a good collection for a
start, happy to know he had much to learn and to do before the child was due to
come.
Walking past Fortesque's got him wondering when was the last time he had had an
ice-cream - he couldn't remember. Thinking that, perhaps, this was the best
time to taste the magical treat for the last time in the nearest future, he
tentatively walked inside and over to the counter. Luckily, nobody recognized
him and soon he was sitting at the farthest table inside the cafe, licking on
the hugest chocolate mountain of ice-cream he ever imagined could balance on
the small cornet. As he ate, smiling dumbly at his sticky fingers, he got yet
another package, brought by a big fat brown owl. Raising his eyebrows in
surprise, Harry stared at the envelope: from Gringotts. Scowling at it,
wondering if it might have had something to do with his significant money
withdrawal, he opened the letter and started to read. As it had turned out, the
goblins decided to check his accounts, since he took all the money out, and
found that he never claimed the Black vault when it legally belonged to him.
Sirius willed everything that he had to his godson before he died. Feeling that
the tears started running down his face, Harry hastily rubbed them off, and hid
the letter in his jacket. Thinking of his godfather was still hard, painful,
unbearable and now Sirius had once again proved what a wonderful person had he
been, by leaving Harry the means to live comfortably until the day he died.
Having had quickly finished his sweet dessert, he decided it was time to leave
the Diagon Alley before it got too crowded and Hogwarts' students crammed the
place in the search for their necessary supplies for the next school year.
Sneaking through the Leaky Cauldron was easy and a few minutes later he was
striding down the streets of London, smiling, thinking he was going to do it
much more often from now on. He took the first bus he saw, climbed onto the
second floor and looked around in joy and wonder, as it took him straight into
the city's center. It wasn't wise to stay here much longer, for everybody would
be surely looking for him here in the first place, so Harry quickly reached the
King's Cross and bought a ticket for the first train to Liverpool, and from
there for the ferry to Belfast. Looking nostalgically at the brick wall between
the platforms 9 and 10, he reminiscented on the five years of his life in the
wizarding world, remembered all of his first, incredible magical experiences,
his first train ride in his life, that happened to be on the Hogwarts
Express... Smiling ruefully at the life that was his past now and held no place
in his future, he went to the platform 4 and got on the modern looking, grey
train, saying farewell to everything he used to know. This was it, he was
leaving, he was Harry Potter no more.
xxx
"Potter ran away," there was no point in hiding it from his lord since the
whole Ministry had been raised on their ears.
Voldemort looked up from the short note clutched in his fist, surprised and not
really, for he knew Harry accepted his offer and was, obviously, trying to find
a way to have a normal life, away from everyone, away from him. But that was
the problem, wasn't it? He didn't want to let Harry go, wanted to have him by
his side, was ready to keep him hidden if the boy wished so, but, and it galled
him that he didn't know why, Harry wished to be kept hidden from him.
"Let them look for him first, if he doesn't show up any time soon, I will seek
him out myself." If Harry would be able to hide from Dumbledore and his muggle-
loving bloodhounds, he would have a hard time finding the boy. He could already
feel the discomfort of separation, of not knowing. It was truly amusing how
helpless Harry made him. "Hadn't he left you any means of contacting him? What
if he needs your help again?"
Would it be wise to seek him out? Was what Severus wanted to ask but knew
better. "No, he left nothing. I doubt he would need me anymore."
What would Harry do when the time for delivery came? He wouldn't go to a muggle
hospital, surely, nor would he risk finding a mediwitch. Was he seriously
considering to do it on his own? He wasn't able to give birth, he had to be cut
open and the fetus taken out of him before it died or killed the boy. There was
no telling if it wouldn't kill him beforehand. It was most irresponsible of
Harry, but somehow Severus felt he couldn't master enough spite at him. His
sixth sense was telling him the boy would find him. He hoped it wouldn't be too
late, though. The potions master thought of using blood magic he had tried once
when he was looking for Harry at the school - their relation let him track his
own blood in the boy's veins, but it was a very complex spell he hardly knew
would work in a greater distance. Besides, it wouldn't find Harry if he was
hidden behind the wards, which he would surely be using, since Ms Granger had
sent him the necessary literature. It was rather amusing to watch the annoying
know-it-all cry and blame herself for aiding him to escape with all the
knowledge in those books. The poor girl was still living an illusion that every
written word was undoubtedly true and there were no other sources and means of
improving one's self. As far as Severus thought he knew Harry - the boy needed
no books to be able to protect himself.
"Time would tell," Voldemort said thoughtfully, immersed in his own thoughts.
Since Draco and Narcissa never inherited anything from the Black wealth after
Sirius Black's death, as Lucius had complained recently, there was only one
logical conclusion: the man willed everything to Harry. Beside the house in
London there was only one more summer cottage in Switzerland, according to Lady
Malfoy nee Black, but there was a lot of gold in the vault. Not long ago Avery
and Mulciber had reported about the often comings and goings of the Order's
members around the particular place in one of the peaceful, old parts of the
city - Narcissa had confirmed that its address matched the one of the Black's
house she used to visit so often and stay at with the Black brothers in her
youth. So London was out of the question - Harry would have never hidden in
Dumbledore's headquarters, it was highly unlikely that he would have gone
abroad either, but Voldemort decided to send Narcissa to check it out anyway.
But Harry could use the money and buy himself a property anywhere in the United
Kingdom. According to Pettigrew, Potters were completely broke by the end of
the war, having have spent all their wealth on Dumbledore's projects and needs.
Harry's supposed father had even sold the family manor, leaving only a small,
shabby cottage at Godric's Hollow for his family to hide at. It had always
amused the Dark Lord just why Potters never used the ancient wards of the
manor, that could have surely saved them, for it would have taken him a very
long time to penetrate them even with the help of the Inner Circle - well, now
he knew why.
"We need to quicken the Daily Prophet by throwing them a bone. The sooner the
public knows that Harry Potter had surrendered and ran away to hide from me,
the better," he drawled, as Severus finished his drink. They were in Prince's
library again after a long meeting with the Death Eaters.
"Dumbledore is also hurrying to give them a canard that Potter is taking a
secret training somewhere abroad now, to be prepared to face you as soon as it
is possible, my lord," the potions master sighed, hating that he was once again
torn between the two masters with a secret of his own.
He sometimes asked himself why the fuck did he even care for Harry and the
child, why couldn't he just tell the Dark Lord everything and be done with it?
He knew the answer all too well and loathed it. Because he fucking cared.
Because deep inside his cold, rotten heart he felt the tiniest flicker of hope
- the hope that Harry's kindness and oh so familiar stubbornness brought him.
For the first time in his life he saw a possibility to be accepted for what he
was, a possibility to be able to talk freely, truthfully, with no need to hide,
lie, pretend. Even Lily could never completely understand him, could never
really see past his dark nature, his affection for the dark arts. And Harry,
knowing him to be a spy, a traitor, a dark and bitter man that he was, was
ready to welcome him into his new life, to give him his second chance. It was
so Dumbledorish and yet it seemed so noble, so generous, so sincere. Severus
sighed again, scowling at the notion of taking Harry so close to the heart. He
even stopped thinking of him as Potter! Little bastard.
"Oh, Severus." He raised his eyes to look at his lord, who was smiling slyly,
rubbing on his dimpled chin. "Don't tell me Harry got under your skin. Had the
boy's big heart made yours start beating again?" Voldemort kept stretching his
lips, inwardly fuming - this was what had happened to himself, wasn't it? Harry
got under his skin and now he could think of nothing, but the beautiful boy
with those big shining green eyes and long, silky, raven hair that smelt of
rain and fresh grass.
"No, my lord," somehow these words came with difficulty. Severus thought he had
never felt so stupid before.
"I know when you are lying, my friend," he hissed, narrowing his ruby eyes at
his potions master, involuntarily searching for the vivid emerald green, that
gleamed so brightly when they saw him, on the man's face for it was so
familiar, so much like Harry's. How could he be so smitten with the boy? It was
all horcrux' doing, Voldemort was telling himself, it was all soul magic and
nothing more, he wasn't capable of anything more and Harry... Harry wanted
Marvolo, not the Dark Lord Voldemort. Harry wanted a human being - a part of
him which he had been killing for so many years, for his almost whole life, a
part which he decided to use in order to get to the boy and now couldn't stop
it, couldn't get out of it, out of Harry. The little Prince bewitched him -
threw a fit none of the wizards and witches were able to succeed at during
these fifty years... "It is only natural, Severus," he added nonchalantly, "He
is your son after all."
The potions master wisely kept silent, scowling at his glass. How could the
Dark Lord know what was natural and what was not? If he himself had never had a
family, if he himself ordered Severus to kill his father Tobias to prove to his
master how loyal he was and to show how much the Dark could give Severus, how
free could he be, even being held on a short leash of the binding, enslaving
mark on his arm. He loathed how perceptive and sensitive to other's feelings
his lord had always been even when he was insane and even though his own heart
was made of stone. It was truly terrifying how cold, uncaring and unexpectedly
understanding Voldemort was. He didn't need Legilimency to read Severus like an
open book - something that the potions master thought only Dumbledore was
capable of.
Crumpling the small note in his hand, Voldemort watched the dark man's
impassive face. If only he had known that Harry would run away today, he would
have put a tracking spell on his books. Sighing quietly, he filled his glass
once more. Could he give Harry what he wanted - Marvolo? Did he want to give
him that? Why was he even thinking about indulging somebody else's wishes when
his own were his first priority? But it was his soul that resided inside the
boy, was it not? He was indulging himself. Frowning at the thought, he sipped
his drink. He had enjoyed being human, being an ordinary wizard, a simple man
with Harry, enjoyed how easily the boy accepted him as Marvolo, how freely gave
his body and soul, warmth, not asking for anything else in return. Nobody had
ever made him feel so... carefree before. Carefree. All he ever knew in his
life were pain, humiliation, suffering and unfairness, injustice, in both
muggle and magical worlds. Harry had known nothing but the same in his own
life. And yet all he had to do was to show the boy a little piece of himself he
guarded so fiercely, hated so passionately... and the little Prince gave him
everything he craved so much for his whole life. Kindness, affection,
gentleness, caress, acceptance, absolution. But life was never fair, and Harry
could never give the same to the Dark Lord, to his real self.
"Be as it may," Voldemort twisted his lips disdainfully at the bitter thoughts
that made him experience these damned emotions again. "He will contact you
sooner or later and when he does," he gave Severus a murderous glare, "You will
report to me that instant."
"Yes, my lord," Severus bowed his head humbly and left.
He wasn't as genius and brilliant as his lord, but he too knew how to read
people and what he was seeing now was alarming. The way his guts twisted in his
abdomen sent a shiver down his spine. A nagging suspicion was slowly forming in
his mind, but he stubbornly ignored it for he was too afraid to accept it. If
it had been only a matter of horcrux, the Dark Lord would have never let Harry
free, he would have hidden him at Malfoy's or Prince's Manor and never let
Dumbledore take him back. There was something more, something much more
dangerous between the two of them. Severus was certain his master never knew
about the child, but the way he was obsessed with Harry... it reminded him very
much of what he used to feel towards Lily when he was young. Was it even
possible? And if it was... no, he couldn't imagine it, he couldn't accept it to
be real. And Harry... probably was just as ignorant. Groaning, the potions
master stumbled through the gates of the school, dearly wishing he could wake
up in his bed and realize it all to be a very long, idiotic dream.
xxx
Harry stood in front of the tall, old house of red brick, with black, tiled
roof, thinking that, despite his best efforts, he chose a very witchy looking
place anyway. Well, he was hiding in plain sight, wasn't he? Who would look for
him in a place like this? It didn't cost him much, for the house was situated
in the farthest part of the city's suburbs, in a quiet, boring area, with a
small supermarket and a church as the only entertainment around. It didn't have
a view at the sea as well, but he was all up for short strolls to the beach. It
was perfect. Now all what was left for him to do was to ward the place. During
the train ride Harry had read the letter and the will once again, more
thoroughly, and was surprised to find that Sirius had not only left him all the
money but also both Grimmauld's and a cottage in Saint Gallen - a half magical,
half muggle town at Switzerland's border. He inwardly thanked his godfather,
but had to sadly rule out the possibility of using the cottage. Firstly, Harry
wasn't planning to leave Great Britain, he wished to stay and live by the sea,
somewhere less obvious and less predictable for him - that was why he had
chosen Belfast. Secondly, living amongst wizards was out of the question. He
wasn't going to hide magic from his child, on the contrary, he was going to
raise it embracing his or her nature, but he never wanted to put the child
under the pressure of his own fame and everything it entailed.
Stumbling inside, Harry threw his bag on the sofa and plumped down next to it.
The house was partly furnished so, fortunately, he wouldn't need to spend his
money on anything else. At first he entertained the idea that he could find a
job for a time being, but thought better of it when he remembered that his
belly would soon grow. He could conceal it with charms, but he wouldn't be able
to conceal his exhaustion, would he? Patting his abdomen, he closed his eyes,
strengthening his Occlumency shields. Voldemort could never know of this place
or his plans. Thinking of snakeface made him involuntarily grab on the locket.
Marvolo. Smiling, Harry took the cube out of his bag and put it down onto the
floor. He tapped on it with a tip of his wand and suddenly a hundred books
crammed the room, drawing an amused laugh out of him. Having have levitated
them to the shelves, he added all of his magical books as well and smiled in
satisfaction at the sight of his personal small library.
In the evening, when it was already dark and the last lights in the windows of
the others' houses were turned off, Harry went outside with a book and his wand
in his hands. He wanted to put up a few simple wards at first: a muggle-
repellent ward, notice-me-not charm, and a ward against owl post. He knew it
was possible to trace the bird and wasn't taking any chances, before his
friends, meaning Hermione, got this idea. Hedwig would be bringing him the
Daily Prophet from the nearest wizarding town. Looking around, he stood under
the starry night sky, thinking that, perhaps, he should meet his neighbours one
day, get to know them. They were muggles, but he hoped they were nothing like
Dursleys. Harry frowned and shuddered slightly at the thought of his relatives,
of them being no more. Vernon was dead. He still couldn't quite accept the fact
that it made him happy, but the notion that his child was safe from that fat
fuck helped him to find a compromise with his consciousness.
Harry took a habit of taking long, leisure walks at the beach, watching the
ships and ferries come and go, watching people hurry to live their lives. It
made him smile sadly, for they never knew what was really going on out there,
they never knew how many wizards were dying in vain for their sake. And he knew
that they would have never accepted him and his kind, no matter how friendly
and willing the magical community was, no matter the sacrifices that were made.
Snakeface was right: muggles were incapable of appreciating and coexisting -
they could only fear and envy and desire control. And that was why he wanted to
raise his child here, amongst them, so that his baby grew unprejudiced, but
always on his or her guard, careful with magic, aware of the consequences, of
muggles' powers and weapons, their vast knowledge and science. Harry didn't
want his child to hate them - he wanted him to know the truth about both worlds
and have an opportunity to choose for his or her self.
After almost two weeks of his calm, lonely life, unburdened with any kind of
problems, Harry received another issue of Daily Prophet with a huge headline
'HARRY POTTER - A HERO OR A TRAITOR?' Ever since he had ran away Voldemort
started a new killing campaign against muggleborns and muggle-lovers in the
wizarding world, for Fudge refused to take any of his legislations and bills
into consideration and rejected an offer to negotiate with the "dirty criminals
and ruthless murderers" that Death Eaters were. Dumbledore, who was
rehabilitated as the headmaster of Hogwarts after what had happened at the
Ministry, also opposed any kind of negotiations with Voldemort, warning the
people of United Kingdom of the man's deceiving, cruel nature. Of course it was
snakeface's own fault that people couldn't trust him and his ideas anymore, but
the Minister was also foolish disregarding the monster like that. And now
people were dying. Ever since the death of a few high ranking ministry
employees the public started calling for the Boy-Who-Lived, demanding his help.
Harry couldn't help but snort at Dumbledore's weak attempts to present his
absence as a secret training abroad. Rita Skeeter, referring to an anonymous
source, wrote a huge article on Harry being a petty coward who, by a mere
accident had managed to vanquish the Dark Lord fifteen years ago, and was
nothing more but an ordinary teenager, who was shitting himself senseless at
the prospect of facing the bloodthirsty tyrant. But for the first time in her
life she wrote something that threatened to be truthful! Shaking his head in
exasperation, Harry threw the paper into the hearth. He dearly hoped they all
would soon forget about him and see reason and accept snakeface's conditions.
His child deserved to grow in a better, safer world, and if his own dignity was
the price of that - he was willing to pay it.
xxx
By the end of August Harry started feeling and seeing the difference - there
was a visible bump on his usually flat stomach and his morning sicknesses were
back again. He could barely force the food inside himself these days, but knew
there was no other option - the child was the best motivation he had ever had.
Standing before the tall mirror, he watched his reflection, patting on his
rounded abdomen, and smiled. There was something so magical about being a
parent, about having a small person growing inside of him. He wondered what was
it like for women, for his mother when she was pregnant with him? Had she also
rubbed her belly, had she talked to him before sleep? As the fetus started
growing, Harry started feeling a slight discomfort inside, as if his organs
were constantly pressed on. The book on paternity said that a mother's body
adjusted to the baby gradually, steadily, but this clearly wasn't his case -
his child was a foreign object inside of him, his organs were obviously going
to be damaged.
Thinking about it got him wondering if he could improve a healing potion, make
it restore his insides and help them work properly even being pushed by the
fetus. Harry was sure that no potion could hurt the child, for his magic was
constantly concentrated in his abdomen, he could literally feel it flowing in
there, spreading a comforting heat through his body. It was getting harder and
harder to control it, so he had to hastily finish the wards around his
property. They turned out to be rather strong and Harry couldn't help but feel
proud of his small yet significant achievement. He had been entertaining the
idea that he would need some help soon, when the child grew and he was too weak
to go to the market or to the sea. A muggle was out of the question, a wizard
too, he couldn't buy a house-elf for it had to be registered and then everybody
would find out about where had he gone. Frowning at the thought, Harry kept
staring at the reflection. He did need help, there was no denying it and he was
very stupid not to have had considered it earlier. What was he going to do? He
groaned and banged his head against the wooden frame a few times, berating
himself for his... Widening his eyes and smiling idiotically, Harry laughed
loudly, rubbing on his stinging forehead. Why hadn't he thought about it
before?
"Dobby!"
With a soft pop the small creature appeared in the middle of the bedroom,
looking around in bewilderment. When Dobby's eyes locked on the boy's form, he
hastily threw himself on Harry with a loud, cheerful yelp, "Harry Potter alive!
And well! Dobby found Harry Potter!"
"It's fine, it's fine, Dobby, no need to overreact," Harry laughed, patting him
on the small round head.
"Oh, but something very wrong with Harry Potter," Dobby drawled, pulling away a
little and staring at the belly.
"Do you feel it?" he smiled at the elf, "It's my baby, Dobby, I am going to
have a child soon."
"Oh," the small elf widened his eyes in surprise and astonishment and leaned
closer to listen to whatever it was that he heard inside the stomach. "It is
actual wizard inside?"
"Yes, I called you here, Dobby, because I need your help. It is a great secret
and you can never tell anyone about the baby or where I live," Harry frowned a
little, giving the elf a serious, intent look.
"Of course! Of course!" the little creature jumped up, wriggling his small
hands, "Dobby never tell anybody about Harry Potter, Harry Potter is Dobby's
best friend!"
"Thank you!" Harry embraced him tightly, laughing at the happy squeaks that
escaped the elf's chest. "I know you are a free elf now, and you work at
Hogwarts, but could you possibly stay and work for me? I would pay you as much
as you want."
"Dobby will stay! Dobby will serve Harry Potter!" the creature cried
enthusiastically and suddenly dropped on its scrawny knees, smoothing the
wrinkles on his brand new red and gold pillowcase. Dobby grabbed Harry's hand
and put it on his small head between the huge floppy ears.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked, confused.
"Dobby can't serve with no binds, Dobby must make Harry Potter his master!" the
elf chirped, looking at Harry with his big wet eyes pleadingly.
"No!" Harry snatched his hand out of his hold sharply, "No, I can't enslave
you, Dobby! I freed you, remember?"
"But Dobby can't keep secrets of Harry Potter's new family, Dobby can't answer
child's call when it born, Dobby can't take Harry Potter's money from bank if
he not bound!" the creature tugged him on his shirt. "Dobby will gladly serve
Harry Potter, Harry Potter is the best master in the world, he is Dobby's best
friend!"
Sighing, Harry reluctantly nodded. It galled him that he had to take Dobby's
freedom away from him, but the little elf had a point: Harry couldn't take
money out of the bank personally, even by owl, for he could be traced; and the
elf needed his family protection to not be affected by other's magic - he read
about this in one of his books on wards. Smiling happily, Dobby put his hand
onto his head again and closed his eyes contentedly. Long, pearl tendrils of
Harry's magic emerged from his abdomen and circled him and the little elf in
glowing blue binds. A shiver ran down his spine and then the strange sensation
was over and Harry grimly acknowledged the foreign notion of possessing other's
soul and life. But Dobby's huge, tearful eyes full of happiness and joy
lessened the pain in his heart and Harry smiled a little, patting the small
creature affectionately. He wasn't alone anymore, he could rely on Dobby in
anything.
"What would be your orders, Master Harry Potter?"
"Oh, no, Dobby, please," Harry wrinkled his nose, "Just call me Harry, I am no
Potter and no master either!"
"Master Harry then," the elf nodded with satisfaction.
"Yeah," he rolled his eyes and smiled at his little friend helplessly. "I need
potion ingredients and supplies, I will make a list for you."
"What name Dobby tell when they ask who's buying?" the small creature rubbed
his small hands in excitement.
"Prince, tell them it's for Prince," Harry's smiled turned into a wide grin
when he imagined Snape's face at the news of another Prince being served at the
apothecary. "I am Harry Prince, now, Dobby, it is my real name."
"Oooh," the elf stared at him happily and humbly followed Harry into the
kitchen to get his first list of things to do and to buy.
xxx
Moaning, he sucked the long, hot tongue deeper into his mouth, as the strong,
cold arms roamed over his body, caressing his sides and buttocks and low,
erotic growls erupted out of the chest that was pressed against his. "Harry,
oh, Harry, I want you so much," he heard Marvolo whisper harshly, as the wizard
rolled them over, pulling Harry to lie on top of him. "I want you," the ice
cold hands squeezed his hide and the big, hard cock rubbed against his
entrance, begging to be taken inside.
Sitting up, Harry stared into the darkness, touching the man's face, closing
his eyes and biting his lips in pleasure, as his fingers were sucked on by the
wet mouth and the teeth teased him, biting gently on his fingertips. "You are
so big, how can I take you in all by myself?" he breathed out, rocking ever so
slightly on top of Marvolo, causing the oh so needed friction between their
hard erections.
"I will help you," he heard the man smile evilly and couldn't help but laugh in
return. Marvolo was absolutely insatiable.
"Please," Harry whispered weakly, spreading his thighs wider and shifting to
sit more comfortably, feeling the thick, sleek head being pushed into his tight
hole. It burned so much, but he found he could control the depth of penetration
in this position and the speed of thrusts and their hardness. Crying meekly, he
batted Marvolo's hand away and took the man's length into his own, guiding it
carefully inside of him. He sensed a soft laugh vibrate through the man's body
and his cock, as the wizard cupped his buttocks, pushing them slowly apart.
Marvolo's laugh was so alluring, he couldn't help but gasp at the pleasant
twitches in his own painfully stiff penis.
"Lower, my little one, you can do it," the deep voice echoed in his chest,
caressing and encouraging him to push more, despite the hurtful stretching of
his anus.
"Marvolo, please!" Harry threw his head back, screaming, as he suddenly took it
all in and felt his prostate pulse maddeningly at the sensation of Marvolo
touching him there, so deep inside, in his very core it seemed. The sharp pang
of pain dissipated almost immediately under the wave of pleasure washing all
over him.
"Oh fuck, Harry, this is so good!" hearing this was enough for him to come
undone, but Marvolo gently pushed him up and down the long cock, growling and
whining like a beast, as Harry's hands clawed on his chest in spasms of pain
and overwhelming satisfaction. "So tight, my little one, so good, so..." Oh,
how he loved when Marvolo lost the ability to speak coherently and mumbled
nonsense, clearly too hot and turned on to think straight. Harry loved the way
he affected him, the way their bodies united, became one, the way the man's
penis filled him so well, so right. The smell of sex in the air and the heat,
that burned in his groin, intoxicated him and he screamed hoarsely, begging
Marvolo for more. His muscles ached, his anus was on fire, but magic, that
seemed to burst right out of his prostate, made him dismiss it all in favour of
listening to the other's greedy, lustful moans.
He was on the verge of release when he felt the sudden shiver run down his
spine. Snapping out of his ecstatic haze, Harry frowned, panting, ignoring
Marvolo's low groans to continue, to not even dare to stop. There was something
wrong, he could feel it in his very guts. "Something's not right," he breathed
out panicky, as his mind cleared and he realized the weird sensation that he
felt was actually a foreign presence in his head. Voldemort! He had let his
Occlumency shields fall! Harry started hastily trying to close off, feeling as
if some invisible force was tearing him off of Marvolo and sucking him into the
impenetrable darkness.
"No, Harry, no!" Voldemort cried out, falling off of his bed, as his cock
throbbed violently for the last time and he came harshly onto the soft rug
underneath him. Fuck! He was so close. It was a miracle he found Harry's
shields weakened and managed to sneak past them and invade his erotic dream,
turning it into a vision. Harry chose just the right memory of one of the many
nights they had spent together and he couldn't dismiss an opportunity to fuck
his lovely Prince. In his mind at least. "Damn it! Harry!" Voldemort growled
helplessly, pressing his sweated forehead into the rug and panting raggedly.
The vision was so intense, so almost real, the boy's magic was developing so
fast and he couldn't distinguish the source of such a burst of power. It
allured him, he wanted it, all of it, wanted to taste it and bask in its
sweetness. Harry's raw, light magic was indescribable, magnificent, addictive.
It belonged to him by right, he wanted and was going to have it, along with
Harry and his perfect body. Groaning pitifully at the loss of so long desired
physical closeness, Voldemort crawled back onto his bed and stared at the full
moon, that was peeking into the open window. It was the end of September
already and everybody had come up empty handed in the search for the Boy-Who-
Lived, both the Order and Death Eaters. Harry wasn't in Swirzerland, nor was he
in any of the wizarding towns in the country. How could a boy hide so well from
them, from him? Oh, but he was no boy, the Dark Lord reminded himself bitterly,
he was the bloody Harry Severus Prince - a powerful wizard and his horcrux, his
closure and his curse. He needed to find him soon, this couldn't go on anymore,
his body and magic, his soul wouldn't accept a simple masturbation no more,
they craved, no, they demanded Harry back in his bed. If it wasn't for the damn
war and damn Dumbledore, he would have already started looking for his little
Prince.
Harry woke up with a start, sitting up sharply in his bed, squeezing his
pulsing erection in his hands as it burst out with his hot sperm. "Fuck!" He
couldn't believe what had happened. It was not a usual wet dream that he had
been having almost every night here, indulging himself in his hunger and lust
for Marvolo, it was a bloody vision! Voldemort got into his head and saw the
two of them together! And who knew what was he going to change there! He felt
his gut being tied into a knot. What if this would hurt Marvolo? Pressing his
sweated, sticky palms protectively against his enlarged belly, Harry took a
deep calming breath and tried to lessen the apprehension that threatened to
make him throw up. Ugly bastard! How dared he to invade his personal life like
that? The bloody wanker was watching him being fucked for hell knew how long!
The nerve!
"It's alright, my little one," he rubbed on the abdomen, trying to calm down
and involuntarily coping Marvolo's intonation, "Everything is going to be fine,
my little Prince." A small pulse of magic was his reply and he sighed, calmer,
more relaxed now, and fell back on the pillows.
Smiling, he patted on the bump, reveling in the child's now more obvious
presence. He could feel it now, could feel the little being, the little soul
pull on his own lovingly. Despite the never ending pain and suffering from the
fetus's constant growth, Harry felt elated, he couldn't wait for the child to
develop and finally be born, couldn't wait to see his or her face, to hold him
or her in his arms. Contrary to all rational thoughts, his sixth sense was
telling him his baby would turn out alright, would make him proud, would make
him truly happy, would love him just as he already loved it.
xxx
Harry paged through the morning issue of the Daily Prophet, while drinking tea,
and pointedly avoided Dobby's intent glaring - the elf had been trying to make
him eat for the past hour, but all of his attempts were for naught, for this
morning Harry felt particularly sick and weak. He couldn't even leave his bed,
so drained he was, so exhausted. With October came long, cold nights and an
endless rain. His child was growing very fast, as was his body weakening. No
more strolls to the beach, no more walks around the neighbourhood - Harry could
hardly move around the house, moaning at the ache in his back. The potion that
he had managed to improve did lessen the pain in his organs, but it couldn't
make his body stronger, and the fetus was getting heavier and heavier by day.
It was his fortune that he had Dobby, who took the cleaning and cooking upon
himself and didn't let Harry do anything except resting.
'HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED ATTACKS MINISTRY AGAIN! MORE VICTIMS!' the headline
said. 'THE BOY-WHO-LIVED SAVE US!'
Sighing heavily, Harry opened the newspaper, shifting and wincing at the pain,
trying to find a more comfortable position. Voldemort killed more people,
again. And he would take more lives and even if Harry had continued to fight he
knew he could have never stopped him. Snakeface was sane, ruthless, merciless
and very dangerous. Harry had been feeling him lately, sensing his attempts to
get into his mind, to bring down his Occlumency shields. The Dark Lord was
getting impatient and Harry couldn't fathom why. Wasn't this what the monster
had offered him? A normal, undisturbed life in exchange for Harry's surrender?
What was making him so nervous? Or did he really expect Harry to sit and wait
for him to come and fetch him, as the bloody horcrux that he was? Snorting
indignantly, he crumpled the paper in his hands. Stupid wizards and witches,
still trying to hide behind his back, expecting him to come and clean up their
shit. Bloody Voldemort and his obsessive-possessive horcrux mania. Scowling,
Harry crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the newspaper, wishing to
set it on fire with just his will. And it worked. The more his baby grew, the
more powerful he became even if his magic was rather unpredictable and belonged
more to his child now than to him. Just when the smoke started rising from the
quickly darkening paper, a small article in the back caught his attention.
Harry took a glass of water from his bedside table and poured it all over
himself and the newspaper, that was burning in his lap. Wrinkling his nose in
disgust, ignoring Dobby's affronted grumping, he carefully smoothed the wet
pages and stared at the article.
"Madame Dolores Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary and ex-headmaster of
Hogwarts was found dead in her house a few hours after the attack at the
Ministry. Madame Umbridge personally fought Death Eaters and You-Know-Who and
was one of the few who managed to get away unscarred. Aurors, who were sent to
guard her house, found her body crucified to her own door, with a message
written on her skin with the help of a Blood Quill, that was found next to her
body and belonged to her, according to reports of her colleagues. The message
said "Eye for an eye". Was it a Death Eaters' attack or was it somebody's
revenge staged as one we do not know. Mr Scrimgeour, the Head of the DMLE,
promised Minister Fudge to find whoever did this..."
Harry's hands shook as he read the message again and again. First, snakeface
killed his relatives, as Severus phrased it 'avenged' him, now he killed
Umbridge for what she had done to him in the beginning of the school year...
Dobby was fast enough to push an empty bowl into his hands, for Harry instantly
threw up at the mere thought that Voldemort was going on a crusade of murdering
everyone who had ever had offended or hurt him in one way or another. This was
too much.
"This bloody wanker!" growling and rubbing the bile off of his face, Harry
wandlessly summoned a piece of parchment and a quill and scribbled furiously on
it, swearing under his breath. "Here," he gave Dobby the letter, "Please, leave
it on professor Snape's desk at his office." The little elf wanted to object,
but one dark scowl from Harry shut him up and he hurriedly popped out of the
house to complete the task before his master's hormones had costed him dearly.
Harry wasn't cruel, nor was he abusive, he never screamed, he simply closed off
and refused to eat - and that was ten times worse for the poor Dobby than any
whipping that Malfoys used to give him. As his little friend vanished, Harry
fell back on the pillows with a loud, tired groan. He felt his head was getting
heavier, being constantly under the pressure of Voldemort's mind attacks. This
had to stop, the killings had to stop. He couldn't live with their blood on his
hands even if, deep, deep inside, he felt very pleased that the vile toad was
dead.
xxx
No matter how hard had the Order tried, not one of them could find anything
that could bring them closer to Harry. The boy was good, very good, he fooled
the wizards and witches by simply using muggle money and means of transport.
Severus had to admit that it was rather ingenious. It was two weeks into
October, the school had long started and Dumbledore had visibly aged, if it was
even possible to become older than he already was. All his thoughts, it seemed,
were concentrated on Harry and the Dark Lord, he became obsessed with the
horcruxes and took a habit of suddenly disappearing for long periods of time
and popping out of nowhere, gathering the Order for yet another useless
meeting. It galled Severus how the old wizard was capable of loving and caring
for Harry while, simultaneously, ready to sacrifice him for "the greater good",
meaning Voldemort's demise.
"Had Voldemort found anything on Harry's whereabouts?" Dumbledore looked up at
the potions master from underneath his now constantly furrowed brow.
"No, he has nothing," Severus crossed his legs, folding his hands in his lap
and looking around impassively. Their ranks had thinned out, which was rather
satisfying. He couldn't help but smirk cruelly at the thought of the wretched
Hestia Jones now lying dead in the ground. The stupid bitch gave him a huge
gash in his side once, now she had one in her brainless head. Should have been
more careful during the second attack at the Ministry.
"How is it possible we can't find him?" Moody barked out of his corner in the
Grimmauld's kitchen, "He is Harry Potter for Merlin's sake! Somebody must have
seen him! He is but a teenager!"
"I believe Harry escaped into the muggle world, might have even went abroad, he
is a legal adult now, after all," the headmaster sighed, stroking his long
white beard thoughtfully. "Unfortunately, it is impossible to find him there,
even if we will check every little village, every little town, it would take us
years to trace him, while he can constantly move around."
"Just why is he hiding from you, Albus?" Shacklebot asked incredulously,
nursing his bandaged arm.
"He doesn't want to fight Voldemort," was Dumbledore's answer as he gave
Severus a pointed look. The potions master nodded ever so slightly and
continued looking at his fingernails.
"A coward, eh?" Moody snorted indignantly, winking at Severus, "Like father
like son?"
"Alastor," the headmaster chided the other wizard. "Harry is no coward, he is
simply misguided. Perhaps, whoever he was in contact with while being in
Voldemort's hands, had influenced him, gave him some ideas. We must find him
and help him see reason, that is all." Severus ignored Moody's bait but
couldn't help but laugh inwardly at the old coot's hypocrisy. Once again he
felt pleased with the notion that Harry was away from here and Dumbledore's
manipulations - the headache he was giving the Order played out very well for
the Dark Lord and he personally enjoyed watching them strain every nerve to
find the boy.
"Hiding or not, we have a more serious problem at hand," Shacklebot rubbed on
his tired, freshly scarred face. "V-Voldemort is growing stronger and
impatient. He is completely out of control, as are his Death Eaters. The half
magical, half muggle town they burned down last week is only the beginning.
They will be destroying each and every one of them, trying to scare the wizards
out of their homes and into a complete isolation. They are doing quite well
already," he shook his head, sighing, "We have received hundreds of letters and
complaints - people demand to give them shelter, or some kind of insurance that
they will not be harmed... which is impossible."
"Which is why it is imperative that we find Harry," Dumbledore pressed. "If he
is back and fighting Voldemort, they will believe that nothing is lost and
nobody would be harmed-"
"I don't see anything special about Potter," Moody interrupted him, leaning
forward and glaring at everybody present. "Why should all our hopes be placed
into some petty whelp who runs with his tail between his legs as soon as the
real danger comes?"
"Harry has powers not you, nor Voldemort knows," the headmaster said grimly,
straightening his back and shoulders. "I believe in him, I know he can and will
do it. It is his destiny."
Severus couldn't help but sneer at that, twisting his face into a sour
expression, as if he had just eaten a lemon. Destiny. After everything that
happened in the last two years he could hardly believe such phenomenon existed.
For he used to think he knew what was his future but as it had turned out he
had been gravely mistaken. No one could tell other's destiny - one created it
on his own. Like Harry was doing now.
After an hour more of pointless discussions the wizards and witches slowly
broke up and soon Severus found himself in the company of Dumbledore only, who
kept stroking his beard and looking at the table before him absentmindedly.
However, when the potions master rose to leave as well, the old wizard's head
shot up and he gestured for him to stay.
"Severus, had Harry contacted you?"
"You know he hadn't, I would have told you otherwise," Severus sighed, lowering
himself on his chair. It was a very long and boring meeting, he dearly wished
he didn't have to attend ever again, and he was already thinking about the
potions he planned to brew this night but the old coot just had to delay him,
didn't he?
"I can't believe how irresponsibly he acts in regard of the child - how is he
going to deliver it? Where will he get the necessary help?" the old wizard's
eyes were wide and wet and once again Severus caught himself thinking if
Dumbledore was being sincere now or was shamelessly pretending.
"He is afraid of you, he is afraid you will kill the child," he shrugged his
shoulders uncaringly, "Which you, no doubt, would do."
"Only if it is a horcrux, but I am most certain it is," the headmaster sighed
heavily, rubbing on his chest uncomfortably. "I know what you must be thinking,
my boy, but believe me when I say I hate the fact that it must be the innocent
child of all the other possibilities. I hate that I have to kill it, but there
is no other way to destroy Voldemort once and for all."
"You also have to kill Potter," he almost called him Harry, biting his own
tongue just in time. What is wrong with you, Severus? Going all soft all of a
sudden?
"And I will never forgive myself for it, for I love Harry as my own grandson,
believe me when I say this, you know how much I love you and how I loved
Lily..." Dumbledore halted for a moment, gathering his wits as his hands
visibly shook. "I would have done anything to spare your son, Severus, but
there is nothing. I don't know how to take the rotten soul out of him. It would
be a miracle if it would completely transfer into the child, and I pray it
would be so."
Severus barked out a laugh, "I wouldn't if I were you. Potter would never
forgive you and dare I say might even try to kill you with his bare hands for
it."
"No," the old wizard shook his head sadly, "Harry is not a murderer."
"Then how do you expect he would kill the Dark Lord?" the potions master huffed
incredulously.
"One of us will have to help him," the pale blue eyes locked with the onyx ones
and Severus grimly acknowledged yet another mess he was being dragged into
against his own will. Perfect.
xxx
Harry, Harry, where are you, my little Prince? Playing with a gryffindor tie in
his hands, Voldemort lay on his favourite sofa in the Prince's library,
ignoring the stack of reports on the table beside him. He bit into the soft,
silky material, imagining that it was Harry's hair and groaned lowly, feeling
the everlasting frustration build up in his groin again. He hadn't been able to
find the strength to part with this little piece of cloth lately, taking it
everywhere with him, bearing it close to his skin. He was obsessed and it
angered him to no end, for he was the fucking Dark Lord, who fell so low as to
lust after a bloody boy.
A soft click of the doorknob caught his attention and he turned his head a
little and mumbled through the fabric that was still occupying his mouth,
"Severus. Something happened?"
If he was surprised to see his lord in such an unusual, unfitting position,
with a gryffindor tie between his teeth, Severus never showed it. He swiftly
moved closer to the sofa and kneeled before his master, holding a folded note
out for him. "My lord, a message from Potter for you." He didn't have the time
to hear or see anything as the paper was instantly snatched out of his hands
and the Dark Lord was already seated, scanning the words with his brightly
shining blood red eyes. Raising his eyebrows ever so slightly, Severus
carefully stood up and moved away, watching his lord curiously. The pale
impassive mask slowly morphed into a feral, pleased grin. Of course, Severus
had read the note but found little sense in Voldemort's reaction to it. He
expected everything but pleasure and... was it joy?
"Little brat!" the Dark Lord laughed and fell back onto the puffy pillows,
holding the note up in front of his face, looking at it mirthfully. Harry
always stayed true to himself. The minx that he was, teasing him like that!
"How did he contact you?"
"He didn't," Severus shook his head and continued at his master's inquiring
look, "I found this on the desk in my office. It wasn't an owl, for it is
impossible to get inside though the wards unless..."
"Unless it is a house-elf," Voldemort finished for him and stood up suddenly
only to start pacing the room with long, firm strides. "I will tell Lucius to
check the registration records, however, I doubt Harry would be so stupid as to
buy an elf. Any thoughts on how he could illegally acquire one?"
"None, however," Severus rubbed on the bridge of his nose thoughtfully as an
idea came to his mind, "However, no elf can trespass Hogwarts' wards if he had
never worked there before. So it must be one of the school's own."
"You told me Dumbledore doesn't know where the boy is and has no way of
contacting him," the blood red eyes narrowed suspiciously as they bore a hole
in the sullen, unaffected face of the potions master. "Only the headmaster has
the power to free or give away the elves."
"Not if the elf is a free one," Severus pointed out, as the corners of his
mouth quivered slightly at the notion that one of Lucius' elves, no less, was
serving Harry.
Voldemort scowled, feeling that he was missing something, "Elaborate." He
leaned on the back of the armchair, watching the other wizard intently.
"You should ask Lucius for more details, my lord, for the elf used to belong to
him. Three years ago Harry tricked him into freeing his own servant by giving
him a piece of clothing. As far as I know the elf adores the boy and is willing
to die for him. Dumbledore took him in as a first free house-elf and even paid
him for his work."
"And Harry bonded with it and made it his own," the Dark Lord smiled, visibly
relaxing, and rubbed on his chin in wonder. His little Prince was very clever,
indeed, using the elf to cover his whereabouts. However, there was always a
loophole in anything, for him in particular. "How smart of him to do so."
How smart indeed, Severus inwardly smirked. With a house-elf Harry would be
able to raise the child without any problem, wouldn't have any trouble getting
food and help. "Should I inform Dumbledore about this?"
"No, as long as he is ignorant to the elf's disappearance, he wouldn't try and
track it down." He would have to do it if Harry wouldn't contact him again.
Which could have been easily arranged. Pleased with himself, Voldemort
gracefully plumped back down on the sofa and waved at the potions master, "If
this is all, than you are dismissed, Severus. Good night."
"Good night, my lord," he bowed and left, thinking back on the enthusiasm and
joy he saw in his master's face at the sight of the message from Harry. Most
curious, most disturbing.
Voldemort took the parchment out of his sleeve, where he had hidden it while
talking to Severus, and read it again, letting a wide grin stretch his lips at
the arrogance of Harry's words.
"Severus,
I'm fine, in case you wondered. Please, pass this on to snakeface.
Snakeface,
Kindly cease killing everything that lives and breathes! And be a good old hag
and stop 'avenging' me by cruelly murdering everyone who had ever wronged me! I
never asked for this! You are a bloody wanker, an insane tyrant and I hate you!
I hope you will choke on whatever it is you eat or drink, if you even function
like a human being you stopped resembling! How are you planning on making
people see reason when you burn them down along with their homes? Are you out
of your mind? Oh no, wait, you are!
And stop trying to invade my mind! Stop messing with my personal life, you
noseless pervert! You promised to leave me the hell alone if I stop fighting
you - keep your fucking word, bastard!
You know who."
Voldemort could have mastered enough rage for such an atrocious display of
disrespect but he didn't want to. He missed Harry and his sharp, acid tongue
dearly and seeing that the boy followed everything that he was doing, was aware
of everything that had happened, pleased him. Harry cared, Harry was just as
stubborn and righteous as always. He wished he could fuck him senseless right
now, punish him for being rude, make him scream his name with pleasure and
affection. The fact that his little Prince risked to be discovered told
Voldemort he could push some more. If he antagonized Harry enough to lure him
out, he would take him and would never ever let him go again. Pressing the
paper to his lips absentmindedly, the Dark Lord began plotting. There were many
ways to push the boy. And then there was this mysterious house-elf... He had to
tread wisely, carefully, for Harry was no fool, oh no, his little one was just
as smart as he himself was. However, Harry was also kind and selfless, and
could be easily manipulated because of that. Ah, how had he missed this - the
hunt. Voldemort closed his eyes and took a deep breath, imagining the smell of
rain and fresh grass - Harry's smell. Soon.
xxx
Harry knew it was very foolish of him to snap like that and send that note but
he couldn't help it. His hormones drove him mad, he never thought he could be
so angry! If it wasn't for hardly bearable pain in his body, he would have
broken his word and went straight to snakeface to beat the shit out of him. He
doubted he would ever be able to kill him, but at least punch him in his ugly
snake like face! Clutching on the locket to calm himself down, Harry started
murmuring a lullaby he never knew before, it suddenly came into his mind as
something he had forgotten many, many years ago. Perhaps, it was what his
mother sang to him? The thoughts of her and soothing words of the song
instantly cooled him down and he smiled wryly at the small kicks in his abdomen
- his child was pleased.
Two weeks had passed and Harry was surprised to find it was already November.
Nothing happened, nobody came for him, snakeface stopped attacking his mind,
but the papers were still full of horrible pictures and articles about the
wizarding towns being destroyed and people being killed for close relations
with muggles. The Ministry kept stubbornly refusing negotiations with Voldemort
and Harry thought this was going to end very badly. If they hadn't accepted
snakeface sooner or later, the muggles would notice that something was going on
and then the war between their kinds would be inevitable and everything would
go to Hell. There was no choosing between Voldemort's reign and the muggle war
- if the wizarding community wished to survive, they were ought to take the
Dark Lord's offer. But how could anybody make them see reason? Especially with
an insane megalomaniac on the loose? Harry caught himself thinking that Marvolo
could have had a good idea what to do. Marvolo. The thoughts of the dark wizard
always made him feel soothed somehow, as if his very soul whispered to him the
words he wished to hear so much but could not.
"Long afloat on shipless oceans, I did all my best to smile, 'til your singing
eyes and fingers, drew me loving to your isle," he sang again softly, caressing
the big belly and smiling at the small bumps appearing here and there, as the
child moved its legs and hands. "And you sang: sail to me, sail to me, let me
enfold you. Here I am, here I am, waiting to hold you," the warmth spread
slowly through him and Harry laughed, closing his eyes in contentment, as the
magic enveloped him in a tight, comforting embrace, as if his baby was actually
trying to hold him.
The rain showered outside, furiously banging on the windows, while Harry sat in
his armchair, holding his rounded belly, singing and trying to imagine what
would his little one look like. He often wondered how easily love came to him,
how readily he fell for the small life that was growing inside of him. He was
ready to give all of his magic away just to finally take his child into his
arms and love him or her with all his heart. Cherishing his deepest, most
fiercely guarded dream through his whole life he never imagined that one day it
would come true - somebody would love him just for being him, despite any
obstacles, despite all of his 'freakishness', somebody would see the real him
and would appreciate and treasure him more than anything in the world.
Could he ever imagine a child was capable of such strong emotions? Unborn, it
already loved him, Harry just knew it, felt it in his very core and heart.
"Did I dream you dreamed about me? Were you hare when I was fox? Now my foolish
boat is leaning, broken lovelorn on your rocks," he watched the rain and kept
singing, wishing dearly that he would be able to shield his little one from
everything evil and rotten in this most unfair, cruel life, that he would be
strong and brave enough...
What if it was born a horcrux? He had thought about it, oh yes he had, many
times during the sleepless nights, he dreaded what would happen if his child
became another Voldemort? If no matter how hard he tried it would grow up a
deceiving murderer anyway? This was his worst nightmare, his worst fear, it
made his insides twist and freeze in horror of the inevitability... He felt the
small, firm kicks again and sighed, patting on the bump that stood out right
under his navel. Harry liked to think that they would be lucky enough and the
horcrux would stay inside of him, or that he would be a good enough parent to
teach "the little Voldemort" that there were better things in life than cruelty
and pain, death, fear... Could he teach a monster to love?
"For you sing: touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow. O my heart, o my
heart shies from the sorrow..."
Was somebody like snakeface even capable of something so beautiful and pure?
Was Marvolo?
xxx
Mesmerized, Harry stared at the huge photograph on the front page of the Daily
Prophet: Dumbledore and Voldemort fighting each other at the Diagon Alley,
while Death Eaters destroyed the shops and cursed the innocents. The
headmaster's face was as hard as a stone, no muscle twitched, not once he
blinked, watching his opponent with outmost concentration. Voldemort, on the
contrary, was flashing one of his ugliest grins, full of sharp teeth, as his
slits of nostrils blew out, indicating that he was laughing. All of his
movements were mockingly lazy, as if he was absolutely invincible and didn't
try to hide it. Harry didn't like this, not one bit. Just what had made the
monster so confident, so fearless? It had been said Dumbledore was the only
person in this world snakeface was afraid of, but the picture showed otherwise.
As if on cue Harry suddenly screamed, clutching on his head as the searing pain
pierced his mind at the particularly vicious attack. No, no, no! Not again!
Harry fell back on the pillows of his bed, writhing and wailing, feeling his
brain burn.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," the cold, hissing voice echoed in his
head and he thought he felt the cold, clawed hand grab on his throat. "Harry,
Harry, it was very rude of you to run away like that. You are my horcrux, after
all, I must care for your well being."
Sensing that snakeface was winning this fight, Harry decided to let him in, to
distract him from getting to the truth. "You promised you would leave me
alone," he panted weakly, holding onto the locket as if his life depended on
this little piece of gold.
"Harry, I promised not to hurt you, but I never said I would let you escape.
You are mine," a long, sharp fingernail caressed his cheek and he realized he
had been sucked into a vision. Harry thought it looked a lot like the Forbidden
Forest, it was dark and quiet, the wind whispered so softly between the tall
trees, and only the burning ruby eyes, that hovered over him, disturbed the
peacefulness of the place. "Harry, you are mine."
"I'm fine, your horcrux is fine, see? Leave me the hell alone!" he cried,
standing up and stumbling back, away from the monster that was barely visible
against the black, pitch black sky with no stars in it.
"I sense your powers, Prince, they've grown, dramatically, I dare say. What is
the source of such a change, what is the cause?" Voldemort stepped closer and
closer, enveloping Harry into a freezing cocoon of his ice cold, oily, dark
aura. "If anything has happened to you - I must know."
"Nothing happened," shivering, he bumped into a tree and pressed his back
against it hard, praying inwardly that he would be strong enough to fool
snakeface and conceal both his belly and his child's presence, which had been
manifesting itself all the time now.
"Your letter was most disrespectful and rude," a cold hand squeezed his
shoulder, but no pain came with the touch, and Harry hesitantly opened his
eyes, surprised with its unexpected... gentleness. "I had to punish you for
throwing such a fit, Harry, I hope you would remember to behave in the future."
Was it mirth that he heard in the monster's voice?
"Why can't you stop these insane killings? Why do you make the innocents pay
for the sins of others? You are a bastard and you would never get any respect
from me!" he tried to shake the hand off of him, but it held on tightly.
"Oh? And here I thought we would be playing fair," Voldemort smiled and raised
his other hand to caress the boy's cheek. He dearly wished to kiss the rude,
dirty mouth, but knew it would be too soon, too dangerous a thing to do, Harry
wasn't ready for the truth, not yet. Oh but how hard it was to restrain himself
from assaulting the boy! How had he missed his warmth and sweet, light magic.
How had he missed his passionate glance. There was a strange gleam in the
bright green eyes, the gleam he hadn't seen before and it intrigued him. "What
are you hiding, Harry? There should be no secrets between us."
"Yeah, I've seen how that turned out," Harry batted his hand away and winced as
his wrist was caught in a painful, possessive grip. "I never asked to kill
Vernon or Umbridge, it was wrong to take revenge on them... Their blood is on
my hands now!"
Sighing, Voldemort shook his head, "No, Harry, it was the right thing to do.
They hurt you - they got what they deserved. Eye for an eye, boy, this is how
this world works and you are too young and naive to understand it yet."
"How dare you speak of justice?" Harry spat, struggling against the other's
hold. "You are an insane monster! You kill people for standing up to you! It's
what a coward does, not a conqueror!"
"You know what I want from them, I know you agree with every law I've drawn,
but, unlike you, they are blind, they can't see past their noses, for they are
just a stupid sheep, led by an idiotic government," the Dark Lord pressed his
hand to Harry's face again, rubbing on the trembling red lips with his thumb,
holding his breath at their tempting sight. "There is no other way to make them
see."
Hated, he hated that the monster's touch didn't disturb him, on the contrary,
it comforted him. Harry despised the way his heart fluttered at the icy touch
of the hand that murdered his mother, Cedric, hundreds of innocents. It was all
horcrux doing, he was telling himself, squeezing his eyes to not see the
burning coals of the ruby orbs, that practically devoured him, so hungrily they
roamed over his face.
"You're wrong," he breathed out shakily, pressing his hands against the firm
chest before him, which, as he briefly noticed, was just as broad and just at
the same hight as Marvolo's. "They would listen if you stop the bloodshed."
"They wouldn't," Voldemort laughed coldly, "They never did the last time..." He
couldn't stand the fear that he sensed coming in waves from the boy. Harry had
never been afraid of him before, not like that. "What should I do to make you
come back?"
"You wasn't that keen on keeping me close the last time," Harry bit out and
opened his eyes harshly, gobsmacked at the displeasure he could hear in his own
voice. He was going insane now, wasn't he? The bloody horcrux made him say
this! "I mean I won't come back. You promised me a normal, ordinary life - this
is what I want. A life away from you."
Smiling at the boy's tone and his lame attempt to cover it, Voldemort shook his
head, laughing quietly to himself. "Harry, Harry, it is impossible. You are
mine, you are a part of me as I am a part of you. We can't stay apart."
"I am not going to have to do anything with a crazy maniac," he growled in
response and pushed snakeface away, hastily stepping to the side, trying to get
away from the horrible, oppressing aura that made his stomach squirm in
excitement and joy. Was his child liking the monster? Or was it Harry himself
being pulled into the oh so familiar warmth he refused to imagine could exist
within somebody like Voldemort. He hated how insecure, confused the red eyed
monster made him feel. "Stay away from me!" he cried when the tall dark form
moved closer. Overwhelmed with disgust towards his own self, Harry pulled on
all of his strength and magic, forcing it to block snakeface away. The fear,
that his child was a horcrux and was hearing the call of his master soul, drove
him mad. No! He couldn't let this happen!
"Harry!" Voldemort growled warningly, but before he could grab the boy, a
blinding flash of white light stroke him into his chest and he found himself
lying on the floor of his study at Prince Manor. "Fuck," wincing, he rubbed on
his head that hurt terribly, as it had collided with the grate of the hearth
when he fell.
He stood up, swaying a little under the force of the boy's raw power and
heavily sat on his chair, massaging his pounding temples. No matter how hard
had he tried, he couldn't get into the depths of Harry's mind, couldn't find
the source of his sudden improvement and his sudden terror. His little Prince
wasn't a coward, he had never trembled in his arms like that, he had never
feared the Dark Lord so much... Knowing Harry, as he thought he could say he
did, Voldemort was certain it wasn't a fear for his life - Harry was selfless,
he was ready to stand between the Dark and the innocent people despite his
dreams of normal, undisturbed life... That was what he had been hoping for when
he invaded his mind tonight, to anger Harry, to reel him up, to make him leave
his shelter, but the boy was completely unaffected it seemed. This was
impossible.
Pouring himself a drink, Voldemort glared through the narrowed eyes at the
gryffindor tie, that appeared in his hand. Something was wrong, again. What
could have changed Harry so much, that even the abusive, horrible childhood
hadn't managed to do? He was a hero, a savior, he could readily die for another
human being, not ignore the deaths of dozens of innocents... Oh, but that was
the salt of the matter, wasn't it? The Dark Lord angrily gulped his drink down,
dropping the glass on the desk in irritation. Harry wasn't fearing for himself,
he was fearing for somebody else. Was he hiding someone? But who? Hissing
disdainfully at the unexpected jealousy, that burned in his chest, Voldemort
closed his eyes, revising everything he knew about Harry.
He didn't have many friends, all of them, as far as Severus had informed him,
were at Hogwarts, for the boy had consciously pushed them away, trying to
shield them from the war. There was nobody else. Wasn't there? How could
anybody know for sure? Was it a muggle Harry was hiding from him? Or was it
somebody who had replaced Marvolo? The mere thought of his little Prince being
in somebody else's arms enraged Voldemort and he growled menacingly, as the
objects started flying maddeningly around the room and the books left their
shelves, sending pages float chaotically all over the floor. Harry was his, he
belonged to him and him alone. Mine, mine! Fuming, Voldemort forced himself to
calm down. He had to work on the more important matters now, he couldn't let
some petty human emotions cloud his mind. After he was done with the Order and
the Ministry, he would find Harry and take him, no matter what the boy said or
wished. Nobody could have him, deserved him, but the Dark Lord.
xxx
All through the rest of November Harry had been sick, spending his days in bed,
tormented by fever and unimaginable weakness. He had never felt so helpless
before in his life. The overwhelming push of power, that he had performed in
order to escape snakeface, drained him of all his strength and health, as his
magic left him, concentrating solely on the baby. His belly was enormous in his
eyes, he thought it was too big to be normal, even though he had seen numerous
illustrations in the book that suggested otherwise. The child became
unexpectedly active and kept kicking and turning inside of him, bringing all
the more pain and suffering, exhausting him immensely. Dobby hadn't slept for
weeks, it seemed, guarding Harry every second, ready to give him a bowl for
vomit or a potion for pain any moment. The poor creature was restless, trying
in vain to feed his master, to lessen his hurting. The potion was doing as much
as keeping Harry's organs working, but they were terribly damaged, and once or
twice, in his deranged, tangled musings, Harry found himself thinking that he
needed Severus' help, he was incapable of making a new potion on his own
anymore. But it was too dangerous to call for his father. He had to carry on
like this on his own.
The first snow on the other side of his bedroom's window told Harry that winter
had finally come. Groaning pitifully at the ache that seemed to constantly
linger in his limbs, he shifted to get the newspaper from the table, where
Dobby usually left it for him. The 3d, it was already the 3d of December, he
thought feverishly, squinting at the blurry letters. He had completely lost the
track of time. All of his days and nights were now spent in a haze of vague,
disturbing dreams he feared could turn into a vision any time and he wouldn't
be able to shield himself and the child from Voldemort's unstoppable force. But
snakeface hadn't tried to get in touch with him again and Harry couldn't help
but feel a paranoid suspicion that the bastard was plotting something. A
particularly hard kick in his abdomen made him jerk and oomph in pain and he
scowled at the bump that was his child's little foot, "You little brat, stop
this instant!" He felt he could hardly take it any longer and there was so much
more ahead of him. How did women stand it all?
In those dreams he often saw a little boy with a mop of chestnut hair and a
pair of bright green eyes, smiling at him affectionately, making a small dimple
appear on his chin. Was it his child? Was it his little son reaching out for
him? The tired tears ran down his cheeks, as Harry caressed his belly, feeling
for the little feet and fists that pushed against his skin, rubbing on them
soothingly. He was Marvolo's carbon copy, wasn't he? Harry couldn't decide if
he loved it or hated it, for the more he thought about the dark wizard, the
more hollow he felt. They couldn't be together, no matter how much he wished
it, could they? Not with Voldemort waiting for an opportunity to catch him and
make him a prisoner again, and something was telling Harry he wouldn't enjoy it
as much as he had had the last time. The longer he put away telling Marvolo
about the baby, the more he doubted he should do it at all. The man might have
wanted him but did he want a child? From Harry Potter, no less? Snorting
resentfully to himself, Harry glared at the snowflakes, that were slowly
falling outside. He loathed how grumpy and snarky his hormones had made him,
for he resembled Snape more than ever now, but there was no potion for a bad
temper. He was torn between the burning desire to be held and loved and an
itching to punch Marvolo in his beautiful face he hadn't properly seen even
once.
"Master Harry?" he heard Dobby call tentatively and turned to look at the elf.
"You should read this," the small creature held a newspaper out for him and
Harry forced a small smile to stretch his lips, taking the offered paper. He
hated how miserable Dobby became because of him and dearly hoped everything
would change for the better when his baby was born.
'YOU-KNOW-WHO ATTACKS WIZENGAMOT MEMBERS! THE FIRST DARK BILL PASSED!' Harry
barely made out the words. The first dark bill? Rubbing on his puffy, wet eyes,
he looked closer at the article. Voldemort had attacked during the session, at
which the wizards and witches were trying to decide if they should have asked
for help from abroad, and threatened to kill every one of them unless one of
his bills was taken in consideration, read and fairly voted for. With an
advantage of 19 votes against 18 the "Dark Bill" passed. Ironically, snakeface
made them pass the legislation that banned half of the members from the court
and deprived them of the right to vote, due to their heritage or crimes. Thus,
all the muggleborns and grafters were casted away and specifically chosen
purebloods took their places. Frowning, Harry dropped the paper in his lap.
Well, that was some kind of a progress, wasn't it? At least nobody died. It was
also said that, surprisingly and most uncharacteristically, Dumbledore was
absent during the session, which was why, as many believed, nobody had dared to
oppose Voldemort. Was their faith in the old headmaster so strong or were they
truly just as weak, stupid and cowardly as snakeface describe them? Sighing,
Harry paged through the issue, annoyed that Voldemort was right, always right,
even if he acted like a madman.
xxx
After his first bill had passed and a few of his Death Eaters took their places
in court, Voldemort had no doubt that soon all of his legislations would be
accepted. There was no way out of this for the british wizarding community, the
other ministries had no wish whatsoever to deal with the most dangerous Dark
Lord of the generation, who kept coming back to life and killing his own kind
in order to achieve his goals. He could get rid of Fudge, of course, but that
would have been fruitless, for the little fat Minister hardly had any influence
in the society - Dumbledore was the big fish Voldemort aimed for. But now was
not the time, not yet. Severus kept reporting about old coot's every
disappearance, his every move - just as he had anticipated, the wizard had been
waisting his time hunting for the horcruxes. As far as he knew, Dumbledore was
traveling around and meeting different people from his past, hoping to get any
information on what vessels had he used and where had he hidden them. That was
playing out perfectly for his plans - the last Wizengamot session was an
obvious enough example.
No matter how hard had he worked and how much time had he given politics and
his goals, the thoughts of Harry never once left his mind, lingering there as a
heavy weight, popping up at the most inconvenient of times. Ever since December
began, Voldemort couldn't help but feel apprehensive, depressed. Severus had
examined him multiple times but every time appeared ignorant to what was the
cause of his discomfort. However, the Dark Lord knew his potions master very
well and sensed, intuitively, perhaps, that the man had his own theory, but
couldn't say it aloud. Everything led to the blasted secret that Harry kept
from him, the damned vow Severus was bound with, the bloody reason he and Harry
were separated. He knew, he knew his condition was connected with Harry's, with
his horcrux. The little Prince was suffering, but from what? Not knowing galled
him, Harry's silence angered him - why couldn't he simply contact his own
father and ask for help? Once again he thought back on the house-elf that the
boy took in. Voldemort ordered Easy to find him and try and trace him back to
his master or, at least, get some information out of him. To his great
disappointment, his elf was unsuccessful. Who was Harry protecting from him and
why was it so... painful for him? Idiotic boy.
A knocking came from behind the door and Voldemort flicked his wrist to open
it, not looking up from the papers on the desk before him. He knew it was
Severus - who else could it be in Prince Manor? Only Lucius was allowed to come
through the wards but the blonde wizard was at the Ministry at this time of
day. "Yes?" his finger tapped on the wooden surface impatiently.
"Dumbledore came back from his latest trip, my lord," Severus bowed and came
closer. When the blood red eyes finally locked with his, he continued, "His
left hand is black as a coal." He knew what it meant - the headmaster got into
his master's trap at last and his death was only a matter of months, for there
was no cure even if the Dark Lord would have given him all the necessary
information about the poison.
Voldemort's face brightened and his plump rose lips stretched into a brilliant,
triumphant grin. "Finally!" He dropped his quill and rubbed his hands
excitedly, inwardly swearing in satisfaction. At last the old goat would
suffer! "Whatever he does, however hard he begs or threatens with vows, never
agree to kill him and alleviate his pain - he must live through it fully, until
the very end," he added seriously, giving the potions master a pointed glare.
"Yes, my lord." Severus wasn't going to, anyway. Let the old fool suffer.
"Perfect, perfect," the Dark Lord murmured, tapping on his dimpled chin in
wonder. "Any news from Harry?" Oh, Severus knew that look.
The closer the time came to delivery, the more impatient and restless his
master became. Having had connected all the dots already, the potions master
could easily conclude just how hard for Harry was his condition, how much he
suffered from the child but the boy hadn't once contacted him again and he
waited. He was almost certain that the child was Voldemort's, he had no
physical proof, but it all was there, on the man's face, in the man's actions -
he was the Death Eater Harry said he had slept with and judging by his lord's
obsession with the boy, they had done it more than once. The Dark Lord fell for
Harry, fell hard. If Severus hadn't known better, he would have thought
Voldemort was in love, but his rational mind refused to acknowledge such
possibility - his master was incapable of such emotions, otherwise he would
have never become who he was today.
"None, my lord."
Voldemort's face darkened and he clicked his tongue in annoyance. Rubbing on
his chest absentmindedly, for he had been feeling a constant hurting inside it
for the last two weeks, he scowled at the potions master, "It is the 20th of
December already, I've been sensing his pain for almost a whole month now. What
is happening to him?"
"I can't say, my lord, forgive me," Severus bowed his head. In all honesty, he
was getting tired of all this secrecy and constant tension.
He prayed that Harry would call for him soon, for there was no choosing between
his life and the life of the child - Severus' own depended on Harry's well
being. That was what he was telling himself, though deep, deep inside, he felt
just as apprehensive and pained as his lord. He hated that he cared so much.
For both Harry and their unborn heir. Could he really choose between them?
Would Harry ever forgive him for that? He had forgiven him the worst sins ever
imagined, but would he forgive him for that? Would he even survive to blame
him?
"I would have used Legilimency on you and would have gladly destroyed your mind
just to get to the bottom of this, but I value you too much, Severus,"
Voldemort looked at him with such intensity that the potions master couldn't
help but flinched a little, practically feeling the scratching in his head. But
that was only his imagination, his lord had averted his eyes and was burning
down the bronze figurine that stood on his desk - it melted fast under his
heavy glare and soon only a small puddle of liquid metal was left sizzling on
the wooden surface, dropping down onto the floor. The Dark Lord was on the
edge, Severus knew the signs.
"If only I could, I would have told you everything, my lord."
Since he thought the man was the child's father, he saw no point in hiding it
from him. He had the right to have it, besides, who could protect it and Harry
better than Voldemort? It was still very hard to wrap his mind around the fact
that it was his grandchild, who was the heir of the Dark Lord and Severus
pushed the thought away, locking it up in the farthest corner of his mind. He
would think of it later, much, much later.
"Yes, I know." Voldemort stood up and moved to stand at the window, watching
the wet snow fall from the heavy, grey sky and turn into rain before touching
the dump, muddy ground. He always hated Decembers for the awful weather, for
the cold, for the fact that it was the month of his birth. Worst time of year,
when all the wizards and witches, and muggles for that matter, prepare to
celebrate their idiotic holidays and play the games of being the model happy
families and good friends, while he had spent his whole childhood and youth
watching them through his orphanage's windows, or from his place at the empty
slytherin table during the winter break at Hogwarts. He used to envy them for
having what he could never have. Now he simply despised them and their petty
entertainment. "Don't forget about our planned raid on the Christmas day," he
turned to the potions master, "If it is impossible for you to get out of the
school - send Lucius the necessary potions."
"Yes, my lord," Severus wished to participate, but the Order was planning to
keep guard at the Diagon Alley and he doubted he would be able to trick them
this time. Knowing what a dismissal looked like, he bowed and left the study,
letting out a breath outside he didn't know he had been holding. His master was
most dangerous now. If only he could find Harry and talk to him. At least he
knew the boy was alive - the Dark Lord was his walking indicator of Harry's
state of health.
xxx
Harry didn't know what day it was, what time, he simply stared at the wet snow
slipping down the glass of his window, not registering what he was seeing. He
had spent god knew how many days in terrible fever, his head was pounding, his
eyes stung and he thought his guts were going to fall out of him, so heavy was
the fetus, so hard it pushed down on his insides. Holding his hands around his
enormous belly, Harry wondered deliriously if this baby was as ordinary as he
wished it to be. It was too big, it was too strong, too active, his magic
wouldn't listen to him anymore - the fetus drained him to the very last drop.
The child's dark aura was very clear now, it fed on him and sometimes, in a
bout of hysteria, Harry even thought he hated his little son, for he was a
little monster, eating him from the inside. A monster. How come that all his
life he had been surrounded only by the greedy, filthy, horrible monsters? Even
his own baby... No, no, no. Shaking his head and grabbing on the windowsill for
balance, Harry tried to pull himself together. His son is not a monster, he is
an ordinary boy, an ordinary dark wizard.
He raised his puffy, tearful eyes and squinted at the bright snow outside. He
had been so hot lately, so very hot, he couldn't stay in his bed anymore, he
thought it was set on fire. Looking around the room, Harry realized he saw
smoke. Or was it dust? No, Dobby would have never let the dirt linger around.
Oh, but it was so hot inside. Moaning at the pain in every cell of his body,
holding his hands firmly pressed against the walls, he slowly walked out of the
room and into the hall. It was so quiet here, so dark and so fucking hot.
"I need air," he wheezed to himself, clutching on his sore throat. Was he
screaming in pain yesterday? Or was it today? Was it morning or evening?
Gritting his teeth at another wave of searing pain, that washed over him and
churned his insides, Harry stumbled forward, moving closer to the door that led
into the backyard. An inch by inch, a step by step... "Little bastard," he
whispered to his abdomen, scowling and twisting his lips at the violent kicks.
The baby had been absolutely unbearable lately, exhausting him beyond
imagination. "Planning to kill me, are you? Couldn't make it before, decided to
finish me now, hm, Voldemort?" Oh he hated it, he hated this child. It was
evil, pure evil, it was just as bloodthirsty as the maniac whose soul it kept
inside. He was bearing a monster, a little beast.
Pushing the door wide open, Harry stepped outside, groaning pitifully at the
sensation of wet, freezing cold snow under his bare feet. He felt as if he was
burning at the stake, like a witch caught by the Inquisition, he could have
sworn he saw the flames, just now, licking on his ankles.
"So fucking hot," he breathed out, shivering under the snowflakes that quickly
turned into raindrops. "Fucking irish weather."
Harry jerked and screamed at the sudden piercing pain, that seemed to cut
through his stomach. He never felt anything so terribly hurting before. Falling
down on his hands and knees, he retched bile mixed with blood, crying at the
unbearable, sharp blows that were delivered out of nowhere it seemed. He
couldn't see the white snow, everything was red and black in his eyes. Scared,
he tried to rub on them, tried to get his sight back but fell on his side, as
dull, swift stabs pierced through his back and chest. Crying out hoarsely, he
clutched on his abdomen, scratching on the stretched skin, feeling his baby
kicking and banging on it furiously, trying to get out. No, it is too early!
With this last coherent thought, Harry lost his conscious, as his mind went
completely black and his back arched in another rush of pain, worse than any
cruciatus.
xxx
On the 31st of December Severus wasn't supposed to leave the school - being one
of the few teachers left to chaperone the many students, who stayed at the
castle, his presence was necessary to keep the order while the headmaster was
once again away on his horcrux hunt. However, after the particularly bloody
Christmas Day, during which both sides had lost many men, and five more days of
mourning, Dumbledore had suddenly returned during breakfast and personally
offered Severus to leave and spend time amongst the celebrating Death Eaters.
After the unexpectedly vicious attack the Order and the Ministry were in a
state of hysteria and welcomed any tiniest piece of information regarding the
Dark Lord's plans. For once, in many years, Severus was going to spend the New
Year's Day not in the company of the imbecilic students, but his comrades,
relax and drink as much as he wanted. Anticipating a very nice evening at
Malfoy Manor, he quickly warded his office and left through the headmaster's
fireplace.
Due to the secrecy of the Dark Lord's true identity, Lucius had turned the
usual social gathering into a masquerade, and Severus had to blink a few times
before his eyes could adjust to the bright light of the ballroom, crammed with
a hundred guests - all richly dressed, wearing shining gold and silver masks.
Raising his eyebrows sarcastically at the view, the potions master put on his
own silver mask in a form of a crow and glided past the many perfumed bodies
straight to the bar. A good old champagne for a starter. Humming to himself in
satisfaction, Severus sipped on his drink, savouring its sweet taste, and
leaned against the pillar to watch the crowd. No mistake could be made at the
sight of the tall form cladded in crimson and black - Voldemort towered over
most of the guests with his great height, moving swiftly amongst them, wearing
a brilliant smile on his handsome face, charming and seducing, bewitching.
His face was hidden behind the very same golden mask he wore when he and Harry
lived together at his father's manor, and his eyes were once again glamoured to
look brown instead of red. Voldemort loathed all kinds of social celebrations
and salons, but knew it was politically beneficial and kept flashing grins all
around himself, thinking of Harry only, involuntarily staring at every dark
haired, pale skinned wizard. Today he felt particularly terrible, sick, his
hands trembled, which was something new - this had never happened to him
before, he had never been so nervous, so restless. Thinking it to be
ridiculous, the Dark Lord couldn't help but hear the other part of his soul
calling out for him. If only he knew where to look, he would have already held
Harry in his arms. He needed his little Prince.
When his eyes fell on Severus' form, he jerked imperceptibly at the small pang
in his heart - the resemblance between father and son was inconceivable. They
were so much alike, both on the outside and on the inside, only Harry had the
advantage of being purer, innocent. Voldemort still remembered the day the
potions master came to him to be recruited as a Death Eater, still remembered
the black hatred that filled the young heart of the hotheaded but,
nevertheless, brilliant teenager. The hatred against his peers, who treated him
like scum, the abhorrence towards the particular gryffindors that abused him
and took his woman away from him, the all-consuming hatred against his father,
who made his life a living Hell and took his mother from him. Severus', his and
Harry's past was so similar in so many aspects, it would have been ridiculous
if it wasn't so devastating. At least Harry had his father now. No matter how
hard the snarky potions master tried to show that he didn't care, Voldemort
knew better. Severus's greatest gift was his loyalty which he never gave
freely, but he was loyal to his son, even if he himself hadn't acknowledged
that yet. It was obvious that Harry would change him, was already changing him.
The little Prince was special, priceless, and his. Was Harry going to change
him as well?
Brushing the small beads of sweat off of his forehead, Voldemort kept walking
around the room, seething at the unusual, frustrating worry he was
experiencing. Something was happening, Harry was sick, he could practically
feel it in his very bones, but he had no idea what was the cause of the boy's
misery. Gulping down water, for the sight of alcohol made the bile rise up in
his throat, the Dark Lord pressed against the cool wall in a shadowed corner,
panting, thinking that his heart might burst out of his chest - so fast it
beat, so furiously it banged against his ribcage. When his head started
spinning, Voldemort knew he needed Severus. Fainting in front of the Death
Eaters and important guests would be most inconvenient. Taking deep, calming
breaths, he moved to find the potions master but only saw his hastily
retreating back. Narrowing his eyes in nagging suspicion, he quickly followed.
He could see a small elf tugging on the hem of Severus' robe, dragging him out
of the room, gesturing frantically and crying.
There could be no doubt - it was Harry's servant. But before Voldemort could
throw a tracking spell, or stun the little creature, or call Severus, the
potions master grabbed on the elf's small hand and the two of them disappeared,
leaving only a silver mask to lie on the floor in the empty, dimly lit hall.
Swearing under his breath, Voldemort kicked it and stormed out and into the
other, deserted wing, crashing all the mirrors and vases on his way by simply
glaring at them. An hour, he was going to give Severus one hour and then he
would call for him through the mark. It was impossible to trace him now, he
would be isolated by the wards that Harry was hiding behind. He reached out for
the boy... His shields were down. As was his mind. Harry was unconscious. Fuck,
fuck, fuck! He threw himself into the dusty old armchair and trained his
ominously gleaming blood red eyes on the fire, that came to life in an empty
hearth. One hour.
xxx
Severus stumbled and barely stopped himself from colliding with a wall.
"Dobby!"
"Dobby so sorry, master Prince! But Dobby worried about master Harry! He don't
eat, don't sleep, he say his child is evil and asks to put out the fire! Master
Prince," the elf threw himself at Severus, smearing his tears and snot all over
his robes, "Please, help him!"
"Fine, fine, show me to his rooms," he muttered, inwardly trembling at the
thought that Harry could easily lose his sanity. There was no telling what the
child would do to him. It was fortunate that Dobby turned out to be a rather
independent, clever elf and thought of calling for him before it was too late.
Fever was a bad sign. It could mean anything, it could be even infection.
They stormed into the bedroom, that Dobby had put up on the first floor for
Harry, so that the boy didn't have to walk up and down the stairs. But it was
empty. Wet, tangled sheets lay crumpled on the floor, a pillow was torn to
shreds and the feathers stuck to every surface. "Master Harry!" the elf cried
hysterically, wriggling his small hands in desperation.
Turning on his heels, Severus hastily walked down the hall, bursting the doors
wide open with a flick of his wrists, but Harry was nowhere to be seen. If what
Dobby had told him about the boy's condition was true, then he couldn't get too
far. Getting angrier and more impatient, nervous, the potions master barked out
his son's name in his usual, professor's tone but no answer came. A blow of
cold wind caught his attention and Severus turned to see the garden door
standing slightly ajar.
"Harry!"
He lay on the ground, unconscious, as the snow around him was gradually turning
pink from the blood. In a flash Severus darted towards him and fell on his
knees beside his motionless body. Harry was barely breathing, his skin was hot
as fire and his pulse was uneven, too weak to last any longer. But his belly
was enormous! Severus was no specialist when it came to pregnancies and women's
health in general, but even he knew that such size was unnatural. It looked
even more astonishing against Harry's exhausted, thin form. His cheeks became
hollow and the skin wrapped his bones as if he was drained of all the fat and
meat, and blood. The child was worse than a parasite, it ate the boy both
physically and magically. Pressing his fingers to Harry's throat, feeling for
the pulse, Severus waved his wand over his body, breathing deeply, fighting his
own panic that seemed to be grabbing on his throat and depriving him of oxygen.
"Dobby! Get my bag from the cupboard in the back of the office, now!" he
shouted, dropping his wand and grabbing on Harry's clothes.
Tearing his long shirt apart, he stared at the enlarged stomach and stretched
skin, covered in scratches and bruises - both father and child had been trying
to get rid of each other, it seemed. Shedding his own robes, Severus pulled the
sleeves of his white shirt up and continued undressing the boy. He couldn't
move him inside before he stopped the bleeding, the cause of which he couldn't
find. Pushing down the boy's sweatpants, he winced at the sight. Of course. His
insides were giving out under the weight and painful kicks of the fetus.
"We have to do it now, Harry," he muttered more to himself, than to his son, as
he took a small knife out of his pocket and unfolded it, biting his lips in
apprehension and fear. He had to cut the boy open and take the child out,
otherwise, no matter what he did, Harry's organs would be damaged beyond repair
and he would bleed to death.
Squeezing his eyes shut and taking a deep, shuddering breath, Severus looked up
at his son's face. Harry was so pale, barely warmer in colour than the snow
itself, his once again long raven hair were spread all around his head as a
halo, his red lips looked like a harsh wound on his ghostlike, waxen face and a
small stream of scarlet blood traced the curve of his jaw, flowing down his
neck and onto his weak, thin chest. Severus thought he looked like a Snow White
from a fairy tale his mother used to read him in bed.
Snapping out of his stupor, berating himself for being the soft idiot that he
was, Severus let out a muffled cry and plunged the short blade into the huge
belly, slashing across the flesh and groaning at the sight of blood that poured
out of the cut. He heard the elf drop his bag next to him but never looked up,
concentrated on Harry only.
"Pour the green vial into his mouth and make him swallow it."
Gaging, he spread the sides of the belly and bit his tongue in shock, at the
sight of a completely normal, if a little too big, infant lying in a womb he
had cut open. It was alive and looked healthy, breathing deeply and calmly, as
its arms and legs jerked sightly at the unusual freedom. With shaking hands the
potions master took it out, staring at the small boy, that was his grandchild.
He looked older than he was supposed to, Severus noticed absentmindedly, around
two, maybe, three months old.
"Take it inside, wash it and wrap in something," he pushed the infant into
Dobby's hands and grabbed his wand. Harry's insides were a mess. He had to work
quickly, before the boy died of the blood loss. "Hold on, Harry, hold on."
He had never felt so scared in his life before. He had seen wounds and injures
from curses that were much more uglier and difficult than the ones that Harry
had, but the mere notion that a child did this... Severus couldn't wrap his
mind around it. How could Harry stand this? Why hadn't he called for him
sooner! Why hadn't he gotten rid of it? It was obvious the child was going to
kill him, hadn't he had any sense of self-preservation? Of course he hadn't, he
was a bloody Harry Potter.
"Idiot! I would have killed you if you weren't standing at death's door
already!"
Putting the last healing and restorative spells on the boy's guts, he hastily
sewed his cut belly and poured the double dose of blood-replenishing potion
into his throat. Slumped over Harry's form, Severus watched him, listening
closely to his breathing, as his fingers were firmly pressed against the
artery. The pulse was weak, but stable. Nodding to himself and licking his lips
uncertainly, the potions master gathered Harry into his arms and stood up,
closing his eyes resentfully at the sight of the huge spot of red, melted snow.
So much blood was lost, he couldn't help but doubt that Harry would make it.
Laying him down into the freshly changed bed, Severus involuntarily rearranged
the long wet locks that stuck to Harry's sweated forehead. The boy looked so
weak, so young, too young to be made to go through such horror. He sat down
next to him, holding his awfully thin wrist, counting after the seldom beats of
the heart, caressing the pale, hollow cheek with his other hand. It took a very
brave and a very foolish man to do something like this - to give his own life
for the child that was destroying him. But what would have Severus done, were
he in Harry's place? Shuddering, he brushed the weird thoughts away - no, he
wouldn't think of this ever again, thank you very much.
"Master Prince?" he heard Dobby's meek call and turned to look at him. The elf
sat on the other side of the bed with a bundle of sheets in his small arms,
amongst which a child lay, sleeping peacefully. Twisting his lips in disdain at
the sight of it, he raised an inquiring eyebrow at the creature. "What are we
to do with child, sir? It is very dark, but it loves master Harry and master
Harry loves it."
"I know it is," Severus bit out, looking at the infant again.
Yes, the boy was older than he was supposed to be. Apparently, Harry's magic
was so strong, so powerful, it gave the fetus a growing spurt and caused so
much damage as a result. The baby looked around three months old, with pale but
healthy looking, pinkish skin, a mop of thick, chestnut hair and a tiny dimple
on his chin which Severus knew exactly where had come from.
"Feed it and care for it, we'll see how would it behave." He couldn't kill the
Dark Lord's child even if he wanted to. Harry would never forgive him, he would
never forgive himself. For, despite the repugnance he felt towards the child,
he couldn't help but steal the quick glances at its small form, at its soft
skin, small, clutched fists, plump red lips - just like Harry's. He wondered if
his eyes were also green. Stop it, it almost killed the boy!
Growling lowly to himself, Severus turned away and once again concentrated on
Harry. His chest was rising more often now, and the pulse became a little
faster. Having had waved his wand again and read the runes, the potions master
let out a groan of relief. Harry was magically exhausted, but not completely,
as he had thought at first, his magic was slowly coming back to him, supporting
his organs. He was going to recover soon. "I will leave potions at his table,
give each one of them every two hours. I need to brew some more at my
laboratory," Severus told Dobby, pouring the contents of another vial into
Harry's throat and rubbing on it gently to help him swallow. "I will be back
soon."
Standing up and pointedly ignoring the small boy, who had woken up and was
looking at him, whimpering softly, Severus looked around for his robe and
hissed suddenly, as the sharp pain pierced his left arm. His lord was summoning
him and he was fucking angry. Sighing tiredly, the potions master decided he
didn't care for the damned robe and walked out of the room. He halted at the
threshold, remembering briefly that he wanted to ask Dobby where the hell was
this place.
"Dobby, where does Harry live?"
"Belfast, sir," the little elf said, rocking the baby soothingly in his arms,
looking very comfortable in his new role of a babysitter.
"Belfast..." Severus drawled, feeling as all of his pent-up frustration and
fear were finally subsiding. "Fucking Belfast," he shook his head and suddenly
burst into a loud, rich laughter, leaning onto the doorframe for balance, as
his whole body shook in a bout of hysteria. "Unbelievable! Only Harry could
choose Belfast of all the places!" he stammered through the short barks of
laughter, brushing the tears of mirth out of his reddened eyes. Prince Manor
was situated twenty kilometers north to the city of Belfast. All this time
Harry had been hiding right under their noses.
xxx
A/N: note that the lyrics of the lullaby used in this chapter are taken from
Tim Buckley's song "Song to the Siren"
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter VIII
Staring at the ceiling, Voldemort lay in the armchair, rubbing on his chest,
listening to the pounding of blood in his ears. His legs went numb and he
breathed slowly, frantically trying to calm himself down. He thought Harry
died, but now, as he was gradually coming back to his senses, he could feel his
horcrux. Its call was too weak, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
Swallowing the hard lump in his throat, he let out a low groan of relief. He
had never felt so bad, so helpless in his life, except for the time when his
spirit was forced out of his body. But even then, the pain was quick, well
numbed by the hollow state, that barely resembled existence. What he was
experiencing now was long, tormenting, human. It was fear, wasn't it? He was
scared shitless for the first time ever since he had graduated from Hogwarts
and become an adult. He thought he had forgotten what it was like to be afraid,
having had hidden all of his horrible childhood memories very deep and far away
in his mind.
Harry almost died, he felt it, he knew it, as if his very soul had been torn
out of him again and placed back inside by some invisible force. The hell was
happening? Why was his little Prince suffering so much, hadn't he destroyed
everyone who could ever hurt him? Blindly pulling his wand out of his sleeve,
he pushed its tip against his left arm, scratching on the unmarred skin,
hissing Severus' name in parseltongue. He never needed another mark to call for
his followers, they were bound to his magic, that surged through his veins, but
they could never know about that. An hour had passed – he wanted answers.
"My lord," Severus' hoarse voice came from the threshold a few minutes later.
Turning to face him, Voldemort widened his ruby eyes in shock at the sight of
the potions master's hands and shirt - they were soaked wet with blood, that he
knew was Harry's.
"Will he live?" He heard his own voice, that sounded hollow and distant,
foreign, as he kept staring at the scarlet colour, standing out starkly against
the white fabric and almost equally white skin. A mesmerizing image.
"Yes," Severus said simply. Looking at his lord's face now he couldn't help but
think back on the child, that was the man's carbon copy. Once again he caught
himself wondering if the boy's eyes were green.
"And you can't tell me what happened, can you." It wasn't a question. The Dark
Lord was seething, slowly gaining back his natural pale colour instead of the
sickly green. "Severus, I am fucking tired of this."
As am I. "I understand, my lord. I will find a way. It all depends on Harry,
really," Severus drawled, trying to calm the tremor in his hands. The horror
and exhaustion from everything that had happened was slowly coming at him and
he knew he needed to lie down, otherwise he would faint and would be as good as
dead, while Harry needed the potions, as soon as possible.
"Just tell me," Voldemort stood up, swaying a little, and narrowed his blood
red eyes at the potions master, "Is it someone else he is hiding, trying to
protect?"
Wonderful. No matter what he would say, his master would be furious. "Yes," he
sighed helplessly.
"A man, a woman? Had this person harmed him?" He knew it! How easily had Harry
banished Marvolo out of his heart, how easily had broken his promise. Severus
perplexed expression brought him out of his jealous musings and he furrowed his
brow in frustration. "Well?"
What was he supposed to say? The bloody vow! "This person had harmed him,
unintentionally, if I may say so..." He felt as if he was five again and was
trying to make up a believable story about just who had broken his mother's
magical mirror. Most ridiculous position he had ever found himself in. "It is a
man but there is nothing... sexual between them." Great, Severus, great, better
lie down right now before he threw a cruciatus at you and you broke a few
bones.
This all was most confusing and Voldemort felt he was getting angrier and
angrier with every second. "How long will his recovery take?" It was pointless
to go after Harry now, but as soon as he was safe and sound... No more waiting.
"Three weeks at least." This was the truth, Severus thought with relief.
"Three weeks it is, then," the Dark Lord nodded and came very close,
practically nose to nose with the potions master. "You will take me there or I
will forget about how much I value you, Severus," the inflamed blood red eyes
searched his face, so merciless, so cold, that Severus could only swallow hard
and nod in understanding.
xxx
His eyelids felt as heavy as rocks and he desperately wished to rub on them, to
lessen their weight, but his hands just wouldn't move, numb and motionless, his
fingers ached, being curled for so long. A cool, tasteless liquid suddenly
poured into his mouth, pleasantly coating his dry, hot tongue, slowly slipping
down his sore, constricted throat. Sighing, Harry relaxed his muscles and
sharply came to consciousness, as his body jerked at the overwhelming sensation
of the prolonged tension finally subsiding. He opened his eyes, blinking
heavily, wincing at the bright morning light, or, at least, he thought it was
morning. He couldn't remember what had happened, the last thing he knew was
snow - he stood amongst the painfully white snow and his scarlet blood floated
down on it so beautifully... He heard rustling somewhere on his left and soft,
uneven whining, that seemed very familiar, even though he had no idea what it
was. Stretching his fingers, frowning at the unpleasant prickling under his
skin, Harry slowly moved his hands over to his abdomen, to check on the baby.
But his belly was... gone. Widening his eyes in horror, he jerked to sit up and
look at himself, but somebody's strong hold stopped him.
"It's alright, master Harry, you cans not sit yet, you must lie and rest."
Dobby. His little friend.
"B-ba-by," Harry managed to whisper, stammering, as his tongue and dry, numb
lips refused to obey him.
"Baby is fine, healthy and beautiful!" the elf chirped happily, patting him on
the shoulder and tucking him back under the covers. "You is too weak to hold
him yet."
His child was born. Frowning, Harry tried to understand how had it happened. He
couldn't have given birth, the womb wasn't his, wasn't natural, how could he
have taken it out? "H-how?" he croaked, rolling his eyes wildly around, trying
hard to see anything beside the bright light and the canopy of the bed.
"Dobby is bad elf, master Harry, very bad elf, Dobby called master Prince when
you said you would kill the baby!" the little creature cried, clutching on his
hand and covering it with fat tears.
Had he said that? Oh fuck! "It's fine, Dobby," he strained his muscles to speak
coherently, "You did the right thing."
Severus had delivered the child. And, apparently, saved his life, again.
Squeezing his eyes and groaning at the pain in his stiffened neck, Harry turned
his head to the left, from where he thought he heard Dobby speak. Squinting, as
he looked up at the little creature seated beside him, he instantly noticed a
bundle of sheets with a pair of tiny, plump hands sticking out of it, grabbing
on the empty air. Feeling as his heartbeat had quickened, Harry couldn't help
but gasp at the sight. A sob escaped his lips and tears of pain, exhaustion and
relief burst out of his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. How could he even
dare to think of killing his little one?
"Let me see him," he whined, crying, and shifted closer, ignoring the sharp
pain, that surged through his body. The little elf didn't object, but helped
him roll on his side, carefully pushing the pillows behind his back and
underneath his stomach. Harry's trembling hand slowly reached out and pulled on
the sheets to clear the view. He was so small and impossibly beautiful. "Oh
god." Harry couldn't help but weep loudly, shaking all over in a hysterical
bout of overwhelming happiness.
His son, his little boy was finally here, lying next to him and smiling. How
was it possible to hate such a wonderful, innocent, defenseless human being?
Harry caressed the boy's cheek, marveling at its softness. The baby squeaked
happily under his touch and a huge, stupid grin stretched Harry's face as his
heart sang at the sounds that came out of his son's chest. Not really thinking
about what he was doing, he pulled the bundle close to his chest and pushed his
hand underneath the sheets to stroke the boy's warm chest and stomach, laughing
and crying at the baby's pleased gurgling. The bright green eyes were watching
him with such warmth and love, Harry thought his heart would break, so elated,
ecstatic he felt. He stroked the wavy chestnut hair, burying his nose in it,
inhaling deeply the sweet scent of his little one, who wriggled excitedly at
their close contact. The more he touched the boy, the more addicted he felt, it
was like touching pure magic, pure miracle. Harry pressed his lips against the
baby's forehead and sobbed again, already knowing that no matter what had
happened and what was going to happen, he would never let anyone hurt his son.
Covering the happily squeaking boy with featherlight kisses, Harry enveloped
him in a tight embrace, crying softly as he couldn't believe the gift the Fate
had graced him with.
"You are so beautiful," he whispered, kissing the tiny dimple on the baby's
chin, and nuzzled his nose into the boy's neck, enjoying his warmth and
wonderful smell. He felt the small hands clutch on his long hair and tug on it
lightly, as the child yawned and instantly fell asleep, snoring softly into
Harry's ear. "My son, my little boy."
This was how Severus found Harry, embracing the child, that had almost killed
him, and smiling in his sleep, with his forehead pressed against the boy's,
whose peaceful face looked most angelic. Who would have thought that he was the
heir of the Dark Lord? Sighing, Severus waved his wand over Harry and hummed,
satisfied with his progress. He wasn't going to stand up and walk just yet, but
his organs were slowly recovering and regenerating. He could finally eat,
instead of being given nutrition potions.
"Severus?" He looked up and met the unfocused, sleepy, green eyes of his son,
who was too weak to hold his head up and could only turn it a little to the
side. Sitting down next to him, the potions master leaned forward so that Harry
could see him, and placed his palm over the boy's forehead. It was warm, but
not alarmingly so, the fever was finally gone. "Thank you," Harry whispered,
smiling at him so softly, so gratefully, that Severus had to look away and
purse his lips to gain control over his own emotions. He had almost lost him,
if it wasn't for Dobby...
"You are an idiot, Harry," he gritted through clenched teeth, still holding his
hand on the boy's head. "How could you be so reckless? You should have called
for me as soon as you started feeling weak!"
"I know." Tears rolled down his cheeks, as Harry squeezed his eyes in shame and
sorrow. "I couldn't think straight, I was afraid."
"You know I would have never hurt you or... him," Severus stole a quick glance
at the sweetly snoring infant in his son's arms, holding the Slytherin locket
firmly in his small, plump fingers. He sensed the child's aura, it was dark, he
was powerful, obviously, but there was nothing else. He never met another
horcrux apart from Harry and couldn't know how to distinguish if the boy was
one of them.
"Yes, I know," Harry sighed and raised one of his weak hands to hold Severus'.
He squeezed the potion stained fingers ever so slightly and guided his father's
hand over to his little one, making it touch the small, soft cheek. "Just look
at him, isn't he a miracle?"
Severus wanted to snatch his hand away, but as soon as his skin connected with
the infant's, he found he couldn't do it. The child was so soft and warm, and
so... familiar to the touch, so dear. Was it what Harry felt holding him? Was
it what Lily took from him when she hid the fact that Harry was his? Was it
what he should have felt towards Harry during all these seventeen years - this
impossible warmth in his chest and the pleasant flutter of his heart?
"I suppose he is."
The little boy opened his eyes and looked straight at the potions master, as if
he had heard his words. His eyes were just as brilliantly green as Harry's.
Severus wondered if he should tell Harry the truth about the mysterious father,
but seeing his son's happy smile and adoring look, addressed to the baby, he
decided against it. It wasn't the time yet, it would only break Harry's heart
and he had had enough on his plate lately. He was given three weeks of peace,
after all.
"You will love him, Severus, I promise," Harry whispered, smiling at his
father, whose hand was stroking the chestnut hair absentmindedly, as the baby
was watching him affectionately, squeaking quietly at his touch.
"Don't you want to kill him anymore? You know, he almost made you a squib and
almost took your life," Severus frowned, hating how much he enjoyed touching
the baby. His grandchild. To think, that he was that old!
"I wasn't myself, I was driven mad by the pain," Harry said firmly. "I can't
hate him, I can't even think of hurting him, it makes me sick. I love him," he
closed his eyes kissing the boy's cheek, and rubbed his nose against the boy's,
drawing happy giggles from his small red lips. "And he loves me."
"Of course, he has no brain to hate you, yet," the potions master sneered and
pulled his hand away, but the little boy grabbed on it and squeezed his long,
thin fingers in his plump, sweaty ones. Severus always felt disgusted by the
mere sight of the small children, always covered in snot and saliva, and
everything else that their bodies could produce, but somehow, his grandchild
wasn't at all repulsive, if anything, he was most adorable. Oh, pull yourself
together, Severus! Old, stupid hag!
Harry laughed weakly at the dearly missed snark remarks and kissed his son
again. "You can't fool me, Severus, you like him. It is impossible not to like
him."
"What are you going to call him?" he decided to steer their conversation into a
different direction, feeling that he wasn't quite ready to deal with everything
that he had experienced recently, towards the baby in particular. "He can't be
called "he" or "baby" all the time. Oh wait," he drawled sarcastically, "You
haven't thought about it, have you?"
"As a matter of fact," Harry stuck his tongue out, enjoying the astonished look
on his father's usually stern face, "I have thought about his name a great
deal."
After he had had many dreams of his little boy, Harry had wondered about the
fitting name, when he felt more or less sane between the fits of fever and
unconsciousness. At first he thought to name the boy Sirius, but realized that
he would soon hate him for being the constant reminder of his own great
mistake, it was still too hard for him to think of his godfather and, as much
as he wished to honour his memory, he couldn't bring himself to name his child
after the man. He thought of naming him Marvolo, after his father, but it
wasn't even the wizard's real name, it was Voldemort's and he would have rather
died, than named his little one after that monster. Then he thought of a name
that wouldn't have any link to his past, that wouldn't match any of those
people he used to know. During many of his walks through the city of Belfast,
Harry had heard different irish names and there was a particular one he thought
he liked very much.
"Domhnall Severus Prince is his name."
"Domhnall?" Severus raised his eyebrows incredulously, "Of all the names..."
But Harry's glare shut him up and he shrugged his shoulders, feigning that he
didn't really care. The fact that Harry gave the boy his name as well sent a
particularly pleasant pulse into his heart and he huffed at himself in
exasperation. What did it really matter what was the boy's name? Domhnall it
is. "Fine."
"Thank you, I hoped you would approve," Harry smiled brilliantly, and pulled
the boy into as a tight embrace as he could master, making him gurgle
excitedly. "Little prince Domhnall," he sighed happily, kissing his son
everywhere he could reach. Severus wished he could feel disgusted with the show
but instead he felt he couldn't take his eyes off of the unimaginable
gentleness and affection, that transpired between Harry and... Domhnall.
Something that his mother used to give him, something he had long forgotten but
craved deep, deep inside of his heart.
"We should register him at the Ministry," he offered, pushing the bitter
thoughts away.
"Not now," Harry frowned, rubbing on Domhnall's stomach, "After the war is
over. I don't want anybody to find out. Death Eaters would know that something
is not right if a child under your name would suddenly appear."
"As you wish." It was logical, he could agree with that. However, there was no
telling just for how long the war would stretch, while the child would need
medical care and a personal fund in the bank. Severus was a good mediwizard,
but he was no specialist when it came to infants and toddlers, children younger
than twelve.
"Don't worry, we will manage," Harry gave him a small smile, as if he had read
his thoughts.
"How do you feel magically? Did you have any kind of power boost?"
"Yes, my magic became uncontrollable, but very powerful during the last three
months and now I feel like it is coming back gradually," Harry nodded. Domhnall
was watching him curiously, barely breathing, listening to the sound of his
voice it seemed. He was so calm and quiet for a little baby. "He is powerful as
well, isn't he?" Harry looked at Severus intently.
"Very much so," the potions master sighed, thinking back on the Dark Lord. With
parents like Voldemort and Harry and such an unusual way of growth and
developing, there was no telling just how actually powerful Domhnall would
become in twelve years. "You will have to be very careful with magic around
him, I would advice to refrain from using any for a time being. I cannot tell
how would he react, or how would it affect him."
"I understand," Harry sighed and pecked the boy's nose, unable to stop touching
and showering him with kisses.
"I will leave potions for you, that would be enough for a week, I believe. I
will visit again in a few days," Severus stood up and placed a box with vials
on the bedside table. "I have instructed Dobby about the food for the both of
you and if anything happens, the elf will notify me whether you want or not."
He gave Harry a pointed look, but the young wizard only smiled at him
helplessly. Shaking his head, the potions master squeezed his shoulder gently,
"You must rest, Harry. You almost died. Please, take this seriously and don't
make any unnecessary moves. Dobby will take care of everything."
"Alright," Harry's smile brightened, as his heart fluttered at the notion that
his father was so worried, cared so much for him and Domhnall. He was so lucky
to have Severus. "Thank you."
Oh no, not that look again! Severus hastily turned away and, muttering his
goodbyes, quickly left, apparating to the Hogwarts' Gates from the dimly lit,
narrow hall of the Red House, as he started calling it in his mind.
xxx
"Have you heard anything from Harry?" Dumbledore greeted Severus, when he
entered the headmaster's office with his working bag in his hands. Shaking his
head negatively, he sat down next to the old wizard and took out the ointments
and bandages for the man's blackened hand. The cure that he had made was barely
prolonging Dumbledore's life, and lessened the pain only temporarily, for
pretense's sake. "The child is due in a month and a half if our calculations
were right, I wonder how would he deliver it without any help?" the headmaster
continued, watching the potions master intently. "I heard you have been absent
quite often the last week, Severus, is something the matter with Voldemort?"
"The Dark Lord wishes to find the boy, he is afraid you would kill his
horcrux," Severus sighed. Half-truths were rather tiresome these days. He
realized he got enough of spying for one lifetime and desperately wished he
could act openly, show his support for the Dark and be done with all this mess.
"It is most unfortunate that Harry has escaped and is burdened with such a hard
responsibility, all alone out there," the headmaster sighed, shaking his white
head. "I wish everything had turned out differently."
"What is the point of regretting now?" Severus scowled, carefully bandaging the
thoroughly oiled hand. How much could have turned out completely different if
it wasn't for the man's blasted 'greater good'.
"Never mind me, just the old man, mourning his grave mistakes," Dumbledore
waved his healthy hand dismissively and smiled at him. The twinkle that
appeared in the pale blue eyes alerted Severus and he swore inwardly at the
man's next words. "I have found out that Dobby, you remember him, the first
free house-elf, had left the school quite some time ago, without telling
anyone. I wonder, where might he have gone?"
"Do you have the means to track him down?" If he had, than he would have to
take his lord to Harry as soon as possible, there was no alternative. Harry was
too weak to protect himself and Domhnall.
"I am looking for one," the headmaster gestured at the stack of ancient
parchments spread all over his desk. "It is a wonder just how many laws
concerning elves' slavery there are. Miss Granger was most enthusiastic to help
me," he smiled his grandfatherly smile.
"Miss Granger and Mr Weasley should know better than try and find Potter,"
Severus stood up, gathering his tools impassively. "They should be grateful
that he sacrificed their friendship in order to save their lives, instead they
make it pointless."
"Severus, don't be so pessimistic," the headmaster chided, "We all wish only
what is best for Harry. I cannot forbid them to worry about him and the child,
to wish to find him."
You cannot my arse. "Whatever you say, Albus. It would be their parents who
would mourn their deaths, not me."
Shaking his head in exasperation, Dumbledore laughed bitterly, "Oh, Severus,
don't say that. They wouldn't die, we would protect them, of course. As soon as
we eliminate Voldemort, there would be no danger for them. But we must find
Harry in order to do that. I am not going to let the children fight, even
though their Dumbledore's Army is quite impressive," he smiled ruefully, "I
would simply let them help me find their friend. They have the right to see him
before... everything happens."
"How many horcruxes have you destroyed?" Severus asked as a matter-of-factly,
looking bored for all the world.
"Only one, so far, not counting Tom Riddle's diary," the headmaster raised his
cursed hand as an illustration. "I have a theory that there were six of them,
with Harry being the seventh. I have to wait for Harry to appear, for I need
his help finding the others. I believe I know the places where they are hidden,
but I am incapable of retrieving them on my own anymore."
"I see." The potions master nodded, thinking that his lord would like the news.
It had been so hard to please him lately, he was once again cursing everyone
for simply standing in the wrong fashion. Harry was recovering steadily and he
prayed he could deal with his and Voldemort's meeting with as less blood as
possible.
"I will notify you when we have some progress on Dobby," Dumbledore smiled and
dismissed him, turning back to studying the old texts.
It was only one week left until the day the Dark Lord would meet his son.
Severus knew it was going to be one of the most difficult days in his life. He
only hoped Harry would forgive him.
xxx
Harry had spent two weeks not once leaving his bed, eating tasteless broth and
drinking the leftovers of Domhnall's milk. The boy ate very little and it
worried Harry sick, even though the book on raising a magical child suggested
it was alright and his appetite would soon grow. His little son was his joy and
his heart, Harry worshiped him, holding him in his arms every waking and
sleeping moment, incessantly kissing his feet, hands, stomach and chin, hungry
to touch and caress his baby. Domhnall was very quiet, he didn't cry, only
laughed and squeaked happily every time his father held him, and played with
the golden locket, mesmerized with its gleam. Harry couldn't stop marveling at
his beauty and calm, loving nature. Domhnall might have been a dark wizard, but
his soul was light, he was certain.
During one of his visits Severus had finally let Harry get up and walk a
little, monitoring his every step. It was hard to move, his every organ ached,
but it was bearable. He had managed to survive Domhnall being inside of him for
so long - he could deal with this little obstacle as well. Harry couldn't wait
to be able to walk outside, to take his son for his first walk, to take him to
the sea. He himself had never seen it before he came to Belfast and found he
fell in love with it the very instant his eyes caught its sight. He wished to
share everything with his boy. Severus wasn't that enthusiastic about letting
the two of them outside and suggested they wait a little more. Dobby, who had
been shopping for the past few days, had finally finished the nursery and
master bedroom on the second floor and it was the first destination Harry had
traveled to with Domhnall in his arms. The boy was rather heavy, and he had to
take frequent breaks on his ways, leaning on the walls and panting, groaning at
the pain, but there was no other way to make his body work properly again and
get used to caring for the child.
"Has he already been sorted into Slytherin?" Harry laughed, looking around the
nursery, that was decorated in pale green and silver colours.
Dobby smiled at him, moving his floppy ears excitedly, "Do masters find it to
theirs liking?"
"Yes, we do," Harry laughed again, shifting Domhnall in his hands to hold him
more comfortably, so that he too could assess his bedroom.
The little elf bought everything that was necessary for the little boy, and
Harry walked around the small but cosy space, curiously opening the tiny
drawers, full of colourful clothes of both muggle and wizarding fashion,
different toys and developing games. But most of all he liked the crib, that
was made of dark wood, decorated with elegant carvings of all the magical
creatures that could be found in the books: from unicorns to sea serpents, from
fairies to trolls. One could spend hours studying all the little figures, that
moved around the wooden surface. There also was an old, puffy armchair in the
corner with a small lamp hovering over it - the pieces that Dobby had found in
the house and adjusted for Harry to use for reading to Domhnall before sleep.
Every little detail had been considered and executed with an outmost care.
"Thank you, Dobby," Harry patted the happy elf on the head, smiling to himself,
feeling that parenting was something he would enjoy immensely.
xxx
Two days before the Dark Lord was supposed to visit Harry, Dumbledore told
Severus that Miss Granger had found a way of tracking Dobby down. With no more
time to waste, the potions master escaped the school right after the last
lesson and hurried to apparate to Prince Manor. Voldemort, who was sprawled
over the sofa in the library and was angrily tearing the pages of Shakespeare's
sonnets, throwing them up in the air and setting them on fire by just glaring
at them, hadn't even acknowledged his entrance, ignoring everything in a bout
of a rather childish depression, as Severus thought. Sometimes he doubted his
lord was nearly seventy years old, for he often acted like Harry's peer.
"My lord," he kneeled, trying to catch the man's attention, "I believe we have
a change in our plans."
"What plans, Severus?" Voldemort drawled, not looking at him, "I have plenty."
"Visiting Harry, my lord?"
At the sound of the boy's name the Dark Lord instantly stopped vandalizing the
book and sat up, looking at the potions master intently. "Go on."
"Dumbledore had found a way to trace the elf, I think you should be the first
to see Harry." And Domhnall. Severus knew Harry wouldn't leave his home,
wouldn't move anywhere to live with the Dark Lord, but at least his master
could ward his house and make it impenetrable for the Order. He himself was
thinking about using the blood magic but wanted to have the other's approval
first.
"Don't think, Severus, move!" Voldemort growled impatiently, already standing
next to the wizard and grabbing on his arm to be apparated to their
destination. In a whirl of their equally black robes, the two men landed in
front of the old, tall house of red brick. Looking around, rubbing the water
off of his face, as the rainy storm raged around them, Voldemort couldn't help
but exclaim indignantly, "Is this a fucking joke? Had he been in bloody Belfast
all this time?" Severus could only shrug his shoulders helplessly in response,
holding his wand high to shield himself from the cold showering rain.
Enraged and excited, the Dark Lord strode confidently forward, crossing Harry's
wards easily for they were weakened along with his health and needed time to
recover and work properly. Thinking that bursting inside uninvited wouldn't
help his case, he banged on the door and hovered, pushing his both hands
against the doorframe, breathing harshly like a beast, overwhelmed with lust,
frustration, longing and jealousy.
After Harry had sent Dobby to the apothecary and market with a list of
ingredients for the potions Severus taught him to brew for his treatment
course, he went to the kitchen, humming under his breath to the sounds of the
thunder outside, hurrying to prepare milk for Domhnall, with whom he was
incapable to part for even a few minutes. Warming the milk at the stove, for he
was reluctant and still rather weak to use his magic just yet, he jumped at the
sound of a loud banging on the front door. Grumping that because of his
weakened wards every muggle salesman was going to haunt his threshold, he
trudged down the hall and pulled on the door handle, with his mouth opened in a
rehearsed paraphrasing of "fuck off". As the door opened, he froze before he
could make any sound escape his lips.
"Harry, how fucking hard it was to find you," Marvolo flashed him a familiar
feral grin, towering over him, looking the hungry beast that he was, all
soaking wet under the rain. Only he wasn't Marvolo.
Harry's eyes slowly took in the dimple, the plump rose lips, the chestnut
hair... the long, thin nose and high cheekbones, thick arched eyebrows, a small
mole under the left eye... Now he knew just whom had Marvolo resembled so much
all the time they had spent together. He resembled his younger self, Tom
Marvolo Riddle, the gaunt, pale boy from the Chamber of Secrets, whose voice
was so smooth and kind, whose smiles were so charming, whose blue eyes were as
cold as ice... Only now his eyes were red as blood. Marvolo was Voldemort. All
this time Marvolo-Voldemort had been haunting him down, attacking his mind,
coming to him in his dreams... He had slept with the monster that killed so
many... Voldemort was the one who healed him, taught him to live without
fear...
And then it hit him. "No! No, no, no!" Harry cried hysterically, covering his
mouth with his hand as he realized that Domhnall was the Dark Lord's son. This
was worse than any bloody horcrux. "No, no, no," his voice broke into harsh
whisper as he stumbled back, unable to look away from the blood red eyes that
were looking at him just like they always had when they were brown.
"Harry?" Voldemort's smile faltered as he sensed the fear and grief coming in
waves from the boy. His little Prince was just as beautiful as before, if a
little exhausted. His silky, raven hair were long again and he itched to card
his fingers through it, to inhale its wonderful scent. He saw the alluring red
lips tremble and the tears well up in the brilliant green eyes that were full
of pain. "Harry," he growled warningly and moved to step inside, but the boy
jerked and, screaming hoarsely, shut the door into his face with the force of
his magic.
Roaring furiously, Voldemort burst inside, too angry to behave civilly. If
Harry wanted to make it hard for himself, he was all for it, he had waited for
far too long. He caught the flicker of the boy's bare feet at the stairs and
hastily followed, crossing the long, narrow hall in a few quick strides,
feeling his blood boil excitedly in anticipation of he hunt and oh so
magnificent prey.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are," he sing sang softly, slowly ascending
the last steps and stepping onto the landing of the second floor. It was eerie
quiet and he smiled evilly, "Hide and seek is my favourite game, Harry, because
I always win."
He flicked his wrist and opened the closest door and peeked inside the room -
empty. He tried another - empty as well. Turned on by the tension of the
situation, Voldemort hurried to check the others. All of them were empty,
except for the master bedroom, that looked lived in and very much like Harry
would have it. There was only one last door and as he got closer, he felt the
familiar aura behind it and grinned greedily, trembling inside as he felt his
blood travel down to his heated groin. Pushing his dump hair back, he burst the
door open in a flash and froze at the threshold with an innuendo on his lips,
as his burning ruby eyes took in the sight in front of him.
Blinking dumbly at the bright flashes of lightnings outside the Dark Lord
involuntarily lowered his wand in astonishment. It was as if he went back in
time, sixteen years back to be exact, to the cold and rainy Halloween night,
when a red haired witch shielded the small raven haired boy with her body in
the nursery, painted in emerald green, just like the prophesied child's eyes.
Feeling lost and suddenly very insecure, tricked, he stared at Harry, who stood
at the small wooden crib, with his wand firmly drawn up and pointed at
Voldemort, and a small child pressed to his chest. A small child... He thought
his head was spinning and he grabbed on the doorframe for the balance, as his
mind was frantically building the logical chain and completing the puzzle,
adding the one and only piece that was missing. Bella's curse and Harry's magic
colliding and affecting him in a way no one could diagnose; Harry's morning
sicknesses; Harry's sudden disappearance from Dumbledore's radar; Severus being
put under yet another vow; Harry being sick during the last months; Severus
coming back covered in blood saying that the person Harry was protecting had
unintentionally hurt him... A child. Harry had a child. From him, apparently,
if his math was right.
"This is so fucked up," he bit out, staring at the little bundle of clothes in
Prince's arms. He couldn't see the child's face, but he saw the mop of wavy,
chestnut hair, his hair, and that was enough for him to know the baby was his.
"Don't you even dare to take another step closer," Harry growled warningly,
glaring at him with such fierce protectiveness, Voldemort couldn't help but
flinch a little. This was the source of Harry's sudden boost of power - he
reeked of it now, the impossibly white, pure magic, it all but leaked out of
his pores, tickling on the Dark Lord's senses, teasing his hunger. The child,
his child, made Harry even more powerful than before, probably, even
invincible.
"It is dark." He didn't know what else to say.
The child's aura was identical to his own and it was just as powerful. It
wasn't a horcrux, though. He understood now, yes, he understood everything. It
was only logical to think that his soul would find a way of being reborn in a
child's body, if it hadn't had already been a part of Harry's. He wasn't lying
when he said they were a part of each other - their souls had merged and they
couldn't be split without the particular horcrux ritual. Dumbledore couldn't
have known that, of course, and no doubt was planning to kill both Harry and
the child, to eliminate any possibility for him to resurrect. Of course Harry
ran and hid from all the world, left his friends and everything he knew. To
save the baby, their baby... It was a dream, he told himself, he was going to
wake up. Now.
"He is, so what?" Harry clutched Domhnall closer to his chest, feeling the
tears run down his cheeks. This was his worst nightmare coming to life.
Voldemort found them and, what was even worse, turned out to be the fucking
father. No, it meant nothing. Perhaps, Domhnall had his powers, but it didn't
make him a murderer, did it? His son was nothing like the deceiving bastard
that tricked him into sharing bed and... Fuck. He couldn't do it, couldn't
stand it. Here stood the man he wanted so much, the man he dreamed about, the
man who had showed him such kindness and affection... and the man who killed
his mother, killed hundreds of innocents in order to achieve his goals, had
been trying to kill him for so many years. How was it possible that Marvolo and
Voldemort were the very same person, how could he have been so blind, so naive,
so credulous?
"A boy..." Voldemort whispered, keeping his eyes trained on the small form,
hidden behind Harry's long hair. Suddenly, the child let out a soft laugh and
turned to look at him, peeking from behind the raven curtain. The Dark Lord
stared wondrously at the small pale face, so much like his own, at the smiling
red lips and the brightly shining, laughing green eyes. The boy was so
beautiful. And his. "Harry," he stepped forward, locking his ruby eyes with the
tearful emerald ones that he missed so much.
"No, Marv- just don't. Please, leave!" Harry hated himself for being so weak,
so confused, so soft. It was Marvolo, wasn't it? Even though his eyes were red
and he held the white yew wand, he was still Marvolo. And it hurt, it hurt so
terribly.
"Harry, it's me, you know that, don't you?" he tried, taking a small step
closer, keeping his eyes at his little Prince. "Marvolo is my real name, you
know that as well, why don't you call me by it?"
"You lied, you tricked me, Voldemort," Harry spat his name hatefully, although
there wasn't as much anger in his tone as there was pain, hurt. His lips
trembled traitorously, but he kept pointing his wand at the man he wanted to
kiss and kill at the same time. The closer he got, the weaker Harry felt, the
tighter he pulled Domhnall to himself, trying to shield him from the monster
that was his father.
"I had to, my little one. Would you have trusted the Dark Lord with your pain
and sufferings? I wanted to get to know you, I wanted to know the real you,"
Voldemort said quietly in his deep, soothing voice, closing in on the young man
he wanted so much. His senses were overwhelmed with the sweetness of both
Harry's and child's magic, as his soul was practically singing, being pulled
closer and closer like a magnet, like a moth to a flame.
"You are the cause of my pain and my torment," his voice sounded so small and
insecure but he couldn't help it. His heart was being torn apart by the desire
to be held in the strong, cold arms, while his mind refused to believe this was
happening, that this was real. "Please, go away," he sobbed, staring into the
blood red eyes, the very eyes he liked so much.
"I can't," Voldemort stopped only when the holly wand pressed hard against his
throat. None of his muscles twitched, as he pushed his own wand back into his
sleeve and slowly raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I can't and you
know it. You are mine, Harry, you both are."
"You won't have him, he will never be like you, never!" Harry whispered
vehemently, hating the way his hand shook. Domhnall, who was keeping quiet
until that moment, suddenly leaned forward and stretched his small hand out for
the tall wizard, whose ruby eyes instantly locked with his. Harry couldn't see
any kind of emotion in them, they were completely blank, as if Marvolo couldn't
realize what was he supposed to feel towards the child. How could he really - a
heartless murderer?
Voldemort looked into the small green eyes, that were watching him curiously.
He couldn't process everything at once, it was too much even for him. He had a
child, a son, an heir - something he had never even thought of, simply because
he didn't need it. And now, faced with the fact that he was a father... he felt
lost, helpless. He wasn't ready for this. Noticing the little hand waiting for
him patiently, he reached out to hold it but Harry jerked the boy away.
"Don't touch him!"
Before he could say anything, Severus appeared at the threshold of the nursery,
"My lord, we should put up the blood wards before it's too late."
"Blood wards? The fuck for?" Harry stared at his father, inwardly knowing that
he had brought Voldemort here, but having no strength left to be angry at him
right now.
"Dumbledore is after you, he knows how to find you, it is a matter of days now,
hours. If you want to keep your son safe, let me ward your house with my
blood," Voldemort looked at Harry intently, loathing the fear that flickered in
the green eyes. Now that he was responsible for their child's life, Harry was
much more vulnerable. He couldn't let anyone hurt his little Prince further
than he had already had.
"They are able to trace you through Dobby, so we will have to send him away for
a few days, another elf would be coming to help you, one from Prince Manor,"
his father added.
Looking between Voldemort and Severus, seeing their grave expressions and
sensing the tension in the air, Harry lowered his wand in favour of clutching
on his son's little form with his both hands protectively. How could he trust
Marvolo with Domhnall's life, after he had deceived him so badly? But Severus
trusted him, didn't he? He had brought him here because of this, hadn't he? To
protect Domhnall. "Only if you leave afterwards." Buying time was pointless,
but Harry couldn't stand it all anymore, he wanted to cry, his legs were giving
out, so tired he was and the fear, that was tying his guts in a knot, clouded
his mind.
"I will be back, you know that. You can't run away from me anymore," Voldemort
licked his lips, fisting his hands in order to restrain himself from grabbing
Harry and hurting him and fucking him at the same time. He never felt so
confused before, torn between anger and frustration, guilt and lust. The things
his little Prince was doing to him...
He turned and quickly left the room before his emotions and desires took over
his rationality. Nodding to Severus, he stormed down the stairs and out of the
house and stopped at the edge of the lawn and Harry's wards. As the water
streamed down his face, cooling down his rage and apprehensiveness, Voldemort
tried to clear his mind, tried to occlude himself from everything that he had
just seen and felt. This was too much, too much. The potions master joined him,
taking a small, ritual dagger out of his pocket. They both cut their palms and
feet by feet covered the perimeter with drops of their blood, murmuring
incantations, sound of which was momentarily whisked away by the deafening
thunder, as they walked under the rain. The Dark Lord sensed Harry watching
them out of the window but never once looked up, knowing very well that there
was nothing he could do to sooth his little Prince. Yet. He wasn't going to
give up so easily. Harry belonged to him, even if the boy couldn't accept it -
he couldn't change it either.
xxx
When they finished and the Dark Lord left without another word, Severus
hesitantly went back inside and into the nursery. Domhnall lay in his crib,
blabbering softly and looking at his young father in confusion, as Harry stood
aside, watching him and biting his nails nervously. It seemed as if he was
afraid of his own son now. "How long have you known?" he asked the potions
master not even looking at him.
"I didn't have the proof until Domhnall was born, but I have had my suspicions
for over two months, I suppose," he said carefully, looking at the young man
that was his son now. Young man, burdened with so much, scared, but too noble
and brave to back out. How could he have created such a person - his complete
opposite?
"It is even worse than horcrux, isn't it?" Harry sobbed quietly. "He is his
fucking legacy, no matter what I do, he would grow up a Dark Lord's heir."
"You know it is not true. You didn't grow up being me, even though you had had
a horrible childhood. I am quite certain you will be able to raise your son a
normal, decent person."
"He is powerful, he has already been feeding on other's powers, he would only
become greedier for it and then he would become insane just like Marv-Marvolo,"
too weak to stand anymore, Harry fell on his knees and wept, clutching on his
arms, trying to hold himself, as his body shook violently from the strong sobs.
Creasing his brow at the sharp pang in his heart which origin he couldn't
fathom, Severus came closer and stroked his son's raven hair, knowing very well
that there was nothing for Harry to do but give it time and accept it. "I had
to bring him here, Harry. You are too weak yet to protect yourself, hence the
baby, but he can do it, and he is willing to, what is most important.
Unfortunately, Dumbledore is not as forgiving as you are, and I seriously doubt
he will listen to you when he comes to kill Domhnall."
"Why, why had it to be him?" Harry wailed, grabbing on his father and hugging
his legs tightly, pushing his head against the man's stomach. "Why Voldemort?"
"I don't have an answer to this," Severus slowly reached down and helped the
young wizard to stand, involuntarily bringing him close into a gentle embrace,
he never imagined he had missed so much. "Perhaps, his soul in you is calling
for him and pulling him closer, perhaps, it is your magic that intoxicates him,
or maybe it is your beauty... It is hard to say, Harry, he is a man, after all.
Horrible, cruel, great and powerful, but a man. He has his own desires and
weaknesses, and you are on of those."
"Why do you serve this monster?" Harry sobbed into the potions master shoulder,
pressing tighter into his frame, finding so much comfort in his arms, such a
familiar kind of comfort he had never had before.
"Because he has a right cause, aim. His means might be wrong sometimes, or
particularly cruel and violent, but he is ambitious and stubborn on his way to
releasing his dream, and I believe in it and in him. Of course, I belong to him
like a slave," he twisted his lips disdainfully at that, inwardly wondering
just what had compelled him to become all candid with Harry, "But I used to
need him when I was young and now he needs me. It is as simple as that." Was he
actually burying his nose in his son's hair? Was he rubbing on his back in
soothing circles, was he finding comfort in their embrace? Was it really that
simple to just hold his son and feel better, so much better, as if his sins had
just been amended?
"I am afraid," Harry whispered into his ear, "I am fucking scared to lose
Domhnall, and I am so scared to have him, to be a failure as a parent, to make
a mistake that would lead to the most horrible consequences."
How very mature of you, Potter - was something he would have said two years
ago, not as a praise but as a biting remark. "You will be a great father,
Harry, you know how to learn from others' mistakes, you know the right from
wrong, you are a good person - all you have to do is be yourself and listen to
your heart, your intuition. They have saved your hide so many times, I believe
they proved to be trustworthy enough."
"It is you who is saving me all the time," Harry nuzzled into the man's neck,
sighing heavily in his arms, enjoying his unique scent of the many different
potions ingredients and lavender, that he had noticed, Severus preferred to use
to get rid of the unpleasant smells after brewing. "I am so grateful, I simply
do not know how to express myself. I am lucky to have you."
Was it a tear prickling on his left eye? Recognition. Acceptance. Absolution.
Carding his fingers through the silky raven locks, just like his own, the
potions master reluctantly acknowledged the fact that he was reveling in his
son's warmth, his presence, his closeness. He used to think being a parent was
overestimated. "What are you going to do about the Dark Lord?" A the tear left
his eye and landed on Harry's shoulder, Severus decided it was time to change
the subject of their conversation and address a more important problem at hand,
for he didn't trust his own emotions right now, it was far too long since he
had experienced them fully. "You can't keep him away forever, he wants his son
and has a right to have him, you know."
"I don't trust him, I am afraid of him, I hate him," Harry mumbled desperately,
"He is a monster, Severus, he doesn't have a heart. How can he want Domhnall if
not as another toy or an heir to continue on with his mission of killing?"
"I have to disagree with that, Harry," he pulled away a little and looked into
the pained green eyes he learned to see as Harry's, not Lily's, not anymore.
"What he had done for you back then... I know him better than many, I've seen
him at his worst, believe me when I say he is more human now than he ever was.
During the almost eight months of your hiding, he had been asking about you
every single day. He might be obsessed, it is rather typical for him, but he
truly wants you and cares for you in his own strange, twisted way. As for
Domhnall... I can understand him, Harry. Being faced with the fact that you are
a father is a hard test not every man can accomplish. He needs time, as do you.
But in the end, I am certain, he would want to become a part of the boy's life.
You have him wrapped around your finger, he wouldn't do anything against your
wishes."
Severus' calm, sensible words made Harry pull himself together and think. If it
wasn't for the way Marvolo or Voldemort had hurt him, it would have been so
much easier to make the right choice now. Rubbing on his father's shoulders
absentmindedly, he frowned and asked, "Do you want me? Do you want to be a part
of my life?"
He wanted to say that it didn't matter and that Harry shouldn't have been
evading his own problem by asking him all these stupid questions, but his
tongue, for the first time in many years, had outstripped his mind. "Yes."
This was all that Harry needed to hear to turn into a puddle of goo and pull
Severus into yet another tight, desperate embrace, as the tears streamed down
his cheeks again. This was so much more than he had been secretly hoping for.
He was so broken and frustrated and having somebody so close, and strong, and
so understanding next to him, somebody who didn't need to be constantly lied
to, was so wonderful, so elating, freeing. "Thank you, Severus... Dad."
This was something he was absolutely sure he would never hear in his life.
Feeling as a huge lump clogged his throat, Severus squeezed his eyes, trying
with all his strength to will the tears away, but they traitorously welled up
and poured out and onto his face. His hands embraced Harry even tighter,
harder, on their own accord, it seemed, as a long, shuddering sigh escaped his
lips. He had lived for thirty seven years in this world and Harry was the only
other person, beside his mother Eileen, who had managed to make him feel so
human, vulnerable and stupid, but alive by merely saying small, simple words
with so much sincerity and affection behind them. In fact, as he thought about
this, Harry reminded him much more of Eileen than of Lily - his soft and kind,
forgiving nature was her legacy, he knew that now.
At Domhnall's indignant squeak, demanding attention, Severus let Harry go and
stepped aside, to hide his face that he knew looked completely lost and pitiful
now. "You shouldn't distance yourself from the boy, he hasn't killed anybody
yet - and it is your job to see to that he never will." Nodding, rubbing on his
tear-stained face, Harry came closer to the crib and bent over it, looking at
his little son with affection, but still hesitantly.
"He is not him, isn't he?" he asked with his back turned to the potions master,
knowing very well that the man was crying - he didn't want to shame him
further.
"You know better than most, how the monsters are created, Harry, you've seen
plenty."
Smiling bitterly, he squeezed his eyes at the memory of one particular monster
saving him from another. "Yeah, I have."
Looking up at Domhnall, he saw the little boy stretch his little hands out,
impatient to be held. Appearances were deceiving - that he knew better than
most as well. But it was impossible to feign the emotions in one's eyes, it was
impossible to feign love and kindness, which sparkled in his son's brilliant
green ones. Voldemort was a true master of lie and deceit, but was he that
powerful that he could pretend to feel what Harry thought he had then?
Marvolo's eyes, no matter the colour, always held this unexpected warmth and
affection towards him, which pained him now so much. If there were so many
different kinds of monsters, then which one was Domhnall's father? And could
such a monster become a man? He didn't know the answer, nobody could know it,
he supposed. Sighing, Harry took the boy into his arms and immediately felt a
huge weight leave his shoulders. A smile stretched his lips and he hid his face
in the mop of chestnut hair, laughing softly at Domhnall's grumping. The boy
was so hungry for affection and love, close contact... This wasn't what
monsters desired, was it? No, his little one was alright.
xxx
After he had warded Harry's house Voldemort went back to Prince Manor and fell
onto his bed, exhausted by the blood loss and everything that had happened. He
blacked out and woke up only in the afternoon of the following day, feeling
particularly shitty. He flickered his fingers, but no usual tea appeared in
front of him and he frowned at Easy's uncharacteristic tardiness. But then it
hit him - he had sent her to serve Harry, while the boy's elf was trying to
lead Dumbledore the wrong way. All the pent-up emotions of yesterday came over
him suddenly and he groaned at the pain in his head. A migraine, how wonderful.
Harry. Oh, how angry he was at the boy for hiding from him because of the
child! But, and that was most disconcerting and irritating, he could understand
why had Harry done it. He thought Marvolo and Voldemort were two different men.
Sighing, he sat down on the windowsill and closed his eyes, pulling his night
robe tighter around himself, shivering, for he was cold, always so cold. He
wished his little Prince was here to keep him warm. But as he stared into
darkness of nothingness his mind once again went back to the small child in
Harry's hands. A little boy, so much like him, so much like Harry... Could he
have ever imagined something like this would happen to him? In all honesty, he
was used to the many obstacles and tests that Fate used to give him during his
whole life, there was nothing new under the sun, or at least he preferred to
think so. But, apparently, Harry was going to change his life in ways he could
hardly imagine... was already changing it. Would he have appreciated it the way
he did now if he hadn't had absorbed all of his horcruxes? Probably not.
The child... what was he going to do about the child? Rubbing on his tired,
reddened eyes he let out an exhausted sigh - parenting was something he knew
next to nothing about. One thing he knew for sure, though, that, unlike his
dear scum of muggle father, he would never leave the boy and Harry, would never
make them live on the streets and die of poverty and famine. He had given
himself a vow, when he entered Hogwarts, that he would be nothing like anybody
else, definitely nothing like the bastard that had given him his face and
filthy blood. Wincing at the sharp pain in his temple, Voldemort growled lowly
and pushed his sleeve up to call for Severus - he had no potions on him left.
It was Saturday, surely, the man didn't have any lessons now.
"My lord?" Severus hesitantly stepped inside the bedroom some time later,
sensing the tension around his master, as the man's aura all but seethed with
poison. The potions master had left Harry and Domhnall in the evening. Today
Dumbledore and the know-it-all Granger were going to try and trace Dobby, who
was sent to Sirius' cottage in Switzerland to make it look lived in.
"How is he?" There was no need to say who, for Severus knew perfectly well
there was only one person the Dark Lord could be asking about with such worry
in his perfectly impassive face - there was that slight crease of eyebrows and
the strange gleam in the blood red eyes, that the potions master has learned to
decipher, since his master took Harry close to his heart.
"He cried the whole evening but he'll live,' he said nonchalantly, looking down
at the tips of his shoes.
Frowning at the notion that he made his little Prince cry again, though he
couldn't understand just why were the boy's tears upsetting him so much,
Voldemort nodded and gestured for Severus to come closer. "I need a potion, I
have a migraine."
"Of course, my lord," the potions master pulled a small blue vial out of one of
his many invisible pockets and held it out for his master, watching the man's
face intently. The changes in the Dark Lord were impossible to miss... How had
Harry managed to draw his humanity and make it overcome his cruelty,
heartlessness, coldness?
Grimacing at the foul taste of a particularly potent potion, Voldemort vanished
the glass and looked up into the bottomless onyx eyes, sighing softly at the
wave of relieving lightness washing over him, taking the pain away. "What is
his name?"
Puzzled, Severus arched an eyebrow, "Whose, my lord? The child's?"
"Is there anybody else whose name would interest me?" the Dark Lord made a
point, glaring at the potions master in displeasure.
"Domhnall Severus Prince, my lord," Severus muttered, feeling rather stupid.
That wretched Harry turned him into a pathetic puddle of goo yesterday and, for
the first time since Lily's death, he was finding it hard to concentrate.
"Domhnall..." Voldemort drawled thoughtfully, rubbing on his dimpled chin. "The
ruler of the world," he laughed softly, marveling Harry's choice of name. "He
looked rather big, as far as I could see. Is it normal?" he didn't know what
had compelled him to ask, but suddenly he was very curious to know everything
about the boy. His boy. To think...
"He was born three months old," Severus nodded, frowning. "I cannot tell if it
is the horcrux's doing, but I am quite certain that, due to the unnatural,
magical womb and Harry's immense powers, the child had absorbed too much of it,
almost killing Harry in the process. He said his powers grew along with the
fetus and, I believe, it was the reason Domhnall suddenly developed. Perhaps, a
strong impulse of Harry's magic..."
"He fend off one of my mind attacks," the Dark Lord interrupted, closing his
eyes resentfully. "I had unintentionally forced him to use the raw light power
that was dormant in him, this is why it all had happened. As for the child - he
is not a horcrux."
Pondering at his master's previous words, Severus didn't at first register what
else had he said. "He isn't?!"
"No," Voldemort twisted his lips into a wry smile, "He is a perfectly ordinary
boy, powerful, dramatically powerful, dark, but, otherwise, completely normal.
My soul had merged with Harry's long, long ago, and I am the only one who can
extract, or rather absorb it out of him. But it calls for an intricate,
dangerous ritual which might cost him his life, while my soul is forever
dormant in him - as you can imagine Harry had easily tamed it," he shook his
head, smiling imperceptibly, admiring the power of his little Prince's kindness
and compassion.
Perhaps, if he told Dumbledore about this, the old wizard would stop hunting
the child, Severus wondered. "No, Severus, if not the horcrux, then his power -
the old goat would always find a reason to kill the child, because it's mine."
The potion master winced at the way his lord had easily read his mind without
Legilimency. Was he so predictable, obvious? Or were they, perhaps, sharing the
same worry? Was the Dark Lord actually fearing, caring for his son's life?
"Dumbledore had always despised me, ever since he had first seen me, he branded
me a monster, an abomination, a criminal. He would never show the child mercy,
nor would he spare Harry. He lives to destroy everything that is mine,"
Voldemort scowled, looking at the storm on the other side of the window. It
seemed the very weather reflected the times they lived in.
"I suspect they would be able to trace the elf to the Red House," Severus
frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "I couldn't take a good look at the
girl's spell, but I imagine it tracks the magical signature, aura's traces."
"Well, we have warded it, haven't we? Even if they do find it, they wouldn't be
able to get to them, our blood is impenetrable," Voldemort shrugged his
shoulders, feigning disinterest and carelessness, though he felt apprehensive
on the inside, hating how suddenly vulnerable he became. Was it what the
fathers felt towards their children? These constant pangs in the heart, that
made the stomach churn. Was it fear? Hadn't he been fearing too much lately? It
was most unbecoming of the Dark Lord. But as hard as he tried, he couldn't make
the image of his son's little face disappear from his mind. He would tear
Dumbledore to shreds if even the hair would fall off of Domhnall's head.
Domhnall. What a fitting name for the Dark Lord Voldemort's heir.
Sensing the specter of emotions in his lord's raging, unhidden aura, Severus
couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in astonishment. The man was actually
scared, even though he looked just as arrogant and bored as he had always been.
Thinking back on the way Harry and Domhnall loved each other, craved each
other's presence and affection, he wondered if the child would have the same
effect on the Dark Lord. He himself felt the disgusting desire to hold the boy,
to bask in his sweetness and warmth. After he had held his own son so much, he
couldn't imagine he would be capable of abstaining from touching him anymore.
It was just too good to consciously deny it to himself.
"Would you visit your... son again, my lord?" he asked, looking at his master
tentatively. He still didn't know what he felt about he Dark Lord being his
grandchild's father.
"Perhaps," Voldemort gave him a blank look. He saw how slowly, gradually but
efficiently Harry had changed his father, how Severus had taken him close to
his heart, how he craved his son's being. If he visited Domhnall often, would
the same happen to him as well? Would he fall for the child, would he become
soft, weak, vulnerable... human? Harry thought him to be a monster - did
monsters have children? Did they... were they capable of loving them?
Shaking himself and growling lowly in irritation, Voldemort sprang up onto his
feet and paced his bedroom, wrapping up tighter into his robe. Love. He
couldn't love, he never knew it, he never needed it. But wasn't it what
children needed? Craved? He had craved it, many, oh so many years ago, watching
the muggle children being adopted at the orphanage, but not him, never him. He
used to think there was no love designed for him in this world and he had
accepted this as an incontestable fact. But children always loved their
parents, didn't they? They were born to love those who had brought them into
this world, weren't they? His son was a normal boy, loved and cherished by
Harry, he hadn't known pain, hatred, deceit yet... Would he love him? What
would it feel like to be loved by someone? He stopped moving, staring at the
fire absentmindedly, as his mind went completely numb. Was Harry in love with
Marvolo? If so, was he able to forgive him and love him again?
Severus carefully backed out of the room, knowing very well that his master was
better off alone when he was pacing like this, solving the complex riddles in
his head. Oh, he knew just what kind of a mess was in the Dark Lord's mind now.
Being a father was the most indescribable condition in the world, it was both
shocking and magnificent. Even though he constantly tried to convince himself
that he didn't care, that there was nothing between him and Harry, no
foundation to build their family on, he had to admit he felt a little proud.
The more he looked at Harry, the more he got to know him, the more he felt him,
the more he appreciated him as a person, as his flesh and blood. Perhaps, Harry
was what Severus was supposed to become, if it wasn't for the circumstances of
his life? He felt proud and he craved more of his son. Harry's light mesmerized
him and eased the weight that, like a stone on his neck, pulled him deeper and
deeper into abyss. Harry was his salvation, retribution, absolution, he was his
atonement.
xxx
Harry woke up, feeling broken and tired after yesterday, exhausted by the
nightmares of Domhnall turning into snakeface. He still couldn't accept the
reality of Marvolo being Voldemort. Rationally he knew it was only logical, for
as he thought back on everything that had happened between them and everything
he knew about the man's both identities, he couldn't help but laugh at himself
for being so blind as not to see the truth. But his heart ached so much, it
refused to believe. He entered the nursery, in his nightshirt only and with his
feet bare and cold, and plumped down on the floor next to the crib to watch his
son sleep. Shivering, but reluctant to leave for a change of clothes, Harry
pressed his scarred forehead against the wooden bars and pushed his hand
through them to hold Domhnall's smaller one. No, he wouldn't care for Marvolo,
he decided. He had his son to care for, to hell with the deceiving bastard. The
little boy stirred and yawned sweetly, spreading widely his small, delicately
sculpted lips, squeaking softly. Harry couldn't help but smile at his
adorableness. Oh, like some bloody girl, he thought to himself but kept
grinning and rubbing on the small stomach and chest, as Domhnall happily
greeted him with ringing laughter. To hell with everyone.
"What woulds master Harry wants for breakfast?" he heard the familiar quiet
voice and turned to see Easy standing behind him, with her small hands hidden
behind her back shyly. He had forgotten Dobby had to go away for some time.
"Hello, Easy, it's so good to see you!" he smiled and patted the small elf on
her shoulder, making her practically melt under his touch, as her eyes
traitorously wetted.
"Master Harry always so kind! Oh and little Master Prince so beautiful!" she
carefully stepped closer, staring at Domhnall in adoration, as the boy watched
her curiously. "Just like master Marvolo!" Easy clapped her hands excitedly.
"Have you always called him master Marvolo?" Harry asked despite himself and
cursed inwardly at his own stupid obsession with the lying bastard. He couldn't
simply leave it, could he?
"Oh yes," she nodded, glad that there was no need to hide anything from the
raven haired wizard anymore, "He told Easy call him master Marvolo the day
master bought Easy! He likes this name, it make him happy." Before Harry could
ask anything else, she tugged him on the sleeve of his nightshirt
disapprovingly, "Master Harry should change for breakfast, Easy make good
breakfast for master Marvolo's family!" and she popped out of the room and
instantly the sounds of cluttering, boiling, chopping and frying came from the
kitchen.
"We are not his family," Harry growled spitefully, but his scowl disappeared
the second he looked at his son, who rolled on his belly and was jerking his
arms and legs and calling for him, demanding to be held. "Let's change you
first," Harry crooned, picking him up and showering him with kisses. They spent
almost half an hour in the nursery, as he washed, dressed Domhnall, brushed his
hair, taking great joy and pleasure in caring for his little boy. As a result,
when they both appeared at the kitchen's threshold, Domhnall was dressed to
break hearts, as Harry saw it, while he himself was still wearing only a
nightshirt.
"Master Harry!" Easy threw her scrawny arms in the air at the sight of him but
he only waved his hand dismissively at her and sat down at the round table,
placing his baby comfortably in his lap. Shaking her head, the elf put his
plate in front of him, filling it with all kinds of most delicious food there
was. Just when Harry was ready to dig in, she carefully took Domhnall from him,
and sat on the other chair, "Master should eats well, Easy will feed master
Prince." At first he thought the boy would cry, being taken from him, but
Domhnall was absolutely calm and kept watching the little creature with a
scientific curiosity, it seemed, as if he was trying to decide if she was Dobby
or something else but very similar.
"Easy, could you tell me how did you get your name?" Harry asked after he
finished the last bit of his meal and rubbed on his pleasantly full stomach,
smiling in satisfaction. "I am still curious to know."
"Oh, Easy think master Marvolo would not be happy if Easy tell master Harry,"
the elf shook her head sadly, as she patted Domhnall's back to help him gag.
"But why? Is it something bad?" he took the boy, who clutched on the golden
locket as soon as he was comfortably held in his father's arm, gurgling softly
as Harry stroked his hair. "Come on, you can tell me, Easy, I know all the
worst things about your master," he kept pressing stubbornly, wondering just
why the hell was he so curious.
"Master Harry don't tell master Marvolo, alright?" she whispered, looking at
him with wide, fearful eyes.
"Of course," Harry nodded, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. God, is it
actually that bad?
Sighing and wriggling her small hands, Easy nervously cleared her throat. "When
master Marvolo bought Easy, he was only eighteen, he used his first money from
work to buy Easy. Master couldn't give Easy name at first, calling her just
elf. Master was very sad boy, very lonely. Master saw bad, very bad dreams
first two years of his life with Easy. He cried every night in sleep, screaming
and tossing. Easy would stay with master, rub his back and tell him: "Easy,
master, easy." Some time after that master started calling her Easy," she
pointed her finger at herself, smiling sadly, as fat tears ran down her
wrinkled cheeks. "Soon master stopped seeing bad dreams, started doing bad
magic, hurting other wizards... But he never hurt Easy, never!" she cried
vehemently, shaking her head so hard, Harry was afraid it would fall off.
He was shocked by what he had heard at first, but then he remembered that
Marvolo had created his first horcrux at sixteen. Perhaps, the bad dreams were
connected with it? Harry knew what it was like to suffer from nightmares, knew
all too well. Marvolo's hatred towards muggles came from abuse at the orphanage
- it didn't take a genius to understand that much. Closing his eyes resentfully
and hugging his baby softly, he once again cursed himself for sympathizing with
Marvolo, for feeling sorry for him. The monster didn't deserve it! But he was a
human being as well, wasn't he? Hadn't he showed Harry compassion and care,
affection? Oh, bloody hell! It all was too difficult, too tangled, he didn't
want to think about the man that made him... What had he made him? Both the
most miserable and the happiest person in the world. Harry looked at his son,
who was Marvolo's carbon copy and sighed helplessly. Why wasn't there a simple
answer, a simple solution for this problem? Why couldn't he simply hate the
man? Was he going to thank him for giving him the most precious gift, every
time he looked at Domhnall, until the day he died?
"I don't know what to do," he buried his nose in his son's soft, chestnut hair,
feeling sad and hollow, longing for another and despising himself for it.
"Master was good man, he made mistake," Easy patted him on the arm, giving him
a warm, encouraging smile. "Master good again after he met master Harry, he
like master Harry very, very much," she nodded with finality, with a quite
confident look on her face.
Harry smiled back ruefully, "Everybody makes mistakes, but few answer for the
consequences." But Domhnall wasn't a mistake, he thought, he was a blessing,
even if he cost Harry everything he knew and held dear. What was Marvolo?
xxx
There was something cleansing and purifying in appearing in Harry's house all
covered in blood of his victims, Voldemort thought, as he apparated straight
into the very warm and cosy living room. It had been two days since their
meeting and he wasn't able to stay away any longer. Dumbledore was not
successful in his search for the elf, for Voldemort hadn't given him time for
it - Death Eaters attacked yet another village, after his second bill was once
again rejected. It was only a matter of time, he knew, but he needed to keep
them all toned up, otherwise they would soon relax and forget who was the king
of the hill here. He could hear Harry and Domhnall laughing somewhere upstairs.
Spelling some of the freshest bloody spots off of his clothes, he looked around
curiously, for he hadn't had the time to assess the living conditions the last
time. Harry hadn't burdened himself with buying new furniture, using the old
sofa and armchairs, ancient bookcases, that looked like they were going to
crumble any minute now. Voldemort smiled involuntarily at the sight of his
books filling the shelves, arranged in exactly the same order they used to be
at Riddle Manor. He could see which ones Harry had already read by now. He
stretched his arms over the fire, reveling in the calming heat. How cold he had
been, how much he wanted to lie down next to Harry, to coil around him, to
share his warmth...
"Master?" Easy came closer and started cleaning his blooded cloak almost
lovingly.
"How are they doing?" Voldemort asked nonchalantly, not sparing the elf another
glance. He knew she would be giving him chiding, disapproving looks, like some
mother hen.
"Masters well," she smiled, fixing his torn robe, "Master Domhnall eat well and
never cry. But master Harry does," the little creature sighed.
"Why?" Why, why did the boy's stupid tears affected him so much?
"Master say he hate yous, but master call master Marvolo in sleep." Easy lifted
her shoulders helplessly.
If only Harry let him in his dreams, or, better, in his bed... "I see. It will
pass soon, do not worry," he took the cup of his favourite fruit tea, that
appeared in the air before him, as Easy quietly left to continue with the
cleaning somewhere else. Sipping on his hot, sweet drink, Voldemort soundlessly
moved from one room to another, watching the way Harry lived and fixing some of
the things on his way. Most curious was that being here was so comforting, it
gave his restless soul a seldom peace, as if he was home. He had never had a
home in his life before, never felt so well, so relaxed anywhere else, even at
Riddle Manor, especially there, not until Harry came. Home where the heart is,
he thought absentmindedly, remembering this quote from one of his muggle books.
Was his heart here? Had Harry taken it? How truly ridiculous and pathetic it
sounded.
Voldemort quietly ascended the stairs and, disillusioning himself and
concealing his aura, stopped at the nursery's threshold, leaning on the
doorframe, and watched Harry and Domhnall play, slowly drinking his tea.
Watching the baby sit up without father's help and laugh happily at that, he
thought about how much he used to hate children. They were the most cruel
creatures he had ever had the pleasure of interacting with, while he lived at
the Wool's orphanage. Garden snakes were his only friends, not his peers. As he
got older, he lost any kind of interest for the little bastards and didn't mind
killing them during raids or torturing them in order to make their parents
cooperate. Violence towards children came as breathing to him, for he always
felt like he was paying for all the pain and humiliation they had brought him.
However, Domhnall didn't disgust him, didn't make him want to cause pain and
sufferings, he fascinated him. Voldemort thought he had never seen a child
happier and better cared for in his life. The boy all but glowed with pleasure,
affection, warmth. And Harry's smile was absolutely brilliant, irresistible
when he looked at their son. He felt a pang of jealousy in his heart, but it
dissipated in favour of helplessness, when his little Prince fell on the floor
next to the baby and the two of them started rolling and tossing around,
laughing like mad, playing like kittens in the street. Harry's laughter rang so
brightly, lightly, it echoed in Voldemort's chest, making him wonder just how
was it possible to laugh so heartedly at something so insignificant, mundane.
"Oh, you little devil!" Harry grumped good-naturedly and started tickling
Domhnall's sides, drawing wild bouts of giggles out of the boy, as he wriggled
under his touch, blowing bubbles out of his nose at the pleasant tension.
Having have cleaned his small face, Harry covered it in featherlight kisses,
mumbling nonsense all the while. "Come on, it's time for bed," he picked the
boy up and laughed, as Domhnall tugged on his long hair, over-excited and
elated.
Voldemort stood frozen, mesmerized with the way the child looked at Harry -
there was such adoration, trust in the mischievous green eyes. Did all children
look at their parents like that? Had he looked at his mother like that when she
saw him for the first and the last time in her life, before she died? Would
Domhnall grace him with the same look if he took him in his arms? The sounds of
soft singing snapped him out of his reverie and he looked up at Harry, who was
rocking the boy and singing, holding him very close to his face, rubbing his
nose against Domhnall's, making him smile. The Dark Lord strained his ears,
trying to make out the words.
"Long afloat on shipless oceans, I did all my best to smile, 'til your singing
eyes and fingers, drew me loving to your isle. And you sang: sail to me, sail
to me, let me enfold you. Here I am, here I am, waiting to hold you," Harry
sang the same old lullaby he thought he knew from somewhere, smiling at the
sight of the yawning, already sleeping baby in his arms.
How he reveled in his boy's being, how he loved singing to him. He sighed
sadly, when the song was finished and Domhnall was snoring sweetly, completely
ignorant to everything around him. Reluctant to part with him, Harry put the
child down into the crib and stood there for a long time, watching the small
sleeping form with an obsessive fascination. How was it possible to love
somebody so madly, truly, deeply, selflessly. He knew now why had his mother
never stepped aside at Voldemort's offer - the mere thought of somebody hurting
his Domhnall drove him insane, he was ready to give his life any second to
protect him. Finally, he left the nursery, as he himself started yawning and
rubbing on his sleepy eyes. Halting at the threshold, sensing something...
something strange, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, Harry turned
around and took one last look at his son - the bay was sleeping peacefully.
Frowning and shaking the weird sensation off, he turned the lights off, leaving
the small magical night-lamp hover over the crib, and went into the bathroom.
They stood so close, he could almost touch his little Prince's nose with his
own. Even after all of his precautions Harry could still sense him - his powers
were just as great as Voldemort's own. As the raven haired wizard brushed past
him and disappeared out of the view, he banished the teacup and entered the
nursery. Why was Harry standing at the crib for so long simply looking at the
child? Voldemort carefully peeked inside, taking in the angelic face of his
son. Sightly parted plump, red lips; tiny nose; round and healthy pink cheeks;
long, dark eyelashes and waves of chestnut hair, lying softly around the small
head. His thin, tiny chest rose hastily, as he snored rather loudly. Tilting
his head to the side, Voldemort watched him, trying to memorize every
millimeter of the tender skin... Stop it! Shaking himself up, he scowled at the
notion that he, just like Harry, had spent long minutes in pointless staring.
It was just a baby, a little, defenseless, harmless boy, his boy... Despite
himself he reached out for Domhnall. Widening his eyes in surprise, Voldemort
gently pressed his whole palm to the warmest, softest thing he had ever
touched. It was incredible. The boy sighed pleasantly, comforted by his
closeness, and the Dark Lord couldn't help but let the stupidest grin stretch
his face. How sweet the little one's magic was, how marvelous was the heat that
radiated from his body.
"The fuck is this, I can't take it anymore." Voldemort darted away from the
crib, as Harry suddenly stormed inside the room and hastily picked Domhnall up,
though careful not to wake him. "I don't know what kind of shit is going on but
you are sleeping with me tonight," he whispered and took the boy out of the
nursery and into his bedroom. He couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling that
something wasn't right, as if the atmosphere in the house had somewhat changed.
It wasn't the danger he felt, but it was something suspicious, as if it teased
him by calling for him and yet it hid as soon as he reached out for it. And it
was concentrated in Domhnall's room. Perhaps, the boy was having a bad dream or
something along the lines, Harry pondered, embracing the small form under the
covers in his bed. Domhnall habitually clutched on the locket, that hang around
his neck, and shifted closer to his chest. Soothed by his son's closeness,
Harry forgot about the strange sensation and fell asleep, lulled by the boy's
sweet snores.
He watched the two of them sleep for almost an hour, being eaten by the desire
to lie next to them in this bed, to be held by Harry's hands just as lovingly
and protectively as Domhnall was. He wanted Harry back, wanted to fuck him
senseless every time he wished so, wanted to tease him and hear his foul
swearing along with soft, heartfelt laughter, wanted to see Harry smiling just
for him, at him. Voldemort had never felt addicted and dependent on somebody
else in his life, not until now. Gathering his arrogance and recklessness, he
soundlessly stepped closer and over to Harry's side, hovering over him, tracing
the curves of his face with his hungry eyes. Letting out a soft groan, he bent
down and kissed the tender cheek, snaking his hand under the thin nightshirt
and rubbing on the hot skin of the thin shoulder and chest. Fuck. How hot, how
good it felt. Harry stirred, moaning, but didn't wake up and Voldemort moved
his lips along the jaw and onto the plump, red lips. Their softness and
sweetness was his undoing.
"Harry," he breathed out. It took all of his strength and self-control to pull
away. He couldn't do it now, his little... no, he was no little, no boy
anymore, just his Prince. His Prince wouldn't appreciate his lustful caresses
right now. Harry needed more time. Time. It was all he had and it was driving
him insane again. "You are mine, dear. You will accept it soon."
xxx
Harry stood at the window in the living room, holding Domhnall close to his
chest, watching Dumbledore, Ron and Hermione, who stood dumbly in front of his
lawn and talked between themselves, gesturing at the house. They had found him
despite Dobby's best efforts. The poor elf stood next to him, pressed against
his legs, trembling in fear. "It's alright, Dobby, you did very well. Do not
worry, they can't get inside," he said firmly, though inwardly he was scared
shitless. He wished Severus was here to assure him that the wards would protect
them. He wished his best and only friends weren't standing there. Their
presence in Dumbledore's company could mean only two things: they were either
tricked into believing that no harm would come to him and the baby, or they
were consciously taking their part in the murdering of the innocent child.
Harry couldn't decide if the latter was worse than the former. Dobby suddenly
popped out of the view with a fearful squeak.
"They've finally found you." Harry turned around sharply to the sound of
Marvolo's voice. The wizard stood a few steps away from him, with his blood red
eyes trained on the headmaster's form.
"What are you doing here?" Was he honestly relieved to see Voldemort? What was
wrong with him?!
"The alarm, that we had placed along with the wards, went off. I simply came to
check on you," Voldemort came closer to stand beside Harry and scowled at the
three people that just wouldn't leave.
"Thanks," Harry's eyes darted nervously from side to side, stealing glances at
Marvolo, who was just as calm, confident, strong as he had always been. Except
that he was the fucking Dark Lord at the same time, the most vicious, merciless
murderer in the world and a wanted criminal.
He saw Harry's hesitant looks out of the corner of his eye, but pretended to be
ignorant. They pleased him, immensely. Domhnall, who had been rather
indifferent to what was happening, was curiously staring at him and, when
Voldemort looked him straight in the brilliant green eyes, the boy smiled and
lowered his head shyly onto Harry's shoulder, giving the Dark Lord a most
mischievous look he had ever received. Well, wasn't the little devil just the
perfect copy of his raven haired father? While Harry kept intently watching the
intruders, clutching on the boy's small form protectively, Voldemort had given
Domhnall his full attention. Unable to resist the temptation, he reached out
and touched the small hand, that instantly grabbed his cold fingers. Gracing
him with ardent grimaces, the little brat giggled, dragging his digits into his
small mouth.
"Domhnall!" Harry pulled him away, frowning at Marvolo and the fact that he had
touched the baby, but suddenly Domhnall started crying for the first time in
his short life. Helpless and completely lost, Harry stared at him, barely
fighting his own tears at the sight of the wailing, tear-stained boy. He was so
used to his son being the calmest, happiest baby in the world that now he had
no slightest idea what to do.
Wincing at the awful sounds, Voldemort tried to find the reasons to the boy's
hysteria, but there was only one explanation, which both scared and pleased
him. However, as Harry kept standing, frozen, like a stone and looking at the
boy with wide eyes, while the little brat kept straining his voice, the Dark
Lord realized he would rather have it calm and quiet as always. Growling and
rolling his eyes in exasperation at the ridiculousness of the situation, he put
his hand over Domhnall's back and the infant instantly shut up.
Shocked, Harry held him, as the soft sobs escaped his small chest, while
Domhnall gradually calmed down under his father's touch. Harry looked up at
Marvolo, who was watching him all this time and found he couldn't stop staring
into the blood red eyes. Behind the colour were the same passion, hunger, lust,
warmth, appreciation. If only he could forget who the man really was and kiss
him...
He rubbed on the small back soothingly, just like he used to do it for Harry
when he suffered from awful nightmares. It was so easy, so natural to touch
Domhnall now, as if he had been doing it for his whole life. Astonished at the
boy's affection towards him, Voldemort pushed his hand higher and carded his
fingers through the soft, chestnut locks, just like his own. Harry's eyes were
following his every movement, often darting to his face, as if checking on his
expression. He knew there was a small smile on his lips - he couldn't fight it
even if he really tried to, though, he had no wish to do so, really. Perhaps,
his and Domhnall's closeness would soften Harry, help him forgive and accept
him faster?
"He likes you," Harry stated the obvious, looking straight into the ruby eyes.
"Of course," Voldemort smirked arrogantly, "Why wouldn't he?"
Despite his best attempts and inward cursing of his own self, Harry couldn't
hold back a small smile at the familiar, overconfident tone. It was just like
Marvolo to say something like that.
"Do you like me, Harry?"
He stared at the wizard, who was watching him seriously, waiting for his reply
- there was no humor in his voice or eyes.
But before Harry could seal his fate with the truthful answer, for he knew he
couldn't lie, Dumbledore's voice gained their attention. "Harry? Harry, are you
there? Please, come out, we came to simply check on you, we mean no harm!"
"Please, Harry!" Hermione joined in.
He jerked, as Marvolo's hand squeezed his shoulder possessively. "What a
pathetic display," the wizard hissed over his ear and Harry felt his knees were
ready to give away under the overwhelming sensation of the so long desired
closeness. Another hand snaked around his waist and he was pressed tightly
against the broad, firm chest. Catching his breath, Harry closed his eyes,
fearing he might lose control over himself. Marvolo's touch was just as gentle
and demanding as always. "Harry, don't listen to them, your friends were
brainwashed. They will kill our son."
"I know," he breathed out shakily, struggling against the strong hold. He
couldn't let Voldemort do it again - seduce him so shamelessly, so easily. Our,
did he say our son?
"Harry, mate! Come on, it's us!" Ron shouted, waving his arms as if he thought
it would convince Harry to come out.
"Harry, you are with child, you need help! Please, you could die!" Hermione
started crying, and as her shoulders shook, so did Harry's knees.
"Sh-sh, my little one, you know very well those tears are worthless, while
Domhnall's life is priceless. There is no option of even considering to choose
between them, don't you think?" Voldemort whispered, rubbing on his shoulder
and abdomen soothingly, making Harry relax and lean back on him more and more.
He wished he could ignore Marvolo, could be completely unaffected by his touch,
his amazing smell, his coolness that calmed his nervousness so well... Domhnall
kept giggling and smiling at his ruby eyed father, tugging happily on both his
and Harry's hair. Harry kissed him on the temple gently and sighed longingly,
when Marvolo buried his long nose into his raven hair and inhaled his scent. He
missed this so much, he missed this man so much...
"I wish you were just Marvolo," he murmured sadly and felt the dark wizard
smile into his locks.
"Nothing is ever that simple, my dear," Voldemort pressed his Prince tighter to
himself and licked on the young wizard's ear briefly, reaching out for the
little boy with his other hand and stroking his soft, plump cheek. He felt
drunk, drugged on their magic combined, it practically sang to him, like a
siren to a lost sailor, tempting him, luring him into a trap. What a marvel the
two of them were, and how arrogantly pleased he felt, that they belonged to him
and him alone.
Kissing his Prince softly on the head and patting Domhnall's, the Dark Lord
stepped aside when the three light wizards outside had finally disappeared.
"They will be back - as would I," he whispered to Harry, whose eyes followed
his apparition with a complex mixture of sadness and relief.
xxx
Harry woke up in the middle of the night to the sounds of Domhnall's excited
blubbering. Grumping in annoyance and rubbing on his sleepy eyes on his way, he
stomped into the nursery only to find Marvolo bent over the crib, watching the
boy, who was jerking his small arms, asking the man to pick him up.
"You know, normal people give visits at daytime," he came closer, looking at
the dark wizard wearily. "If you want to see him - just say so, no need to
creep in here during the night and disturb his sleep."
"I couldn't sleep and so I came here to look at him," Voldemort drawled
nonchalantly, inwardly laughing in triumph at Harry's partial surrender. He had
just been given a permission to come here every day. "You both are mine, Harry,
I wouldn't make another mistake of losing you again. I will be coming when I
please and I will know everything that is going on with you two."
"Afraid to lose your horcruxes?" Harry spat acidly, suddenly feeling hurt at
the notion, that Marvolo had been using him all that time as a sex-toy, as an
additional option to the vessel.
"No, you know I have plenty of those," he lied smoothly. "I don't want to lose
you." That was the truth and it had, unexpectedly, set something free inside of
him, as if he had told his secret to somebody he knew would never betray him.
"Domhnall is not a horcrux, by the way," he added, having had stolen a glance
at his Prince's pale, gobsmacked face.
"God, what a relief!" Harry leaned against the wall, grabbing on his throat and
groaning in exhaustion, and slid down onto the floor. However, Marvolo's
previous words kept ringing in his ears. Was it another cunning lie of his? Or
was there enough of a human left inside of him to truly care?
"Harry," Voldemort crouched next to him and took him by the hands, "Harry, I
need you." He tried to convey the force of his need to the green eyes that
watched him fearfully and gratefully at the same time.
"Please, don't," he shook his head, trying to pull away, "Don't touch me." But
Marvolo moved closer instead, sliding his cold, cold hands up his arms and
shoulders, leaning forward to bring his face a mere inch away from his own.
Panting, as the lustful beast was clawing on his chest and groin, Voldemort
whispered pitifully, "I can't keep away, it has been too long, Harry. Tell me
what to do - I want you, tell me, and I will do anything, but don't send me
away. It is fruitless. I will never leave you." He bit into the soft, trembling
lips harshly, pulling the struggling wizard into a heated, passionate embrace.
"No, no!" Harry tried to scream into the violent kiss, but his hands felt too
weak, barely slapping on Marvolo's limbs, as the man's hot tongue found its way
into his mouth and all Harry could do was to welcome it vigorously, excitedly,
despite his better judgement.
"Harry, Harry!" Voldemort kept moaning, pushing his hands underneath the
nightshirt and grabbing, scratching on the hot body, rolling his eyes in
pleasure of feeling Harry everywhere.
"Stop, please, stop," Harry managed to break their kiss and move away a little.
"I can't," he whined miserably, staring into the burning blood red eyes.
"Tell me what should I do for you to let me touch you, hold you, have you, tell
me!" He couldn't bear it anymore, he wanted Harry now!
Was it his slytherin side that started whispering in the small voice that he
should use this chance? He knew all too well there was no escape from Marvolo,
he couldn't really fight his animal lust, his sex, his dominating personality.
He wanted him, he cried in his arms, as he wanted his mother's murderer, wanted
so badly... "I will let you touch me only if you stop the mindless killing, if
you stop torturing and ruining lives, if you would tell me the truth and
nothing but the truth, and would answer any of my questions." That was it. If
Marvolo was incapable of being honest, than he could finish off the tiny hope
he had been keeping all this time.
Little serpent in lion's skin. "I can't give you a vow on this, but I can swear
on being honest with you. No more secrets, no more lies," he assaulted the
seductive lips again, kissing slower, thrusting his tongue deeper inside,
moaning indecently at the so long desired sweetness of the hot mouth.
Drunk on the wizard's overwhelming aura, Harry pushed him away weakly. "Don't.
Stop. I don't want you."
"I pray differently," Voldemort hissed, suddenly furious. Don't want me? And
what is this then? He squeezed Harry's hard erection under the thin cloth. "You
don't fool me, Harry, I know you, I know you better than anyone."
Flinching away from the threatening tone in Marvolo's deep, smooth voice, Harry
batted his cold hand away from his traitorous cock. How could it be ignorant to
the man's close vicinity, when it had been giving him a headache every single
night, asking to be sated in the wild, wet dreams about Marvolo? "I have told
you what I want from you - respect my wishes and my privacy. Leave me, please,"
he crawled hastily away, closer to the crib, involuntarily shielding it with
his body.
Standing on all fours on the floor, panting and staring at him wildly, as a
beast, Voldemort stretched his lips in an evil, cruel smile. "Be as it may,
Harry, you can't keep me away from our son. I have a right to see Domhnall and
touch him whenever I wish so, you cannot stop me!" he crawled closer, making
Harry jerk fearfully and scowl at him. "I am warning you, Harry," the cold hand
caressed the young wizard's ankle teasingly, "You may play these games as long
as you are entertained enough, I would gladly play along, but when it comes to
our son," he emphasized the last words with a low, menacing growl, "You will
not stand in my way. I promise not to take him away from you in exchange for
your tolerance of me being here with him. Should you try and hide him from me
again - I will find him and I will turn him into what you despise the most:
me." With that he vanished into the thin air, leaving Harry stare dumbly into
the darkness of the nursery to the accompaniment of Domhnall's quiet whining.
He didn't really mean what he had said, he wasn't going to turn the boy into
another Lord Voldemort. Contrary to what Harry might have been thinking, he
wasn't planning on making Domhnall an heir to the Dark Lord's "throne", he only
wished for the boy to be happy, if he could use this word in the context. What
he wanted was for Domhnall to never know pain, loss, fear, loneliness,
orphanages, other's cruelty, famine, poverty and death - he wanted his son to
have a different, a better life, which was only possible with Harry. Of course
he would have never taken him away from Prince, he wasn't an idiot - no matter
how hard he tried he would never be able to give the boy as much affection,
kindness and understanding, love, as Harry was already giving him. But using
this as a weapon, as a mean to get to his sweet but oh so stubborn Prince,
wasn't below him, oh no. He was all for using Domhnall to his own benefit in
his and Harry's relationship. He didn't lie when he said he would never leave -
he wouldn't. Harry was his and he was going to give him a life he deserved.
xxx
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter IX
Severus jerked in his seat at the sharp sound of his floo coming to life. Had
he fallen asleep in his armchair? Groaning, the potions master bent forward to
stretch his stiffened back.
"Severus, we have to have a very serious talk," was his boss' greeting.
Blinking owlishly at the headmaster, whose presence instantly lightened up his
gloomy living room, Severus simply nodded and weakly raised his hand to gesture
in the direction of the sofa, indicating for Dumbledore to make himself at
home. As if he never did so anyway. "We found Harry, he doesn't answer our
call... I will need you to check on him and the child, which must be due to
come now," the old wizard said, sitting down and watching him intently.
"And how do you suggest I will do it, when Potter ignored even you?" He knew
Dumbledore would come to him after he found himself incapable of penetrating
the wards, his lord knew that as well.
"I am sure he would let you help him with the delivery," the headmaster nodded
confidently. "He is hidden behind very powerful wards, Severus. Forgive me for
being suspicious, but you are one of the few powerful enough to be able to put
up such an admirable protection... I cannot ignore this fact," he shrugged his
shoulders apologetically and gave Severus a kind smile.
"Albus, you know I would have never placed any kind of protection on Potter
without consulting with you first... the Dark Lord would have had my head for
this as well!" the potions master sighed heavily in exasperation. "Perhaps, he
found the boy, but never told me? He often does that nowadays - he doesn't
trust anyone. What kind of wards are you talking about anyway?"
Dumbledore considered him for a moment, seemingly deciding whether he should
believe his words or his own intuition, but then he simply smiled and let out a
small sigh of relief, "Yes, you may be right, my boy." The old wizard stood up
and paced the small room a few times, stroking his long, white beard
thoughtfully. "The wards are made of blood, very powerful blood, I must admit.
Harry never once answered even to his friends' calls, which disturbs me
greatly."
"As I have already told you before: their participation is useless and most
inconvenient. Imagine, if the Dark Lord has found him, would Potter be stupid
enough to contact his only friends and put their lives in danger?" Severus
raised his eyebrows skeptically, blindly reaching out for a cup of strong
coffee, that appeared on the table next to his seat.
"But what of the child, Severus? What would Voldemort do with it?" the
headmaster waved his hands helplessly, looking at the potions master as if he
was a Seer who held all the answers.
"How the hell would I know?" he snarled back, irritated.
"That is why I need you to help me in this, Severus," Dumbledore came closer
and hovered over him, looking him straight in the eye. "You must ask Voldemort
to let you check on your son and help him. There is nobody else who could place
these wards on the house, if he found them then we have only one chance of
getting them out of there." And destroying them both, Severus finished for him
inwardly. "Voldemort is insane and another living horcrux will leave Harry
unprotected, useless, Severus, don't you see, he will kill our boy without any
hesitation."
Ignoring the tears on the old, wrinkled face, Severus huffed and stood up
sharply, trying to escape the oppressing shadow of the Light Lord. "I
understand, Albus, I am not blind, nor am I stupid. I will do what you ask of
me, but if Potter refuses to go, I will not force him - I might not have such
an opportunity in the first place, you understand, don't you?"
"I understand," Dumbledore said gravely, rubbing his blackened hand
absentmindedly. "It is just that I don't have much time left, my boy, you see,"
he smiled ruefully, and brushed a few tears off of his cheeks. "I didn't have
an opportunity to instruct Harry on the matter of other horcruxes and their
destruction. I am too weak, and you, Severus, are too valuable to be sent on
the hunt. Only Harry can do it."
"Is he supposed to kill himself after he destroyed all the other horcruxes?"
the potions master asked quietly, watching the old wizard with pity and hatred,
both hidden behind the blank, bored look, that he had been developing for so
many years.
Dumbledore had lost his own sanity in his fight for the righteous cause of the
Light. He had the nerve to tell him that his son must have been killed along
with his grandchild for the greater good, for the abominable muggles' lives and
their assimilation with wizards. Voldemort was never a fair leader but he, at
least, never veiled the necessity of sending his servants to death behind a
noble sacrifice for the cause. And he wanted to secure their world, to never
let muggles in it - and that was right, Severus knew it in his heart, it was
right and he was prepared to fight for it, no matter the consequences. However,
now that he had Harry and Domhnall... and he did have them, didn't he? They
were his family now, his real, own family. Now he had to think of a better way
of managing all the spying by, preferably, staying alive, and keeping them
alive as well.
"You make it sound like it is me who is killing him," Dumbledore hunched his
shoulders and hid his face in his hands, as he turned away and paced the room
once more. "No, I would never make Harry face such a terrible, degrading end,"
he rubbed on his eyes and brow, sighing tiredly, sadly. "Harry must be the one
who kills Voldemort. It is only fair to give him a chance to vanquish him again
and forever. He will have to, unfortunately, die in the process by Voldemort's
own hand... But his death would never be in vain!" he turned sharply to give
the potions master the most determined look. His pale blue eyes were not
twinkling, but burning with passion and grief, but with confidence as well.
Who's the crazy megalomaniac now? "So it is me, who is to finish either the
Dark Lord or Potter off when the time comes, is that what you are saying? For
there is a one chance out of a million that they would kill each other
simultaneously," Severus shook his head at the insanity of the idea. Even if he
had been in fact against Voldemort and if he had hated Harry as much as he used
to think he did, even then he would never agree to this atrocity. "I can't kill
Potter, I am under the vow, you know it."
"Yes," the headmaster nodded, averting his eyes. "And you are his father after
all. No, I have made arrangements, when such time comes, there will be a person
to finish one of them off, as you phrased it."
His friends? The members of the Order couldn't know of horcruxes and Harry's
connection to the Dark Lord, so none of them could fulfill the task. Who could
this person be? No one in his sane mind would kill the Boy-Who-Lived just
because Dumbledore had given the order... Perhaps, it was going to be not a
very sane person after all? Severus tapped on his lips thoughtfully, as he
pondered over yet another little obstacle. There was no telling when will this
situation transpire: a fight between the Dark Lord and Harry, but he knew now
he had to do everything in his power to prevent it from happening. He had to
warn his master.
"I am very, very sorry, Severus, for all the horrors I have to put you through,
but we live in the dark times and hope is our only source of light, that would,
one day, lead us to a brighter, better future," the old wizard came closer and
patted the potions master's shoulder, smiling softly at him. "Please, visit
Harry as soon as possible, he is our only hope."
Wasn't it ironic, that Dumbledore was going to kill his only hope before it led
him to his better future? It wasn't Voldemort, it was this old fool who had
been constantly, gradually destroying everything that Severus loved and held
dear.
"Yes, Albus, I will try later today, after classes are over."
xxx
"So he wants us to meet in the battle and kill each other?" Voldemort
confirmed. "After Harry has destroyed my horcruxes?"
"Yes, my lord," Severus nodded and sipped on his tea. He began finding it
rather comfortable and nice to live in his mansion, he didn't really mind the
dark warlock's company anymore. He knew he should have moved here sooner, but
what was the point if he lived at Hogwarts ten months a year?
The Dark Lord shook his head and burst into a booming laughter, that echoed
deafeningly in the spacious library. "The old fool!" Voldemort lay on his
favourite sofa, with his legs placed high up on its back, and his whole body
shook and his cheeks blushed slightly, as he laughed. "He will be in for a very
big surprise!"
"But what of Harry, my lord?" the potions master put his china away and shifted
in his seat more comfortably. "He wouldn't kill you, of course, nor would he
participate in any of Dumbledore's schemes, but he wouldn't sit in the golden
cage and wait for your treats either." He arched his eyebrows sarcastically, at
the somewhat surprised look his master gave him.
"Yes, you are most certainly right, Severus," Voldemort sighed. Harry's
stubbornness was what kept clouding his mind these past few days ever since the
young wizard gave him his ultimatum. "I do not wish to keep him in any kind of
a cage, but for now this would have to suffice, no harm must come to him and
the child, while we are establishing our regime."
"How are you going to make the other bills pass, my lord? Should we take
Wizengamot's members hostages again?"
"No, no," he waved his hand dismissively at the idea, "This is boring and not
as efficient as we thought. They are so stupid they can't even see the real
danger anymore. All they know is that I am a psychotic murderer and muggles are
their best friends. What we should do..." Voldemort slowly sat up, lowering his
long legs down and crossing them elegantly, "Is change their perspective, their
mindsets."
Well, wasn't it his own fault they saw him as a an evil maniac? "How?" Severus
rested his chin on his curled palm and stared at his lord in wonder.
"There are ways," the Dark Lord brushed his hair back and behind his ears,
which made him look younger, more innocent than ever. "First, we could work
through the press. What was the name of that reporter who wrote about Harry and
his insanity after my resurrection? Yes, Skeeter. Well, we could make her work
for us. Tell people the truth, write the true stories of abuse and violence
that wizards and witches have to endure from muggles."
"It would be hard to find enough witnesses, my lord," Severus involuntarily
tensed, as the images of his own childhood mixed up with the images of his son
being raped and darkened his vision. None of them could possibly share this
with the others even for the sake of their survival.
"Neither you, nor Harry would have to do it," the blood red eyes gave him the
most understanding look he could ever expect to get from the Dark Lord. Was his
master talking from experience? "I know enough of those who have a few stories
to share, besides, most are not as sensitive and dignified as you are, Severus.
A few galleons and they would tell you everything." Voldemort rolled his eyes
and frowned, visibly brushing away the problem out of his mind. "Then, apart
from the press, we could initiate a few real fights and conflicts between
wizards and muggles, to make others see just what exactly is happening. There
are hundreds of Vernon Dursleys in this country, it would be quite easy," he
smiled crookedly, though his eyes narrowed and Severus couldn't help but shiver
at the sensation of anger and hatred coming in waves from the man. It seemed
his lord loathed the fat bastard even more than he himself did.
"Wouldn't we start what we are trying to prevent? A war against muggles?" the
potions master asked, clearing his throat. This was a fine plan, but a very
dangerous one.
"We would have to be careful and obliviate quite a lot of that muggle scum, but
it would be worth it," Voldemort nodded confidently, relaxing slowly and
keeping his emotions in check. "Then, and this is, I believe, the most
important part, we could find a spokesman of sorts, whom our society likes and
trusts, our personal Dumbledore if I may say so..." he laughed again, bitterly
this time. "This delegate of ours would give them mental pabulum they would be
chewing on and slowly, steadily coming to their senses."
"But who could possibly this delegate be?" Severus raised his eyebrows in
surprise. Of course his lord was right and brilliant as ever - this was the
most simple, yet the most efficient solution to their problem, but he couldn't
imagine who could be intelligent and light enough to take on such a significant
task. "Not one of us, not Lucius, surely, even though he is quite trusted at
the Ministry."
"No, no, Lucius is obviously dark and evil just as we are," Voldemort shook his
head, laughing quietly. "I have been thinking about this for a long time,
evaluating different candidates, but there is only one person who could pull
this off," he gave Severus a pointed look and smiled evilly at him. "It is
Harry Potter."
"But..." Severus felt as his jaw hung down slightly and he hastily pulled
himself together. "But this is going against everything we have discussed for
so many times! This is the opposite of keeping him safe!" He couldn't help, but
sit up rigidly in his armchair.
"Calm down, Severus, and listen to me carefully," Voldemort glared at his
potions master and, habitually rubbing on his dimpled chin, elaborated, "Right
now they all believe that Harry is at some secret training abroad, which is
preposterous and must be refuted, of course. It is his choice what would he
come up with, but he must make them see that the Light hadn't done anything for
him or them. Harry would tell them that Dumbledore is a liar and a madman, that
we, our cause, is what is right for them. It wouldn't be untrue - he agrees
with my bills, I know that for certain."
"But how are we going to make Harry do it? I doubt he would agree... He
wouldn't leave Domhnall for this." Severus still felt confused, but deep inside
he knew his lord was right. Harry was as light as they came, he was almost as
powerful as Dumbledore already, and he was, in fact, pure and kind. Of course
he would be believed and trusted, heard. But once again it was something
decided behind his back, which, Severus knew from experience, Harry hated.
"His participation is my problem, Severus," Voldemort smiled and the fire in
his eyes told the potions master the man had been already plotting the ways of
making Harry see reason. "Your problem is Domhnall. Whatever ways we choose to
do this, you will have to take the boy here and keep him safe and hidden. Only
that would assure Harry and let us work together."
"I see," Severus relaxed a little and slumped back in his seat. "But what of
Harry's safety? The Order would kidnap him if Dumbledore wishes so. What of the
horcrux? They could kill him."
"Dumbledore wouldn't kill him before he found and destroyed all of my
horcruxes, which would take a lot of time, believe me," the Dark Lord said
nonchalantly, rocking his leg absentmindedly, looking even younger now,
everything but the cunning murderer. "Besides, do not think I would let Harry
out into the world all alone. I would, of course, accompany him all the time, I
would simply stay hidden. He will be safe with me," he gave Severus a confident
smile that radiated satisfaction, not from the brilliance of his plan, but from
the fact that he would be close to Harry all the time.
Once again the potions master asked himself if his lord could possibly love.
For he looked completely smitten with the other, especially now that they had a
child together. Perhaps the man hadn't realized it himself yet, but his
feelings for Harry were quite obvious, they made him look younger, careless,
free. Most unusual display, Severus thought.
"When would you tell Harry, my lord?"
"Tonight, perhaps," Voldemort shrugged his shoulders, "The sooner the better."
"Alright," Severus nodded.
He hoped the plan would work and fast. The constant tension of living in fear
and uncertainty galled him and, if he was honest with himself, took its toll oh
him. He wanted rest, peace, he wanted to enjoy the gifts the Fate had sent him
so suddenly. Now that he knew what it was like to have a family, to be accepted
and cherished, he couldn't get enough of it. Nor could Voldemort, as far as he
could see.
xxx
Harry tied Domhnall's hat more thoroughly under the boy's chin and, satisfied,
picked him up from the chair in the hall and took him out in the backyard,
where Dobby and Easy, who chose to come here as often as her master didn't need
her, cleaned everything up and placed a few benches and bonfires for warmth. It
was their second walk outside and the little boy enjoyed it immensely, laughing
happily at the rare snowflakes that fell softly on his face, trying to catch
them with his hands and tongue. Harry couldn't wait for spring to come, to take
Domhnall out into the city and to the beach. His boy was growing fast,
developing even faster, he could already sit and was beginning to crawl. Very
soon he was going to start talking and the prospect excited Harry, though
unnerved him greatly as well.
Domhnall was going to be a parselmouth, he had no doubts of that. With his both
fathers being the speakers it was only logical for a child to become one as
well. What disturbed Harry was his uncertainty about what should he do about
it. It was a rare gift, a powerful and a useful one, but it was considered dark
and could leave his son feared, shunned by the society in the future - he still
remembered his own unpleasant experience. Should he help Domhnall develop it or
should he prevent him from speaking it altogether? Depriving the boy of his
natural talent was cruel, unfair, but then it would only make others act just
as cruelly and unfairly towards him later. Sighing, Harry shook his head,
trying to get rid of the heavy thoughts. He would deal with the problem when
the time comes.
It was getting dark outside, the grey sky took on a scarlet hue and the
bonfires' light gave the whole garden an eerie atmosphere. Voldemort stood on
the verandah that led into the backyard and watched Harry carry Domhnall
around, lifting him up to the trees to inspect whatever it was the boy was
interested in, spinning him around and throwing him up in the air and catching
him with such ease, as if he wasn't a human being but a doll. And yet it all
made Domhnall produce most satisfied sounds. His curiousness and
mischievousness were well combined with genuine joyfulness and playfulness -
the boy was a fine example of both his and Harry's personalities brought
together, as one. Domhnall's smiles were so bright and pure, they rarely left
his face along with his countless grimaces. Voldemort briefly wondered how was
it possible to constantly stretch one's face so much without getting tired of
it - perhaps, the trick was the boy's sincerity. Harry once again threw
Domhnall up in the air but instead of catching him, he flicked his wrist and
the boy froze, floating gently above his father's head, laughing like mad and
jerking his arms and legs in excitement. Harry's ringing laughter was teasing
the strings inside Voldemort's chest, playing them just as easily, lightly.
"One day you will be able to fly just as much as you want," Harry laughed,
finally catching the happily squeaking boy. "I will buy you the fastest broom
and you would be the best quidditch player in Hogwarts."
Or he might prefer to fly without a broom at all, Voldemort raised the corners
of his mouth, thinking that Harry had still a lot to learn about magic, for
Hogwarts offered very little useful material for the truly powerful wizards.
The common people of their magical society could only ride a broom or any other
charmed object if they wished to fly. Perhaps, he should teach Harry personally
how to use his magic to conquer all the elements, teach him not only walk the
earth, but walk the air, wield the fire, tame the water... The prospect of
helping his Prince learn aroused him. Flying together would have been most
fascinating.
"It's rather late, dear, we should go back inside and feed you, don't you
think?" Harry crooned, carrying Domhnall back to the house, but stopped sharply
at the steps of verandah, when he spotted Marvolo's tall, dark form, that
merged with the background almost completely, leaving only the blood red eyes
gleam brightly, like two burning coals.
"Evening, my little ones," Voldemort purred, as his eyes roamed over Harry's
form, taking in every detail, while his hands were firmly fisted behind his
back in an attempt to calm himself down. Prince affected him so strongly, as if
he took a potency potion.
"Yeah, evening," Harry avoided meeting Marvolo's eyes and quickly brushed past
him and into the house. The less words and glances were exchanged between them,
the easier it would be for him to keep the distance. Harry couldn't let his
traitorous body and soul fuck everything up again and put him into bed with the
man that was the cause of all of his sufferings.
"I have something I would like to talk to you about, Harry," Voldemort closed
the back door behind himself, watching impassively as the young wizard
undressed Domhnall and himself without using magic even once. This was
something all of them, half-bloods, couldn't get rid of - the muggle habits.
"It concerns my political activity."
"Mildly put," Harry couldn't help but laugh bitterly at the phrasing. He picked
his son up and took him into the kitchen. "You can come here and tell me
everything now and then leave," he called, not looking back, as he sat down at
the table and pulled the bowl of soup closer to the edge to feed Domhnall.
Voldemort sat opposite them and stared at the small boy, who was staring back.
He noticed he couldn't stop doing it, couldn't stop wanting to do it, as if
Domhnall was some kind of a magnet. The child was beautiful, fascinating, like
a priceless trophy he pleased Voldemort - that much he could admit to himself.
The more complex feelings were still too hard for him to analyze, since all of
his thoughts were constantly occupied with Harry.
"Well?" Harry's voice snapped him out of his reverie and he raised his eyes to
meet the emerald ones, that were once again looking at him longingly and sadly,
hurtfully.
Voldemort cleared his throat and sat up straighter, taking on a business like
pose and tone, "I wished to inform you that I've been thinking on your demands
a great deal of time, have been looking for a way of ceasing the killings and
achieving my goals. And I think I have found a solution." Two pairs of green
eyes were watching him intently, listening to his every word, both man and boy
didn't even breathe, it seemed. Oh, but it felt so magnificent, the Dark Lord
couldn't remember feeling so elated by other's attention, perhaps, only once,
many years ago, when he had first spoken in front of the audience of those who
bound their lives and magic to his own.
"And what might it be?" Harry asked quietly, pushing a spoon into Domhnall's
mouth, as his heart was once again gripped in a vice. Had Marvolo truly
considered his opinion? His demands, as he put it? Was Voldemort actually going
to stop the mindless murders just for him? His stomach churned at the thought
that he felt grateful, felt... special.
"I will need your help," the blood red eyes locked with the emerald ones and
Voldemort couldn't help, but seethe inside for he knew he was pleading,
pleading again. He could kill Harry as easily as a fly, the young man wouldn't
be fast enough to even notice his attack, but the mere thought of hurting him
sent painful pangs into his heart. Harry had such power over him, he was the
only person in his life that had ever made him beg. And he felt he was ready to
fall even lower for him. "I need you to become a delegate for my campaign, my
cause... our cause."
"What?" Harry blurted out, shocked.
"I know you agree with my bills, why won't you tell everyone about it?" he
smiled at his Prince charmingly, tilting his head to the side. Even begging, he
knew just what to do to make Harry comply faster. He knew this smile of his
always made the other freeze and lose his tension. Oh, and here it was, the
palpitating of the eyelashes, the slight blush of the cheeks... How unbearably
appetizing Harry looked right now, he could devour him with such pleasure.
"You want me to speak to the press, to people... to promote you?" Somehow this
sounded even more insane than the killings. "But why all the safety measures
then, if you want to throw me out into the wild and... What about Domhnall?"
Harry realized he raised his voice, quite unnecessarily, but couldn't help it.
His head wasn't working straight, he couldn't think soberly and simultaneously
watch these damned rose lips seduce him with these blasted smiles. He wanted
Marvolo, always wanted him no matter what he thought of him and it annoyed him
to no end.
"The blood wards are necessary - this is your home after all, I do not want
anyone to disturb you or our son," Voldemort smiled again, leaning forward to
inhale Harry's scent and feel the light magic tickling on his cold skin.
"Besides, I will be accompanying you all the time, I will be keeping you safe
while Domhnall would be with his grandfather. I am sure Severus would manage a
little baby-sitting, with the help of our elves."
"You have planned everything, haven't you?" Harry whispered helplessly. It was
just like Marvolo to study him and to use the knowledge against him eventually.
"I tend to do so, yes," he grinned and felt his smile widen even more, despite
himself, when Domhnall gurgled happily and grinned back at him. Was the boy so
sensitive to the other's emotions? Or was it just him that affected the child
so much? "You have to agree, Harry, if you want me to stop killing them, then
you have to help me, to make them see reason. They would never listen to me or
either of my followers, but you, you can make them see the truth."
"How can I do that?" He hated it, hated so much that Marvolo was always right.
"I will have to expose myself, our son... everything that happened..." Harry
shook his head in denial, feeling the tears of desperation well up in his eyes.
"No," Voldemort gently took the trembling hand that lay on the table and
stroked it lovingly with his cold fingers, "No, Harry, you won't have to do any
of it, not if you don't want to. I simply planned for you to expose Dumbledore,
his voluntary ignorance of your abuse, his lies about you being in training
while you are hiding from him and the Order..." he moved to stand on his knees
before the young wizard, kissing the hand softly, not once taking his eyes off
of the tearful green ones. "I want you to tell them why you agree with me, my
ideas, that is all. You are free to tell anything else you want, I promise."
Harry wanted to close his eyes, to turn away, to snatch his hand out of the
other's hold, but the sight of Marvolo standing on his knees before him, the
blood red eyes looking at him with such honesty and warmth made his heart sing
and hurt at the same time. Was he being deceived again? "Give me a vow," he
croaked, "A vow that you would never lie to me."
He knew it was coming, he knew he would have to give Harry everything he asked
for in order to have him. But somehow it didn't seem as ridiculous now, as it
had just a few days ago. "I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, swear on my life and magic
that I would never lie to Harry Severus Prince, would never deceive him." A
faint light glowed around their clasped hands and Harry could see Marvolo's
pupils change their size, as the blood red orbs darkened and then brightened
dramatically. This couldn't be faked, he had bound himself by an unbreakable
vow yet again. "How many more vows and binds should I perform for you to trust
me, Harry?" Voldemort kissed his hand again and pressed the warm palm against
his cheek, all but purring at the contact.
"Will you truly stop the unnecessary violence if I help you, as you say?" Harry
stroked the soft, cool skin with his thumb despite his best efforts to stay
unaffected. How could he, when he had the Dark Lord at his feet?
"Yes..." It came out shakily, unsteadily, for he could not lie anymore.
He could kill as much as he liked, he only needed to find another reason for
that, but it was the previous night when he had finally, fully realized that
the violence, the murders, the tortures were not bringing him any more comfort
and pleasure as they used to. Now Harry was his comfort, his peace, his solace.
Closing his eyes resentfully, Voldemort leaned forward and circled his arms
around both Harry's and Domhnall's forms, burying his face into the thin fabric
of Harry's shirt. He felt their son tug on his hair and touch his face with his
little plump fingers, inspecting every inch of it, as Harry had once done in
the darkness of their bedroom.
Harry stared at Marvolo, whose head was pressed against his chest, and his
hands involuntarily reached for the soft, chestnut hair, his fingers carded
through the short locks, as his heart beat madly against his ribcage. "Marvolo,
please," he tried weakly, completely incapable of pushing the other away. He
couldn't let himself lose focus, lose caution.
"No, let me hold you," Voldemort pressed harder, rubbing his face against his
Prince. "We had a deal, Harry, I am giving you what you want and I get to hold
you, to touch you. Let me have it now, I miss you so much, I need you..." his
words dissipated into Harry's skin as his long nose found a gap between the
buttons and his lips moved to place a kiss there, sending shivers down Harry's
spine.
Harry didn't say anything, he didn't know what could he say really. With both
Domhnall and Marvolo being so close to him, holding him, he felt as if his
whole entity dissipated and morphed into something else, something intricate
and purifying, light, even though it was mixed with darkness of both men in his
arms. It was yet another form of ecstasy he had never felt before in his life.
Ecstasy of being wanted and needed, ecstasy of being one with those who were
his flesh and blood, his family. He didn't want Marvolo to be his family, he
didn't, at least he was telling himself that, but his hands refused to listen
and kept stroking and pulling on the soft hair, his heart kept calling for
more, his body craved to be taken and worshiped. He needed Voldemort just like
snakeface needed him, he knew it somewhere deep inside of him.
Voldemort pulled away, sensing his patience and will running thin. He couldn't
force Harry into anything physical, he couldn't let himself do it, he could
only wait. Wait for his Prince to be ready to accept him back. A torture worse
then cruciatus. His gaze fell on Domhnall's little form - the boy stretched out
his small arms to be held as well and something, he wasn't sure what exactly,
some kind of an animal instinct compelled him to pick the child up. He stood,
holding his son in his arms for the first time. He could feel the weak muscles
tense from time to time, as the boy shifted, and the beating of a tiny heart
against his chest. Domhnall was as small and light as a feather, and so warm,
so soft, so nice to the touch and to the smell. Voldemort couldn't help but
embrace him tighter and press his lips against the plump cheek. The sweetness
of his scent and magic turned the Dark Lord's head, it was hard to believe he
could create something so pure and so wonderful. It was just a child, wasn't
it? A little menace, abomination, a little trickster, a wolf in a lamb's
skin... no, it wasn't Domhnall. Domhnall was different, he was his and Harry's,
he was special. And so magical.
Harry's first instinct was to tear his boy away, but when he saw Marvolo's
face, the way he looked at Domhnall, the way he kissed him with that small
smile on his lips, it made Harry realize that the dark wizard was, in fact,
capable of feeling affection towards his son, their son. "How will we do it?
Dumbledore, I mean, he wouldn't let me walk around and spread the word," Harry
twisted his fingers helplessly, feeling suddenly apprehensive. He wished his
help could bring an end to all this madness as soon as possible, though he
doubted he could be of any actual use.
"Do not worry about it, I will always be with you when you are out, Harry,"
Voldemort opened his eyes and looked at the raven haired wizard, as his hand
rubbed Domhnall's back in circles. "Dumbledore is dying from a terminal
illness, he would order you to hunt down and destroy all of my horcruxes..." at
the sight of the tears that had finally streamed down Harry's pale cheeks, he
sighed. "Yes, you see, now that I am telling you only the truth it is not going
to be pleasant."
"How has he got infected?" Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for the old
headmaster, he just didn't have that much anger and poison in him to hold the
man's sins and mistakes over him when he was going to die so soon.
"Found my horcrux and tried to destroy it. Paid for poking his nose into my
business. I warned him, Harry, I warned him seventeen years ago, but he never
listened."
Of course there was no pity or regret in the ruby eyes. "And how many of those
do you have hidden?"
"Four, one of them you are wearing around your neck," Voldemort smiled
cunningly.
Frowning, Harry clutched on the locket he never once parted with. It had this
strange familiar feeling to it, but it was empty, it didn't have any kind of
magic inside... Creasing his brow even more, he stroked the cool metal
absentmindedly, as a realization formed in his mind. "There are no real
horcruxes anymore, are there?" he looked up and saw Marvolo's smile widen, and
his eyes shine brighter.
"Yes, I have absorbed them all after I resurrected. You are the only one left,"
his smile faltered suddenly, as if it never existed, "And Dumbledore wants you
to destroy the horcruxes and Domhnall, and then sacrifice yourself in a fight
against me. This is what he told Severus."
"But why have you absorbed them? Aren't they the guarantee of your eternal
life?" Harry scowled at the thought that Dumbledore had the nerve to tell
Severus everything, but not him, that he wanted to kill his innocent son, that
he wanted to put him into a fight against Marvolo, whom he, as much as he
wished to, couldn't hurt. Just couldn't.
Voldemort sat down on a chair next to him and reluctantly passed Domhnall to
Harry, when the boy reached out for his green eyed father. "I did it because I
met you." At his Prince's confused look he crossed his legs and folded his
hands in his lap, smiling melancholically to himself, and elaborated, "I met
you several times before that, but that particular time you actually piqued my
interest, Harry. You fought me, you, a child, who was much more afraid of me
than all the Death Eaters who were cringing at my feet, and yet you were the
only one who stubbornly cursed me with the foulest words I have ever heard," he
laughed mirthfully, and the deep, rich sounds, that were escaping his lips,
burned in Harry's chest and groin. "You didn't cry, you didn't beg for mercy,
you looked me straight in the eye. Reborn, I had enough of sanity and sense to
realize that what had happened to me was the result of my own mistake. I needed
to start all over again, only this time I knew I had to learn from my past
unfortunate experience. And I knew that if I wanted to meet you again and to
get to know you, Harry, I would need to be more human than before," the blood
red eyes looked straight into the emerald ones. "I wanted to know you Harry and
I am glad I did."
Harry averted his gaze, feeling his cheeks burn in embarrassment. Marvolo
couldn't lie to him and Harry couldn't help but feel flattered, pleased and
aroused by the notion that the dark wizard had noticed him and had been wanting
him for so long. That Marvolo appreciated him. Could he say the same though?
That he was glad he got to know the man who killed his mother? Harry looked
down at Domhnall, who was chewing on the locket and watching his parents
curiously. His little miracle, that Marvolo gave him. Fuck.
"Me too." He had never given any vows but he couldn't lie to Marvolo, not after
everything that happened. He didn't want to, he was so tired of it - being
honest with others was freeing, he craved this freedom.
Voldemort gave his Prince a very pleased smile and a sly, lustful look from
underneath his lowered lids and long, thick eyelashes. "Oh, Harry," he sighed,
leaning forward, and smiled at the raven haired wizard, smiled sincerely and
easily, enjoying doing it just for Harry, his Harry.
"I must put Domhnall to sleep," Harry blurted out shakily, for he knew that
look, that voice, that sigh. He knew they were the ultimate weapon against his
shields - if he didn't leave now he would be ravished into oblivion. Of course
he wanted it, but he still was incapable of forgiving Marvolo... for
everything. He sprang up on his feet and hastily walked away and into the
nursery.
"Then I would like to wish him good night," Voldemort drawled, standing next to
the crib, having have apparated into the room.
Harry flinched, surprised by his sudden appearance. "Sure."
Marvolo definitely knew just how was he affecting him and was doing it all on
purpose, the bastard! He kissed Domhnall on the cheek and stroked his hair,
watching the boy yawn, as his eyes slowly closed. Ignoring the dark wizard's
intent staring, Harry kissed his son once more and put him down into the crib,
covering him up with a small blanket and stroking his cheeks, as he listened to
Domhnall's breathing.
When the boy was finally asleep and Harry stepped away from him, Voldemort
leaned forward and bent down to place a kiss on the small head, "Good night,
little prince," he hissed in parseltongue very quietly. He had never had to
share anything or anyone with another person, but now he had to share his son
with Harry, and share Harry with Domhnall. He hated it, but couldn't change it
however hard he wished to, for he wanted them both.
Seeing that Marvolo was occupied with the child, Harry decided it was time to
run. Rationally he knew there was no way he could hide from the man, but he
needed to keep their distance. He quietly escaped into the hall and walked over
to the stairs, but a strong hand stopped him and pushed him against the wall.
He hadn't had the time to move away or fight Marvolo off - his lips were being
devoured by the other with such fierce passion, he felt the copper flavour on
his tongue. And Harry surrendered. His arms circled the man's neck and his body
arched to press into the other's frame. Cold hands snaked underneath his shirt
and grabbed onto his sides, hurting and turning him on. Harry moaned, as
Marvolo sucked on his tongue, growling into his mouth possessively, like a wild
beast. Fuck, how he missed this.
"Harry, Harry..." He had tried, he had honestly tried and he failed. Voldemort
pulled away to take a breath, staring into the unfocused green eyes, full of
lust and longing, want. "Harry, I wouldn't do it against your wishes," he bit
into the tender skin of the throat, groaning at the sounds and short, ragged
breaths that escaped Harry's chest.
He felt like crying, when he heard these words. Why was the man, who skinned
his uncle alive, so kind to him, caring? He could have taken him so easily,
could have forced him into sex - Harry knew he couldn't really fight Voldemort,
he was too young and inexperienced. But snakeface never once used his
opportunity, always being the gentle, understanding, affectionate... lover. Oh
god. Harry pressed into him as hard as he could and hid his face in the crook
of his neck, as tears poured out of his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered,
sobbing, "Marvolo."
Voldemort held him tightly, kissing him on the wet, tear-stained cheeks,
running nose, puffy eyes and lips. Harry's tears tormented him, but the fact
that the young wizard could once again feel safe in his arms to cry told him he
was being trusted again. And it was worth his patience, his hunger. Gathering
Harry's thin form into his arms, he brought him into the bedroom and laid him
down onto the bed, sitting down beside him, still holding him close. "You
belong to me, you belong with me, Harry," he murmured, kissing the swollen lips
gently, "Never forget that."
Closing his eyes and sighing contentedly, Harry relaxed into the embrace of the
cold arms, happy to be held again, just like he always wanted to be. He ignored
the man's words in favour of asking him, "Marvolo, why have you made a horcrux
at all?"
"Because I was afraid," a hot breath brushed over his ear and wet lips sucked
on his earlobe.
Voldemort was a little surprised by the question, he hoped he wouldn't have to
answer anything about his past, but with Harry there was never any certainty.
He kept kissing and licking on the wizard's sweet skin, as his hand rubbed on
the thin chest, teasing the nipples and drawing patterns with the tips of his
fingernails.
Harry turned his head to catch the insatiable lips into a soft, tender kiss and
whispered against them, "Had somebody hurt you, Marvolo?" The man grew up
during the second World War, surely he was afraid of death, but Harry doubted
he had ever been such a weak and cowardly human being as to split his soul
simply because of that, no, Voldemort had always had serious reasons.
"I do not wish to discuss this," he pulled away completely and sat up
straighter, scowling at Harry's perceptiveness. His Prince was a true slytherin
and now was going to use the vow against him to get into his past. A warm hand
covered his and squeezed it kindly.
"I wish you could tell me," Harry sighed, as he too sat up and pressed his
forehead against the other's shoulder. He thought about the nightmares Easy had
told him about and couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Marvolo, what
had muggles done to him at the orphanage. He entertained the crazy idea, that
if he knew what was the cause of Marvolo's heartlessness, mercilessness and
incontrollable hatred, he could help him deal with it, like Marvolo had helped
him to deal with his own fears and pain.
"Not now, Harry."
"Alright," the sudden coldness and distance in his voice hurt Harry but he knew
it was wrong to pry. "I'm sorry."
"There is nothing for you to be sorry about, my little one," Voldemort sighed
and pulled him into a soft embrace. "Let's not disturb my past, Harry, it
doesn't matter anymore, you wouldn't change me either, if that is what you are
hoping for. Just let it go and be with me, be mine."
He thought he had never heard anything more romantic and heartbreaking before
in his life. "I am afraid I wouldn't be able to ever forgive you for what you
have done, Marvolo," Harry nuzzled into his neck, "It crippled me, left so many
scars inside."
"I am not looking for your forgiveness, Harry," Voldemort chuckled soundlessly,
kissing the top of the other's head. "There is no absolution for someone like
me, especially when one doesn't need it to sleep peacefully at nights. What I
need for a good sleep is you."
Harry smiled ruefully into his shoulder and lay down again, closing his eyes.
"I will see you in my dreams tonight, Marvolo." I am sorry but I can't be with
you, not now. Somehow he found he couldn't say it aloud. He wanted to laugh at
the ridiculous thought that he was afraid to hurt Marvolo but it made him cry
instead.
"I am waiting, Harry," Voldemort murmured and vanished into the thin air.
It was long before Harry had managed to fall asleep, staring dumbly into the
darkness, searching for the burning coals of the ruby eyes, but they were not
here. Even though he had never once been in love before, Harry knew that if he
let Marvolo in his life, he would surely fall for him and would only hurt
himself, for the Dark Lord was incapable of such feelings. Could have
Dumbledore been wrong, though?
xxx
"Ah, Severus, come in!" Dumbledore called and the door into his office opened
before the potions master.
Severus took a deep, calming breath and entered, but his appearance wasn't as
spotless and perfect as he wished it to be - he couldn't help but sneer at the
sight of Weasley and Granger in the headmaster's office, the former shoving the
piles of crackers down his throat, the latter paging through one of the ancient
tomes on magic, that nobody but Dumbledore could ever touch.
"I see we have company, sir," Severus bit out, scowling so awfully, that it
made Ron choke and Hermione had to hit him hard on his back to help him breathe
again.
"Yes, I thought Mr Weasley and Miss Granger had a right to know what is
happening to their friend," Dumbledore smiled and gestured for the potions
master to sit down as well. Just as Severus had expected, there was a pensieve
on the headmaster's table - he had prepared a compilation of his memories about
Harry and Domhnall to show and make it look like it had happened yesterday.
"What I have to show you is not recommended for viewing by the minors," Severus
sneered at the two gryffindors, but seeing that their faces remained just as
dump as ever, he sighed and offered the same sentence in smaller words, "There
is a scene of cutting Potter up and taking the child out, blood, his insides
and blood again." At that both teenagers screamed in horror and Hermione
covered her mouth with both her hands, sobbing.
"I see," Dumbledore gave the potions master a worried look. "Perhaps, it would
be best for the two of you to wait while I watch the whole memory and then I
will show you the least cruel parts of it." At their vehement nods of agreement
he flicked his wrist to push the pensieve closer to Severus.
The potions master concentrated on the fake memory he had created in his mind.
This was the hardest subject of the art of Occlumency, for a wizard had to
recreate every little detail to make his memory seem real. The light, the dust
in the air, the position of the arrows of the clock, the dates on the
newspaper's front page, and much, much more. Severus had spent the whole night
creating the memory of his visit to Harry, combining the episodes of all the
times they have spent together, twisting them, correcting, adding details and
getting rid of the unnecessary ones, changing words and intonations, glances
and gestures... He felt completely exhausted and had to take a few pepper-up
potions in the morning to be able to function properly. He pressed a tip of his
wand to his temple and dragged a silver substance out and over into the golden
dish. The memory swirled in the water, gleaming ominously in the bright light
coming through the stained glass window. Dumbledore gave his three guests a
serious, determined look and with a last, confident nod, he bent down and
brought his face a mere inch away from the liquid - his eyes glazed and his
face took on a waxen look of a dead man. He was sucked into the memory.
"Is Harry alright, professor?" Hermione took her eyes off of headmaster's form
and turned to the potions master.
"He is now," Severus hissed, not sparing her another glance.
"Why hadn't he answered when we came calling for him?" Ron whined, staring at
the tips of his battered boots, too uncomfortable to look at the terrifying
man.
"Perhaps, he was afraid to put the two of you in danger by coming out, since
the Dark Lord had found him, or, perhaps, his fetus was too heavy for him,
since he is not a woman and is incapable of bearing a child and he simply
couldn't move?" he spat acidly, barely restraining himself from throttling the
redheaded idiot with his bare hands. How truly stupid they were to ignore
Harry's sacrifices so easily, arrogantly.
"Oh," Ron reddened dramatically, ashamed of his own thickness, and drew his
head back, hunching his shoulders.
Dumbledore suddenly straightened in his seat and blinked a few times, trying to
clear his sight. There were tears welled up in his pale blue eyes, Severus saw
them but pretended he didn't - he hadn't changed the scene of delivering
Domhnall and it was truly horrible.
"So, the Dark Lord found out that the child is not a horcrux?" the headmaster
asked in a quiet, rasping voice. Severus and his master had played the scene
out for his false memories, specifically for Dumbledore to see.
"Yes, the child is harmless. Potter is still a horcrux himself," Severus
nodded, narrowing his eyes at the teenagers next to him. Were they aware of the
situation? If they were, what did they think about the necessity of killing
Harry for the greater good?
"Does Voldemort know who is the father?"
"Even if he does - he never told me," Severus said simply, crossing his arms
over his chest and sighing tiredly.
"I still doubt the child is as harmless as it seems. We will see how it grows,"
the headmaster said thoughtfully, stroking his beard.
This comment almost cost Severus his calm façade, for he instantly became
enraged and... afraid. Had Dumbledore recognized the child's face? Had he gone
insane - killing an innocent infant simply because it was born dark?
"Professor, why would you want to kill a baby?" Hermione stood up sharply. "Is
that why Harry ran away? Is he hiding from us because he thinks we are going to
kill his child?"
"This child is unnatural, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said kindly, but firmly,
and his austere glance made her fall back on her chair. "What is worse, we do
not know the other father. I have no wish to kill it, but if it represents
danger to other wizards, then it will have to be eliminated."
"Harry said nobody is born a monster," Ron suddenly broke in, "He said even V-
V-You-Know-Who was born an ordinary boy, but was made into a psychotic maniac
he is now. How can you tell if Harry's child is any danger to us when it's so
small? Besides, I'm sure as hell that Harry would never let it become a bad
bloke," he said with finality and looked straight into headmaster's eyes.
"Potter was wrong, Mr Weasley," Severus decided to play along with Dumbledore,
though the redhead's words gave him a tiny hope that not everything was lost in
regards of Harry's friends. "His own uncle was born a monster, as was the Dark
Lord."
"But don't you care about your grandchild, sir?" Hermione perked up, rubbing
the tears off of her face with her gryffindor tie.
"I doubt it is any of your business, Miss Ggranger," the potions master
shrugged his shoulders elegantly and turned back to the headmaster. "Potter is
fine now, nobody had hurt him, he refuses to leave his house. As you could see
he was too weak to be even moved, I could not apparate him anywhere, the baby
could not be affected magically as well."
"Will Voldemort grant you access to Harry in the future?" Dumbledore took off
his glasses and wiped them clean with his sleeve. "It is fortunate nothing has
changed in his condition and we could send him on a mission, in which his
friends," he waved in the direction of the students, "Will help him."
"So you have told them about the horcruxes?"
"Yes, Harry would need all the help he can get... Tell me, how Voldemort treats
him?" the headmaster watched Severus intently, as if he had something in mind
but was reluctant to say it out loud.
"Well." What else could he say? That the Dark Lord lusted after his son and
that Harry was, obviously, also not indifferent towards him?
"Elaborate?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, smiling modestly. "Do they talk?
Is Voldemort trying to plant any ideas into Harry's mind?"
"That I do not know, Albus, however, I believe, as long as Potter keeps calling
him names it means he is alright." Severus pretended to be fascinated with his
fingernails.
Ron burst into a nervous laughter, "Yeah, you shouldn't worry, sir. Harry would
never take snakeface's side! This is how he calls him. And he also calls him a
bastard, a sick motherfucker, a noseless cocks-"
"I think you should stop here, Mr Weasley, thank you," the headmaster raised
his hands, smiling chidingly, "I have no doubts that Harry has invented many
names for Voldemort."
"Oh, Harry has a vast knowledge of dirty words!" the redheaded boy grinned,
blushing furiously, "I have always wondered where had he learnt them all."
"I doubt you would smile anymore if you knew," Severus smirked, twisting his
lips into a crooked, unkind smile.
"When do you think Harry will recover and be able to move?" the headmaster
steered everyone's attention back to the main subject.
"If he would want to move," Severus emphasized, "It would take from three to
five weeks for him to completely recover and be able to perform magic." That
much time the Dark Lord decided was enough for them to complete the first two
steps of his plan, then everything would depend on Harry.
"We will be ready then," Dumbledore rubbed his hands and smiled at the two
gryffidnors who, to Severus' satisfaction, didn't look at all excited.
xxx
Ever since Harry recovered from the childbirth, he started reading on the
material he has been missing while not attending Hogwarts. Domhnall needed to
sleep a lot during the day and it gave Harry an opportunity to study and
improve his skills. It had been a week since he started using his holly wand
again - it felt so awkward, so foreign in his hand, at first it scared him. But
Severus said it was normal, his powers grew and now were adjusting to his wand.
He was reluctant to use serious spells and never used it around his son,
preferring the wandless magic he discovered came so easily to him. It was late
afternoon when he paged through his transfiguration textbook and stopped at the
new chapter "Transfigurating inanimate into animate". Trying hard to get used
to his new power level and to his wand, Harry was making little progress in
this subject, even though it used to be one of his tops at school. Dobby helped
him arrange one of the empty rooms into a training room of sorts, where he
could harmlessly perform any kind of magic without disturbing Domhnall's sleep.
After almost two hours of sweating over a match, he managed to turn it into a
rainworm, however, it didn't look that lively at all. Tired and irritated,
Harry angrily put the wand away and stomped out of the room, thinking that he
needed Severus' help to get through this bloody mess. Staring spitefully at his
bare feet, plotting revenge on the stupid match in his mind, Harry entered the
nursery and habitually bent over the crib to take Domhnall out only to find
that the boy was gone. Blinking dumbly at the empty spot with a blanket thrown
to the side, he, at first, naively imagined that Domhnall left on his own. But
that was impossible, the boy couldn't even crawl yet.
"The fuck?!" Harry ran out of the room and down the stairs, frantically trying
not to go insane.
Where could Domhnall disappear? Only Severus, the elves and Marvolo had the
access to the house... Marvolo. He was ready to call Easy and apparate to
Prince Manor and kill the bastard, when he noticed something unusual out of the
corner of his eye. Turning on his heels, he entered the living room and stared
at the sofa. Marvolo's long body was sprawled all over it, with one leg thrown
over its back, his long, black cloak covering him like a blanket. And here was
Domhnall, snoring sweetly on his father's chest, drooling over the crimson,
velvet vest. The two were asleep and looked almost identical - angelically
peaceful and beautiful.
Feeling his knees giving out, Harry fell into the nearest armchair, panting
hysterically. He had never been so scared before in his life - the mere thought
of losing his child felt like a knife piercing through his heart. Catching his
breath, he closed his eyes and groaned very quietly in relief.
"I will fucking punch you in the face, when you wake up, wanker," he hissed,
looking up at Marvolo's content expression.
Although he was very angry at the wizard, he couldn't help but admire the view
of the two of his men lying so lovely together. Who would have thought that
Marvolo liked to sleep with babies so much? Had he come here specifically to
sleep with his son? Harry grinned despite himself, feeling the anger and
irritation slowly dissipate into nothingness, in favour of joy and happiness.
Marvolo looked so human now, acted so normal, it was hard to believe this was
the monster that held the whole country in terror. The monster.
Harry stood up and moved to crouch beside the sleeping wizard, watching his
pale face intently. It was the first time he could actually look at him, see
him fully, without a golden mask, without deceiving expressions... Although he
seemed rather young when he spoke and smiled, he was around thirty five or even
forty years old. His skin, though pale and perfectly soft, bore many wrinkles,
and two deep lines on his forehead and one between his eyebrows - he frowned
and scowled more often than smiled. A delicate mole under the left eye, the
long, thick, dark eyelashes and plump, rose lips gave him a feminine look,
which contradicted with definite male features and gave him this unique, noble
beauty. Harry's eyes slowly left the mouth he wanted to kiss so much and moved
on to the dimple on the man's chin - something he never thought he would find
so attractive and intriguing. Unable to resist his temptation, Harry carefully
reached out and stroked the soft, chestnut locks, that were framing the
beautiful face. Perhaps, Voldemort was Marvolo's magical portrait, like Dorian
Gray's, and bore all the marks of his horrible deeds and rotten soul, while his
true, human face remained unscarred and perfect, innocent?
Voldemort woke up as soon as he heard Harry ran down the stairs, but decided to
feign ignorance just to see what the young wizard would do. Would he take
Domhnall away? Would he curse him? Harry was always rather unpredictable, which
excited the Dark Lord, he loved riddles and things he couldn't quite control,
they fascinated and aroused him, challenged. He heard Harry's threat and barely
held back his smile, feeling most pleased with Harry's reaction - they were
making significant progress. But he never expected that Prince, a little snake
in lion's skin, would use this opportunity to study him and to touch him.
Harry's scent filled his nostrils, as the young wizard's magic prickled on his
skin when he touched his hair. A little more, a little closer and he would jump
at Harry and fuck everything up. It was so hard to resist the temptation to
take what was already his... Harry's warm fingers moved to touch his cheek and
Voldemort felt his blood rush down to his groin. Such a gentle touch, admiring
and appreciative - nobody had ever touched him like Harry did, nobody wanted
him for being Marvolo, others were interested only in the Dark Lord and his
power. Perhaps, this was the reason he tried so hard to get rid of this part of
himself, unwanted and lonely, broken?
Harry let out a heavy, quiet sigh, full of longing and sorrow and laid his head
down on Marvolo's chest, next to Domhnall, closed his eyes and listened to the
steady beat of a heart he used to think was made of stone. Marvolo was just
flesh and blood, wasn't he? A human being, who made too many mistakes to count
and yet was trying very hard to safe the world he lived in. Saints didn't
exist, everybody sinned and hurt others, people constantly killed each in
battles for reasons sometimes so insignificant and foolish...
"Why do I keep trying to justify everything you have done? Why am I still
looking for an excuse to let you in?" Harry whispered more to himself than to
the other, but Voldemort heard him.
These sad words made him open his eyes and look at Harry, as if he had never
seen him before. He opened his mouth to say something but suddenly found he
lacked of any words that could sympathize well with his Prince's problem.
Voldemort had never been the one to condole with the others, for he simply
never cared for anybody else but himself. And now a young, beautiful, powerful
and intelligent man was crying on his chest, trying very hard to accept him and
he dearly wished he knew what to say. This strange, unusual need confused him.
"Harry," he murmured, placing his free hand over the other's head and stroking
the silky raven hair.
"I am not sorry I woke you, you bastard!" Harry hastily pulled away, berating
himself for being the soft piece of shit that he was, for desiring Marvolo so
much.
"Oh? What have I done this time?" Voldemort smiled, looking at Harry
mischievously. How he loved his Prince being the rogue that he was.
"Next time you want to sleep with Domhnall - just say so! Do you have any idea
how have you fucking frightened me when I didn't find him in his bed?!" Harry
hissed vehemently, glaring at Marvolo with as much anger as he could master,
though he knew he was failing miserably.
"Oh, that!" Voldemort raised his eyebrows in a mocking amazement. "I was so
tired after a sleepless night, I simply came by to check on the two of you and
found Domhnall awake in his crib. I couldn't resist, he smells so good," he
laughed softly, stroking the boy's back gently. "As soon as I took him into my
arms he fell asleep and I decided to take a nap as well. Do not worry, Harry,
nobody will take him away from you, definitely not me."
"Do you like him? How do you feel about him?" Harry suddenly asked, curious to
know if Marvolo understood why was he acting in such an unusual fashion.
The Dark Lord looked at the young wizard and then at the small boy in his
embrace, that was stirring ever so slightly, clearly waking up. "I feel a very
strong attraction, much stronger than anything I have ever experienced before,
except for you, of course," he gave Harry a sly smile, though his gaze was warm
and held no guile inside. "I like him, yes, I want to hold him and look at him,
as if he was a prize or a treasure. I feel protective of him. I believe it is
what parents are supposed to feel towards their children, isn't it?"
"Yeah." Harry felt the heat gather in his chest and slowly spread all over his
body. Pull yourself together, you, sop!
Marvolo was slowly growing to love their son, he was, there was no denying it.
Could Domhnall help him change? Become a complete human being, lose his
brutality? Harry frowned and looked away, self-conscious to meet the blood red
eyes. Did he actually want Marvolo to change? Wasn't he whom he liked so much
in the first place? Despite his concealment of the fact that he and Voldemort
were the very same person, Marvolo indeed was sincere with Harry in everything
else, genuine. His complex, twisted personality was what turned Harry on.
"What are you thinking about?" He turned to the sound of the deep, calm voice
that once used to lull him to sleep by whispering sweet nonsense in the
darkness.
"You."
"How flattering," Voldemort grinned arrogantly, which made Harry shake his head
at the man's antics. "Ah, look, who is awake," the Dark Lord greeted Domhnall
who rolled on his back and yawned loudly, stretching his little arms and legs.
He looked so much like Marvolo now, Harry couldn't help but feel moved by his
son's every gesture and leaned forward to take him. He carefully picked the boy
up from the man's chest and instantly covered the little face with a hundred
soft, featherlight kisses, smiling wildly at the laughing infant. "He is a very
joyful child," Marvolo said thoughtfully, watching them together, as a
scientist would watch two cells interact. "He is very much like you, never
loses his heart."
Blushing at the unexpected compliment, Harry hid his face in the mop of the
chestnut hair, "You would have been just as happy and playful if you weren't
alone then. We are all born innocent and pure, no matter the affinity to dark
or light magic, we all crave the same: care and love. You never had it - you
had no reason to be happy, satisfied with your life and your own self. Domhnall
has it all, he has us, Severus, Dobby and Easy - why wouldn't he be careless
and joyful?"
Voldemort smiled softly at his Prince, marveling his wisdom. He knew he made a
right choice - who could reach for the minds and hearts of people better than
Harry? In just a few years this light wizard could easily become a new Light
Lord. Noble, generous, caring and kindhearted, wise and perceptive - he had all
the necessary qualities for a leader of the new society in the new world they
were going to create. And he belonged to Voldemort, forever.
"Yes, I think you are right, my dear," he sat up and kissed the top of Harry's
head, touching the long, delicate neck seemingly by an accident. "I must be
going."
Harry couldn't help but hold his breath, when the cold fingers brushed against
his skin and stayed there for a while, caressing his throat. Marvolo didn't
have to do anything to turn him into a pile of goo - a simple, gentle touch and
Harry was finished.
"When... When will we rehearse my speech or... whatever it is I am going to
say? We need to discuss it, right?" he looked up at the dark wizard, suddenly
hurt that he was leaving already.
Or do you just want to spend more time with me? Voldemort smiled brilliantly at
his Prince, very pleased with himself, and chuckled, "Oh, Harry, I never
thought you would be so enthusiastic about helping me out! We would discuss it
as much as you wish to, it is my pleasure."
"Yeah, great," Harry averted his eyes and bit into his lower lip, shy and
insecure again, just like the first time he met Marvolo.
"I will be back soon," the Dark Lord stroked Domhnall's pink cheek with his
index finger and, taking one last look at Harry, disappeared.
Back in his study at Prince Manor, Voldemort slumped in his chair gracelessly,
leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head. A pleased, confident smile
played on his lips - Harry was his. It was not going to be long before his
raven haired Prince lowered his shields and let him in, completely. Once and
for all. What a generous trophy after such a challenging crusade! Laughing to
himself in satisfaction, he closed his eyes and imagined how he would be
holding Harry so very soon, fucking him, devouring every bit of his being. He
knew that getting closer with the child would help him melt the young wizard's
heart, however, and he wasn't going to lie to himself, he did truly like
Domhnall. Perhaps, by an instinct, or by blood ties he genuinely cared for the
boy. The images of his future life with Harry and Domhnall suddenly flooded his
mind and made him sit up straight and frown - for the first time in his life he
was imagining a future shared with somebody else, with somebody he wanted and
craved. It was as disturbing as it was pleasant.
xxx
Perhaps, it was his age that brought him such severe intolerance towards snotty
displays of affection, perhaps, it was all Lily's fault, since she tore the
last weak roots of his genuine kindness and affinity towards people that he had
inherited from his mother. He wasn't sure, he couldn't remember when was the
last time he actually felt something. Oh no, he did. It was with Harry - a
lovely looking, arrogant and stubborn boy that was his walking reflection, both
on the outside and on the inside. Severus had sometimes dreamed, deep inside
himself, that if he survived the war, he could probably find himself a good
woman and spend the rest of his life in a secluded, deserted area, with her as
a socializing substitute and occasional sex partner. He was certain he would
never be able to love again, nor had he any desire to have children. However,
Fate had once again tricked him and put everything into its personal kind of
order. Watching Harry and Domhnall, knowing that they were a part of him, were
his flesh and blood, his unexpected family, was a most intricate, indescribable
experience. Severus could have sworn he felt something burn inside his heart,
melting down the iron cage he hid it in.
"Severus, come, hold him for a moment," Harry called, holding the boy out for
him.
"What?" the potions master snapped out of his reverie, surprised and quite
scared by the prospect of holding a baby - he had never done it before, and
there were very few things he had never tried, being a wizard, a scientist and
a Death Eater.
"Hold Domhnall," Harry pushed the small ball if flesh into his trembling hands
and left the nursery to draw a bath for the child - they were still reluctant
to use complex magic around him, since it was hard to tell how would he be
affected.
"Wait, I..." Severus doubted he could feel more insecure than in this
particular moment.
A little human being, a tiny wizard was squirming in his hands and loudly
asking to be held closer - the potions master held his grandson away from
himself, having had stretched his long arms as far as possible. Children
produced so much noise and mess, at least that was what he had heard about
them. He always felt horrified at the sight of yet another scion of the Weasley
family, inwardly admiring Molly's courage and stamina, thinking her to be
completely insane at the same time. How could she go through this for so many
times and stay alive, in one piece, was beyond him.
When Harry returned he gave his father an amused look upon seeing his strange,
tensed posture. "You know you could hold him closer, he is not going to bite
you, or shit on your robe, if you are worrying about that," he laughed, shaking
his head. "Don't tell me you are afraid of him!"
"I am not!" Severus hissed, affronted, watching Domhnall warily.
The naked boy was so soft, so warm, it was hard to imagine it was his normal
condition - at first Severus was certain he had a fever. The little wizard was
smiling and gurgling excitedly, jerking in his hands and his huge green eyes
were staring at Severus so kindly, so affectionately... He was a brainless
creature yet, wasn't he? How could a child so small, so young have such strong
emotions, such powerful aura that practically enveloped him in a cocoon? Even
though he, subconsciously, felt a strong pull towards Domhnall, which was
instinctive and quite logical for blood relatives, Severus was still a little
suspicious of him. A child born in such an unnatural fashion, graced with such
overwhelming power...
"Well hug him then!" Harry nudged and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting
for the snarky man to comply. "He is your grandchild, Severus, he is not bloody
Merlin, he is just a boy."
"I am not going to obey your petty orders, here, take him back!" Severus
hastily pushed Domhnall into the young wizard's hands, twisting his face in
disgust and discomfort.
"The fuck is wrong with you?" Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Harry shrugged
his shoulders and, holding his son pressed against his chest, walked out of the
nursery and into the bathroom, tickling the naked boy on his way, drawing bouts
of laughter out of the small chest.
Severus could only stare after them, feeling completely out of place. As much
as he enjoyed holding Harry, he couldn't bring himself to do it casually,
whenever he felt like it. Never the one to be self-conscious or shy, he found
he was afraid to be rejected. Elementary, really. His past experience caused
him too much of a damage, he was not ready to be hurt again, and never would
be, he supposed. And even though Harry never showed any signs of growing cold
or indifferent towards him, Severus was paranoid in his certainty that it all
was not meant for him, was a vague illusion, that threatened to dissipate and
leave him lonely and broken again any moment now.
Lost in his musings he barely registered that he had sat down, occupied Harry's
"reading armchair" as he called it. He frowned, when something hard pressed
against his thigh, and took a small, thin book out, that got stuck between the
pillows. It was "The Little Prince", his favourite, the one his mother used to
read to him so often before sleep. Scowling at it, he paged through, watching
the familiar frozen pictures with the eating feeling of longing in his heart.
When he was a child, he used to think that he was the Little Prince from the
book, just as lonely and miserable. He never thought he would stumble upon it
again one day.
"Look at you, you are shining like a teapot now!" Harry came into the room,
laughing along with freshly bathed Domhnall, already dressed for bed. Seeing
that Severus was immersed in the book, Harry quietly put the boy into the crib,
kissing him good night, and moved closer to his father. "I have never read it
before, but now it is my favourite one." The onyx eyes slowly raised to meet
his gaze and he thought his heart would break - so sad they were.
"It is, indeed, a good one," Severus drawled nonchalantly and put it carelessly
on the table, standing up to leave.
"Severus." Harry's hand on his arm stopped him and the potions master looked up
at his son, raising an inquiring eyebrow at his antics. "Stop this idiocy," the
boy murmured and suddenly Severus found himself enveloped into a tight, warm
embrace. "I didn't lie when I said I want you to be my family. Stop thinking I
would betray you."
Severus wanted to say something spiteful, but once again found himself
incapable of forming a comprehensible answer. He simply embraced Harry back and
pressed his long nose against the boy's temple, reveling in his closeness. Why,
why the hell did it feel so good?
"You may hold me whenever you wish to, I promise," Harry whispered into his
ear, stroking his back gently. He thought it to be ridiculous that his father
was too frightened to go further, however, he understood the fear of rejection.
He used to be afraid of getting close to people for he didn't want to get hurt
anymore. Perhaps, the same went for Severus? "You are my dad, I want you to be
with me, just like I am with my son." There, he said it.
"You are an imbecile," Severus sighed, pushing one of his hands into his son's
long, raven hair, brushing them carefully. He hadn't yet gotten used to being
called "dad" and now Harry was telling him he wanted him to be here for him.
Nobody had ever asked that of him and, quite frankly, he would have never
indulged anyone anyway... But not Harry.
"Yeah, I know, you taught me well," Harry drawled sarcastically and pulled away
a little to look into his father's eyes. "I still want you to be with me, want
you to be my dad. I don't care what you think or what snarky arguments you are
planning to give me - I like you, that is quite enough for me," he kissed
Severus on the cheek and circled his arms around his neck, sighing deeply,
pleasantly.
After having had spent so much time with Domhnall, after holding him and
watching him being so happy every time they touched, Harry realized he missed
this, missed feeling just as ecstatic and wonderful in the arms of his father -
he hadn't had such luxury during the seventeen years of his life. And now he
had his chance, he had Severus, why wouldn't he use it, really?
"You like me?" Severus huffed incredulously, widening his eyes at the sensation
of being kissed so softly. Only his mother had kissed him like that and he felt
home again. "Is it some kind of a bribe to make me babysit the boy?"
"Do you always have to spoil everything with this mania of yours? I think you
have overworked yourself spying for Death Eaters," Harry scoffed but didn't let
go of the man. "I am not paying any mind to this nonsense."
"I have lived long enough to know that words could be easily twisted and used
against me," the potions master closed his eyes, feeling his every muscle
slowly relax, as a wave of Harry's light magic caressed him and soothed his
nerves.
"I am not Voldemort, nor am I Dumbledore," Harry said firmly, "I do not order
you to make sacrifices for me, on the contrary, I want you to know that you
could always find peace here with me and Domhnall, we would never turn you
away... I am not going to lose you again, seventeen years was quite enough,
thank you very much."
"You should have shown such zeal at the school," Severus laughed bitterly, "Why
are you so adamant to persuade me?" No, he simply found he liked to be
persuaded in such fashion.
"Because I need you," Harry once again pulled away to look at him. He took the
long, thin face of his father in his both hands. "I thought that I was an
adult, that I could live on my own, raise a child, be independent and self-
sufficient but I am not. The more I give Domhnall, the more I feel I have
missed myself. I crave it, I want to be a son as well, I want to be cared for
by my father." Harry pressed their foreheads and long noses together, uncertain
what else could he say to express what he felt, to make Severus understand.
He never imagined such gesture could be so intimate. Feeling Harry so close was
unbelievably satisfying, comforting. Not really thinking what he was doing,
for, probably, the first time in his adult life, Severus tilted his head and
kissed the boy's scarred forehead. Somehow it felt the right thing to do. His
lips stayed there for a few long seconds while he was thinking of how his
mother used to kiss him in the past, how much he enjoyed her caresses.
Involuntarily, he moved to place another kiss, on the brow and a small smile
appeared on his lips, when he heard Harry hum pleasantly. Others never really
enjoyed his touch, even in bed women never showed any kind of need to be
kissed. But Harry turned his face for a better angle and smiled when Severus
placed a fleeting kiss on his temple.
"Thanks, dad," he sighed and kissed Severus back, on the cheek again,
completely relaxing against the tall, thin frame cladded in black. He knew
there was hidden gentleness in the snarky man, he knew his father was capable
of kindness and affection, love. He wasn't a monster, he was just a bitter,
broken man, crippled by life and those who surrounded him. Harry could relate
to that and dearly wished he could fix at least some of the damage. He found
this strong desire to heal and love those in need as of late, as if the light
itself was struggling to come out of him and fight away the shadows and the
coming storm. Harry wanted his family to be strong and happy, for he was tired
of loneliness and sorrow.
"Thank you, Harry," Severus whispered. If anybody had told him he would enjoy
cuddling so much, he would have laughed them in their faces, but now he thought
he wouldn't barter it for anything else. Nor would he sneer at the word "dad"
anymore either. It caressed his ears and made his heart tremble in joy. He used
to think only potions and alcohol could bring a wizard into a state of ecstasy,
elation and pleasure, but now he knew he was wrong. His son had managed it in
just a few words and hugs.
Harry smiled and kissed him once again and pulled away completely, "Come, I
will make you tea before you have to leave."
Severus' usual snide tone caught him at the threshold, "You know you could
apparate straight into the kitchen, don't you?"
"Apparition is for lazy bastards like snakeface," Harry shrugged his shoulders
carelessly, "Are you coming or not?"
Severus could only shake his head at his son's arrogance and hide his smile,
that threatened to stretch his lips. He followed Harry out and down the stairs,
feeling surprisingly warm and truly calm inside, unhinged and relaxed, as if
there was no war going on, as if there were no Dark and Light Lords, only magic
and his family. Yes, his family. He briefly wondered if Eileen was proud of
him, wherever her spirit was now.
xxx
Harry was sitting behind the kitchen table with several different issues of
newspapers opened before him, reading the same articles over and over again -
that was how Voldemort found him, when he entered with Domhnall in his arms and
a bright, arrogant smile on his lips. "Horrible news, isn't it?" he drawled
nonchalantly, sitting down next to the raven haired wizard.
"You have set it all up, haven't you?" Harry scowled.
"Oh, but Harry, don't you know how muggles are? All they need is a little push
and then you may sit back and relax, and watch the show," the Dark Lord laughed
coldly, watching his Prince out of the corner of his eye, as he kept playing
with Domhnall.
"It is still killing, Marvolo," Harry shook his head, sighing forlornly. "Here
it says a group of muggles killed a young witch and here," he pushed one of the
papers closer, "It says a wizard accidentally blew up a muggle that was
threatening him with a gun... I don't like this, it can spiral out of control
and then even you wouldn't be able to stop them."
"Harry, our community needs to be shaken up, needs to see it all for
themselves. If you truly believe that nothing like this hasn't happened before
without my help, then you are even more naive than I imagined. It is not a
disadvantage though, I find it rather arousing and lovely, but you should
really stop trying to save everybody. It is impossible, you are intelligent
enough to understand that," Voldemort said, arching his eyebrows. "What I did
was simply prevent the editors and the Ministry from covering all these crimes.
Do you truly believe I have instigated so many?" he waved his hand at the
newspapers.
"Haven't you?" Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes.
"This is the foundation for your future work, Harry, don't give me this shit
now," Voldemort hissed, suddenly angry at the young wizard for whom he had to
change so much in his original plans.
"And what if they wouldn't listen? What if they would simply reject me like the
last time, call me insane and the next Dark Lord in making, hmm?" Harry jerked
and looked up at hearing the irritation and displeasure in Marvolo's voice. He
often forgot about all the vows the man had given him and flinched every time
the dark wizard showed his vindictive nature, afraid he would attack him. But
there was no malice in the blood red eyes, though the dark scowl was in its
place and Harry felt an irrepressible desire to smoothen it with his fingers
and lips.
"They would, they have no choice," Voldemort cut off with finality and turned
back to Domhnall, who was watching him quietly, barely breathing, with his
green eyes widened in curiosity. The Dark Lord gently stroked the wavy hair of
an already easily sitting boy in his lap. The caress made Domhnall smile again.
"Well, I hope you are right," Harry lowered his eyes. Marvolo was always right.
"Why, you doubt me?" the Dark Lord placed his hand over his heart, morphing his
face into a pained, grotesque expression, "Harry, you wound me."
"Stop mocking me, you moron," the young wizard muttered, hiding his smile.
"Should have become a clown instead of a serial killer."
"There were no vacancies at that time, I had to take what was available,"
Voldemort smiled, pleased that Harry felt comfortable around him again.
"What did you really want to do back then?" Harry asked as a matter-of-factly,
curious to know more about the man.
Voldemort considered him for a moment, but then decided it wouldn't hurt to
tell his Prince a little about himself. "I wanted to teach at Hogwarts, wanted
to teach both dark and light magic, curses and defense against them. But I was
rejected the DADA position, twice."
"You wanted to be a teacher?" Harry stared at Marvolo incredulously, seeing him
in a completely different light.
"What, did you think I was bearing the plot of a world dominance since I had
stopped sleeping in a crib?" he burst into a booming laughter, making Domhnall
jerk in excitement at the loud sound.
"No, I just never imagined you like children and have enough patience to work
with them," Harry blushed a little, smiling modestly, inwardly laughing at the
image of Marvolo, just like Severus, screaming at his students and cursing them
into oblivion.
"I hate children, but I know how to discipline them," Voldemort gave him an
indulging smile. "And yes, I am very patient, you should know that better than
anyone," he sent Harry a pointed glare.
Blushing even more at the innuendo, Harry ducked his head, trying to hide his
embarrassment. "But why were you denied the position?"
"Because Dumbledore thought I was Satan and was going to turn the students into
my followers and take over the world from inside Hogwarts," Voldemort sneered,
laughing coldly at the unpleasant memories.
"Was he wrong?" Harry raised his eyebrows sarcastically, trying to hide his
burning face behind a newspaper.
"In fact, he was," the Dark Lord gave the raven haired wizard a serious, pained
glare. "I wouldn't have had to start the war and kill so many, Harry, if I had
this position at school. I would have changed our society gradually, through
their education, through their understanding of both light and dark sides of
their own nature. Nobody is innocent, yet nobody is born evil, you know that."
Nobody is born a monster, not even dark lords. "Yes, I know, Marvolo." His eyes
locked with the blood red ones and something unreadable, indecipherable
transpired between the two of them, a spark, that sent shivers down his spine.
"What were you doing after Hogwarts then?" he asked in a suddenly raspy,
shuddering voice.
"I hunted down the relics for my horcruxes and went abroad to study the Dark
Arts," Voldemort said simply. "The locket you are wearing around your neck is
my family heirloom I had to steal, because I had no money to pay for it," he
smiled at Harry mischievously.
"Is it?" Harry took the locket in his hand and examined it for, what it seemed,
a hundredth time already. "The S is for Slytherin then, isn't it? The locket
opens only when I command it in parseltongue."
"Yes, I am the last living heir of Salazar Slytherin, as I am sure my younger
self had told you all about," the Dark Lord barked out a laugh. "Oh, no, I am
actually wrong! This is the last living heir to the mighty warlock," he kissed
Domhnall on the forehead, tickling the boy and laughing at his happy squeaks.
Funny, that he hadn't thought about it before. His son was, in fact, the
Slytherin heir, the Slytherin Prince, as he himself had been called by his
peers. Looking into the big, green eyes full of joy and cunningness, he
couldn't help but feel... proud. He never gave his bloodline another thought,
but the one of purity and prestige, and now he held his little legacy in his
arms, the one who was going to continue the line of parselmouths, the line of
dark, powerful, great wizards. Who would have thought that he would find such
satisfaction and surge of pride because of Domhnall? Was it what Harry felt
towards the boy as well?
Harry watched the many emotions, so foreign for Marvolo, play on his face and
couldn't help but smile at the man. "You are proud of him, aren't you?" Somehow
the notion that the Dark Lord was capable of such feelings made him happy.
Perhaps, despite all of his disadvantages and mistakes Marvolo would be a good
father for Domhnall.
"Aren't you?" Was the reply. Voldemort kept grinning at the little boy, who was
bubbling and tugging on his clothes playfully.
"Of course I am." Harry's sincere, ringing laughter caressed his ears - his
Prince laughed so rarely for him, and he enjoyed this sound so much. Domhnall
inherited it from his young father. "I am glad you are growing close to each
other," something compelled Harry to pat the wizard's arm and hold it for some
time, for it was too hard to let go of the one he wanted so much.
Domhnall had once again brought him a small victory in this long, hard battle,
Voldemort thought, looking at the narrow, pale hand squeezing his limb ever so
slightly.
At the boy's loud yawning, the Dark Lord smiled softly and stood up, cradling
Domhnall in his arms, "I think it's time for the little Prince to go to sleep."
He apparated straight into the nursery, shaking his head at Harry's stubborn
steps on the stairs. Voldemort put the boy into the crib, kissing him and
whispering good night in parseltongue, thinking it was time to teach his son
get used to the sound of his second native language. Straightening, he looked
around the room, curiously inspecting the many toys and books Harry left around
and, as it seemed, used constantly in his games with Domhnall. His gaze fell on
one particular book, that seemed out of place here - a Transfiguration
textbook. He picked it up just in time when Harry entered.
"Is Domhnall that smart?" he waved the book in front of his face, smiling
incredulously.
"No, it's mine, I forgot it here yesterday," Harry shrugged his shoulders and
went to kiss and tuck in his son, who was already falling asleep and yawning
adorably.
"Why are you even reading it?" Voldemort asked, when the young wizard turned
off the lights and followed him out of the nursery.
"I am studying the material I am missing at the school," Harry took the book
out of Marvolo's hands. "I have to go and practice now, by the way, since I
haven't done it yesterday. So you should leave, it will take a lot of time," he
couldn't help but sigh, twisting his lips in devastation at the mere thought
that he was going to abuse the bloody match yet again. He forgot to ask Severus
to help him out with this.
"Having any troubles?" Voldemort raised an eyebrow, watching the other man
mirthfully.
He was reluctant to admit he was experiencing problems with one of his best
subjects, but since he Marvolo would know if he lied anyway, he let out another
heavy sigh and gritted through his clenched teeth, "Yes."
"May I offer my help? I know for a fact that Hogwarts' curriculum hasn't
changed since the time of my youth and I am very well versed in the material I
have once studied," the Dark Lord purred, excited at the prospect of being so
close to Harry, of tasting his magic while he practiced.
Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion but nodded and walked into his training
room. He took out his holly wand and froze, indecisive of what to do next. "I
can't turn inanimate object into an animate. I do change the form but no the
meaning."
"Oh, this is easy, it simply requires a balanced magic behind your intent,
which is your problem, of course, since your powers grew dramatically,"
Voldemort rubbed his chin thoughtfully, assessing Harry's aura. "I will help
you with this. Come closer," he crooked his finger at the young wizard, smiling
cunningly.
"What for?" Harry eyed him warily, clutching in his wand tighter.
"I will be controlling your power while you are casting a spell and you would
feel the difference, the one you are trying so hard to find on your own,"
Voldemort explained, taking a step closer.
"Fine, but no fucking around!" Harry warned and came to stand at the table,
where the blasted match lay, waiting for him. He shivered when Marvolo moved
behind him, pressing his chest against Harry's back and covered his right hand
with his cold one, curling his long fingers around Harry's and his wand.
"Cast the spell and do not mind my presence, concentrate on what you want to
make of the match," Voldemort whispered into his ear, caressing the holly wand
with the tip of his finger - it vibrated in their hands, feeling their
different yet very powerful auras unite into one. Compatibility between a light
and a dark wizards was very rare and mostly transpired between distant
relatives, but he and Harry shared a soul and a child, there was nothing closer
than this.
Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, clearing his mind. He formed an
image of the match slowly morphing into a green branch with a small bud on its
tip. Concentrated, he whispered the incantation and felt as his wand suddenly
warmed up and fell comfortably into his hand, just like before. His magic
floated freely, easily, almost lazily and when he looked up, there was a
blooming crimson rose on the table before him. Harry couldn't help but gasp at
the sight of it, at the pleasant feeling of his magic being tamed and obedient.
"See, you are a talented wizard, you simply needed to find your balance," the
Dark Lord murmured, licking on his ear, as his left arm circled Harry's waist
and his hard bulge of erection pressed against Harry's backside. Casting a
spell together through one wand was a befuddling experience, it felt as if he
injected the sweet, light magic into his vein and it brought him to his highest
peak.
"Yeah," Harry breathed out, barely catching his air, as his blood rushed into
his groin and he moaned at the sensation of Marvolo's hardness. How long had it
been since he had sex? His body craved it so much. He dropped his wand and
grabbed the man's cold hand, entwining their fingers together.
"Harry," Voldemort panted, sucking on his neck, "Please."
He turned his Prince sharply around and bit into his mouth, enveloping him into
a desperate embrace, choking him in his tight hold. Harry's eager answer
encouraged him and he pushed the raven haired wizard back and propped him up on
the table, pushing in between his thighs, circling his legs around his hips.
Drunk on their shared lust, Harry hastily unbuttoned Marvolo's vest and shirt
and licked on the bare pale chest, reveling in the man's pleased groans.
Grabbing on the long, raven hair, Voldemort brought the wizard's face closer to
his own and kissed him passionately, thrusting his tongue as deep as he could,
while his other hand pushed Harry further onto the table and down on his back.
He crawled up to hover him and take off his clothes, as Harry kept kissing him
and caressing his chest.
When Voldemort reached the trousers, he pulled away to look at his Prince
questioningly and pleadingly, but this time Harry was too far gone to stop him.
"Please, Marvolo, I want you," he whined and unzipped himself to the Dark
Lord's overwhelming delight. Growling like a beast, Voldemort tore the clothes
off of Harry and hurried to banish his own, to rub his hard cock against the
other's.
As their skins touched, Harry bucked his hips up, asking for friction.
Marvolo's rigid flesh pressed against his own and he moaned softly in pleasure,
arching his back and drawing his neck to let the man suck on it harshly,
possessively. They both moved fast, rocking against each other, panting and
groaning, sweating. Harry reached down to stroke their cocks, rolling his eyes
back in blinding sensation of orgasm coming over him. Touching Marvolo was so
exciting, it drove the dark wizard insane and turned him into a pitifully
whining animal.
"Yes, Harry," Voldemort growled into his mouth, "Help me come." He moved
faster, rubbing their cocks against each other and Harry's hand, slapping
sweated skin against skin.
"Marvolo!" Harry cried, tearing himself away from the greedy mouth and jerking
violently, as the hot sperm burst out of his pulsing penis.
He thought his heart would jump out of his chest, so overexcited, overwhelmed
he felt, so fucking good. He looked up at Marvolo, whose face bore a most
ecstatic expression he had ever seen, and caught his breath watching the dark
wizard come, panting and calling his name. Harry couldn't resist the temptation
to touch the creased, sweated brow, caress the tensed jaw and push his fingers
between the swollen, plump lips. Marvolo sucked on them, jerking on top of
Harry for the last time, pouring out the last drop of his sperm into Harry's
hand.
"Oh, Harry, my sweet, sweet prince," Voldemort mumbled, licking on the warm
fingers, slowly relaxing his tensed muscles. His glazed ruby eyes watched the
young pale face, taking in every little detail: bids of sweat on the scarred
forehead; a lonely tear of ecstasy trailing down the left cheek; parted red
lips, quivering slightly, as if suppressing a smile; bright, emerald eyes full
of passion, lust and happiness. "I have waited for so long," the Dark Lord
sighed contentedly, enveloping Harry into a gentle embrace and rubbing his
cheek against the wizard's, sucking on his earlobe.
Harry circled his arms around the broad chest and stroked the bare back,
feeling for muscles, bones, moles and scars, mapping its every inch. He
trembled inside, suddenly sober and aware of what had just happened. Marvolo's
lips caught his into a gentle kiss and Harry sighed, whimpering softly despite
himself.
"What is it, Harry?" the man asked, caressing his face lovingly.
I am scared I am falling in love with you. "I'm sorry," Harry murmured instead,
self-conscious to pronounce the truth.
"You shouldn't be - I would have waited much more, I am very patient,
remember?" Voldemort offered him a smug smile, though his brow creased in
confusion. He felt it in Harry's aura, felt the tension, the uncertainty and
fear. "What are you afraid of, my little one?" he asked, looking intently into
the shining green eyes.
Biting his lower lip and feeling the lump clogging his throat, Harry breathed
out, "Myself." At Marvolo's inquiring glance he shook his head and smiled
weakly, "Don't mind it, it is nothing... My hormones, I am still super
sensitive to everything after... you know..." he stammered and finally shut up,
knowing by the look the other man gave him, that his lame excuse didn't work.
"Harry, I wish you could tell me what is tormenting you so much," Voldemort
sighed, hating the fact that his Prince was reluctant to tell him the truth.
"Come, let's put you into bed," he took Harry in his arms and apparated them
both into the bedroom, right onto the mattress.
"Are you... are you leaving?" Harry asked in a small voice, when Marvolo let go
of him and moved to stand up. No matter what he felt now, sleeping alone was
the last thing he wanted tonight, not after Marvolo made him feel so good
again.
"Do you wish me to stay?" There was too much hope in his voice, he knew, but he
couldn't miss an opportunity to spend more time with Harry, especially when the
desire was mutual.
Harry took him by the arm and pulled him close to lie by his side, snaking his
warm arms around Marvolo's narrow waist, "Yes."
Smiling brilliantly, Voldemort kissed him deeply, as his hands roamed
shamelessly all over Harry's heated body. Finally.
xxx
Harry woke up very easily, having had simply opened his eyes, as if he had just
blinked. He felt completely relaxed and so well rested, like he hadn't had felt
in a very long time. Domhnall was a perfect baby, he slept through the nights,
but Harry didn't, he often stayed late practicing, reading or simply suffering
from insomnia. But today was different. At first he couldn't fathom why. But
then a cold hand slipped down his chest and onto his stomach, as Marvolo
stirred behind him, and he remembered. The man pressed harder into his frame,
snoring into the nape of his neck, his heart beat steadily against Harry's
back. It was so warm in his bed now, so comfortable under the covers, Harry
didn't want to get up. He forgot how wonderful it was to sleep with Marvolo.
"Just a little more, Harry, ten minutes, alright?" he heard the man mumble
sleepily into his neck and snore again.
Who would have thought that the Dark Lord was such a sleepyhead and hated
mornings? Harry grinned to himself, inwardly laughing at how human the man was,
how childish sometimes. Where had all his cruelty come from? He carefully
turned to face Marvolo, who rolled on his back and was sleeping so soundly,
peacefully. Harry reached out and tucked his stray chestnut locks behind his
ear, brushing his fingers against the slight stubble on his jaw - so manly, so
mundane, so lovely. His hand slid lower to caress the long neck, the delicate
collarbones, the broad chest with little hair on it. Unable to resist it, Harry
kissed one of the nipples softly and pushed his leg to lie between Marvolo's,
to warm him up, for he knew the dark wizard was always cold. He heard the man
sigh pleasantly, when his tongue teased the sensitive flesh and Harry moved
lower, encouraged to touch and kiss more. Stroking the toned but thin stomach,
he traced the sparse hairline with featherlight kisses, humming quietly into
the soft skin. How he admired Marvolo's body, how he loved feeling it under his
fingers and lips.
Harry was evidently aroused when he reached the pelvis, as was Marvolo, who
kept moaning weakly in his sleep. He stopped, uncertain at first, for he hadn't
had given a blowjob in such a long time, but the sight of the man's thick, long
cock turned him on, bringing forth the memories of all the heated, amazing
nights they had spent together in the past. Breathing out impatiently, Harry
kissed its base, tracing the length of the penis with his tongue and sucked on
the head, moaning indecently, as his own cock throbbed, demanding more action.
"Harry..." Marvolo whispered dreamily, bucking his hips up, grabbing on the
covers of the bed tightly.
Oh fuck. Harry took the hard cock into his hand and stroked it harshly, kissing
and sucking on the heavy sack of balls underneath it, drawing low groans out of
the man's throat. He took the head into his mouth and slowly pushed the thick
length further inside, trembling in pleasure at the bittersweet taste of the
skin on his tongue. He knew Marvolo was awake when he was quickly sliding up
and down the pulsing cock, for the man grabbed on his long hair and tugged on
them desperately, pushing forward, trying to thrust deeper into his throat.
"Fuck, Harry, don't... stop..." Voldemort cried out incomprehensibly and came
into Harry's mouth, arching his back, as his body tensed and jerked in
breathtaking pleasure. Shaking all over, he squeezed his eyes shut, for the
room was spinning around him, and he laughed sleepily and exhaustedly, "Fuck,
Harry, what should I do to wake up every morning in your mouth?"
"I will think of something," he heard Harry smile against his groin, as the
young wizard sprawled on top of him. Voldemort looked down at him and smiled at
the sight of his flushed face with a mischievous grin playing on his red,
swollen lips. "Perhaps, you could help me out now?" his Prince wriggled his
eyebrows, drawing patterns with his finger on the Dark Lord's skin.
No the one to be asked twice, Voldemort pulled him up, and in a flash Harry
found himself pinned down to the bed, with his hands held up above his head.
"Would you like me to give you some real pleasure, Harry?" Marvolo purred,
teasing him with brief, wet kisses. "Would you like to feel my cock inside of
you, let it stretch you well?" his low, rich voice touched something deep
inside Harry, probably his very prostate, he thought.
Squirming underneath Marvolo's weight, Harry looked into the burning ruby eyes
and asked himself if he could stop, having had gone this far. His throbbing,
stiffened cock told him he couldn't and he raised his head to catch the
lecherous rose lips in a proper, passionate kiss. "Yes, I would like that very
much."
Harry thought Marvolo's amusedly surprised and pleased expression was worth it
all, when the dark wizard assaulted his mouth, squeezing his body in a painful,
lustful embrace, forcefully spreading his thighs apart. Perhaps, it was the
echo of his fear of falling in love with the man, perhaps, it was his body,
afraid of the pain after such a long pause in his sex life, or, perhaps, it was
just his own desire, that made him struggle against Marvolo, add an exciting
element of possible violence that would never truly transpire between them -
that much Harry knew. He trusted Marvolo not to hurt him, like he had never
trusted anybody else, even himself.
"Harry, Harry," Voldemort growled playfully, finally pushing the head of his
cock into the tiny, pink entrance, too impatient to stretch his Prince with his
fingers. He murmured a complex incantation, stoking Harry's pelvis, that made
his tensed muscles instantly relax, and thrusted inside with an outmost care
and gentleness, kissing away the young man's cry of pain. This was his undoing,
his heaven, his Prince was so tight, so hot, he couldn't believe he was capable
of depraving himself of such pleasure for so long. "So good, Harry, you are...
absolutely... magical," he whined into the other's mouth, thrusting his cock
again and again, holding Harry tightly in his arms.
It hurt, but it was a pleasant pain, Harry couldn't stop crying and asking for
more. Marvolo was so gentle, so careful, so kind to him, and feeling him inside
again was freeing and heartbreaking. He didn't know why, but at this very
moment, when the hard head of the thick cock brushed so wonderfully against his
prostate, he remembered the man's threat, that he would never be able to hide
away from him again, that he would never leave, would always be with him, and
this memory brought Harry to an almost hysterical orgasm, for all that he
wanted now was for Marvolo to never leave him again.
"Don't ever leave me, please," he burst into tears of happiness, after he came,
screaming, and clutched onto the other desperately, crying as his body was
being ravished harshly.
"I won't, I promised, remember?" Voldemort whispered, barely making his numb
tongue move and thrusted one last time inside, as his cock throbbed and burst
with a hot sperm. Fucking Harry was the best experience in his life and feeling
his happiness was making it all even better, priceless, unforgettable. Nobody
had ever been happy being with him, nobody had ever genuinely desired him, but
Harry. "I hope you are not crying of pain?" he laughed softly, licking the
salty tears off of the young man's cheeks, caressing his body and face.
"No, I... am simply happy, I am just so hyper sensitive," Harry laughed as
well, smiling apologetically, enjoying the feeling of Marvolo's cock softening
gradually inside of him. He had once believed that sex was yet another
punishment in his life, but now it was a blessing, a closure for the both of
them. The blood red eyes shone so brightly, watched him so affectionately...
Could they really be happy together, even if Harry could never forgive him for
everything he had done? Was it possible?
"I... am happy too," Voldemort murmured, creasing his brow slightly. "I believe
I have never felt anything like this before, but I think it is happiness.
However, I would be even happier if this," he gestured at his and Harry's
position, "Would happen every night and, preferably, every day."
Harry couldn't help but burst into laughter at the man's unbelievable
arrogance, "You are such a slytherin bastard, Marvolo!"
"I am," Voldemort grinned and kissed his Prince, trying to breath in his
ringing laughter, to hide it inside himself so that it could warm him in the
moments of loneliness, which, he evilly thought, were going to be very rare
from now on.
The sounds of Domhnall's indignant cries interrupted them and Harry patted
Marvolo on his hide, "Your son is calling. Would you mind?"
Rolling onto his side, Voldemort stretched on the bed, groaning pleasantly at
the subsiding pain in his stiffened muscles. Relaxed and sated, content, he
watched Harry throw a nightshirt over his naked body, covered in light bruises
from his hands, and smiled at the sight. The young wizard smiled back at him
over his shoulder and left. The Dark Lord thought he was actually happy now,
wasn't he? His mind was cleared, his soul was at peace and his heart sang. For
the first time in his life he thought he could use this phrasing in describing
his own emotional state - he used to laugh at it when stumbled upon it in many
muggle novels in his library. He never imagined he missed Harry so much, never
imagined it would be so truly magical to be with him again, to have and hold
him, to fuck and to caress him, to hear him laugh, to watch him cry, to be
asked to stay and never leave.
Of course he knew that he and Harry would always have problems regarding his
work, his Dark Lord entity, his way of dealing with people, but somehow he
thought it all to be insignificant. What was this nonsense in comparison with
every night he was going to spend in the arms of the only person he actually
liked and trusted? Oh, but he did trust Harry - his Prince was the only one who
had no interest or desire to betray him, his light, kind, forgiving nature was
above such low vices. And he liked him, liked everything about him - something
he had never experienced before either. He felt proud, smug, that a man like
Harold Prince belonged to him and wanted him and him alone.
"His highness wished to see you," Harry appeared at the threshold, holding
Domhnall in his arms, who screamed excitedly at the sight of his father.
Voldemort couldn't help but grin at the boy's antics - he never knew a child's
love could make a man so full of himself, so proud and elated, delighted. Harry
climbed onto the bed and sat next to him, letting Domhnall move over onto his
chest and sit up on it, bubbling incomprehensibly and looking at him with wide,
adoring eyes.
"I think he is in love with me," Voldemort drawled sarcastically, stroking his
son's hair and plump cheeks, involuntarily grimacing back at his own ridiculous
faces.
Watching the two of them, feeling his heart melt and tears well up in his eyes,
Harry desperately wished to say that it was he, who was in love with the Dark
Lord Voldemort, but kept his mouth firmly shut, too scared to be rejected or
laughed at, or simply ignored. It was impossible to predict Marvolo's reaction,
what was worse, he still wasn't sure the man realized what love was and if he
was capable of it at all. It was better to tell himself that he was mistaken,
that it wasn't love, just his hormones. And though his intuition was telling
him that Marvolo had done too much to be doubted in his intentions and
feelings, Harry was too uncertain and frightened of the notion that once he
said it aloud, it would become true. And then it would be his future: loving
Voldemort till the day he died, for he knew he could never love anybody else.
How could he, when they were one, parts of each other, two sides of one coin,
one soul?
 
xxx
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter X
"Voldemort is a good lad, a nice bloke, you can trust him," Harry rolled his
eyes, sighing. "Would that be enough? How can I make them believe that he is
not a psychotic maniac, when he is?" he threw his arms in the air helplessly.
"Perhaps, you should give a more detailed description? Imagine that you are
writing a potions essay," Severus offered lazily, stirring his tea.
"If public speeches were written like potions essays people would have killed
themselves to simply not hear any more of it! Severus, really?!" Harry huffed,
involuntarily thinking of which ingredients could Marvolo consist. Deceit,
power, blood, sex, sex and sex... He groaned, having had once again caught
himself on thinking of the man's body and not his task.
"Have you asked the Dark Lord? He is good at stringing people along," the
potions master shrugged his shoulders and shoved another piece of Dobby's cake
into his mouth. It was better than the Hogwarts' one, for the elf used to cook
for Malfoys and couldn't lose his habit of preparing perfect meals worthy of
the pureblood aristocrats. Yes, he definitely could get used to visiting Harry
and Domhnall quite often. "Perhaps, you shouldn't speak of the Dark Lord at
all. Your task is to make people follow his cause, accept his legislation, not
him personally," Severus added. "Speak from your heart, Harry, your sincerity
and confidence would conquer their attention and they wouldn't care about the
Death Eaters at all."
Harry gave him a doubtful look, but nodded in agreement. Speaking from a heart
was a hard thing to do, since he couldn't simply tell everyone that he was in
love with Lord Voldemort and that was the main reason he took the job of being
his deligate. Sure, he found his legislations fair and right, but they were the
last thing on his mind, if he was honest with himself.
"Do you think I would manage this?" Harry looked at his father, suddenly
feeling very small and insignificant, scared. "I have never spoken in front
of... people."
"I will give you a calming potion and you would do fine, Harry, you are making
it a bigger problem than it actually is, believe me. I have been spying for
almost twenty years already, which is much, much harder, since I have to
constantly lie and have no option of making a mistake. You, on the other hand,
have to tell the truth - what could be easier?" Severus gave him a blank look,
inwardly smiling at Harry's shyness and self-consciousness - how could he have
once thought of him as Potter, when all his arrogance and bravado were simply
an armour, underneath which a tender, vulnerable and generous soul was hidden?
The closer they became, the more and more Harry resembled Severus' younger self
and Eileen, and the less and less was being left of Lily in him.
Licking on his lips nervously, Harry sighed, "Yeah, you are right. Thanks."
He turned sharply at the sound of rustling - Hedwig flew inside the house and
landed on the back of his chair. Since there was no mail for her to deliver,
she often went hunting in the woods and stayed there for days. There was a
crumpled envelope in her beak, that she had picked up from the ground.
Surprised, Harry took it from the owl and, stroking her feathers in gratitude,
passed it on to Severus, who has been already holding his wand at ready. The
potions master carefully inspected it, checked for spells, hexes and poisons -
there were none and he threw it back onto the table and turned back to his tea
and cake.
"It's from Hermione," Harry said, after he opened the letter. "Since when does
she know about horcruxes?" he stared at his father in bewilderment.
"Since Dumbledore decided Granger and Weasley will be helping you on your
mission of destroying the blasted things," Severus drawled. "And after you've
destroyed them all, they will force you into a fight with the Dark Lord to kill
you as well."
"This is insane, even if I do take this mission they are not coming with me!
Ma-... Voldemort placed curses on all of his hidden horcruxes! I didn't run
away for nothing, they were not supposed to be dragged into this!" Harry sprang
on his feet, shouting. "Why the fuck did he do it?"
"I suppose he doesn't trust you as much as he used to," Severus murmured
thoughtfully, looking at his son's angry, suddenly hard, austere face – so much
like his own. "Nor does he trust me. He is sending them along to make sure you
would destroy the horcruxes. Dumbledore had been asking about you and the Dark
Lord, about the way he treats you... He might be suspecting something."
"Wonderful," Harry scoffed and hung his head, sighing desperately. "What made
him suspect anything at all?"
"I believe your condition and your disappearance both now and then were the
last drop, if I may say so. He was very displeased with the fit you have thrown
when you ran away to the Ministry," Severus arched an eyebrow and shrugged, as
if not really caring that much about this little obstacle. "Nobody believes the
Dark Lord is capable of caring for another human being, even if this being is
his own horcrux. Even the Death Eaters, except for the Inner Circle, think you
are his prisoner, toy, being held in the dungeons and being constantly
tortured. I have assured the Order of your well being, but it made them all the
more distrustful of your common sense. As such this poses questions whether you
have been brainwashed or influenced in any other way, for nobody in his sane
mind would stay with a serial killer."
"Not that it was my own choice the first time..." Harry rolled his eyes.
"Well, I don't suppose it would make any difference now," the potions master
waved his hand. Dobby popped into the kitchen to clean the dishes and the two
men spent a few long minutes in complete silence, each pondering over the same
problem of keeping a child safe in a midst of this shit storm that was coming
very soon. "Have you brewed the potions I instructed you with?" Severus
suddenly remembered.
"Yeah, I will get them in a moment," Harry nodded and left, still immersed into
his thoughts, not paying any heed to his surroundings.
"Master Prince, little master Domhnall wouldn't sleeps," Dobby tentatively
tugged the dark wizard on the sleeve of his shirt, "He must sleeps now, it is
late."
"Well, can't you make him?" Severus asked nonchalantly. Little brat's sleep
wasn't his responsibility.
"Master Domhnall always sleeps after kiss or lullaby," the little elf widened
his eyes, looking at the professor pleadingly. "Dobby can't kiss little master,
little master don't like it."
"Harry will do it." But five minutes have passed and the young wizard was
nowhere to be seen. Hearing the baby's loud, indignant cries, Severus pinched
the bridge of his nose and sighed and exasperation, "Go find Harry, I will put
a sleeping spell on the brat." He apparated into the nursery and stared at
Domhnall, who was red from screaming and whose plump lips trembled harshly. The
boy instantly stretched his arms out at the sight of Severus bent over his
crib.
"I am not picking you up," the potions master growled, "Harry has spoiled you
badly."
"Aahh!" Domhnall wasn't going to stop, he kept asking to be held and his magic
aura tensed as well, affecting Severus quite disturbingly - he realized he was
feeling sorry for the child's suffering.
"You, little snake, you are already manipulating everyone around you!" the
potions master hissed in anger and astonishment, but his hands had already
taken the boy, on their own accord it seemed. As soon as he touched Domhnall,
the boy stopped crying and smiled at him with one of those rare, brilliant
smiles that Harry sometimes gave him. Looking into his big, green eyes was like
looking into Severus' own soul - he could have sworn the same transpired every
time he caught his lord's gaze. Creepy. "Well, are you happy now, little snot?
Would you shut up and sleep already?" Severus sneered at the child, but
Domhnall kept grinning and tried to tug on the long raven hair, but couldn't
quite reach it, for his grandfather was once again holding him at his arms'
length.
Blubbering sweetly, the boy jerked excitedly in the potions master's hands and
squeaked, staring at him with such mischievousness, that Severus involuntarily
raised his eyebrows, quite surprised. Domhnall laughed and suddenly relaxed and
swayed to the side, making Severus frantically grab on him and press him to his
chest to not let the boy fall. Only when the child clutched on his robe and
hair did the potions master realize what kind of a low trick had been played on
him.
"Oh, you little-"
But he stopped, for he suddenly felt a wave of sweetest, warmest magic wash
over him. It was so much like Harry and so much more, combined with something
so familiar... Severus stood gobsmacked, cradling the smiling, pleased infant,
overwhelmed with a sudden realization that it was his mother whom he thought he
felt in his grandson. It was his own blood, his own magic manifesting itself.
"This is incredible," he breathed out, tilting his head lower to look at
Domhnall more closely.
A small sweaty hand caught his long nose and rubbed on it playfully,
accompanied by the ringing laughter. Severus barely registered that he was
actually holding a baby for the first time in his life, barely registered that
it felt so right, as if he had been doing it for many years already - he kept
staring and marveling the strange sensation that was being slowly intensified
in his chest, burning on the inside, making his heart beat faster and yet so
pleasantly. Domhnall yawned loudly, opening his little mouth widely, and
shifted closely to the broad chest of his grandfather, whimpering happily.
Severus thought it wasn't him, but somebody else, who leaned closer and kissed
the rose cheek that smelt of flowers and rain.
Harry stood at the threshold, with his arms crossed over his chest, smiling
cunningly at the scene before him. He knew he would have to force Severus into
getting closer with Domhnall, but he was ready to do anything in order to
achieve it, for he couldn't let the snarky man ignore his own suppressed
desires and feelings for the sake of his image and dignity. They were a family,
that had no place for such rubbish. He wanted the two of them to love each
other, if the Fate gave him his chance to have something he had been deprived
of for his whole life, he wasn't going to fuck it up, oh no, to Hell with
muggles and wizards, war and Hogwarts - these two dark wizards were his first
priority. He still had some doubts whether Marvolo was also his and his
priority... their relationship was too complicated to have a definite answer to
this, yet.
Severus stared at the small boy in his arms, who sighed so contentedly after he
kissed him, just like Harry did, and closed his eyes, lying so comfortably
against his chest. How could a child so small be so addicted to affection and
caress? How could he stir something so deep inside of him, something that had
been buried so long ago? Watching the angelic face of his grandson, Severus
couldn't help but feel the strange, foreign happiness prickling on his eyes,
forcing tears to well up and threaten to stream down his cheeks. Dazed and
confused beyond his imagination, he kissed Domhnall again and again, hid his
nose in the mop of chestnut hair, inhaling the child's amazing scent. This was
what he was ought to have had seventeen years ago, this was what he missed so
much - the part of him that was undeveloped, forgotten and rejected. He looked
at the beautiful pale face and suddenly it was framed by the short, silky raven
locks, morphed into his own face he remembered from his childhood. He was
holding Harry, his little Harry that he had never known, never kissed, never
put into bed... Feeling the traitorous tears slowly running down and dripping
onto Domhnall, Severus sobbed quietly and clutched on his grandson tightly,
frantically. This was the Fate's gift, Harry's gift to him, a gift he didn't
deserve - his second chance.
Severus jerked when a pair of long arms embraced him from behind and a thin
chest sighed against his equally thin back. "Do you see now? How truly
miraculous it is to love and be loved in return? How absolutely wonderful it is
to have each other?" Harry murmured, closing his eyes and crying softly,
happily. He had found that it wasn't shameful or embarrassing to cry whenever
he felt like it - on the contrary, he found it was rather freeing, it helped
him express what he couldn't say out loud. It helped him feel deeper, sharper.
"I see," Severus managed to croak, caressing Domhnall's face - the boy was
soundly asleep, lulled by his grandfather's warmth and unsteady heartbeat. "I
feel it. I feel you and me in him, my mother... It is something much more than
blood," he whispered, not trusting his voice.
"You know, I think children are the real horcruxes, that need no sacrifice or
complex magic. They bear pieces of our souls inside, transforming them into a
whole new one, they are our legacy, they are us. They make us truly immortal,"
Harry smiled into his father's back, gently squeezing his arms around the man's
waist.
Severus couldn't help but feel astonished by the theory, that was as arrogant
as it was possible and yet was very real, for the reflection of Eileen in
Domhnall was unmistakable, as it was in Harry and himself. His mother never
really died, living inside each one of them, giving them their ability to stay
human even when the world around them couldn't.
"This is the most atrocious thing I have ever heard, Mr Prince, however, I find
it most fascinating as well."
Father's snide, but not unkind tone made Harry chuckle, "Thank you, professor."
"I hate her so much more now for robbing me of this..." He had to strain his
ears to hear Severus' barely audible whisper. Frowning, Harry sighed, but
didn't say anything, only pressed harder against his father's frame. He knew
the man meant Lily, he dearly wished he could ask about her and the real reason
of their separation, their mutual hatred, but knew it wasn't the time. Harry
could only hope that one day Severus would tell him... would be ready to tell
him.
xxx
Voldemort stood hidden in the shadows of the hallway, watching the three
Princes together, seething with jealousy that was literally choking him.
Although there was no real reason for his anger, since he and Harry and
Domhnall were spending time together just as well... And yet his heart ached at
the display of Harry's affection for somebody else. He hated the fact that he
had to share his Harry with Severus, even though, rationally, he thought it to
be ridiculous - they were father and son, they were supposed to care for each
other. At least that was what he had once expected to have with his father. A
teenager, he used to keep faint hope that he wouldn't have to kill Tom Riddle
Sr, but talk to him and make him see his own mistake. However... everything
turned out differently. For the better.
"My lord," Severus bowed, trying not to show his surprise, when he almost
collided with the tall form of his master in the darkness.
"Good night, Severus," Voldemort nodded and brushed past him straight into the
nursery and to the crib, to look at his son.
Staring after him, the potions master couldn't help but wonder what the man was
actually going through? Did he feel the same towards Domhnall what Severus felt
towards Harry? Was the Dark Lord capable of being a father, of loving his
child? Do you love Harry? Severus shook his head, hastily trying to get rid of
the importunate thoughts - he and Harry were just close relatives, close enough
to feel comfortable around each other and that was all.
"Harry..."
Severus turned on his heels and stole a glance at the narrow doorway, that led
into a dimly lit room full of toys. His master stood next to his son, so very
close, leaning into his frame, circling his long arms around his waist. And
Harry was looking into the blood red eyes, enchanted, enthralled, lost in them
completely. "Harry," the Dark Lord sighed like Severus had never heard him sigh
before and kissed the young wizard's red lips with such tenderness, the potions
master had to hastily look away and apparate to Hogwarts' gates. That didn't
look like a game or a one-night stand. Voldemort was absolutely smitten with
Harry, was in his hands, in his power. Severus had never seen him act so
gently, so... sincerely. It was most unusual.
"Harry," Voldemort pulled away and kissed his Prince's brow.
"Would you like to eat, to have tea? You are so cold, you are shivering," Harry
murmured, rubbing on Marvolo's shoulders, trying to warm him up.
"Only you can give me enough heat, my dear," Voldemort grinned, pleased that
his Prince was worrying about him. "But I would not miss a cup of tea, of
course." He obediently let Harry drag him out and down the stairs, into the
living room. Reveling in the novelty of being taken care of by another human
being, the Dark Lord watched the young wizard bring in the steaming pot and
chinas, set them on the small table between the armchairs and pour him a cup.
"Where have you been, that you got so cold?" Harry asked, frowning at the sight
of Marvolo's trembling fingers frantically clutching on the hot porcelain,
while the man's face stayed completely unaffected, beautiful and content as
ever.
"Had to do some field work," Voldemort sighed, "I can't rely on anyone these
days, not after everything that happened. If I want something done and done
right - I have to do it myself."
"Stirring up muggles again?" Harry grumbled into his cup.
Arching his eyebrows incredulously, the Dark Lord decided to ignore the remark.
"Have you thought about your speech yet? I would like to have your first
'performance' in a week and a half, we will notify the press in two days."
"So soon?!" he couldn't help but stare at Marvolo helplessly.
"You are overworking this, Harry," Voldemort laughed quietly, leaning forward
and gently patting the other man's knee. "Do not make it a bigger problem than
it really is."
"I am trying but..." Harry let out a shaky breath and grabbed on his china
tighter, "I am scared. What if they wouldn't listen? Would tell me to fuck off
as soon as I start talking about you... your cause?"
"They would, they would listen to you and they would hear you. Harry, you are
the only one who can do it, I am absolutely certain," the Dark Lord smiled
softly, watching his Prince's wary expression longingly, enjoying every second
of their time together.
He realized he had never felt so free and comfortable around any of his
closest, most faithful followers as he did around Harry. The young wizard
accepted him for being who he was, didn't expect him to be anything but
Marvolo, didn't care for his powers, his influence, his titles and money. It
was so unexpectedly wonderful to simply sit together in a dark room, in front
of the fire and drink tea, talking quietly, touching each other, watching each
other, apart from the world outside with its cruelty and injustice. Home. Harry
became his home.
"I am so inexperienced..." Harry looked up into the blood red eyes, the two
burning coals that watched him warmly, kindly. Was Marvolo encouraging him?
Involuntarily smiling at the thought he ducked his head, shying away from the
intent gaze.
"I know for a fact - you are learning very fast," Voldemort leaned impossibly
close to breathe into his ear.
Sensing the shivers run down his spine at the innuendo, Harry blushed and, he
really didn't know what had gotten into him, crawled into the man's lap,
startling the Dark Lord. "You have to help me with the speech, Marvolo," he
mumbled, embracing the wizard and resting his head on his strong shoulder.
"Oh, Harry, whatever you want - your wish is my command," Voldemort purred,
stroking his Prince everywhere, feeling for his hot skin under the clothes,
moaning softly at the young man's pleasant weight on top of him, at the dear,
familiar scent. Harry was so affectionate, so hungry for caress, it drove him
insane. The Dark Lord never thought there was so much of it in him, never used
to wish to share it. But the young man in his arms awoke so many new and
undeveloped emotions in him, so many sides to his humanity, it was astonishing.
"I will stay in the morning, if you wish, and we could discuss everything you
want to say, although I doubt it is necessary, for I myself never once wrote
any kind of a speech, always talking straight and unprepared - it usually works
better," Voldemort whispered, rubbing his nose against Harry's throat.
Harry raised his head to look into the man's eyes closely, stopping mere inches
away from the lecherous rose lips. "What would happen after... after they
accept your bills and change everything the way you want to?" he asked
uncertainly, circling his arms tighter around Marvolo's neck.
"Peace would come, Harry," Voldemort smiled gently. "There would be no need for
violence, our world would be safe from muggles, light and dark wizards would be
once again equal, magic would be respected and cherished, not shunned because
somebody has said it is dangerous. It is intent behind it that is dangerous,
not the pure magic itself," he laughed ruefully and lowered his gaze, surprised
by the sensation of lightness in his soul.
He noticed he had started experiencing this since he began talking to Harry
sincerely. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and chest.
A warm palm cupped his face and pushed it up a little, to make him look into
the brilliant emerald eyes.
"I hope you are right, Marvolo, and peace would truly come. I wish Domhnall
could grow up in a better world, could be a happy child, with no war to make
him an orphan or a murderer," Harry murmured, caressing the pale face that was
barely visible in the faint light from the fire.
"He would, I promise," Voldemort whispered against the red lips and kissed
them, slowly and tenderly at first, but couldn't resist his burning desire and
thrusted his tongue deep into Harry's mouth, pressing the young man tighter,
closer to his body. When they parted for air, he pressed his lips against the
scarred forehead, panting and sighing heavily in pleasure, enjoying the way
Harry's chest rose and fell against his, the way the wizard's heart beat in
rhythm with his. "What are you planning to do after it is all over, my dear?"
he asked.
Frowning, Harry pondered over the unexpected question. "I haven't thought about
it yet, I haven't thought there would be anything else but Domhnall in my life,
to be honest." He closed his eyes, marveling the sensation of wet, cold lips on
his scar. "What are your plans?"
"I will tell you after we succeed," the Dark Lord chuckled and apparated them
both into the bedroom. Having had fallen on the bed, pinned down by Harry's
weight, he relaxed and drawled nonchalantly, listening in for the other's
reaction, "But I can tell you now that my plans revolve around you and
Domhnall."
Standing on all fours, hovering over Marvolo's form, Harry caught his breath at
the last words, biting his lips nervously. Was Marvolo implying that he wanted
them to be a normal family? Was he going to let them have an ordinary life,
without hiding, without lying, without fearing for their well being?
Seeing that his Prince couldn't speak, staring at him helplessly, Voldemort
reached out and took his face into his hands, bringing it closer to his own.
"Harry, you asked to never ever leave you again. I intend to keep my word, I
always do," he murmured in a low, serious voice and pulled the young wizard
into a passionate kiss, smiling smugly at Harry's eager answer.
Trembling inside, trying hard not to blurt out what he felt towards the ruby
eyed man, Harry readily kissed him back, moaning and rubbing his hard bulge
against Marvolo's. Sex helped him to distract himself from the tormenting
emotions, though at the same time it only worsened his pain, for after every
orgasm under the dark wizard's skillful, gentle hands, cold but strong body,
insatiable lips Harry felt more and more in love, falling deeper and deeper
into abyss. The promises Marvolo gave him and always kept made him melt inside
and brought tears to his eyes. He loved a monster, inside which a real human
being was hidden, and he was desperately searching for a way to unveil him, to
bring him into the light, even though he knew that Marvolo's sins and crimes
were the only obstacle. Loving him was a true crucible.
Long, heavy raven hair streamed down, surrounding his face like night,
devouring the light around him. Voldemort carded his fingers through the silky
locks, loving its softness against his cheeks. Harry was absolutely perfect,
his every pore, it seemed, breathed for the Dark Lord, his every cell was
designed to his satisfaction. His Prince was his prize, his trophy, his reward
for everything he had to go through. Pushing him and rolling on top of his
heated body, Voldemort let go of Harry's mouth, panting harshly and looked at
the flushed face, that bore most blissful, lustful expression, as the swollen
red lips whispered his name. Mine, mine, mine. "Tell me you are mine, Harry,"
he heard himself hiss in parseltongue, "Tell me you want me."
"I am... yours," he breathed out, not noticing the switch in the languages,
wishing he could dissipate in the blood red eyes, that burned on his skin, so
intently they watched him. "I want you... Marvolo, I want you so much. Take me,
take me, I am all yours," Harry begged, dazed, drunk on their magic's unity.
Whatever Marvolo asked of him - he was ready to give.
Hearing his Prince saying the words, begging to be taken, Voldemort assaulted
the red lips, desperate to take, take everything. Harry's genuine desire,
sincerity were his undoing. Mine, mine, mine. His personal Light Lord, his
curse and his blessing, his lover. They were lovers, weren't they? They had a
child together, they were a family. If only he knew how elating and pleasurable
it is to have one... Ironic, wasn't it, that he found his happiness with his
enemy? That he had to struggle his whole life, lose his sanity, lose his body
and soul to finally find what he was looking for. It wasn't immortality, oh no,
it was this.
xxx
Harry woke up, stirring under the heavy weight that was pinning him down to the
mattress. Marvolo lay on top of him, sprawled over his back and wasn't going to
wake up any time soon. Sighing helplessly, Harry pressed his face into the
pillow and readied himself for a long wait. The dark wizard wasn't that heavy
and he really didn't want to disturb his sleep, preferring to stay close for as
long as possible. Marvolo grumbled something dreamily and shifted to lie more
comfortably between Harry's legs - it was then that he felt the man's hard
erection press against his backside. Suddenly Harry became apprehensive, his
body shivered and he squeezed his eyes, but there was no escaping it: it
reminded him of Vernon so much - his uncle always raped him from behind.
Shaking all over, he tried to gently push Marvolo off of himself, but the
wizard was only growing harder, unconsciously rubbing his cock between the
buttocks.
When the friction intensified and Marvolo began moaning, Harry jerked, afraid
he was going to feel sick again, and pushed the man harshly away. "No, Marvolo,
not like that!" he shrank away from him, moving to sit at the edge of the bed.
"What..." Voldemort woke up sharply, scowling and not really understanding what
the hell had happened, but when he saw Harry shake and watch him with wide,
tearful eyes, he felt his arousal slowly subside, as a horrible realization
formed in his mind. "Have I... have I hurt you, Harry?" he asked uncertainly,
not daring to reach out for the young wizard. "Please, tell me I haven't done
anything to you..."
The bitterness and fear, worry clear as a day in his voice helped Harry to
sober up and forget about Vernon and the intolerable pain he had once gone
through. Marvolo looked so lost, so frightened, so... self-conscious and
ashamed, Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing. Crawling slowly back and to
the man's side, he took Marvolo's cold, trembling hand, "You haven't, don't
worry. It is just... this position, it brings too many unwanted, awful
memories."
"I know," Voldemort sighed forlornly and hid his face in his hands, rubbing on
it hard, "I shouldn't have put you in such position in the first place... I
would never forgive myself for hurting you like this, Harry..." he looked up
into the shiny green eyes, feeling so scared and uncertain, weak. "I would... I
would not be able to live with the notion that I raped you."
"What are you talking about, Marvolo?" Harry frowned and moved to pull the man
into a gentle embrace, "You would never hurt me, I know that, I trust you. You
have never and would never rape me..." He tried to understand what was it that
made the wizard so miserable. Had Marvolo thought he raped him back then, after
he saw Vernon's memories and killed him?
"Forgive me," Voldemort whispered and grabbed on Harry's form, pressing his
face against the thin chest, breathing deeply, as a tight knot in his guts
gradually dissipated. Guilt. It was bloody guilt he was experiencing now.
He had never asked for forgiveness before. What had gotten into him? Harry
frantically tried to come up with a reasonable explanation, circling his arms
tighter around the dangerous mass murderer in his bed. Why would the Dark Lord
ask to be forgiven? "Marvolo, you have nothing to be sorry for, I promise I'm
fine," Harry took his face in his hands and kissed the cold rose lips, trying
to assure the other of his sincerity.
"Are you certain?" The blood red eyes searched the pale, confused face of the
raven haired wizard. The scenes of Harry's horrible past clouded Voldemort's
mind and he dearly wished he could be insane and cold and heartless again -
something clawed on his chest and caused him immense pain he thought he had
forgotten.
"I am," Harry said firmly and pushed Marvolo to lie on his back, straddling him
and leaning closer to shower his face with featherlight kisses. "It was just an
accident, it is something you will have to help me deal with, in time," he
smiled, trying to lessen the tension that electrified the air around them.
"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Voldemort said weakly,
feeling so much better and warmer at the sight of Harry's grin, at the
sensation of his lips on his skin.
"But I want to," his Prince murmured and propped himself on the elbows, to
hover over him and look into his eyes, "I would never let the fat fuck spoil my
morning, especially from Hell where he is surely burning and screeching in
pain."
Harry suddenly sounded so confident, so strong, so arrogant and manly, the Dark
Lord couldn't help but smile hack at him.
"That's my Harry," he laughed, as the weight from his chest had been once again
lifted. The young wizard smiled so brightly and affectionately, seductively at
the sound of his laughter, that Voldemort's already flaccid cock once again
tensed and throbbed in pleasure and need. Harry felt it and, kissing him deeply
on the lips, took the hardening flesh into his hand and pushed it inside his
anus, groaning into the Dark Lord's mouth.
"You don't... have to... Harry," Voldemort moaned, but his Prince shook his
head, prohibiting him to speak.
"I said I want to, I want you, idiot," Harry muttered, frowning at the pain,
arching his back and spreading his thighs wider. He didn't want to think of
Vernon or any of his past anymore, he wanted to be here and now, be with
Marvolo, be his and be free. Gasping, he grabbed on his own long hair, tugging
on it helplessly, constantly moving, pushing the thick cock further and further
inside.
Watching his Prince wriggling on top of him, crying and biting his lips so
sweetly, teasingly, Voldemort could only growl and squeeze the young man's
sides and hips, hurrying him to move faster. Harry threw his head back, calling
his name and panting harshly, as he kept sliding up and down his length.
Impatient and hungry for more, the Dark Lord sat up and bit into the tender
skin of a delicate throat, grabbing on the soft buttocks and spreading them
apart, forcing Harry to take him even deeper inside.
It all ended so fast, Harry thought, falling on top of Marvolo, exhausted and
drained, but sated, sighing contentedly, as the strong arms enveloped him into
a passionate embrace. Drawing patterns on the pale, veined skin of the man's
chest, Harry decided he could sleep some more, listening to the steady, calming
beating of the other's heart. But thinking back on the way the dark wizard
reacted to what happened, Harry frowned and felt confused and upset again. He
knew, instinctively knew there was something more behind it all, he would have
never believed Marvolo's 'performance' if he wasn't certain the man's fear was
genuine.
"Marvolo," he whispered almost inaudibly, "Has somebody hurt you?"
Stroking the long raven hair, rising his chest in rhythm with Harry's,
Voldemort watched the morning light crawl between the small cracks on the
ceiling and wondered if he should tell his little one the truth. He had never
told about it, nobody knew, those who used to know were long dead. Could he
really face what he had once tried to run away from so hard? Could Harry accept
him after knowing his worst secret? The ever kind, forgiving Harry, who was
with him even though he had killed his mother and condemned him to spend his
whole life in Hell - would he still like him and smile for him if he knew?
Closing his eyes resentfully, Voldemort seethed inside, angry at himself for
being so self-conscious, so afraid of rejection - he was too old for that,
experienced and tempered enough not to take such nonsense into consideration
and yet he felt apprehensive. Insecure. Vulnerable. Weak.
"Yes," he breathed out and once again stared at the cracks, now clearer and
darker against the well lit paint.
Harry raised his head and looked at the pale, stony face, frozen in a grave
expression, "You can tell me, I would not turn you away," he touched the shaggy
cheek with his fingertips, uncertain if he could go further. He wished Marvolo
could free himself from whatever it was that tormented him so much.
"It is very hard, Harry, I have never told anyone about this," Voldemort
sighed, but didn't dare to meet the other's gaze.
Harry moved to sit next to him and carefully took one of Marvolo's cold hands
into his, kissing the long, thin fingers softly. "It's alright, take your
time."
"I am sorry, Harry," he finally turned to look at his Prince, who was watching
him so lovingly, so pitifully and yet comfortingly, "But you would not be able
to change me, to fix me, too much time have passed, too much have been done,
what can't be taken back..." Voldemort bit on his upper lip, breathing slowly,
gathering his courage, thinking that never once in his life had his tongue felt
so numb. "When I found out what your uncle had done to you, I couldn't...
couldn't let him get away with it, a prison or an execution were not enough...
What I saw in his mind, it brought all the pain and horror I kept locked up
inside me for so long, for almost my whole life..." he trailed off and
swallowed harshly, suddenly thirsty, for his mouth had run dry as he got closer
to the truth.
However, that was quite enough for Harry. Covering his mouth with his hand and
blinking hastily through the tears that blurred his vision, he couldn't
suppress his loud sob. "H-how old were you...?" he managed to whisper,
frantically pressing Marvolo's hand to his chest, as if it could lessen the
pain that was burning inside it.
"Six, when it began," Voldemort thought it wasn't his voice, so hollow and
distant it sounded, "Seventeen when it stopped, when I could finally leave."
"They grew up with you?" Harry rubbed on his running nose, incapable of making
up a better question. It was so difficult to think straight now, when his mind
tried hard to process the idea that children, barely teenagers, a few years
younger than him, could do something so horrible to a small, defenseless boy.
"Yes, we all were at the same orphanage. Once the oldest left, those who took
their places took their turns with me. Every summer." He freed his hand out of
Harry's hold and reached for his wet face to caress it gently, brush away the
thick tears. His Prince wasn't disgusted by him, wasn't afraid of his touch.
What a truly generous soul.
"Why hadn't you told Dumbledore about it?" Harry mumbled, leaning into the
touch, cradling the cold limb with both hands against his cheek.
"I told him they were violent towards me, abused me... But he turned me away.
Placed alarms and wards around the orphanage to monitor my magic and made me
return there every summer, until I became a legal adult and stole money to
afford myself a flat at the Diagon Alley between the terms."
"Was this why you made your first horcrux?" Harry understood now, yes, now it
all was so clear and simple, really. Marvolo's incontrollable hatred towards
muggles, worse, children, who were the future of the muggle race, who left no
hope for their kind; his hatred towards Dumbledore for condemning him to being
raped again and again, with nobody to turn to, nobody to protect him; his
anger, cruelty, thirst for blood and violent nature... Marvolo could never
afford to be weak, vulnerable after what he had gone through.
"I couldn't take it anymore and I made a horcrux thinking that I would rather
die fighting them with my fists or my magic and get punished for it, then let
them use me again..." he shifted closer and circled his other arm around
Harry's waist, hoping to not be pushed away. "So you see, I would not be able
to live knowing that I have done it to anybody else, to you of all people, my
little one."
There was so much pain in the emerald eyes and yet they didn't accuse him,
didn't judge. "Oh, Marvolo, my poor, poor Marvolo," Harry pulled him into a
tight, desperate embrace and cried on his shoulder, shaking all over. Holding
him, Voldemort couldn't help but smile ruefully, once again feeling freed,
accepted, understood. Forgiven. Even though he claimed he had no use for
absolution, he appreciated it. It felt as if needles were finally taken out of
his bleeding heart and it could beat fully again. "I am so sorry, Marvolo, so
sorry," Harry chanted, pressing harder against him, wishing he could take all
of his pain away, could heal him, like Marvolo had healed him before.
"Sh-sh, Harry, nothing to be sorry for," the Dark Lord murmured, stroking him
and kissing him on the bare neck and shoulder, "They all are dead, long, long
dead. As is my past and the old me."
"Y-you... killed them all, did-didn't you?" Harry stammered, looking up and
into the blood red eyes, that held no malice, no rage inside, only pain and
sadness.
"Yes. After I turned twenty two and after I realized I couldn't live with
nightmares anymore, I made another horcrux and hunted each and every one of
those boys down, children who watched but never once defended me, caretakers
and teachers who closed their eyes at what had been transpiring right under
their noses and only kept punishing me for "lying" and for being me: the freak,
the monster, the abomination..." He realized he couldn't, didn't want to stop.
Once he said it - the chains that were holding him fell, he was free, he saw
the light and didn't want to go back into the darkness. He wanted to be held
and cried for, felt for, loved. Nobody had ever shown him such kindness and
affection as Harry did. Voldemort even thought he didn't deserve the man, who
was sobbing quietly in his arms.
"You are not a monster, Marvolo," Harry said shakily. "You are not." He kissed
the wizard on the cheek and pressed his forehead against the dimpled chin.
"You make me better," Voldemort chuckled, kissing the lightning bolt scar. "You
and Domhnall are the only human beings I like and trust. You both are making me
better, healing me, if it is even possible," he murmured thoughtfully.
He never imagined it would be so easy to admit something so intimate, so
horrible to another person. Never imagined Harry would become even more
compassionate and affectionate towards him. If the Dark Lord had known before
he would have told him sooner to sway him to his side. But now it was pointless
to think of what could have been. Harry wanted him and was going to do anything
he asked of him - Voldemort has achieved his goal. Smiling, he stroked the
long, raven hair, enjoying the tickling sensation of his Prince's hot tears
slowly running down his chest.
xxx
"So should I even speak of you at all?" Harry asked tiredly, having had thrown
a newspaper on the bench and joined Marvolo and Domhnall in their slow walk
around the garden, that seemed to grow in size every time Dobby and Easy found
time to improve it in one way or another.
Harry smiled at his little son, who was bubbling excitedly, held comfortably in
the dark wizard's arms, but his thoughts kept turning back to the article.
Daily Prophet had released an announcement that the Boy-Who-Lived returned and
was going to give a press conference at the Ministry of Magic. Harry couldn't
imagine what kind of reaction this piece of news caused at Hogwarts - the
closer the date of his "coming out" was, the more nervous he became. What if
Dumbledore or his people at the Ministry would try to kidnap him?
"You would be safe at the Ministry, Harry," Voldemort didn't need Legilimency
to read his Prince's thoughts - all of the young wizard's fears were written on
his face. "My people there would be guarding you, besides, I would be there as
well. They wouldn't be able to take you away from me again."
"I am worrying for Domhnall," Harry sighed, reaching out and caressing the
small head that turned to the sound of his voice, "If anything happens to
him..."
"Nothing would happen to our son," the Dark Lord cut off sharply. "He will be
safely hidden here and if anybody would try to attack this place, the elves
would instantly take him to Prince Manor, which is impossible to find. Do not
worry, Severus won't let anybody harm him." As if in support of his words he
kissed Domhnall on the cheek and embraced him tighter, drawing a pleased squeak
out of the boy's small chest.
"Fine, fine," Harry muttered, shrugging his shoulders. Whatever Marvolo said,
he would never be able to simply accept the fact that his boy would be so far
from him, all alone. Bloody mother hen you are, Harry. "So should I or should I
not?" he steered the conversation back to his initial question.
"I agree with Severus - you are not promoting me as a candidate for the
Minister's position, you are promoting my cause and my bills, which have
nothing to do with my personality," Voldemort nodded, stealing brief glances at
Harry's face, lovely in it's seriousness and concentration. "I am not going to
be their leader, I am not insane anymore to wish to herd the stupid sheep that
they are. If you don't think it would be wise or necessary to mention me, then
simply don't, Harry, I trust you to tell the right thing." He smiled, when the
young man looked up at him, and laughed quietly in satisfaction, when Harry
failed to hide his own grin and had to duck his head shyly. His modesty and
innocence were so adorable and refreshing, Voldemort found himself wishing that
Domhnall could grow up the same.
"You overestimate me, Marvolo," Harry shook his head, fighting the intensifying
blush.
"No, you underestimate yourself, I never overestimate anybody, my dear," the
Dark Lord drawled smugly, "For there is hardly anybody better and more powerful
than I am. Except for you and the little Slytherin Prince, perhaps," he tickled
Domhnall and grinned at the sound of the boy's contagious laughter.
"You are so full of yourself, I doubt I would ever manage to assure people of
your good intentions, it is too obvious what an arrogant, self-centered bastard
you actually are," Harry huffed good-naturedly, rolling his eyes.
"However, it doesn't stop you from fucking with me every night," Voldemort
replied haughtily, excited to have a little banter with his Prince. Their
fights and quarrels, if he could even call them that, for Harry was too kind
and sensitive to hold a grudge, always ended in bed, or on the table, or on the
floor, or...
"Moron." Laughing, Harry punched him on the shoulder lightly. How was it
possible he felt so comfortable around the Dark Lord? Had they become friends
as well as lovers? Could Voldemort even have friends? "Which bills should I
make accent on first? Complete separation from muggles or change in the
governmental structure?"
"The latter - after we change it and put the right people in the right places
we would be talking of separation and would actually manage it." The Dark Lord
hummed to himself, pleased, that Harry was taking his task so seriously. With a
delegate like Harold Prince the victory was already in his pocket.
"Do you really not wish to rule the wizarding Britain?" Harry considered him
for a moment, trying to decipher the man's thoughts in his shining blood red
eyes.
"They do not deserve me, Harry. I see that now. I simply wish to fix the damage
they have caused with their own actions, show them the way, but I have no wish
whatsoever to be their leader. I would have preferred to do something else with
my time, something more useful," Voldemort said carelessly. He took a tiny bud,
that Domhnall noticed and tried to grab, and hid it in his fisted hand. At his
son's confused look he smirked mirthfully and spread his palm in front of the
small, surprised face, revealing a blooming cherry flower. It was such an easy
trick, however, it made Domhnall ecstatic. The Dark Lord and Harry started
using magic more and more around the boy, watching him carefully, but nothing
seemed to be wrong. Their son was simply too sensitive to emotions and magical
power, but neither affected him in any harmful way.
"I am glad you have no reigning plans," Harry said slowly, mesmerized with the
nonchalant display of enormous power. Logicaly, he knew he was capable of the
same with the powers he had now, but it was still so unusual for him, so
wonderous.
His Prince's perplexed and simultaneously joyful expression made Voldemort
remember something he wanted to discuss before. "Harry, there is something I
must teach you before you go out into the world again."
Looking at Marvolo's serious face, he raised his eyebrows inquiringly, "What is
it?"
"You must learn to hide your power, learn to disguise it. If Dumbledore senses
how actually powerful you have become, he will cause us much more problems than
we anticipate. It is a very useful skill - hiding one's true aura. It may save
your life, for your opponents would be underestimating you," the Dark Lord held
out his hand for the raven haired wizard, waiting for him to take it. "Take my
hand, feel the flow of my and your magics, feel our power."
Harry obediently took the offered limb and squeezed it gently, habitually
trying to warm up the cold fingers. "Alright." He closed his eyes and
concentrated on what he had always been ignoring before even when he came into
the wizarding world. The strange itching under his skin, in his veins, that
wasn't unpleasant, but gentle and steady, like a heartbeat - one easily grew
used to it. His eyes moved fast underneath the lids, as bright lights flashed
before them in the darkness. Red and green hues, grey and white - the colours
of their magics, assaulting his senses. "I see Domhnall's as well!" Harry
couldn't help but laugh when he felt more than heard the soft buzzing amongst
the deep green and blue sea he thought he had dived into. His son's auara was
beautiful, pure, though dark. "He is so much like Severus..." he couldn't
believe he hadn't noticed this before, how much Domhnall's magic resembled his
grandfather's.
"Of course," Voldemort smiled gently at the young wizard while the other
couldn't see him doing that. "Your father's blood is ancient and strong.
Combined with mine it only became stronger, even more powerful." Harry had no
idea just how magnificent was his magic, did he? And their son inherited it
fully.
"Your magic is so wonderful, how can it bring so much pain and destruction?"
Harry looked up at Marvolo, overwhelmed with the passionate reds that rushed
through his body along with his blood, bringing him strange, foreign peace,
soothing him so lovingly - if he wasn't holding the Dark Lord's hand he
wouldn't have believed this sensual magic could possibly belong to him.
"Intent, Harry, it all depends on the intent behind your actions. Your magic
can ruin just as much, should you wish so." Voldemort watched him, barely
registering what he was saying.
Was he going to justify his actions before Harry now? Did he need the man's
forgiveness? With resentment he had to admit to himself he did. He craved it.
He wanted Harry to love him, to give him everything, even more than the young
wizard had already given him. After being together for so long, after sharing
his worst secrets with Harry, he couldn't help but become dependent on him.
Attachment, dependence... everything he had despised so much happened to him
and he couldn't have stopped it even if he wanted to. Like a hurricane Harold
Severus Potter came into his life and changed it, turned it upside down and
inside out.
Looking into the blood red eyes, that held too much emotions in them to
decipher what was the man really thinking, Harry nodded slowly and squeezed the
cold hand tighter. "How do I hide my aura?"
Reluctantly letting go of him, the Dark Lord sighed, "Now reach inside
yourself, find your magic and make its colours grey. You would have to practice
every day in doing so, for when you come out you will have to be performing
magic whilst simultaneously hiding your actual power. It takes a lot of
concentration and energy, but you will manage, do not worry."
Doing as he was told, Harry was once again sucked into the storming sea of deep
blues and greens, wondering how could his magic look so dark and scary and feel
so light and calm. Perhaps, this was what made him and Severus overcome their
mutual hatred - was it even hatred at all - and become closer? Their magics,
that desired to be one again? Frowning, he tried to brush away the thoughts
that appeared in the most inappropriate time and concentrated on the colours.
Suddenly lost, for he had no slightest idea how to affect his own magic, he
heard Marvolo's voice deep inside his chest.
"Imagine that the storm is coming, watch the clouds gather and darken the skies
above you. See the last rays of sunlight die in the deep darkness of your
magic."
Lulled by the deep, soft sound he loved so much, Harry gave in completely,
falling deeper down under the water, squinting at the last flashes of light
that quickly dissipated into nothingness. This nothingness looked colourless to
him, however, he couldn't help but think that, perhaps, this was the grey that
Marvolo meant. Harry pushed and reached out for it with the tips of his
fingers. It slowly enveloped him into a cocoon and he opened his eyes sharply,
only to see both Marvolo and Domhnall watching him impassively, both looking
rather bored.
"Did it work?"
"Yes, but it took you almost twenty minutes and it is already weakening,"
Voldemort said and turned to go back inside. "Let's return and try again
inside, or we will freeze Domhnall to death out here."
"But... but I only..." Harry hurried after him, confused. How could he have
spent twenty minutes floating there, when it all had taken him barely three
seconds to perform?
"It is fine, Harry, you will grasp the concept very soon. It is indeed hard to
disguise such an enormous power," the Dark Lord murmured, as they entered the
house and threw off their winter coats. Harry involuntarily reached out to take
Domhnall and Voldemort had to reluctantly comply. Sharing was so difficult.
"You will have to teach Domhnall before he goes to school," Harry suddenly
said, having had realized that their son was going to be too powerful a wizard
to simply enter Hogwarts and get on well with the others.
Raising his eyebrows at the man's unexpected demand and worry, Voldemort
couldn't help but smile cunningly, "Oh, is Domhnall going to attend Hogwarts?"
"Well, if you will achieve all your goals, wouldn't Hogwarts become a better
place for the dark wizards?" he gave Marvolo a pointed look. "Of course he must
study there, he must find friends, learn to socialize, learn equality and
respect towards others. As much as we may teach him that at home, he needs to
learn that on his own, only then he would become a truly decent wizard."
"I see you have learnt that the affinity towards dark magic doesn't make a
wizard evil," the Dark Lord barked out a laugh, as he sprawled himself over the
sofa in the living room.
"Of course," Harry huffed, rolling his eyes. He stood in the middle of the room
in uncertainty. There was plenty of space to sit down, but he had this
insuperable desire to sit next to Marvolo, as if a magnet was pulling him
closer to the man. Sighing in surrender, he sat down on the edge of the sofa,
deliberately brushing their thighs against each other. Harry let Domhnall sit
in his lap and play with the locket, as he himself stretched his shoulders and
turned to look at the dark wizard, resigned. "I will try again. What should I
do to make it happen faster and work longer?"
Voldemort found it very pleasing that Harry couldn't keep away from him. Their
close vicinity worked like a cure for him, as if the young man was constantly
suppressing his anger, cruelty, hatred, cleansing him. He stretched out his
long legs to lie more comfortably and smiled smugly at the raven haired wizard,
"There is one thing that could help you..." At Harry's inquiring glance
Voldemort moved sharply and pushed him down and pressed him him against his
chest, gently levitating Domhnall into the armchair along with the locket.
"What are you doing?!" Harry didn't expect to be grabbed and embraced so
passionately, but as soon as Marvolo kissed him all of his complaints
disappeared.
"Lie with me, close your eyes and practice. I will be holding you, that is
all," the Dark Lord whispered against the red lips. He craved Harry's warmth,
it helped him so much better than the fire from the hearth or warming spells.
As the young wizard slowly relaxed in his arms and shifted to embrace him back,
to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, Voldemort sighed contentedly, rubbing the
other's thin but strong back. With a joyous finality he realized that Harry
wasn't a boy anymore, he had become a man, an adult, a parent and a lover,
worthy of the great Dark Lord.
Sensing that his Prince had once again given in to his own magic and was far
away now, Voldemort turned his head to watch his son play. An idyl. Soon, he
told himself, soon Harry and Domhnall wouldn't have to hide anymore, but would
live freely and without fear. Soon. He never thought he would desire to make
Harry happy so much, desire to give him the life he deserved. Wasn't his
initial goal changing? Before he wished to changed the world to make it better,
to correct the mistakes that costed his mother her life and him his, but now...
Looking at the little boy giggling at the golden locket, watching his happy,
shinning green eyes, he found his perspectives did really change. Now he wished
to change the world to make his family happy, to give them everything there was
to give. How humanly mundane, Voldemort thought, wrinkling his nose in disgust
but circling his arms tighter around Harry, how truly pathetic.
xxx
Severus was sitting with his back turned to the window in front of which the
headmaster stood, stroking his beard and watching the gryffindor team practice
at the pitch. They have already spent about fifteen minutes in such position
and the potions master was growing tired of the silence that promised nothing
good. Crossing his arms over his chest, he closed his eyes and started
meditating, for he knew all too well that the less he said out loud the less
damage would be caused.
"And you are certain that you never knew of Harry's coming out, Severus?"
Dumbledore asked quietly, not moving.
"I have told you, Albus, I didn't. Potter doesn't trust me and I can't really
blame him for that, can I?"
"How does he and Voldemort communicate, is he always present when you are
visiting Harry?" The old wizard finally turned and walked to his chair. "We
must find out if this coming out is his own idea or if it was forced on him."
The Dark Lord couldn't force Harry to do anything, since he was blindly taken
with him, smitten, lost in his lust and addiction, but Severus couldn't say
that. He still wasn't sure if Dumbledore guessed who was the child's father,
but he wasn't going to be the one to break the news. "I cannot say. The Dark
Lord is always present during our meetings, which are quite short and
insufficient. I simply check his and the child's health, we exchange a few
words and that is all."
Sighing, the headmaster nodded his head in understanding. "I still trust you,
Severus, I know you are working hard and trying to minimize the risk of being
exposed. But I find it hard to believe that you knew nothing of this," he
patted the stack of newspapers, that kept releasing daily announcements about
Harry Potter's return. "Fudge is furious, the members of Wizengamot have
contacted me recently, asking me to let them have Harry amongst them - they are
afraid Voldemort would attack during one of the sessions again and would kill
again. Aurors Division won't let me have a moment of peace - they are sending
me owls every hour, preparing to capture Harry the minute he ends his
speech..." Dumbledore pushed his glasses lower, to the tip of his nose and
looked at Severus above them, "I understand you are worried about him, Severus,
I do. But if you wouldn't be completely honest with me, we might never see him
again after this day."
"There is nothing else I can add, Albus, forgive me," Severus drawled,
shrugging his shoulders. He would have preferred Harry didn't have to come out
at all, but rationally he understood it was necessary. Besides, Harry was
young, awfully young, and spending his life imprisoned in his own house was an
unfair trial. The boy needed this.
"I see," Dumbledore gave him an intent look, but the potions master kept his
eyes closed and his arms still crossed over his chest. "You wouldn't come with
us to the press conference, I need someone to stay at the school and monitor
students."
"Fine," Severus shrugged his shoulders again. He anticipated this, for he knew
the old fool very well. It was most convenient he didn't have to go, for he
surely wouldn't have stayed aside or helped the Aurors to capture his son. No,
he had the perfect alibi.
Seeing that the potions master cared very little for his punishment, the
headmaster cleared his throat and, folding his hands before him, asked the man
the very same question he had been asking these past weeks. "What of the child?
Is he showing any signs?"
"Signs of what, Albus?" Severus sighed in irritation. "Besides his unusual
birth the boy is absolutely fine. Healthy, ordinary wizard."
"He seemed to me to be rather big for a newborn in that memory you showed me,"
Dumbledore murmured thoughtfully.
Nodding, Severus turned to look up at him, "Perhaps, he has taken after his
other father? He is a little bigger than usual, but than again, he wasn't
growing in a normal womb, but in a magical one - we have no information
whatsoever about the way it affects the bone and tissue development. It might
have helped him, might have improved him... Nobody has an answer to that,
unfortunately."
"But he is not showing anything connected with the horcrux, is he?"
"Albus, if you could tell me what to look for," Severus shook his head in
exasperation. "Potter never showed any signs except for the visions, how can I
tell if the infant is the one as well? Besides, I have no reason to doubt the
Dark Lord's words. If the boy was truly a horcrux he wouldn't have left him
there. He would have probably given him to Malfoy or Avery to be raised like a
true Death Eater," he sneered, rolling his eyes and twisting his lips in
disdain. "Would you have trusted Potter with raising your horcrux?" he added
snidely and waved his hand dissmissively, brushing off the unpleasant topic.
"I see," Dumbledore sighed. "You are right, of course. I am just overwhelmed
with the whole situation. The longer it takes us to find and bring them here,
the more uncertain I become. I hate the fact we have to kill both Harry and the
boy... I will never forgive myself for that, but that is what I must do." He
rubbed on his tired face, looking at the children flying outside.
Nor will I, Severus thought, nor will I ever forgive you. For everything.
xxx
On the 3d of March Harry woke up feeling nauseous and exhausted. He hadn't
slept well, turning the upcoming events in his head over and over, trembling
inside in fear of his failure. Marvolo had to hit him with a strong sleeping
spell, for his anxiety was so obvious it didn't let the other sleep as well.
Rubbing on his stinging eyes and groaning tiredly, Harry stretched his
shoulders and back, squinting at the bright morning light coming out of the
window.
"Even the spell doesn't work on you, I will ask Severus for a strong potion to
make you fucking sleep," he heard Marvolo mumble as the dark wizard rolled over
and instantly fell asleep again, snoring into the pillow.
Harry thought he would never get used to this side of the Dark Lord's
personality - the grumpy, unshaved morning hater. Smiling, he shook his head
and laughed quietly, feeling a little better now. But his gut was twisted in a
tight knot he felt so sharply, as if it was a stone in his abdomen. Today he
was going to meet the press, to leave his house for the first time, to leave
Domhnall. Suddenly afraid, he hurried into the nursery and picked up the
sweetly sleeping boy. Cradling him in his arms, Harry nestled in the armchair
and watched his son's content, beautiful face, trying to remember its every
tiny detail. He wished he didn't have to do this, but there was no other way,
Marvolo needed his help.
"I am doing this for you, my little prince," he kissed the boy's brow gently,
"For you and your future."
"This should be a motivation enough for you to finally calm the fuck down," he
heard Marvolo's tired, sleepy voice and looked up to see the wizard standing at
the threshold, wrapped in one of the bed covers, shivering.
"Go back to bed, it's too early," Harry murmured, looking back at Domhnall.
"I can't, it's too cold without you," Voldemort all but whined, yawning and
stepping closer to the raven haired man. "Take him too if you can't keep your
hands off, but come back to bed, Harry, please. We have three more hours of
sleep."
He could never resist Marvolo's begging. Nodding, Harry carefully stood up and
slowly walked back, holding his little boy close to his chest, feeling more
content touching him and listening to his breath. Lying down next to the other
man, he put Domhnall between them, smiling at how similar the father and the
son were, for Marvolo fell asleep as soon as his arm circled Harry's waist and
his nose pressed against the boy's little head. No, he thought, this, for this
he was going to help Voldemort. To be able to wake up every morning to
Marvolo's complaints, to be able to sleep with him and their son so comfortably
in their warm bed. This was the future he wished for them all, for himself. He
closed his eyes thinking it was worth it all.
"Harry." He stirred, smiling at the sensation of the small hands grabbing his
nose and at the sounds of soft bubbling. "Harry, we must be at the Ministry in
fifteen minutes."
"What?! Why haven't you woken me sooner?!" Harry almost fell off his bed as he
jumped up, frantically searching for his clothes to Domhnall's enormous delight
- the boy kept laughing at his father's misfortune.
"Because you needed to sleep, to get rested," Voldemort drawled nonchalantly,
stretching under the covers and embracing their little son. "You are a wizard,
Harry, you can clean yourself up in one swish of a wand." He smiled brilliantly
when Harry suddenly froze and swore foully at the realization that he indeed
could use magic to wash up, clean and iron his clothes, make his hair.
"I hate you," he muttered, glaring at Marvolo, and stomped out of the bedroom.
Harry went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of strong coffee - he wasn't
used to drinking it, but he saw Severus often making it for himself after a
particularly long and tiresome day or before a hard, sleepless potions brewing
night.
"And here I thought you were going to shock the public by appearing thoroughly
ravished and in your nightshirt," Severus drawled, stirring the coffee in a
small pot over the stove. He stole a brief glance at his son who was dressed in
a plain black suit and a black robe, looking every bit Severus in his youth,
with his long raven hair sticking out everywhere and his brilliant emerald eyes
full of fear and uncertainty.
"Morning," Harry ignored the snarky remark and stuck his long nose into the
pot, "Would that be enough for the two of us? I could use a cup of strong black
coffee."
"I am brewing this for you. Sit down and eat something, or your stomach would
talk louder than you at the conference," Severus shook his head in
exasperation, as the corners of his mouth quivered slightly, for Harry's
anxiety reminded him of his own at his first day of work at the school.
Dobby happily jumped up to his younger master with a plate full of every kind
of food he knew Harry liked to have in the mornings. With a trembling hand the
young wizard took an apple and munched it slowly, trying hard not to sick up.
Along with a streaming cup a small vial with yellow potion appeared on the
table before him. "Is this the potion you said you would give me for my
nerves?" Harry inspected it, smelling carefully and rolling the liquid inside
the glass.
"Yes, take it with coffee to cover the foul taste. I would suggest to eat a few
eggs at least, or you might faint," Severus drawled, sitting down next to his
son, and took out his wand. He waved it in a zig-zag and whispered a few short
incantations and in a few seconds Harry's clothes was clean, smoothed, his hair
were washed and brushed and his face looked fresh.
"I could have..." Harry began to object, but shut up under his father's warning
glare. "I feel like this is my first time going to school, for christ's sake,
Severus!"
"It is quite an understandable reaction. Do not worry, the potion would help
you." The potions master sighed, thinking that on his son's first day at
Hogwarts he was dreaming of strangling him somewhere in the dark corner of the
school's countless corridors. Perhaps, he wouldn't miss Domhnall's first time
and would see him off at the King's Cross, like Eileen did every year before
she died.
"See, I was right, fifteen minutes is more than enough to get ready." Voldemort
entered, fully dressed in black, holding Domhnall in his arms. "Severus," he
greeted, nodding to the wizard. At Harry's attempt to take the boy, he moved
away from him and passed the child on to Dobby, "No, no, Harry, if you take him
we will never leave. Dobby can take care of him, he will manage perfectly. And
you must eat, I will not be holding you while you retch behind the Ministry."
He sat down and clapped his hands - his usual cup of tea appeared in the air
before him and he took it, sipping on the hot liquid with pleasure.
"You bastard, I want to hold my son before we leave!" Harry snarled, scowling
at Marvolo and chewing on his eggs angrily.
"You have been holding him the whole morning, stop this drama! You will see him
in a few hours," the Dark Lord sighed and patted Harry on the knee.
Watching the two men interact was new to Severus and he couldn't help but laugh
inwardly in amusement at their antics. If one put aside their identities, one
would surely take them for an ordinary family. Was Harry actually pouting? Was
this a pleased smile on his lord's lips at the sight of the young wizard's
grimaces?
"If anything happens..."
"Nothing would happen, Harry. I promise," Voldemort said firmly and squeezed
the other's hand. "Now, hide your aura and we will be going."
"I have arranged everything at the manor, so if there is such a necessity,
Dobby would take Domhnall there and will call for me," Severus added, looking
at Harry, whose face looked paler than usual - he was unnaturally frightened to
leave the child. "Harry, you must learn to part with him from time to time,
otherwise he would grow a dependent child."
"Yeah, I know..." Harry lowered his eyes, blushing slightly in embarrassment.
But what could he do, really? It was his instincts, his heart that were making
him so nervous, so anxious. "Thanks, dad," he sighed and stood up, taking the
Dark Lord by the arm. "I am ready."
Thinking that he had heard Harry calling Severus that for the first time,
Voldemort decided he needed to look more closely into their relationship. He
wasn't against it, he simply wished to establish who was going to be the head
of the family and dictate the rules, for he wasn't going to share his Harry and
his Domhnall with anybody else.
Soon they found themselves standing behind the Ministry's building, at one of
the back doors, used only by a few high ranking employees. Surprisingly, Draco
Malfoy was waiting for them there, holding the door open. "Draco?" Harry smiled
despite himself and turned to Marvolo to ask him what was the blonde wizard
doing here, but it wasn't his Marvolo beside him anymore - there stood a tall
wizard with tanned skin, short black hair, brown eyes and a scar across his
left cheek. His black hood threw a deep shadow onto his angular, unpleasant
face.
"Harry, haven't seen you in such a long time!" Draco smiled at him and took him
by the arm, steering him inside, "The Dark Lord gave me the task of
accompanying you everywhere tonight in the Ministry and shooing the
particularly active fans away."
"But..." Harry turned to disguised wizard, who pressed his index finger against
his lips and bent down to hiss into his ear in parseltongue. "I will be amongst
the crowd. Do not worry, I will always be close to you." The man disappeared
and all Harry could do was to stare at the empty spot beside him.
"One of your bodyguards?" Draco huffed, crossing their arms and leading the
raven haired wizard forward, down the empty, dark hallways. "Don't worry, the
Dark Lord put up a whole army to guard you while you are here. My father would
be standing right behind you the whole time, I will be on your left, Avery,
disguised as Fudge's secretary, on your right, and there will be around fifty
Death Eaters amongst the crowd and around the perimeter." His confident, bored
tone helped Harry relax a little and he smiled modestly at the young man he
hadn't seen for so long. Draco looked just like he always did - the impeccable
self-centered wanker. It was so good to see him.
"I haven't been out for a while, I am simply a little uncomfortable and
nervous, that is all," he shrugged his shoulders, smiling at his companion.
"Where have you been, by the way? Slytherins were making bets, that you are
either being tortured or being brainwashed and tuned into our lord's personal
assassin," Draco laughed into his curled palm, looking at Harry mischievously.
"I've had a child," he smiled innocently and walked forward when they finally
reached the familiar surroundings.
Gobsmacked, Draco ran after him, "You what?!" He stopped Harry in the middle of
an empty hallway and took him by the shoulders, looking intently into his eyes,
"Repeat it again, but think twice before saying the words. You have what?"
Laughing, Harry patted his hands, "I am a father now, Draco, I have a son.
That's where I've been, hiding him from the vultures."
"You..." Draco stared at him in desperation and confusion, looking between his
eyes and his abdomen. "You... Is this what Bella did to you then?"
"Yeah," Harry smiled and lifted his shoulders up, indicating that he was
absolutely fine with everything that had happened. He was now. Having Domhnall
was worth any kind of pain, torment and horror.
"So you... But... Who is... the other... Father?" the blonde stammered, staring
helplessly around himself, as if looking for a sign that would help him realize
it all to be a dream.
"That is a secret. Perhaps, if Voldemort would let me, I will tell you," Harry
sighed. The potion began working, for he felt his limbs relax and his heartbeat
became steady again. He was ready to talk and get done with it all. "Shall we?
I wouldn't want to spend the whole day in here."
"Y-yes, of course," Draco hastily straightened up and took on his usual
expression of superiority and boredom and crooked his finger for Harry to
follow. They entered the main hall of the Ministry and Harry was instantly
blinded by the flashlights of the cameras and deafened by the screams of
reporters and the crowd of spectators, that were filling the space so fully it
was hard to breathe. The blonde wizard took him by the arm and pulled him up
the small dais, where Lucius Malfoy was already waiting for him. Exchanging a
nod with him, Harry wondered if he was aware of the true nature of his and
Voldemort's relationship.
"Mr Potter, please," Lucius gestured for him to stand at the small, elegant
rostrum and moved behind him, covering his back.
Harry looked over the crowd uncertainly, taking a few deep breaths. This wasn't
going to be easy. Several people were crying out his name, he could barely hear
them amongst the loud buzz of voices. He involuntarily searched for the tall
wizard with a scar on his cheek, but Marvolo couldn't be seen anywhere. Harry's
eyes locked with the pale blue ones of Albus Dumbledore and he pursed his lips
into a thin line, determined to do whatever was necessary to safe his son.
There was no affection for the old wizard left in him, only wariness and pity.
"Good morning, everyone," he started shakily, thinking he should be quick with
this. "I am Harry Potter, as you all can see, and I am here to make a small
statement." How strange it was to call himself Potter now, after all this
time... He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders, taking one last
breath. "I wish to tell you that I never was participating in any kind of
secret training abroad. I was hiding from Albus Dumbledore and the Order of the
Phoenix." The crowd's roar was amplified by the echo of the high ceiling of the
hall and Harry couldn't help but wince at the deafening sound of their
protests, surpise, fear.
"What happened, Mr Potter? Why was your absence kept as a secret, why was the
public lied to?" Rita Skeeter shouted, elbowing her way through the crowd
closer to the dias.
"What happened is that I do not wish to fight Voldemort," Harry said simply and
the whole hall fell silent at the sound of the damned name. Seeing that nobody
was going to ask him any anything else, he elaborated, "I have studied the Dark
Lord's legislations plan and I sincerely agree with it, I don't see him as an
enemy anymore but a man that can truly change our country for the better."
"Liar!" somebody screamed. "You were brainwashed! You're insane!"
"During all these years you have called me different names. I was your hero,
your savior, I was the new Dark Lord in making, I was the insane lunatic,
Dumbledore's scapegoat, but enough of that!" Harry barked at them, suddenly
angry and affronted by their behavior. His voice rang loudly around the place
and they all cringed a little under his blazing fire glare. "I am here to tell
you the truth and make you finally think for yourselves. All these years, while
you all were safely living your lives here, reading newspapers and discussing
my personal life, I was living with my muggle uncle and aunt who abused me.
Yes," he twisted his lips in a parody of a smile, when a few women gasped at
his words, "I, the Boy-Who-Lived, your favourite tabloid hero was abused by
muggles and I had no right to defend myself against them. Dumbledore knew of
it, but he still kept sending me there every summer. Do you know what is it
like to be constantly beaten, humiliated, hurt and talked to like a dog? Do you
really expect me to fight for you, when nobody has ever fought for me?"
Breathing harshly, he watched their faces morph into ugly masks of terror,
unceratinty, disbelief, anger.
"How do we know you are telling the truth?" one of the reporters cried, waving
his hands.
"Since you wouldn't take my word..." Harry took out his holly wand and pressed
it against his heart, clutching onto the rostrum for balance, for his knees
were giving away.
"What are you doing, Harry?" Draco hissed fearfully on his left, but he didn't
listen.
"I, Harry James Potter, swear on my life and magic that I would not lie to any
of you during my time of presence here." The tip of his wand glowed faintly and
a shower of green sparkles covered the crowd before him. Astonished they all
stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. Putting the wand away, he cleared his
throat once again, "Now, let's return to where we have stopped... I was abused
by my muggle relatives. I know many other wizards who also were abused by
muggles, however, they are not as confident as I am to come up here and tell
the world about it." He rubbed on his wrists, sighing sadly at the bitter
memories of the bruises that had once been there, at the memories of a few
muggleborn gryffindors he saw in the showers, covered in the very same kind of
scars that he had. It all was going on without saying, there wasn't any club
for the abused and humiliated, everybody survived on their own. Nobody shared
their pain, for they knew the price of talking.
"I wish you could understand that there are always bad and good people, wizards
or muggles, we are all the same. However, as wizards, we do have a tendency to
value the lives of our children much more than muggles do, for there aren't
many of us, we rarely have more than one, two children in the family. Muggles
would never accept you the way the Light promises. I know that for sure, I've
spent most of my life amongst them, I know the way they think, the way they
judge... Even when I thought I was an ordinary boy, when I never knew I was a
wizard, they shunned me and hated me for simply being different. And my own
family made me pay for my difference, pay dearly."
"How come you've learnt of the Dark Lord's plans?" Skeeter piped in, holding
her notepad and quill fiercely in her hands, as if they were her weapons.
"Last time I disappeared I was held a... guest at his residence and I have read
all of his work. He never influenced me in one way or another, he simply
offered me truce, after he found out what had happened to me."
"Why was Dumbledore making you return there every summer?"
"I honestly have no idea," Harry shrugged his shoulders, avoiding to look at
the headmaster in the back of the crowd. "I suppose it was his way of preparing
me to face Voldemort, but it never helped me in any of our encounters except
for the last one, when the Dark Lord found enough compassion in himself to
spare my life."
"Voldemort killed your mother, he killed your friend Cedric Diggory, he killed
hundreds of innocents. Have you forgiven him for these awful crimes?"
Dumbledore's voice boomed loudly, making everyone turn around to look at him.
His pale eyes were trained on Harry only, waiting for his answer.
Shifting in his place uncomfortably, Harry realized he had to make it all clear
once and for all for them and himself as well. "There was a book I found in
Voldemort's library," he began quietly, slowly. "It was a sort of compilation
of different stories about Ghandi's life, his travelings and his thoughts.
There was one thing that he said, I found it to be right, true. The weak can
never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong. You have always
taught me to be strong, to be decent and kind, headmaster," he looked up and
met the other's glance defiantly. "I will forever mourn their deaths, my
mother's especially. But there is a way to stop the violence, to stop the
insane killings, there is a way of saving lives and secluding our world from
muggles. Accept the Dark Lord's policy and he would never kill again."
"How can you say that? You've read his legislations - how can we agree to
those?!" Ron's indignant cry surprised Harry, but he didn't show it, thinking
that he must be as unaffected by his friends as possible. It was the only way
to keep them safe.
"He wouldn't stop, don't you understand?" he asked tiredly, shaking his head in
exasperation. "He will be killing everybody who stands in his way, he would
achieve his goal no matter what you think. If you agree and accept him, he
would seize the violence. This is the only way."
"But you must fight him, Harry!" Ron couldn't let it go. "How can you tell us
to give up, when we must fight for our families?!"
"Exactly," Harry sneered at him, hating to do so, "I do have a family of my own
now, which I must protect. I am sorry, Ron, but I don't want to fight him, to
waste my life for those who need me only as a shield. I am a person, I am a man
and I want to keep my family safe - this is why I am choosing Voldemort's side.
If you want, you may send your sons and daughters into slaughter, for this is
what is coming, I can assure you, or you may take your chance for a better,
safer life. I have seen the newspapers, I know what is going on, so do you -
why do you sit and wait for somebody else to solve your problems? Stand up for
yourselves, for the future of your children! But that is the root of the
problem - you can't, you are afraid." Harry thought his hands would bleed - so
hard he pressed on the edges of the desk, feeling his insides tremble and
freeze at the excitement and horror of the situation. What happened, how could
he stand here and instigate people to unite with the Dark Lord, the insane
murderer, the deceiving munipulator? How could he push them to follow the man
who was the cause of Harry's own sufferings?
And then he saw the familiar blood red eyes, gleaming brightly amongst the
darkness of the moving mass of people. Like two burning coals in the cold, like
two lonely stars in the blackness of the night they were calling for him,
mesmerizing him with their warmth, affection. Harry couldn't help but clutch on
the locket underneath his shirt and press it against his chest, as close to the
heart as possible. He thought he saw the little boy sitting in the backyard of
the orphanage, the boy who looked like the carbon copy of his Domhnall, but
older. The boy who was bleeding and crying and nobody came to help him, to hold
him and take his pain away. He saw him sitting in the dark corner of the room
and play with little stones and garden snakes, hissing in parseltongue for
there was nobody else there for him to talk to in English. The tears started
welling up in his eyes and a sharp pain pierced his heart. He loved him, loved
this little, broken boy, who grew up to be a cold, cruel man with his own
vision of the world. A man hiding behind the thick wall of uncaring and
heartlessness, cherishing his fears, insecurities and pain, making them into
his armour and weapon.
"I'm not asking you to accept Voldemort himself," he suddenly said, surprising
everyone into silence. "You don't have to like him, you don't have to take him
as your leader, it has nothing to do with him. His work has everything to do
with your future. He is a monster, however... in these past months, maybe a
year, I have learnt a great deal of monsters and men, of how deceiving
appearances can be," he looked up to meet the ruby eyes again. "All I'm asking
of you is to choose a way of lesser evil. I have chosen mine, for I do not wish
to see people die in vain, protecting what is actually harming them. I can't
fight Voldemort for you, I can't defeat him. And even if I could..." he smiled
bitterly, blinking hastily to will the tears away. He wanted to say that even
if he could he would have never killed Marvolo, because he couldn't kill
someone he loved so much. But he knew what he had to say instead. "You would
have sent me to fight muggles later, when they declared war on us. I don't want
to be a murderer, I don't want to kill anybody, I don't care if this person
deserves to die in your opinion, I am not going to be the tool of your twisted
justice."
Their low murmurs turned into a steady buzz, as they discussed his words
between themsleves, stealing wary glances at his form. Harry didn't care, he
kept looking into the eyes of the one he came here for tonight and dearly
wished he could hold him, feel his cold hands on his face, hear his deep,
soothing voice. He was torn between two contradicting desires: to run away and
never come out of his house again or shout to the world the truth, the one and
only truth that he loved the Dark Lord and wished to be by his side until the
day he died. He was ready to lead them all into the darkness if only Marvolo
had asked him to, for he couldn't imagine his life without him anymore.
"But you are a light wizard, Mr Potter, how can you follow the Dark? How can
you be one of them?" an old man he had never seen before asked him.
Snapped out of his reverie, Harry offered the stranger a small, sad smile, "I
am not following the Dark, nor am I going to become dark as well. To be honest,
I don't see how the difference in our magic can be the reason for our mutual
hatred, the reason for fighting each other, when our enemy is somebody else? My
father, as you all know, is a dark wizard, which doesn't make him a bad person.
Our choices, our actions and the intent behind our magic - this is what makes
us men or monsters, but sometimes the meanings of those are rather twisted and
we call a monster the one who is trying to help us, when he simply chose the
wrong way of showing it..." He laughed quietly to himself in melancholic
nostalgia, thinking of Marvolo and the way he healed him, helped him overcome
his fears and pain.
Voldemort watched Harry carefully, moving around the space as a shadow,
unnoticed and hidden, but he couldn't help and stop to listen to his Prince
when he felt his emotions vibrate in the air, weakening his magic's disguise.
Harry was nervous, even after taking a very strong potion, but there was
something else. There was this strange vibe he sometimes sensed from the young
wizard, when they were together and Harry lost focus or stared at him
absentmindedly, immersed in his own thoughts. Voldemort hated not knowing what
was going on in that lovely head, but the other's Occlumency was just as strong
as his own and he couldn't simply attack his mind. This vibe was so strong, so
overwhelming, and yet he couldn't decipher its meaning, for Harry always was
fast enough to hide it, to distract him from analyzing it more thoroughly. And
now, standing on the dais above the crowd, telling them about him, Voldemort,
being a monster, he was once again experiencing this strange, suspicious
emotion. He could see how hard Harry held on the desk, how his limbs trembled,
how desperately he clutched on the locket... And his words about the Dark Lord
choosing the wrong way of showing his desire to help... Scowling, he looked
into the emerald eyes, helpless and uncertain of what was he witnessing. No, he
told himself, no, he was mistaken. In this world one never got everything he
desired - it simply wasn't possible, by the laws of nature or magic, or
whatever it was that affected their lives... Fate?
"Harry, do you realize what are you saying? What are you offering?"
Dumbledore's voice had once again silenced everyone in the hall and Voldemort
flinched, snapping out of his stupor. It wasn't the time to ponder over Harry's
complicated human emotions, he had to watch the old goat closely.
Steadying his magic, that threatened to manifest itself and tell everyone of
his real powers, Harry took a long, deep breath, holding the locket firmly in
his burning hand, seeking the necessary comfort and support from it.
"Yes, I do, sir. I accuse you of lying, manipulating, neglecting abuse and a
planned murder of myself." At his last words all the reporters moved sharply
forward to get even closer to him, as if he was speaking too low for them to
hear every detail, while the crowd roared and everybody turned to look at the
headmaster. "I am not going to die for the sake of your plan of destroying
Voldemort. If he is dead - somebody else would come in his place and everything
would repeat itself again, and so it would continue in a vicious circle which
you can break only by accepting what is offered to you, before it's too late."
"Harry," Dumbledore ignored the angry glares of wizards and witches before him,
keeping his eyes firmly on Harry, "This is not a game. Your words have
consequences. Do you realize that after you are finished with the speech you
would officially become an enemy of the Ministry? You wouldn't be able to come
back to Hogwarts."
"This has never been a game, sir," Harry nodded, scowling at the old wizard. "I
know very well what the consequences of my actions and words would be, I am
ready to take them and pay. Are you ready to do the same?" At Dumbledore's
perplexed expression Harry pushed his hair back and gathered all of his self-
control not to let his magic flow and assault the wizard. "Is that, what you
are doing, the price you are paying for creating Voldemort? You are the one who
is responsible for the man's transformation into a monster he is now... How can
you live with such burden? How are you still capable of working with children,
sending them back into their abusive households, accepting them back into your
arms with that kind, grandfatherly smile of yours? Haven't you learnt from your
past mistakes, sir? Haven't you reaped what you've sawn fifty years ago? How
dare you ask me if I have forgiven Voldemort when it is you who must be begging
for forgiveness, standing on your knees in front of me, in front of every
abused child that studied at your school?"
With that, not waiting for any kind of answer, Harry tugged on Draco's sleeve
and they hastily went down and through the door that Lucius had opened before
them to the roaring sound of enraged crowd.
"Who would have thought you have such an enormous talent for political
revolution, Mr Potter?" Malfoy Sr gave him a small, but sincere smile and
closed the door softly behind himself.
"The last bit was particularly juicy!" Draco exclaimed excitedly, barely
restraining himself from jumping on Harry and demanding more details from him.
"Auror Division!" They turned at the sound of shouts behind the door and loud
banging. "Open up! We must interrogate Potter! Now!"
"Just listen to them, they have already lost it, and you haven't even left
yet!" Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes and brushing the invisible crumbs off of
his cloak.
"We should leave now, before they got to you, Mr Potter," Lucius sighed, as if
his job was escaping Aurors every day, however, Harry wasn't sure this hadn't
been the case as of late. The blonde wizard gestured for the two young men to
follow and led them through the long, dimly lit room and out of the door,
hidden under the tapestry. They fund themselves on one of the lower levels of
the Ministry. "It is impossible to apparate out of here, so we will have to
escape into the muggle Underground," Lucius explained, as he quickly walked
down the hall, listening intently to the sounds behind them.
They had to stop sharply, when a tall dark figure appeared in their way.
Raising their wands, both Lucius and Draco stepped in front of Harry, shielding
him. But he knew they didn't have to do it, he felt the stranger's aura, even
when it was thoroughly hidden, he could still sense him deep inside his own
body.
"We must separate. Lucius, take Draco and go back up, hold them as long as
possible, you know how to throw dust into somebody's eyes. Harry, you coming
with me."
"Yes, my lord," both Malfoys breathed out in astonishment, for they were never
informed their master would personally attend the event. Draco stared at the
face of a man he took for a bodyguard, as it began slowly morphing into a
completely different one. He couldn't see clearly behind the shadow of the
hood, but the burning blood red eyes were evidence enough for him that this
wizard was indeed the Dark Lord. And he didn't look like a snake at all. His
eyes widened dramatically at the sight of Harry's hand squeezing Voldemort's.
Draco wasn't blind, nor was he stupid, he could easily put two and two
together. Keeping his observations to himself, he turned around and followed
his father, who confidently strode to the lifts, covering himself in fake
bruises and scars on his way.
Walking side by side with Marvolo, holding his hand, sensing him so close in a
moment of danger, was a new experience for Harry, he couldn't help but feel
excited, aroused by the notion that they were escaping Aurors like criminals in
a cheap muggle film, only this was for real, this wasn't a game, as Dumbledore
had correctly noticed. Their quick steps echoed around the empty marble
hallway, worsening the already gloomy atmospehere, brooding the apprehension
that was thickening the air around them. Harry involuntarily squeezed the cold
hand, seeking comfort and assurence. Marvolo squeezed back, rubbing with his
thumb on Harry's knuckles soothingly, although he hasn't yet graced him with
even a glance. How much has been said in such a simple gesture - Harry couldn't
stop smiling idiotically to himself.
They turned left twice, three times to the right, all the time constantly
moving though the endless corridors and Harry thought they would never stop,
when the both turned harshly at the sound of a dozen feet behind them.
"We will have to run, I have no wish to use both our powers to destroy the
Ministry's wards - it would tell them too much about us," Voldemort muttered,
dragging Harry along, as he hastened his pace.
Silent, Harry obediently followed, for he knew that if he wished to get back
home to Domhnall he had to do as Marvolo told him. He took out his wand,
holding it tightly in his free hand, hoping against hope he wouldn't have to
injure anybody. He might agree with Marvolo's ideas, but not his methods
certainly. Violence was the last thing he wanted to have to resort to.
"They are moving towards the muggle Underground!" they heard behind them.
Harry didn't look back, he simply ran, thinking only of the hand he was holding
and its cold fingers, that were caressing his. There was so much gentleness in
Marvolo, hidden under the darkness of his burden, lost in the labyrinth of his
fears and insecurities... Harry thought he was ready to resurrect every last
person who had ever harmed the man he was holding now and kill them again, so
much he hated them for maiming Marvolo's soul, for breaking him, twisting him
and pushing him into the abyss. The small voice in his head asked him what if
all this had never happened, would they have ended up together in the end? Of
course not, the small voice mocked him, gripping his heart in a vice. How
selfish it was of him to even dare have such atrocious thoughts!
Voldemort halted his run and pointed his wand at what seemed to be a cul-de-sac
and hissed a strange spell in parseltongue, that Harry had never heard of
before. The marble slates instantly dissipated into nothingness, leaving only
dust behind. They jumped into the hole, simultaneously lighting up their wands.
Straining his ears, Harry heard the the familiar sound of the London's
underground. He could feel a weak blowing of the wind somewhere on his right.
"Hurry up," the Dark Lord nudged him and they hastily ran down the slope,
barely seeing where they placed their feet. Panting, Harry could hear the
trains closer and closer to where they were running at, but he could also hear
Aurors behind them, who were quickly catching up with them.
"Come here," Voldemort grabbed him and pulled him closer, circling his arm
around the young man's waist, "We will have to jump before the train - we would
be able to apparate there."
Horrified at the prospect of being hit by the muggle train, Harry only nodded
in agreement and circled his arm around Marvolo's neck, holding onto him
tightly. Seeing that his Prince was determined to go further despite his
evident fear, Voldemort steered him to the closest technical gap in the wall
and peeked out, waiting for a train to come.
This was a very old layer of wards that was placed long before the metro system
was created - it covered over a mile more of territory, including the whole
station and the closest train tubes. When muggles had built the Underground,
the Ministry decided not to destroy the ward, but simply adjust it to the
electricity - every time a train passed the ward was being tuned off to not
intervene with the machinery. This was the exact moment they needed to safely
apparate into the street and calmly leave from there without any problems. The
Aurors were already closing in on them, but Voldemort kept waiting.
Loud ringing sound warned them that the train was arriving to the station.
Pulling Harry closer to his chest, the Dark Lord looked into the emerald eyes,
that were trusting him completely, and nodded more to himself, than to his
Prince. Just when one of the Aurors threw a 'Stupify' spell at them, they
jumped and Harry squeezed his eyes in terror at the blinding flash of the
train's light, but the very next second his feet touched the ground and he
swayed a little in Marvolo's arms, shaking his head, dazed by the whole
experience.
"Let's never use the Underground again," he muttered to the other wizard, who
was brushing the stray raven locks out of his face.
"Would you prefer to fly?" Voldemort offered, smiling cunningly from underneath
his hood.
"Fly?" Harry huffed incredulously and gave Marvolo a distrustful look. He
jerked when he heard the voices somewhere behind them - they stood in a
deserted alley not very far from the station. Aurors were still following them.
"Yes, we should fly," the Dark Lord drawled confidently and harshly pressed
Harry against his frame, watching the young wizard mirthfully. "Hold on, Mr
Prince," he laughed at the wizard's suddenly wide eyes, as he had realized that
Voldemort wasn't joking.
"Marvolo!" Harry could only stare and frantically clutch on the dark wizard's
clothes, when they started quickly ascending the air, as if it was but a
staircase, an escalator muggles liked to use so much. Marvolo wasn't hiding his
aura anymore, using his powers to their full extent, making Harry hold his
breath in excitement and overwhelming sensation of being carefully hold by the
darkest, most frightening and most magnificent magic he had ever seen.
"You may relax as well and simply enjoy the ride," he heard a whisper that was
more like a summer breeze - it seemed that the Dark Lord became the wind
itself, floating over London. Unbinding his magic, as he was told, Harry
watched the city from the bird's-eye view, laughing at the unimaginable
experience of truly flying, without any broom.
"Do they see us? The muggles?" He looked up at Marvolo, whose hood had been
blown back, and smiled at the sight of a blissful expression on his pale face.
"They see a little black cloud and nothing more. If you wish, we could become a
lightning or a storm, shower the city with a rain... Nothing is impossible for
us," Voldemort looked into Harry's eyes only, caring very little for the city
underneath them, for the muggles. Now he cared only for the man in his arms,
whose light magic caressed him and held him tightly, lovingly, turning his
flight into a pure physical pleasure. He had realized that he and Harry were
indeed sharing everything, even their magics, and he couldn't for the life of
him find it to be wrong or inappropriate. He wanted to give Harry as much as he
could and take everything he was offered and more.
"I feel like I am Wendy and you are my Peter Pen!" Harry burst into a bright,
ringing laughter and kissed Marvolo on the cheek. "This is amazing, thank you."
He smiled at the ruby eyed wizard with one of those brilliant grins of his and
spread his arms like wings, trusting Marvolo to never let him go.
"I never liked the book - Captain Hook was my favourite character, but nobody
understood him," Voldemort smiled, enjoying the sight of the long raven hair
being blown to the side and tremble in the wind like a black flag, the sight of
Harry's suddenly very childish, amused face and wide eyes shining in excitement
and mischief. This was his Prince, his and his alone and he was the one who
could make him happy. The Dark Lord felt ecstatic.
"I knew it, wasn't hard to guess whom you fancied more," Harry turned to flash
him a blinding smile and squeaked suddenly, when Voldemort hastened their speed
and crossed the country in a flash of a lightning, slowly going down above the
city of Belfast. "So fast!" Harry caught his breath when they finally landed in
the backyard of the Red House.
"Right on time for lunch," the Dark Lord put his pocket watch away and smirked
at the young wizard, who was shaking his head at his antics.
As soon as Harry crossed the threshold of the house he ran up the stairs and
into the nursery to pick up whining Domhnall and cradle him in his arms. "Oh,
my little one, I am so sorry I had to go. But I am back now." He showered his
son's face with kisses and inhaled his sweet scent as deeply as he could. "I've
missed you so much, my little prince, I would never ever let you go again."
"See, he is fine, you are back, nothing happened, just like I have promised
you," Voldemort drawled from the hall, entering the room and watching the two
smile at each other with adoration. Domhnall has instantly forgotten he was
crying, laughing and bubbling with his father, jerking his small arms in
excitement of being together again. Perhaps, he, just like Voldemort himself,
was addicted to Harry's light and couldn't stay away from him for long?
"Little master cry because his teeth grows," Dobby piped in, hugging Harry's
leg and looking at him with wide, adoring eyes. "Little master didn't sleeps
today."
"Oh, I will make a potion for you, my darling," Harry embraced Domhnall even
tighter and sighed pleasantly. He thought he preferred to be a mother hen
rather than a spokesman for the Dark.
Seeing that Harry was completely occupied with their son, Voldemort realized
there was nothing for him to do anymore and turned to leave. "I have to go back
and see what happened. I will come back late, I think."
"I will be waiting for you," he heard Harry say quietly when he was already in
the hall.
Apparating back to London Voldemort thought that this was the most unusual
change in his life that meant so much while, logically, being so insignificant
- he had a home where he was wanted. Somebody was waiting for him to return.
Harry. Harry was waiting for him every day, never went to bed without him,
always made tea just for him...This was something he used to crave so much in
his youth, something he hated everybody else for, something he envied so much.
He had it now, had it so easily. He used to think it was a treasure, a prize
one had to give his life for... All he had to do was to open up to a raven
haired boy with emerald eyes.
xxx
"This is a disaster! That wretched boy dared to join the Dark Lord! After
everything we have done for him!" Alastor Moody roared, bringing his fist down
on the table, making everybody jump in their seats. "How are you going to
influence the masses now, Albus, without Potter on display?"
"Harry's words were not his own, I am certain Voldemort had influenced him.
Perhaps, it was a potion that controlled his actions," Dumbledore stood up to
silence everyone and steer their attention from Moody's dangerous glaring.
"But, Albus, he gave a true vow, even a potion can't work when your own magic
affects your brain and soul!" Minerva McGonagall exclaimed, twisting her
handkerchief in her trembling hands. "What did Harry mean when he said you were
responsible for creating Voldemort? What did he mean?" she grabbed the
headmaster's sleeve, tugging on it harshly.
"I said, Minerva, his words were not his own, I doubt he realized what he was
talking about," Dumbledore sighed tiredly and sat down in his chair, rubbing on
his blackened hand. Severus, who stood in the shadows of the Grimmauld's
kitchen as he always did during the Order's meetings, could only shake his head
at the man's stubbornness or, perhaps, sense of guilt. He didn't know what
Harry meant either, but unlike everybody present he knew that his son's speech
was his own, neither he, nor the Dark Lord had ever heard it before today.
Having had watched it in a pensieve from Minerva's memories he couldn't help
but feel proud for Harry. Nobody dared to stand up to Dumbledore, definitely
not to expose him in public.
"I studied with Riddle, Albus, I was a year older but I remember him very
well," Minerva said firmly, resisting yet another sob that threatened to escape
her lips. "He was nothing close to the monster he is now. I believe that Harry
was speaking truthfully, from his own heart, and I want to know what did he
mean by saying that it was your fault Tom Riddle became the Dark Lord!"
"And what was that about a planned murder?" Shacklebot added, watching the
headmaster intently.
"Maybe Potter is actually insane like the newspapers painted him to be?" Moody
grumbled, smiling crookedly.
"Harry is connected to Voldemort through his scar and I believe it is the key
to his destruction," the old wizard said carefully, not meeting the eyes of the
others.
"Are you suggesting the boy must die in order to vanquish the Dark Lord once
and for all?" Shacklebot raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
"No," Dumbledore folded his hands and tried to explain, giving away as little
information as he could, "When the time is right Harry must fight him and in
the battle they must kill each other - this is the only way."
"This is insane!" Molly Weasley covered her mouth with her hands, staring at
her companions in terror.
"Only Potter said he doesn't want to fight the ugly bastard, they are friends
now," Moody drawled snidely, stomping his wooden leg on the floor angrily.
"Voldemort is incapable of having friends, caring for another human being,
Harry is being tricked. We must help him see the truth," the headmaster nodded
sadly.
"Which truth, Albus? I don't understand anymore," Minerva glared at him and
stood up, straightening her shoulders. "I am not participating in this anymore.
We have sacrificed enough people in vain, I see now. I can't take any more
blood on my hands, James and Lily were the last drop for me."
"Minerva," Dumbledore called, frowning at her back, "You can't just leave the
Order!"
"I will give you an Unbreakable Vow, should you wish so, but I am not going to
sit here and discuss the ways of luring Harry back into Hogwarts and
sacrificing him for the sake of your greater good. He is right, you know, if it
is not Voldemort than somebody else would take his place and continue the
killing spree. What is the point of sending the innocent children to death?
Harry? Of all people, he, who had suffered so much to gift us with with ten
years of peaceful life, must die only for all this to start over again?" She
shook her head vehemently. "No, I do not wish to be a part of this. I have
students to teach and to protect." With that she strode into the fireplace and
disappeared in a whirl of green flames.
"See, he has already gotten himself a fan!" Moody barked, crossing his arms
over his chest, while his magical eye kept boring holes in Severus' form.
"We must try and talk to Harry. He is our only way out of this," Dumbledore
said thoughtfully, still looking at the fireplace, as if hoping against hope
that Minerva would suddenly come back.
It was decided that Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger would spend their Easter
holidays in Belfast, seeking out Harry's audience. Severus couldn't help but
sneer at the plan, for he knew that Harry would never come out to talk to them,
since he was actually caring for their well being. However, he didn't like
Dumbledore's strange, blind faith in the boy's insincerity, his insanity during
the conference - it promised nothing good. Moody's brooding and suspicions also
worried him and he decided to watch his back even more closely now. No visits
to Harry unless he was certain he wasn't being followed.
xxx
Harry's speech created a chaos at the Ministry worse than any Death Eaters'
attack. Reporters had brought down the door into the Minister's office and were
torturing him with questions regarding his action in the present situation,
when the only hope of the wizarding world had united with the Dark Lord. The
Aurors had finally let Malfoys go, having had interrogated them for almost an
hour - the way Lucius decorated his and Draco's faces left no doubts for the
thick wizards that they were assaulted and Harry Potter was once again
kidnapped. Walking down the main hall, completely unnoticed by the crowd of
raging and crying people, Voldemort searched for the Skeeter woman to make sure
Harry's every word would be included in the evening issue of the Daily Prophet.
He expected mass hysteria all over the country, which could have been held for
a week at least, and then he would let Harry have another press conference, but
without a warning, with a few reporters invited only and those who would
accidentally turn up at the time and place they would choose. The more Harry
talked to people, the more they would be questioning their government and blind
trust in Dumbledore.
After a long day of reports and meetings with the Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor,
the Dark Lord returned home – and this was how he called the Red House now –
only after midnight, exhausted and drained, irritated. He was met with a
steaming cup of his favourite tea, however, it wasn't Harry's doing, but
Easy's. The little elf shook her large ears apologetically and whispered that
the young master had to work on a pain lessening potion for the whole day, for
nothing he had brewed helped Domhnall to bear the tooth ache. Voldemort could
hear the boy's quiet whining upstairs and Harry's low, soothing murmurs.
Perhaps, they could simply spell him to sleep despite the pain? Having finished
his cup, the Dark Lord appeared at the nursery's treshold, hidden in the
shadows, and watched Harry cradling heir son. The young wizard's long hair fell
in a soft wave on one of his shoulders, as he tilted his head to kiss
Domhnall's creased brow.
"Sh-sh, this potion would help you, I worked hard on it, it is slow but
efficient," Harry rubbed his nose against the boy's small one, kissing the
trembling lips that let out short, soft sobs. "You haven't slept for the whole
day, Domhnall, you must sleep this night or you will get sick." He rocked his
son in his arms, caressing the plump cheeks with his fingers, willing his magic
to wash over him and dull the pain. It was so strange that a magical child was
suffering so much from a simple toothache and nothing was helping him.
Watching Harry take such a good care of their child made Voldemort experience
these unpleasant pangs in his heart, he thought he would never have to feel
again. Harry's love towards the boy was overwhelming, it was just as powerful
as his light magic. Absentmindedly the Dark Lord wondered if his mother would
have loved him just as hard, just as much, if she lived? Many years ago he
desired to be loved by the others, he craved such faithfulness, devotion, he
searched for love like a madman, faced only with hypocrisy and sycophancy as a
result. He wondered what was that Harry was giving him? Was the absolution he
got a kind of love? Could he even be loved at all, a broken, twisted, ugly
monster with a pretty face and blood red eyes? Was Harry capable of loving him,
for what he was, despite all of his horrible deeds? How pathetic he was now,
the greatest wizard of his generation, the most dangerous Dark Lord in history,
practically begging to be loved by a young man, a true icon of light, the one
he had hurt so much.
"Close your lovely eyes and I will sing you a lullaby," Harry smiled at
Domhnall, and stroked his wavy chestnut hair, marveling its softness, his son's
beauty. When the boy sighed in his arms and closed his sleepy eyes, he kissed
him on the cheek and hummed a random melody that came to his mind, slowly
walking around the room and rocking the child soothingly. "Why I should feel
this way, why I should feel the same," he began singing softly, looking at the
lovely face that was the copy of the one's he loved so much, "Something I
cannot say, something I can't explain. I feel you outside, at the edge of my
life, I see you walk by, at the edge of my sight..." He sighed longingly and
pressed his son closer to his chest, closing his eyes in resentment. "Why I
should follow my heart, why I should fall apart. Why I should follow my dreams,
why I should feel at peace... I feel you walk by, at the edge of my life. I see
you walk by, at the edge of my sight..."
"I had to let you go to the setting sun, I had to let you go and find my way
back home." Voldemort listened to Harry's gentle singing and couldn't help but
think that this was somehow related to whatever secret the young wizard has
been keeping from him. How he wished he could know what was it that made Harry
look at him so strangely at times, or sigh so longingly and heavily,
desperately... "When I dream I see you, I've never seen the light that's so
bright. Blinded by the light that's inside, blinded by the light that's inside
you..." Harry smiled ruefully at the finally snoring boy and kissed him again
and again, humming the melody and reveling in the warmth that spread around
them. His magic worked, as did his potion. He carefully put Domhnall down into
the crib and stood there for a long time, watching him, while Voldemort watched
Harry's back and thought that he would get to the bottom of this, would help
his Prince again with whatever it was that tormented him. For the fist time in
his life he dearly wished to help, to do good to simply see the smile that he
liked so much.
"Do you also need a lullaby to finally go to bed?" Harry's suddenly loud
question snapped him out of his reverie and he found the raven haired wizard
standing right in front of him, watching him chidingly but warmly.
"I like your voice," Voldemort shrugged his shoulders and strode into the
bedroom, taking off his clothes on his way and throwing it on the floor, too
tired and confused by his emotions to care for the order.
"Thank you," Harry stopped him and reached out to unbutton his shirt and
trousers. "Let me help." The Dark Lord let go of his clothes and let Harry
slowly undress him, watching his every move, his calm, beautiful face, pale in
the moonlight that filled the bedroom, their bedroom. The warm hands caressed
his chest and sides, his arms, his hips, and then the thin but strong arms
enveloped his naked body into a heated, passionate embrace and Harry murmured
against his neck, "I missed you."
He could have said that it had only been a few hours, but he would have lied.
He missed Harry too, horribly. Circling his arms around his thin form,
Voldemort kissed him and pulled him into bed, coiling around him and cherishing
the warmth that spread all over his body, as Harry's hands stroked him. "You
did very well today, I have forgotten to praise you."
"I am not a dog, Marvolo, I do not need to be praised to know that you are
grateful. You're here, with me, that is enough," Harry whispered, closing his
eyes and thinking that he didn't need anything but to be able to touch and to
hold, to kiss and be kissed and held back. What words could give him now, when
he had everything? He feared words, for they could harm and take away what he
had found in the arms of the Dark Lord. Love? He could love silently,
unrequitedly. It was the lesser evil that he chose. He didn't want to think of
what would happen in the future, what would happen if Marvolo grew tired of him
or exhausted his potential as a wizard, as a spokesman, as a lover... Here and
now was what he wanted most.
"You are my Harry," Voldemort sighed and kissed the scarred forehead. He wished
he knew what was he feeling and how to express it in at least a few simple
lines like in that lullaby that Harry sang. But, ridiculously, there was still
something in this world, that he couldn't control, couldn't understand,
couldn't master. "My Harry."
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter XI
The rain was pouring down so harshly, he was sure he was standing under a
waterfall. Shivering and swaying slightly under the sharp blows of wind, he
looked around, scowling, for it was too dark - he could barely make out the
street he found himself on, squinting to see the faint glow of a street lamp
that was rocking and groaning in the storm. Whatever this place was, and it
felt surprisingly familiar, he didn't like it and wished he could leave. An
invisible force compelled him to walk forward and turn to stop before the old
green door he thought he had seen once, many years ago. What was this place? An
empty, gloomy hallway led to to the narrow staircase, which was covered in old,
dried blood. Step by step he slowly reached the second floor and looked around
in confusion. He had definitely been here before, but when? Where was this
house, whose was it?
Voldemort jerked at the sudden sound of a baby crying. He sometimes thought it
to be ridiculous that he had grown used to a child, to his needs and hysterics
when Domhnall was displeased. If he was honest with himself, he felt
disturbance, strange discomfort when his son cried, he had a most unusual
desire to help him and make him... happy. The crying had only intensified and
Voldemort thought he heard somebody croon and try to calm the child down. Was
it Harry? Shivering and wrapping his thin cloak tighter around himself, he
hastily followed the sounds and sharply opened the door into what seemed to be
a nursery.
It was Potter's house in Godric's Hollow and he stood in Harry's nursery - he
had recognized it now. The raven haired wizard turned to the sound of his
entrance and froze, staring at him in horror. Voldemort tried to ask him what
was going on, what were they doing here, but his tongue went numb and he stood
there, gaping like a fish, looking between Harry and Domhnall, who was sitting
in Harry's white crib and was crying. He had a lightning bolt scar all over his
face and it was bleeding.
"Don't you dare get any closer!" Harry stepped between him and Domhnall, rising
his holly wand and glaring at Voldemort with fierce hatred, so foreign in the
brilliant emerald eyes.
He wanted to call the young man by his name, to try and understand what was
happening, but suddenly his own hand shot up, on its own accord it seemed, and
he pointed his wand at Harry's beautiful face and screamed, "Avada Kedavra!"
"No! No!" Harry sat up on the bed harshly, panting and wheezing, coughing at
the sharp pain in his lungs. He was sweating and burning as if in fever,
shaking madly. "No!!!"
"Harry! Harry it is just a dream!" Voldemort woke up to the awful screams and
grabbed on the man's form, desperately trying to hold him down, while inwardly
trembling himself in shock and terror, for this was the first time he had had a
nightmare since he was 22 and what was worse, he shared it with Harry through
their mysterious horcrux link. "Harry, it's alright, I am here, here, we're
fine," he chanted, rocking his weeping lover in his arms and trying to
understand why had this happened.
"W-why did you try to k-kill me?" Harry croaked through sobs, pressing closer
to the broad chest and hating that he was so afraid of Marvolo and yet needed
him so much at the same time.
"I didn't Harry, I didn't, it wasn't me, I couldn't control it!" Voldemort
thought he had never sounded so pathetic in his life before, for he was
practically whining. "Please, believe me, I would have never harmed you,
never!"
Looking into the blood red eyes full of pain, confusion and fear, Harry let out
one last weak sob and threw himself at Marvolo, circling his arms around the
man's neck and clutching on him like a life line. "What was it then? Why did we
see it?" he whispered, squeezing his eyes and wishing for the horrible images
to leave his memory.
"No fucking idea," he breathed out, pressing Harry closer, harder to himself,
staring unseeingly into the darkness of their bedroom. "Somehow, our dreams
must have united and turned into a nightmare... I think I have lowered my
Occlumency shields..." He frowned, for he never did that, never once could he
feel so secure around another person to let his mind and consciousness rest
completely, let go of it and of his magic. Was his trust into Harry so strong,
so certain, absolute?
"Will this happen every night now?"
"I don't believe it will... Now that I think about it, I have been keeping my
mind unprotected around you for quite some time already," Voldemort looked up
at his Prince, searching his face carefully. "I suppose you weren't and now
that you suddenly did, your fears had found their way into my mind along with
your magic." Was Harry still wary of him, hadn't he proved to the young wizard
that he was no danger to him or to Domhnall, weren't his Unbreakable Vows
enough? Suddenly angry, he averted his gaze, scowling to himself. Would Harry
ever open up to him completely or were they going to have this unrequited kind
of trust forever? Could this be called a trust at all?
Sensing Marvolo's anger Harry couldn't help but try and make the wizard look at
him, for there was nothing else he could do... How could he explain that his
fears were born out of his own insecurities, how could he explain that he was
absolutely terrified by the love he felt towards the bloody Dark Lord, by this
love's sheer power that drove him insane? Every time he thought of his feelings
towards Marvolo, he imagined that one day the power hungry wizard would lose
his sanity and self-control again, and both Harry and Domhnall would become the
victims of the havoc the man would no doubt wreck. How could he explain how
frightened he was of his love?
"Forgive me, Marvolo. Please," he whispered pitifully, caressing the other's
cheek, but the blood red eyes narrowed in that familiar, suspicious fashion he
knew promised nothing good.
"I gave you a vow I would never hurt you!" Voldemort growled, pushing Harry
gently away. "It means I would never be able to use any kind of harming spell
on you, let alone the Killing Curse - I would die that very instant! The fuck
is going in that head of yours? Why do you keep doubting me?" He sprang up on
his feet and paced the room, seething and burning on the inside.
"The problem is in me, Marvolo, not in you," Harry sighed helplessly. "When I
keep my mind shielded, I don't see the nightmares about you killing my mother,
which I have been having ever since I remember myself. I'm sorry, Marvolo, but
I will always see them, unfortunately... Unfortunately, I can't cancel what you
did. And this is the root of the problem." Harry frowned, hiding his face in
his hands. The root of the problem was that he loved the man madly and his
heart and soul couldn't find a compromise with his common sense.
"Well, do you want me gone then?" He couldn't find a better question to ask,
for he suddenly realized that his anger subsided and was replaced with
devastation and hurt. Hurt. It hurt him that Harry couldn't forgive him for an
actually unforgivable crime. He got so used to the wizard's generosity,
selflessness, compassion, that he forgot that he had ruined Harry's life, made
him an orphan, condemned him to Hell and was now using his kindness and
forgiveness so carelessly... But of course he couldn't admit all this to his
Prince, could he?
"No," Harry shook his head vehemently and moved towards Marvolo, reaching out
for him desperately. "No, please, don't leave. I am... I am sorry I hurt you so
much, forgive me, Marvolo. I wish I could change this..." No, he couldn't let
him go, couldn't part with him. His rationality was screaming at him, berating
him for being the weak, dependent idiot that he was, but Harry couldn't for the
life of him let it win over his emotions. His instincts, that had never wronged
him, were telling him he could trust Marvolo, could find a way to love him
despite everything that happened... Could find a way to justify his own
selfishness and possessiveness, his own desire to have and to hold, his fear of
loneliness.
"Harry... Why do you make it all so difficult? I don't understand, I can't
understand..." Voldemort stared at him, torn between standing his ground and
making Harry suffer and finally give away whatever it was that was on his mind,
or to take the man into his arms and let him do it again and again, but be with
him, stay under the spell of Harry's affection and friendship. A friend, yes,
Harry was his first and only friend he had ever had, a real one. The word
itself sounded so odd, felt so foreign on his tongue.
"I don't know." His hands dropped down on his knees and he hung his head,
suddenly exhausted and broken. "I need you. I want you, I am yours and that is
all I know." I am such a coward.
And again he was experiencing this pity towards the raven haired wizard's
misery, was hurt by the sight of his tears. How could Harry manipulate him so
easily? Groaning in resentment, Voldemort sat down on the edge of the bed next
to Harry and gave him a long, considerate look. "Would you tell me what is it?"
"I... It's just that..." Harry mumbled, hating himself immensely for his
cowardice and fear, but he simply couldn't overcome them. He thought if he told
Marvolo how much he loved him, he would betray his mother and make her death
completely pointless, as if Domhnall and this whole situation wasn't a mockery
enough at her sacrifice anyway. "I don't know how to say this," he sighed,
rubbing on his wet, tear-stained face, "How to explain."
"Well, let me find out for myself then," Voldemort leaned closer and looked
into Harry's face, feeling his stomach churn in anticipation. His newly found
sense of guilt came back in full force and he shivered at the notion he was
going to watch his worst crime being committed again. Although he had no
knowledge of love, of mother's care and adoration towards her child, he
understood from his own experience that losing a parent, a mother, was one of
the worst woes that could happen to a man.
Staring at him in horror, Harry shook his head but he could feel his mind
already sucked inside the ominously bright ruby eyes, that mesmerized and froze
him in his place, holding him hard, painfully still. Marvolo's intrusion was
hurtful, it was nauseating and sickening, for his presence in Harry's mind felt
as if something foul and oily was squeezing his breath out of him. Choking,
Harry fought him with all his strength, but this was nothing in comparison to
Severus - the Dark Lord was invincible. "Please, stop, it hurts!" he managed to
cry and at the same moment he found himself in the other's arms, embraced with
such protectiveness and care... He looked up and saw Marvolo's sad, pained eyes
watching him ruefully.
"Forgive me, Harry. I am not as gentle as Severus in this... And I can't go
further, I am afraid of hurting you," Voldemort buried his nose in the silky
raven hair, inhaling the man's scent, holding him and trying in vain to calm
down his own frantically beating heart. In truth, he couldn't bear to watch
that scene from their past again, he couldn't stand the sight of himself
laughing so coldly at the small green eyed boy and cursing him so mercilessly.
He wronged Harry so terribly. Was this even worth knowing his Prince's secret
if he had already had a guess what exactly was he going to find there? Was he
actually so thick and naive to think that one day Harry would forgive him for
killing his mother? He didn't need to be human to understand that much: he
could be never forgiven for such atrocity. He himself murdered his own father
for condemning his mother Merope to death in poverty and famine. Harry, the
powerful wizard that he was, could have easily done the same, when instead he
accepted Voldemort, changed him, tried to heal him and gave him absolution for
everything else but this... "Oh, Harry, I wish I could have taken it back," he
sighed almost inaudibly.
He heard him and circled his arms around Marvolo even tighter. Would the dark
wizard learn to feel guilt and regret? Would he become truly human one day? "It
is useless to wish now, after all this time..." Harry raised his head and
looked into the other's eyes, "I have to let go of the past. Please, give me
time, Marvolo. I need time."
"We have plenty of it." He thought Harry was the most courageous man he had
ever met. And he felt blessed, honoured to be with him. He had never valued
another being so highly as he did his Prince, and how could he really demand
complete openness from Harry when he had everything else and even more? He
could give him time, of course he could, time was what he had in abundance.
"Thank you," Harry whispered, kissing the rose lips tenderly, gratefully. He
couldn't hate Marvolo, he couldn't fear him enough to keep away from him, no,
he couldn't. He wished his mother could forgive him for his choice, for he knew
deep inside of him that his life was one with Marvolo's, their destiny was to
be together, they were meant for each other despite what had happened. "Thank
you." I love you.
Pushing Harry to lie on the bed and coiling around his warm body, Voldemort
sighed, pressing their foreheads together. "I often forget how vulnerable you
are sometimes, how gentle. You are such a strong man, Harry, but as any other
human being you are also weak. And you make me vulnerable as well, for you are
my weakness."
"Forgive me," he mumbled, stroking the other's shoulders, calming down at the
sensation of soft, cool skin under his hot palms.
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Harry, I want you to be my weakness," the
Dark Lord smiled ruefully and rubbed his nose against Harry's. "Keep your
shields down, I will help you banish the nightmares away."
Harry nodded his head and closed his eyes, relaxing slowly, trusting Marvolo to
help him despite the fear he had just experienced, despite the notion that he
was letting the other into his mind. His emotions weren't kept there, his love
burned inside his heart which had long been taken by the dark wizard -
Voldemort simply hasn't realized it yet. Perhaps, he never would, perhaps, in
time, Harry will show him.
xxx
"What am I doing wrong?" Harry whined, waving his arms around himself
desperately as a shower of red sparkles erupted from the tip of his holly wand.
Advanced transfiguration was still coming difficult to him, however, with
Marvolo as his teacher he was progressing unimaginably fast.
"Gentler, dear," Voldemort embraced him from behind, slowly sliding his right
hand down Harry's arm and towards his wand. "Magic doesn't stand neglect and
irresponsibility. There is a price for everything," he whispered, inhaling the
young wizard's scent and smiling at Harry's adorable ire.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Harry rolled his eyes, involuntarily leaning back into
the safety of the other's arms. He took a deep breath and concentrated on
everything Marvolo had taught him. Standing in the dimly lit, narrow hall of
the Red House, Harry had been restlessly trying to transfigure the space into
something completely different. What exactly, though, he had no idea.
"You must have a clear image in your head of what you wish to turn it into,"
Voldemort sighed and squeezed the young man's hand slightly, correcting his
posture. "And when you are certain, you must gently draw the pattern of the
spell, put all of your will and desire into it, make your magic obey you."
Nodding impatiently, Harry closed his eyes. He imagined a bamboo forest instead
of the walls and, taking a long, deep breath, moved his hand, twisting it to
the side and slashed it harshly down in a zig-zag. But there was no bamboo,
when he looked up - only a deformed pile of wooden splinters. "Fuck it!" he
stomped his foot on the floor angrily and dropped himself onto the steps of the
staircase, annoyed and exhausted. Domhnall's ringing laughter had only worsened
his displeasure and he stuck his tongue out at the boy, who was sitting next to
him with the Slytherin locket in his small hands, watching his parents
curiously.
"Harry, you give up so easily, it is rather pathetic," the Dark Lord drawled,
looking at the ruined walls in wondrous amusement.
"Oh, shut up! It is easy for you to mock me, when you are such an experienced
wizard yourself," Harry sneered, scowling at the man's back that was turned to
him. "You are what... A hundred years old? Of course transfiguration is a game
to you!" he huffed, averting his eyes and shaking his head in exasperation.
"Experience comes with practice and diligence, stop behaving like a spoiled
child!" Voldemort glared at his Prince, stepping closer and hovering over him,
"And I will have you known that I am only seventy one."
"Already?" He was simply baiting Marvolo, he never thought the wizard was
really that old... Staring into the blood red eyes in confusion, Harry couldn't
help but mumble, "When is your birthday?"
Now it was his turn to roll his eyes and shake his head in exasperation. "On
the 31st of December," the Dark Lord muttered and sat down next to Harry,
pulling Domhnall to sit in his lap. He truly became addicted to touching and
watching his little son, who had this strange magic that made Voldemort's heart
beat in a particularly pleasant way.
"I missed it! I never... I haven't even given you anything..." Harry suddenly
felt very upset.
What kind of a man he was, if he had never even asked the other about such an
important matter as his birthday, whilst he had accepted Marvolo's gift without
a second thought? Living with Dursleys taught Harry the importance of family's
celebrations, the importance of paying attention to each other. And as he
thought about it, with a heavy feeling in his chest he realized that he knew
next to nothing about Marvolo. He knew his worst secrets, his alter ego
Voldemort, but he knew nothing of him as a real person, a human being he grew
to respect and cherish, love...
"Actually you have," Voldemort chuckled quietly, smiling at his son, who was
grinning happily back and squirming in his arms.
"What?" Harry stared at the two of them, not understanding.
"Harry, you gave me Domhnall, you idiot!" the Dark Lord burst into a booming
laughter, looking at the raven haired wizard mirthfully. His Prince could be so
ridiculous at times, never acknowledging his own achievements. "What is most
impressive: we share a birthday as well," he kissed the boy's little head and
nose, making Domhnall squeak in pleasure and tug him on his hair playfully.
"Damn," was all he could say, as the realization hit him. How horribly thick he
was? How blind? Hiding his fierce blush of embarrassment behind his hands, he
groaned pitifully and dropped his head on his knees. "I am such a moron!"
"It will pass," Voldemort drawled smugly, enjoying Harry's childish, naive
remorse. He never cared for such rot as birthdays, Harry was the first person
he had ever presented with anything and he never expected to receive something
in return - he had already had everything he wanted.
"Marvolo," Harry mumbled, not raising his head up, too self-conscious to even
look at the man he had neglected so inexcusably, "I know nothing about you. I
am such a jerk, I am so sorry..."
"Oh, please, spare me," he huffed, feigning disinterest and boredom, however,
deep inside he couldn't help but feel elated, satisfied, that Harry was
apologizing to him, was genuinely regretting his own ignorance. Nobody had ever
been interested in him as a person, a man, nobody had ever wondered what was
inside him, behind his dark, cruel persona. And Harry had simply accepted it,
without a doubt. What a truly ridiculous, wonderful and magical young man he
was!
Heaving a heavy sigh full of devastation, Harry put his head onto his arms,
crossed over his knees, and stared into the darkness of the hall, already fixed
and as ordinary as before. He dearly wished to get to know Marvolo better, for
it felt as a little betrayal to sleep with him, love him, and have no idea what
was he truly like. There had to be many more sides to his already complex
personality. "What is your real eye colour?" he suddenly asked, seemingly out
of nowhere.
Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Voldemort smirked at his Prince, "Haven't you
seen it when you met my younger self at Hogwarts?"
"No, it was too dark in the Chamber. Besides, I had more important matters at
hand than giving you a look over," Harry chuckled, thinking that Marvolo used
to be a very sweet boy in his youth, a true devil with a face of an angel.
"Look at me." He smiled, when the emerald eyes met his.
"Blue? Like the sea..." Harry stared in wonder into the teal eyes, that looked
so foreign and yet so strangely familiar on Marvolo's face. Yes, it was his
natural eye colour - the colour of Domhnall's magic. "Why don't you use it as a
glamour?"
"It is easier to spell red to look brown, besides, this colour," Voldemort
blinked, bringing back the usual blood red hue into his orbs, "Is a part of the
past me, who doesn't exist anymore. I am glad our little Slytherin Prince took
after you, your colour suits him so much better." He caressed the boy's cheeks,
involuntarily admiring his beauty with pride. Could his and Harry's child
really be anything but perfect?
"Why did your eyes turn red?" Harry shifted a little, to face the dark wizard
and gave him a curious look, excited to find out more about him.
"It happened after I made my third horcrux, fractured my soul too much already.
At first they simply darkened and became speckled with red spots... They turned
red after the many experiments I performed in the field of dark magic, in the
course of my traveling around the world." He never expected that telling such
simple, mundane facts about himself would be such an... enjoyable process.
"How long have you been traveling?"
"For fifteen years."
"Fifteen years..." Harry stared at Marvolo, whose gaze was as impassive and
indecipherable as ever. "All alone?" he frowned, feeling the sadness eating him
up. How lonely must he have been all this time? Was there really no one he
could call a friend?
"I didn't need anybody to distract me with their petty beings," Voldemort shook
his head, chuckling ruefully. "I was improving myself, developing myself,
gaining powers nobody could even dream of." He watched Harry's sorrowful face
and brightly shining eyes, thinking that if only he had met the young wizard
then, all these years ago, everything would have surely turned out differently.
Harry would have never let him create any more horcruxes and go insane. "Of
course I had sexual partners, if this is what you are wondering about. But they
never lasted longer then a week, solely indulging my physical needs, which had
disappeared gradually along with my human appearance, my being." There was pain
in the emerald eyes at the mentioning of others in his bed, he saw it. Pain and
hurt, fear and doubt. "Harry," Voldemort moved to sit closer to the man and
looked at him intently, "I have never had anybody like you in my life before, I
have never experienced anything like what we have between us. I don't need
anybody else, you are the only one who brings me the real pleasure." He didn't
have to swear or try and reassure the other of his sincerity. His Prince knew
very well he couldn't lie to him under a vow.
Harry reached out to stroke Domhnall's hair, scowling to himself. It was hard
to acknowledge the fact that Marvolo had had somebody else, had fucked somebody
else... How could Harry know if he was better than they were? What if Marvolo
wanted him only because of his magic? "What, you have never enjoyed sex before?
You seem to be so skillful..." Oh, how pathetic he must have sounded, but how
could he fight his jealousy that was making his insides burn?
"Never. It has always been my body's, hormones' necessity. It has never been as
special, intimate and magical, as it is with you," Voldemort leaned in closer
to look into Harry's face. "I have never had to conquer anybody for so long, to
seduce anybody so hard," he couldn't help but laugh, remembering Harry's stanch
resistance. "And it was worth it all. Harry, you are the only person I have
ever slept with in one bed, not just fucked. You are the only one I feel safe
and warm, comfortable with. Your insecurity is ridiculous."
Hearing the other's soft, kind laughter, Harry couldn't stop himself from
chuckling as well and ducked his head, blushing at such a high praise he never
imagined he would crave from Marvolo so much. He smiled in relief and gratitude
when the older wizard pressed their foreheads together and kissed him on the
nose with an outmost tenderness. No, he knew deep inside of himself, that
Marvolo could have never been as open and as affectionate towards others as he
was towards him, it was something truly sacred that existed between the two of
them... Or was it his wishful thinking?
"You are so gentle, so generous," he whispered, rubbing his cheek against
Marvolo's.
"You and Domhnall are the only ones who make me act so oddly, so humanly. Can't
say I don't enjoy it," Voldemort murmured and caught Harry's lips into a long,
pleasant kiss he wished could last forever. "And I definitely never kissed
others," he added, when they parted.
"How did you... After it all happened to you... How did you heal?" Harry
creased his brow, looking into the blood red eyes that held so much inside,
burned with such strong, human passion. Was he truly the only one who had ever
seen it, had had the taste of it?
"I am a dominating person, Harry, you know that better than anybody. Taking is
different from giving. It was never hard to start having sex with others, given
they wanted it too. It always happened only by a mutual consent," he offered
the young wizard a small smile, thinking back on the days of his youth, when he
had, just like Harry, felt sick at even a mere touch of a stranger's hand, or
at the sly, lustful looks many wizards and witches used to grace him with. It
took a lot of time and self-discipline to overcome his fears and disgust for
sexual intercorse. But even then it had truly never been anything else but a
physical need, a need of dominating and overpowering others, a game of giving
pleasure and illusion of affection. He had never felt anything towards his
sexual partners. Harry was the only one. He had to spend seventy years in
solitude to find him - how ridiculous was that?
"Astonishing how actually noble you are," Harry said more to himself than to
Marvolo, watching the dark wizard with a mixed feeling of admiration and
sorrow. Hadn't Marvolo given his mother a chance to save herself? Even the
insane snake like looking man that he was then he still was sensible enough
to... Groaning inwardly, Harry sighed: why was he constantly searching for a
reason to justify the other's actions?
"I am simply a man of my own principles, and I am also a man of my words,"
Voldemort shrugged his shoulders elegantly. "Anything else you wish to ask or
is it enough for you to say you know me well?" he smirked mockingly.
"Do you have friends?"
The question got him by surprise and the Dark Lord raised his eyebrows,
perplexed, giving Harry a blank look. Why would he need any friends, when he
had followers and faithful servants ready to die at his word? "I think the
concept of friendship is overrated, dramatically." However, when he thought
about it, Harry had, in fact, become his friend, a man he knew he could tell
anything he held inside, a man who he knew would never reject him. He sincerely
doubted he would be ever able to find somebody as great as Harry... And,
honestly, did he even need anybody else? No.
"Am I your friend?" Harry asked in a small voice, suddenly apprehensive to hear
he was not.
"Yes. My first and only friend. Funny, isn't it?" Voldemort smiled wistfully,
"I have never had any use for friends before."
"What kind of a use do you have for me?" He didn't want to ask that, he didn't,
but it had simply slipped his tongue and he thought he felt so miserable - it
was unbearable.
He wanted to get angry with Harry and scold him for being such a self-conscious
idiot, but then he remembered just what kind of a family had his Prince been
living in for his whole life and restrained himself from getting annoyed. Harry
had just the same issues with trust that he himself had - if he was in the
wizard's place, he would have been asking the very same questions and more. It
was more than logical for Harry to be afraid of being used.
"I don't use you. I dare to take you as my family, Harry, if you don't mind."
"You do?" Harry thought he was just as tiny and helpless as Domhnall under the
heavy, intent gaze of the ruby eyes that looked sincerely, kindly. How could he
ever hold a grudge against this man, when he said something as unbelievable as
that? How could he reject the one who had become his family as well?
Instead of answering Voldemort kissed him gently. "Don't doubt me, Harry. One
doesn't simply become a Dark Lord for nothing," he smiled at the young man,
giving him a pointed, cunning look. "I know how hard it is to trust another
after everything you have been through, I know how mundane it would be to say
you can trust me, but believe me when I say I have a complete faith in you.
Hope is a foreign word in my vocabularly, nevertheless, I hope you would one
day feel the same way about me."
You have no idea, Harry thought, listening to Marvolo's deep, comforting voice.
You have no idea how do I feel about you, do you? He laughed involuntarily and
leaned on the other's strong shoulder, watching Domhnall play in his father's
lap. "A weird family we have, don't you think?" Was it happiness he was
experiencing? Was this the bliss of being in love and not being alone anymore?
"Quite ordinary and nice, if you ask me," Voldemort chuckled, inwardly
astonished by the warmth that was spreading through his body at that particular
softness in Harry's voice. The young man's readiness to accept him, to accept
them all as a family surprised him, he was so unused to being treated so kindly
and affectionately. "Are you ready to try one more time?" At Harry's pleading
gaze and pouting lips he shook his head, barely holding the quivering corners
of his mouth in place, for the man's face was too funny and irresistible to be
taken seriously, "No, dear, magic doesn't obey the lazy."
Sighing theatrically, the raven haired wizard stood up and moved to stand in
the middle of the hall, stretching his shoulders and changing his posture in
the search of the right position to perform the spell. Watching him, the Dark
Lord let a small smile onto his face, that was instantly mirrored by Domhnall.
Weird or not, it was his family, the family he was going to keep safe and happy
- he knew how to learn on his own and others' mistakes.
xxx
Harry was certain he would never get used to standing in front of the crowd,
let alone speak to it, make it listen to him. There weren't as many people as
there had been at the Ministry the last time, but it was a poor consolation,
for they were still agitated, excited and loud. Looking over their heads, Harry
frantically searched for Marvolo, once again glamoured to look like a scarred
bodyguard, but couldn't find him amidst the colourful mass. Pull yourself
together, you snot! Twisting his fingers in front of himself nervously, he
quietly cleared his throat and froze in surprise, when a sudden silence fell
around him. Fifty pairs of eyes stared at him expectantly and Harry could not
protract this any longer.
"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen, I am Harry Potter, as you all can see, and I
am here today to once again talk to you about the Dark Lord Voldemort's work
and answer your questions." His voice trembled at times, but all in all he
thought he could make it alright without the calming potion that Severus taught
him to brew.
"Mr Potter, why haven't you changed your name, since we all know that you are
not a Potter, but a Snape?" Skeeter was fast enough to ask him first, while
other reporters were quickly writing down something, Harry had no idea what,
for he hasn't said anything yet. There were around ten of them this time, with
only two cameras to Harry's great relief. However, the small space of the Daily
Prophet headquarters made the few flashes just as blinding and annoying - it
was rather ingenious to hold the conference right at the newspapers office.
"I see no point in changing my name while the situation is still dangerous and
unstable. Once we reach peace, I would, of course, take my father's name." I
will be Prince and Severus wouldn't have to hide behind his muggle name
anymore, he will be wearing his family name with pride, Harry thought,
involuntarily relaxing, as he remembered the snarky professor and his dark,
calming aura. He wished Severus could be here with him, but it was
impossible... Funny, he thought, how quickly he had gone from suspicion and
contempt towards the man to understanding and admiration. He used to despise
Severus for being a spy, a deceiving manipulator and a mercantile player for
the two teams, but now he knew the reasons, more, he knew Severus, who turned
out to be a noble, kind man, a father he always dreamed of. Of course they
weren't as close as Harry wished, but one couldn't have everything at once,
could he?
"You said the Dark Lord's reforms would make our lives better," one of the
reporters, a small, moustached man shouted, snapping Harry out of his reverie.
"How do you imagine they can be performed? By what means? All he has been doing
before - killing and torturing, scaring us?!"
Nodding in agreement, Harry let a small smile stretch his lips. "This is a
matter of cooperation. The reason behind the attacks is that you do not accept
him and his cause, because you were either misinformed or you do not wish to
understand, while the Dark Lord himself is a rather impatient, impulsive
leader, who simply chose the wrong means to help you. He has realized his
mistakes and that is why I am standing here tonight." A few nervous laughs
echoed around the hall and Harry couldn't help but broaden his smile at the
thought of Marvolo's complete intolerance towards people and his great dream of
improving their lives and safety - what a truly contradictory, complex person
he was. "The first thing you should do is to improve your government. Get rid
of the useless, greedy politicians, who have no interest in your future, who
use their power and influence to their own benefit and not yours. You should
replace them with the better candidates, that the Dark Lord thinks are more
suitable to fulfill the needs of our society."
"Ha! Put Death Eaters in Wizengamot? And let the Dark dictate us how to live?"
a random witch cried, shaking her fist high up in the air. The crowd rumbled
lowly in agreement.
"Did I or the documents you all have read in the newspapers say something about
Death Eaters?" Harry raised one of his eyebrows, unimpressed. "The chosen
candidates are respectful dark and light wizards and witches of different
origins. Many of them are half-bloods like me," he added, scowling at the
audience and smirking at their surprised, thoughtful looks. Perhaps, Marvolo
was right - they were sheep that followed, not really thinking for themselves.
"And how do you suggest we replace them?" another reporter in a tall hat asked
him sarcastically, picking at his ear with the tip of his quill.
"You must know that you can vote not only for the minister of Magic, but for
any of the members of Wizengamot as well. If you would write petitions, they
would be considered and the work of those wizards and witches would be
reevaluated. You will be able to vote against them after that and vote for the
new candidates, that would be introduced to you by the Ministry itself."
"We can do that?!" a man in the back cried in astonishment.
"Yes." Harry couldn't believe how blind they all were. He thought Marvolo was
joking when he said that only a few ministry employees and a few pureblooded
families knew that a Code of Magical Britain actually existed and was still
legitimate, consisting of thousands of different laws and amendments, remarks,
regarding the rights of magical people and creatures in their country. It was
available at every library and every bookshop - they simply didn't know what
was it for and what had it to do with them. "It is written here, it is the
law," Harry took his own copy of the Codex out of his pocket and tapped it with
his holly wand to bring it back to its original size. He passed the thick,
heavy tome on to the reporters through Avery, who was once again glamoured to
look like a random person from the Ministry. Harry absentmindedly thought that
he might never see his real face, which was disturbing, since he was supposed
to trust the man with his life.
"And what then? What will happen after we replaced them?" somebody asked.
"Then they will work on the next steps: will introduce all the legislations to
you and Wisengamot, will explain why each one of them is beneficial, is in your
best interests. They will not accept bribes and they will not keep quiet about
the injustice that is happening. You will always be able to ask for help and
you won't be ignored." Of course, Harry had to give them something, an illusion
of their independence and importance - he felt a little ashamed because of
that, however, he understood very well that a little lie could help their
cause, unlike the bigger truth. The new members of Wizengamot were supposed to
simply make the others accept the bills and to monitor all the changes that
were going to transpire afterwards - the common folk wasn't meant to make any
decisions, since they were incapable of it anyway.
Astonished the wizards and witches began murmuring between themselves, heatedly
discussing the advantages of the newly discovered Codex. When Harry asked
Marvolo if it would be wise to let them learn about their actual rights, the
dark wizard dismissed his worries with a simple wave of a hand. "Harry," he
drawled, giving him one of his most arrogant, superior looks, "I have taken
account of everything when I worked on the legislations and bills. Besides,
giving them their freedom is like letting a home raised animal out into the
wild - it will run back as soon as the darkness falls. Do you really think they
will even read it from cover to cover? Please." Harry could never understand
the man's enormous confidence, however, Voldemort had always been right - there
was no alternative but to believe him and share his certitude. Watching them
all now, Harry wondered why hadn't Marvolo found himself a delegate before,
before the first war? Had there been no suitable candidates at all? This was
something else he had to ask his lover about and Severus as well.
A sudden panicked scream caught his attention. The closed doors fell under a
strong blow of the spell and a group of Aurors burst inside the hall, firing
freezing and petrifying spells, aiming at Harry and his guards. After a mere
second of stupor, during which Harry thought he would go deaf at the booming
beat of his heart tearing his head apart, he jumped down into the crowd and
moved towards the windows. There was no time to look for Marvolo and it was his
only chance to escape, while the Death Eaters were distracting the law
officers. The building could be surrounded, the small voice offered in his
mind, while he frantically elbowed his way through the mass of bodies. It very
well could, he agreed, however, they were expecting him to apparate, since they
have put up an anti apparition ward, so there was a small chance they weren't
thoroughly prepared and haven't considered all the means of escape he could
use. Harry hissed as the sharp shards of glass cut on his face and hands, as he
landed onto a flowerbed on the other side of the window, that was now broken -
he never thought he would one day feel himself a hero of a muggle action film.
He was a real criminal now, cowardly running away from police. For some reason,
the thought made him laugh.
Voldemort knew that someone would certainly warn Auror Division of their secret
conference, so when he felt the anti apparition ward being put up around them
he knew it was time to go. Calmly he hit the closest witch with a mild stinging
hex - her scream was a signal to the Death Eaters, hidden amongst the crowd, to
prepare for a fight. There was no rush now, since it wasn't the Ministry,
overwhelmed with layers of ancient wards, but a simple building not far from
the Diagon Alley - it would be easy to walk away without any trouble. However,
he never expected that Aurors would try and attack Harry so openly, so harshly.
"Damn it!" Pushing the hysterical wizards away and staring around helplessly,
he couldn't believe he had lost Harry in such a small space.
Turning his head sharply at the sound of a window being broken, he ran in that
direction, hoping that Harry was right and there was no trap outside. Because
of all these human emotions, he fumed inwardly, he had lost his focus - he
should have practiced dueling with Harry, not some bloody charms and
transfiguration from the textbook. Severus had told him that Defense was one of
the boy's strongest subjects, but the young Prince hasn't had practice for
almost a year already and it was critical in a situation like this one.
His hopes proved to be for nought, for there were at least twelve officers
standing in front of him. Harry managed to put up a shield, hiding behind the
closest bushes. He thought he saw Moody limping from behind to join the Aurors.
Wonderful. How long hasn't he been practicing defense? Too long to remember,
but at least he hasn't forgotten the spells he could use without causing any
serious harm. Criminal or not, he wasn't going to become one of Marvolo's
murderers. He suddenly remembered the injury Severus had gotten the previous
year - was it Auror's work or the Order's? Were these light wizards capable of
maiming another so horribly? What difference was there then between them and
the Dark?
"Potter! Stop shielding yourself like a coward that you are! Come out and
fight!" Voldemort heard Moody's growl.
He dissipated into the shadows and glided out of the window unnoticed. Hiding
behind the bushes, he saw Harry about twenty feet away from him, stubbornly
holding a shield up. His pale face looked stern, a deep crease marred his
forehead - the Dark Lord knew this expression very well, it meant that Harry
was concentrated on plotting something. He hoped that Prince wouldn't go too
far and wouldn't give away just how powerful he was - if he wanted, he could
have killed them all in one swish of a wand.
As soon as the last curse hit his shield Harry sprang on his feet and threw a
curse of his own at all the officers at once. "Silencio!" This could give him
enough time to reach the edge of the ward and apparate away, however, Moody
wasn't as helpless as the other Auros. Even silnced, he was able to cast and
Harry once again covered himself with the strongest shield he knew, moving
slowly towards the wizards. Useless in speling, the officers were still able to
catch him and use their physical force against him. If it wasn't for Moody, he
would have long petrified them all and escaped.
"Harry, Harry, never underestimate your opponents," Voldemort shook his head,
sighing, and left his shelter, confidently striding towards Moody's back. The
old wizard turned just in time to get stupified. Having met the surprised gaze
of the emerald eyes, the Dark Lord smiled wryly and began petrifying the
others, one by one, along with Harry, who was finally able to put his shield
down.
"I thought you wouldn't come," Harry smiled, unexpectedly embarrassed, as they
crossed the ward and Marvolo took him by his arm. His smile looked ugly on the
rough, scarred face he was hiding behind, but the eyes were much more
expressive than anything else - there was worry in their blood red depths, that
showed through the plain brown hue.
"Your plan was good, however, you underestimated Moody and could have been
easily caught or even injured," Voldemort muttered, as they found themselves in
the living room of the Red House. Heaving a sigh, he rubbed on his face and it
morphed into his own, pale, tired but beautiful nevertheless.
"I never saw him in action, but I should have guessed that he wasn't an
ordinary wizard, since he is in the Order, you're right," Harry mumbled,
lowering his eyes in shame, but the touch of the cold fingers, pushing his chin
up, made him look up at the wizard before him.
"It is my mistake as well, I should have made you practice dueling instead of
everything else. Next time you will be prepared." He stroked the young man's
cheek, looking into his eyes and reveling in the affection and faith he saw in
them. "You did well today. We had a little time, unfortunately, it will always
be like that from now on, but you will, no doubt, manage just fine," he drawled
smugly, smiling at the lovely blush, that covered Harry's cheeks.
"You are such an amiable misanthrope, Marvolo," Harry laughed, shaking his head
and snaking his arms around the other's waist.
"Am I?" Voldemort raised his eyebrows, grinning and finally relaxing, as he
embraced the young man.
"You despise them all so much and yet you do everything in your power to help
them..." giving the older wizard a mischievous look, Harry pecked him on the
cheek in gratitude. "You are truly marvellous, Marvolo," he laughed again and
nuzzled into the crook of the man's neck, pressing as hard as he could into the
tall, thin frame.
"You find it amiable? And they say I am insane!" Voldemort chuckled, staring at
the top of the raven haired head. Why on Earth were Harry's silly words making
him so pleased? Hundreds of people had given him much more eloquent, rich
compliments and yet they had never touched him, had never even once made him
proud or smug, nothing... And yet Harry could say something so stupid, so
childish and his heart would sing and he would feel elated and happy.
Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous.
"Almost everything about you is amiable," Harry shrugged, smiling.
"Almost?" the Dark Lord smirked, pushing his hand under the layers of clothes
and feeling for the wizard's hot body. He smiled evilly when the other shivered
under his cold touch and the goosebumps covered his skin, tickling on his
fingers.
"Yeah," Harry breathed out, feeling his head spinning from adrenaline, that had
finally left his blood, and desire, that made his body burn. "Nobody is
perfect, you know."
"I could argue with that," he purred, bringing Harry's face close to his, "But
after all these exhausting events there is a tension in my body that needs to
be lessened and I am incapable of dealing with it on my own."
Feeling his knees giving away under the intent gaze of the blood red eyes that
were practically fucking him, Harry managed to moan, "Let me help you with
that," and attacked the rose lips, that answered just as vigorously.
The apprehension and anxiety, that had been building up in his body during the
conference and the fight, turned into lust and incontrollable desire, driving
him mad, making him ravenous for the other's body and touch. At some point,
when he was already undressed and on the bed, Harry wondered if practicing
dueling with Marvolo would be just as exciting, if they would fight and fuck
just as passionately, wildly? The thought alone made him come undone and he
readily lost himself in a voluptuous haze, barely breathing, chanting the
other's name like a prayer. Marvolo.
xxx
"Severus, I need you to find out the date and location of Harry's next
conference," was Dumbledore's greeting, when the potions master stepped out of
the fireplace into the circular office.
"Impossible. They are spontaneous, even the Inner Circle doesn't know when to
expect them," he drawled, moving to stand at the window, pointedly ignoring the
chair and the cup of tea waiting for him - he had mountains of papers to grade
and a few potions to brew, he had no time for a nice chat with the old hag.
"Does Harry know?" the headmaster asked, frowning at the other's answer.
"I doubt he knows," Severus shrugged his shoulders, sighing. "I believe the
Dark Lord doesn't tell anybody of his plans, preparing everything all by
himself. He doesn't trust any of us these days, he is very careful." And it
wasn't a lie. Severus knew more than others simply because of his intricate
position of a spy between the Light and the Dark, and because he was Harry's
father, however ridiculous it may have sounded. Voldemort had enough decency
and, oddly, humanity to inform Severus of any plans he had for his son and
grandson.
"This can't go on," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, quietly. "Tom is playing a
very dangerous game and he is putting Harry right into the middle of it, as if
he doesn't care for the safety of his own horcrux. I can't understand why is he
so careless and careful at the same time? Something is not right here but I
have no idea where to look for any kind of a sign or a hint..." he trailed off,
immersed in his own musings. Severus kept silent and simply watched him
expectantly and a little impatiently. Time was money after all. "Harry brought
down twelve Aurors and Moody yesterday. He had help from a supposedly Death
Eater but nevertheless the fact remains. Have you noticed anything about his
magic? Maybe he is having some kind of dueling practice? Could Voldemort teach
him personally? How often do they interract?" With every question Dumbledore's
face took on a graver, darker expression, however his eyes gave away how
actually helpless he felt.
Little truth wouldn't hurt. "He constantly practices on his own, since he is
studying by the textbooks for sixth and seventh years, of course his practices
include Defense, it had always been his strongest subject." Severus examined
his fingernails, that were stained with dry dragon blood. "The Dark Lord is
busy enough to waste time on teaching Potter, of all people." Busy fucking him,
Severus thought with some strange bitterness.
It was Harry's business with whom to sleep, of course, but he couldn't help but
feel that the boy was missing out on an important part of his youth, devoting
himself completely to a man who had never been devoted to anybody but his own
person. Severus pitied his son, though, realized very well that it was their
idiotic family trait: to love blindly and give themselves away absolutely and
suffer because of it. Oh he was certain that Harry loved the Dark Lord, truly
loved him - and it scared Severus, made his heart sink.
"I can't see why are you so nervous about this whole affair, Albus. Who would
believe a word of Harry Potter, a son of a Death Eater and a new Dark Lord in
making?"
"You might not believe it, Severus, but people do listen to him. After the
conference at the Ministry they were terribly scared, agitated, confused... Tom
knows what he's doing, he is wrecking havoc and Harry is the ace in his sleeve,
for in dark times people turn to heroes, to warriors, to those who have once
showed courage in the face of a threat... I hate that Harry let himself to be
persuaded, fooled so easily," Dumbledore furrowed his brow, giving one of the
many trinkets on his table a stern look. "There are those who, like Minerva,
have complete faith in Harry's sincerity and soberness, they start questioning
the government, our work..."
"And you don't believe him?" Severus wanted to laugh triumphantly, but thought
better of it. Harry's transition from a Golden Boy to a wanted criminal wasn't
a reason for joy, not at all, if anything, it was a reason for grief. Harry was
repeating all of his own mistakes. Well, at least he hasn't lost his child for
sixteen years - a high, despicable voice in his head reminded him.
"Harry is another victim of Tom's charm and deceitfulness," the headmaster
sighed ruefully. "The longer he stays in his claws, the less is the chance we
will be able to help him, to show him the light. He is in complete darkness
now. I am terrified of what Voldemort might be doing to him."
Just when Severus wanted to make an acid remark a sudden pain pierced his left
arm and he grabbed on it, hissing slightly. He knew he would never get used to
this, nobody could. "He is calling me, Albus."
"Report immediately when you return!" Dumbledore's eye twinkled in anticipation
and Severus wished he could strangle him with his bare hands. It was his luck
he was in his lord's good graces, otherwise the old coot would have been
sending him to his death with that awful, sickeningly sweet smile of his.
xxx
Of course he was followed. He didn't need to be a spy to say that much, for the
officer, who was almost breathing into his neck, was rather inexperienced.
Severus entered the gates of Malfoy Manor and confidently strode towards the
grand mansion. He rang a bell and an elf invited him inside. However, as soon
as the heavy door closed behind him, he apparated straight into the living room
of the Red House. It was a personal call, he knew, there was no reason to stay
at Lucius' place and wait for further directions.
"Severus," Voldemort's voice drawled from behind and the potions master turned,
to find his lord in his favourite position - sprawled over the sofa, with his
long legs placed high on the top of its back. The Dark Lord looked cosy and...
Ravished, there was no other word Severus could find to describe him. His hair
was tangled and spread carelessly around his head, his shirt was unbuttoned and
wrinkled, as were his trousers. He wore no shoes, no usual vest, he looked like
he has just woken up, although it was only six o'clock in the evening.
"My lord?" he couldn't help but include a silent question in his greeting. It
wasn't every day the greatest dark wizard of their time looked so unfitting and
unkept.
"Domhnall has been having this toothache again, Harry and I spent the whole
night brewing the potion," Voldemort sighed, seeing the slight confusion in the
wizard's black eyes. "Yes, I have been sleeping the whole day. Take a seat,
Severus," he sneered and added sarcastically, "Don't stare at me as if I am
some kind of a new specimen to you. I am a man after all, I tend to have human
needs as well."
"Oh, you're already here, Severus!" Harry appeared in the doorway, smiling,
with a happily laughing child in his arms, who didn't look like he was the
cause of the dark circles under his father's eyes. "Dobby will bring tea in a
minute. Have you eaten? Would you like something?" he blurted out, sitting down
next to the potions master with that contagious grin of his plastered on his
tired face. It seemed Harry could enjoy even the worst aspects of parenthood.
"As a matter of fact I haven't, so I would love to have a bite of something,"
Severus said nonchalantly and relaxed in the armchair he occupied, feeling much
more comfortable here, freer and less oppressed by the Dark Lord's presence.
Perhaps, it was the notion that it was Harry's house, the neutral territory for
all of them, that made him feel more content? Or, perhaps, it was Harry's
heartfelt smile and Voldemort's solemn acceptance of their... equality here?
Severus didn't know and didn't really care. At his words a big plate filled
with meat and vegetables appeared on the coffee table before him and Dobby
popped into the room with a tray in his hands, carrying tea and Domhnall's
milk.
The Dark Lord lazily stretched out his hand and one of the cups floated
straight into his palm and he drank from it not even changing his position.
Severus had never seen him so at ease, so comfortable. No wonder he had
practically moved here, having had left Prince Manor at last - it seemed he had
found his home with Harry. "Enjoy your meal, Severus, and then we will talk,
there is a matter I wish to discuss with you regarding Harry."
"Of course," he left out the title but even if Voldemort has noticed he didn't
show it - the dark wizard dozed off again, lulled by the warmth of tea and the
child's soft bubbling. How weak and vulnerable the Dark Lord seemed to be next
to his son, where had all his darkness and viciousness, age and magnificence
gone?
"I haven't seen you for ages it seems," Harry said in a low, quiet voice,
barely comprehensible over the sound of wood cracking in the hearth, "How are
you, dad?" he smiled brilliantly, emphasizing the last word, as if saying it
gave him some particular pleasure.
"Fine, as always," Severus bit out, for his mouth was occupied with food.
However, he couldn't help but feel warmed up by that short, wretched word, that
made his heart flutter as if he was a young boy again. This mysterious magic of
words... "I can't visit you often, the Order had me shadowed and I can't risk
giving away our union by coming here. Only when the Dark Lord calls for me," he
said after he had finally swallowed the last piece of meat, leaving the plate
completely clean.
"They just can't leave us alone," Harry sighed, pressing Domhnall closer to his
chest.
"You know very well that they won't leave you alone until it is all over," the
potions master noted, sipping on his tea and barely restraining himself from
sighing contentedly. Having his dinner every day in a company of a hundred
loud, imbicilic students had long ago turned Severus' meals into a torture, it
was a true rarity Dumbledore let him stay in his quarters in so much desired
loneliness. Dinning here, in the small but all in all pleasant company, with
his family, in the quiet and welcoming atmosphere made him remember the long
forgotten days of his childhood, when Eileen and he had saved some money to buy
themselves the best meat and fruits from a wizarding market and had enjoyed
themselves, cooking and eating it all together, since Tobias had been working
through the night. "Why aren't you eating?" he raised his eyebrow, looking at
Harry inquaringly.
"Thanks, I've already eaten," Harry smiled slowly, shaking his head, but his
eyes were still sad, they looked unfocused - he was pondering over something
else.
"Harry, believe me it is quite pointless to wish everybody left you alone. You
are an extraordinary wizard, extraordinary human being, people like you are
never alone, they are never at peace," Severus sighed. It wasn't the best
consolation, but he had always preferred to be honest rather than
compassionate.
"I can't decide if I should take it as a compliment or a warning," the young
wizard laughed and his emerald eyes took on the familiar mischievous gleam that
Severus found he liked so much. Though, when he thought about it, this gleam
reminded him of Voldemort, not of Lily or Eileen. Harry's and his lord's
similarities were still creeping him out, but he knew it was all horcrux's
fault - what else could it be? At least Harry turned out to be a good person.
"It is indeed hard to decipher when Severus is mocking and when he is praising
you," Voldemort drawled from his place, not opening his eyes. "I always liked
this particular trait of his. He has always lived at the tip of my wand," he
barked out a laugh, smiling somewhat melancholically, which made Severus raise
his eyebrows in a mild astonishment. "Now that you have sated your hunger, let
me tell you why I have summoned you, Severus," the Dark Lord turned his head
and looked up at his faithful follower. "We need to help Harry practice
dueling. Not just Defense and definitely not the school course, you understand.
Since it is impossible for me to spend that much time here to help Harry, I
would need you to come here at least twice a week to teach him. You should also
tell him about the Order's members and their strengths and weaknesses - he
should not underestimate his opponents in the fights, which would no doubt
transpire in the future."
"Do you wish to teach Harry dark curses, my lord?" Severus sounded just as
uncertain as he felt. Darkness had always been a great temptation for powerful
wizards, it could easily destroy them and that wasn't the future he thought
Harry was destined for. He didn't deserve such a horrible fate.
"No Unforgivables, of course, no torturing spells, no blood magic... Simple
offensive ones," Voldemort drawled thoughtfully. "Harry is very powerful, he
doesn't need any complex ones to easily get rid of the Aurors, however, he must
know the basics, since they often use dark curses against us."
"I understand, my lord," Severus bowed his head, relieved that his master was
sensible enough to not let Harry taste the actual allure of the dark power.
Harry was listening to their conversation with a slight resentment. He and
Marvolo had had a fight about this earlier, for Harry didn't want to learn any
kind of dark magic, he was afraid of using it, was afraid of the effect it
could have on him. But Marvolo was adamant in his decision and they have barely
exchanged a word for almost the whole day, being sulky with each other.
"Do you always have to call him my lord?" he huffed at his father, rolling his
eyes in exasperation. "This is so pathetic. Marvolo, doesn't it make you feel
miserable that you have to turn people into your slaves to make them follow
you?!" he turned to the other sharply, scowling at him, too stubborn to let go
of the previous offense, annoyed that Marvolo couldn't indulge Severus in being
a free man at least here, at home, with his own son.
Staring at Harry in wondrous amusement, Voldemort burst into a booming
laughter, rolling onto his side and holding onto the other. "Miserable?!" He
chuckled lowly and shook his head, "Harry, Harry... Me miserable! Which way
shall I fly infinite wrath and infinite despair? Which way I fly is hell;
myself am hell; and in the lowest deep a lower deep, still threatening to
devour me, opens wide, to which the hell I suffer seems a heaven..." Voldemort
sighed and smiled at the young wizard who was watching him with wide eyes,
befuddled.
Sensing Harry's confusion, Severus helpfully added, "It is from a poem
"Paradise Lost" by John Milton."
"Pff, now he's mocking me!" Harry threw his arms in the air in irritation. "Of
course it is easy for you to laugh at me with all your vast knowledge and the
Slytherin Prince attitude. I have neither read this, nor heard of it and I
don't understand the fuck should it mean. Couldn't you just answer the bloody
question?" Fuming, he ducked his head, for he had no desire to look at Marvolo
and see his stupid condescending smile.
"It shouldn't mean anything, I simply remembered it suddenly," Voldemort
frowned and there was no trace of any kind of smugness or haughtiness in his
expression. "Harry, all I am trying to say is that this doesn't make me
miserable. There are many other much more significant, terrible reasons that
do, and you, of all people, should understand that," his voice has trembled
traitorously and he closed his eyes in resentment, sitting up on the sofa and
squeezing the empty cup in his once again cold hands.
Hearing the upset tones in the other's voice, which were so rare, Harry
involuntarily looked up and met the intent gaze of the blood red eyes, that
held so much pain inside. He felt like an idiot and the hot tears welled up in
his eyes at the harsh words that were thrown at him. Of course, how could he be
so stupid? Of course he knew how much had Marvolo suffered, how much had he
gone through... Did Harry really care for the caprice of being called a lord, a
master? Of course he didn't, he said it purely out of spite and didn't think of
the consequences.
"Marvolo..." he was instantly by the dark wizard's side, stroking his hair and
face, silently asking him to open his eyes and look at him, forgive him for his
childishness.
Marvolo - so this is the real name of the Dark Lord. Severus watched Harry
caressing the other, crying and all but pleading to be forgiven for only god
knew what. It seemed his son knew much more about Voldemort than any other
living soul on the face of the Earth, except for Dumbledore, perhaps. The old
coot had told him that his lord's name was Tom Riddle, that he had lost his
mother at birth, that he had grown up in the orphanage, which he had burned
down to the ground years later, and that he had always hated his given name
because of its connection to his father. However, this wasn't enough to draw
any kind of conclusions and his intuition told him there was much, much more to
the Dark Lord's past that held all the answers. Especially the answers to
Harry's suddenly changed attitude - it was clear that the two had had a fight,
but now it has been forgotten and the young wizard was holding Voldemort's face
in his hands, looking him straight in the ruby eyes and mumbling some pitiful
nonsense.
"I didn't mean to hurt you, Marvolo, I was just angry with you. Please, forgive
me," Harry whined, as his hot, trembling palms radiated warmth onto the cold,
pale skin of the other's face.
"I know, Harry," Voldemort sighed, "You didn't hurt me." He covered the
wizard's hands with his own and pushed them down to lie in his lap,
intertwining their fingers together and looking into the shining emerald eyes
with a strange lightness in his heart. Harry was incapable of hurting another
being, him in particular - he saw it in the depths of the man's soul that was
like an open book to him. "As for the poem... I never mock you, Harry. I know
very well what is it like to be ignorant, uneducated, and laughed at and
shunned because of that. This is why I have gifted you with my personal library
- for you to learn. It all will come to you in time." He stroked the thin,
narrow palms and wrists, laughing inwardly at the extent of their similarity.
"You know? Are you saying people have been mocking you for... Ignorance?" Harry
stared at the older wizard in disbelief and shock, while Severus examined the
titles of the old, but vast and impressive collection of muggle literature he
was sure Harry had inherited along with the house when he bought it. It was
hard to believe that all these had once belonged to Voldemort - the Dark Lord
was particularly famous for his greed and covetousness, he had never given
anything to anyone of them.
"Harry, I am an orphaned half-blood, just like you, I have grown up in the
orphanage in the '30s, do you really think I have been reciting Milton and
Byron right since my birth?" Voldemort chuckled, feeling the corners of his
mouth stretch into a wide grin, that he couldn't fight. He didn't really want
to - he enjoyed smiling at his Prince, for him.
"A half-blood?" Severus stared at the Dark Lord, as if he was seeing him for
the first time in his life. Was this a joke? Were all the pureblooded Death
Eaters truly following a half-muggle? A sudden shiver ran down his spine as the
realization hit him - there was a reason why nobody knew about this, for those
who did were already dead.
"Don't be scared, Severus, I know you will keep it a secret, besides,
Dumbledore knows... To be honest I thought he would have told you to try and
sway you to his side," Voldemort smiled amusedly, watching the potions master
turning paler and paler in the face.
"He had never... But how is that possible that nobody has found out? Yet?"
Severus asked quietly, not trusting his voice. Harry didn't look at all
surprised, which meant he knew all along.
"Nobody lived to tell the tale... Severus, why do you think I took you in, when
you came crawling at my feet, begging to be made a Death Eater?" the Dark Lord
asked, rising up and moving to stand at the hearth, stretching his shoulders
and arms slowly. Harry perked up at these words and stared at both men, who
watched each other intently, one relaxed and tired, suddenly old, the other
tensed, perplexed, surprisingly young. "I took you not because of the
exceptional talent for potions brewing - you know very well that I surpass you
in this field as in any other. I accepted you because you reminded me of my own
self. A young, highly talented dark wizard, half muggle, half purest of magical
blood, an heir of an ancient family living in poverty and abuse, suffering
amongst those who must have been kissing the soil you walked..." he smirked
humorlessly, and stepped closer to the raven haired wizard who looked just as
scared and helpless as he had all these twenty years ago. "I killed my father
too, Severus. And I saw it in you, I saw the pain that could be molded into a
weapon and a shield, I saw a boy, who could grow up into a real man. Do you
remember the first task you recieved?"
Staring into the blood red eyes, frozen or mesmerized by their light, Severus
couldn't decipher, he swallowed hard and whispered, "I had to kill my father.
You said you were giving me freedom in exchange for his death, freedom to live
and be a man." His voice trembled, he didn't dare to breathe, as the memories
of his past fell onto him as an unbearable weight.
"You killed your father?" Harry's loud question made both dark wizards jerk in
surprise and they turned their heads to look at the young Prince, who stood up
and was looking at Voldemort with terror and grief burning in his bright eyes.
"I forgot I haven't told you about this," the Dark Lord offered him a small
apologetic smile. "It has escaped my mind that you met my younger self, created
before it happened. I killed him in my last year at Hogwarts."
"But... Why?" Harry could only drop his hands helplessly at his sides and try
and will his tears away. How could Marvolo forget about something so important
as a murder of his own father?
"Because he left my pregnant mother to die in poverty, famine and cold,"
Voldemort elaborated, speaking nonchalantly, in a didactic tone, as if he was
explaining a theory behind a complex transfigurational spell. "He didn't even
know she died in labour, he didn't care. When I came to him, do you know what
was the first thing he told me?" He moved to stand before Harry, mere inches
away from him, looking at him calmly.
"What?" Harry breathed out, feeling his stomach churn in fear and anticipation.
"He said that he wasn't going to give me any money," he laughed bitterly,
shaking his head in a sad amusement. "I didn't say a word about money, I didn't
need them, all I wanted was to look him in the eye and ask him how could he
sleep at nights after what he had done." Voldemort brushed past the young
wizard and bent down to pick up Domhnall, who was playing on the floor.
Embracing the tiny boy and stroking his soft chestnut hair, he sighed
longingly, "What kind of a father dares to behave so cruelly towards his
child?" He kissed his son on the temple, smiling at his happy squeaks, and
stole a quick glance at Harry, whose sorrowful face looked particularly
miserable and hurt. "What kind of a man he was? He got what he deserved. I
might not have had a family, might not have known a parents' love, but I was
intelligent enough to realize just what kind of a heartless bastard he was, a
true criminal. A monster," he chuckled, kissing Domhnall again. "I would have
never allowed myself to treat my son like that."
Severus watched Harry close his eyes in exhaustion and resignation. "You killed
him in that manor, didn't you? Did you kill your whole family there?" the young
wizard asked weakly, knowing the answer in advance.
"Yes. I will never regret this decision, Harry. They were the worst kind of
people, let alone muggles. I am glad I didn't grow up there, otherwise I would
have become his copy," Voldemort growled, frowning. "He wasn't a man, he was a
bloody coward. He offered me all his wealth when he saw his own parents fall
lifeless to his feet. A ridicule of a worthy human being."
Harry suddenly laughed, surprising the two older men once again. "And where
does this leave me? Here I am with the two most dangerous dark wizards I have
ever seen, who have both killed their own parents in a bout of bloody
vengance!" his lips trembled harshly, as he glared at them, enraged. The air
around him started vibrating and Domhnall began whining softly, frightened, he
tried to hide in his father's arms. "Do you understand how sick is this? Should
I be expecting to die as well, when Domhnall grows up? How... Why haven't you
fucking told me?!" he shouted at Marvolo, shaking all over, as the books and
teacups started rocking, groaning and cluttering in their places.
"Calm down!" Voldemort growled, clutching onto the boys form tighter and
stepping away from Harry, whose eyes were barely visible behind the white glow,
that surrounded them. "Pull yourself together, Harry! You are not ready to
control your powers fully yet! You will blow the house up!" But it was
fruitless. All Harry's fear and pain, all of his doubts and worries welled up
and collided, instigating his magic to burst out and lessen the tension that
was threatening to hurt his own self.
"Harry." Severus hands squeezed his shoulders and suddenly Harry found himself
enveloped into a dark cocoon of his father's magic - he was floating
underwater, pushed down by its weight, that seemed to turn heavier and heavier,
soon he wasn't able to fight it. Too tired and emotionally drained, he
surrendered and closed his eyes, letting a harsh sob escape his lips. His knees
gave away and he fell into Severus' arms. "It's alright, Harry," his father
said softly, gently brushing his hair away from his face. "You have
overreacted, you shouldn't keep all the frustration and anger pent up inside
you, it will always strike you when you least expect it." Harry barely
registered the meaning of his words, trying to catch his breath and see past
the dark scales before his eyes. He felt paralyzed and sick, helpless.
Strong arms picked him up and pressed him hard to a broad chest. "Come here,
you idiot." Voldemort held him in his lap, rubbing on his chest, throat,
cheeks, helping the blood to circulate through his limp body. "I have told you
time and again you should be careful with that power of yours. Got angry with
me and see where has it led you to," he kept talking absentmindedly, stroking
the man in his hold, not taking his eyes off of the deathly pale face.
Severus, who stood next to them with still crying Domhnall in his arms, decided
he was better off doing something useful, than stand here and watch the two
reconcile. "I will brew a potion for him, he needs nutrition and a good ten
hour sleep. I could take Domhnall to Prince Manor with me..."
"It wouldn't be necessary, I will look after Domhnall," the Dark Lord looked up
at him and Severus couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in surprise and
amusement - the man was obviously crushed by what happened, there was no anger
or malice in his eyes but the desperate sadness and worry. "You must return to
Hogwarts and continue according to our plan. I will inform you of Harry's
condition. We can't lose focus now, he will come around."
"Yes, my lord," Severus bowed and apparated into the nursery, rocking the boy
gently, smiling ruefully at the sight of Domhnall slowly calming down and
falling asleep. What a truly strange day it was, he thought, caressing the
small head. He needed time to digest it all and understand the situation
clearly. Not that anything really changed after the revelations he had heard,
but he still felt overwhelmed. He wished he could stay with Harry for a while,
to look after him, but the Dark Lord was right - they had to keep up their work
and Harry was better off with Voldemort now, since it was his fault the boy got
all worked up and fainted during a particularly powerful magical fit.
xxx
Harry lay in his bed, coiled on his side under the covers, and stared into the
darkness of the room disturbed by a faint light coming from the hall. He saw
Marvolo leave the nursery and slowly approach him, but he didn't show any
reaction, strangely hollow inside after everything he had heard. Somehow it was
hard for him to accept the fact that Marvolo killed his own family - Harry
could understand Severus' crime against his father, who abused him and was
guilty of his mother's death, but in Voldemort's case... Could he really blame
horcrux for it? Could he say that it all had happened simply because Marvolo
lacked a part of his soul and couldn't control his anger and hatred due to his
age at that time? It was a ridiculous excuse. He came to kill him, he had been
planning to do it all along. Thinking back on the young Tom Riddle he had met
in his second year at Hogwarts and all the things the boy had shared with him
through the diary, Harry could conclude with absolute certainty that future
Voldemort hated his father, hated him more than anything, even though he had
never met him. He couldn't help but wonder if this crime was the turning point
in Marvolo's life, if it was what changed him, broke him completely?
"I know what you are thinking about, Harry," Voldemort sighed and sat down on
the edge of the bed close to the young man, who was stubbornly looking the
other way. "Forgive me for not telling you, I honestly didn't think it was
significant. I rarely remember those days now, definitely not when I am here
with you and Domhnall." He carefully placed his hand on the wizard's shoulder
and waited for it to be shaken off, but nothing happened. Encouraged, he slowly
moved it, stroking his Prince and watching him, inwardly, deep, deep inside of
himself begging to be forgiven.
"How can something like this seem insignificant?" Harry whispered, dearly
wishing to push the hand away, however, in his heart he felt he couldn't do it
and didn't want to. Every time Marvolo scared or hurt him Harry didn't try to
distance himself from the man, as any normal, sane person would do, but, on the
contrary, he strived to get closer, to be comforted by the dark wizard. His
presence wasn't disturbing or unpleasant, never. It was soothing and calming,
welcoming. How could he send Marvolo away when all he needed now was him and
him alone? Just how sick was this love?
"It is for me, Harry. As I have already told you, their deaths will never
become a regret of mine, I will never feel ashamed for the crime I have
comitted. I often forget about them completely, as if they never existed."
Voldemort shifted closer to rub circles on Harry's back, to stroke his neck and
hair.
"How can you be so gentle, so caring with me, so kind and human, and be
merciless and cruel, unforgiving towards others, your own family at the same
time?" he asked, closing his eyes and guiltily enjoying the tender,
affectionate touch.
"I wonder how were you planning to survive in this world, being the kindhearted
and naive person that you are, my dear?" Voldemort chuckled quietly. "You will
never understand, I am afraid. You would have never harmed your own relatives
after everything they have done to you, I know for certain. You will never hate
Dumbledore for raising you to be sent into slaughter. It is in your nature,
Harry, to forgive and see only good in people, but it is not in mine or
Severus'. We are vengeful," he bent down to rest his head on the young man's
shoulder, "We never forget and never forgive those who hurt us or our dear
ones. We are cruel, heartless - it is what makes us invincible, makes our skin
thicker, our minds clearer... It wasn't a mindless murder, Harry, I was
avenging my mother, not myself. He never gave her a chance to survive, never
once thought of her after he threw her out on the street." Voldemort sighed,
looking at his Prince's sorrowful face. Mother subject will always be a corner
stone between them.
"It is so hard to accept this, to simply close my eyes and forget about it."
Harry finally looked up at Marvolo, feeling the tears streaming down his
cheeks. He was hurt, but most of all he pitied the dark wizard, his heart ached
for the blood red eyed man, who confused him by making him the most miserable
and the happiest human being in the world.
"You don't have to forget, Harry," Voldemort lay down facing him and circled
his arm around the young wizard's waist, pulling him closer. "Talk to me, fight
me, scream and rage at me - don't keep it all inside, or you would only get
hurt again. I am sorry for causing you so much pain, but I am not sorry for
being who I am. I went a long way to become what I am now."
Breathing slowly, Harry watched Marvolo's face for a long time in complete
silence, searching it and seeing nothing but affection and openness. It was
impossible to associate this angelic, beautiful man with a murderer and an
insane megalomaniac that he was to others, but not to Harry. As much as he
wished to feel repulsed by what the dark wizard had done he couldn't. He
reached out and caressed Marvolo's cheek, the rose lips, that quivered slightly
under his fingers, as if being restrained from kissing his hand.
"Tell me about it," Harry murmured, "Tell me about your growing up, about your
becoming who you are now."
"Should I recall every person I killed on the way?" There was no humor in his
question and gaze. He simply decided that maybe it wouldn't hurt to tell his
Prince about all of his victims to avoid another hysteria in the future.
Harry considered the offer, thinking that he might not be able to bear the
weight of the truth. "Yes." Perhaps, it would be better to hear it all now and
have no more surprises in the future.
Voldemort took a deep breath and shifted to lie more comfortably, brushing the
tears off of Harry's face.
"I don't remember the first five years of my life, have a vague recollection of
flashes and broken images. When I turned six... You know what happened. I don't
feel like talking about it again." Harry nodded in understanding and he
continued, "Of course I had no friends at the orphanage, because I was a freak
and a liar. My accidental magic was rather active and I used to get into
trouble quite often because of it, which made me a favourite scapegoat for
other children. Beatings, whipping, nights spent in the cupboard or in the
attick.... I don't have to tell you what was it like, you, unfortunately, know
it all too well. I was weak, skinny, constantly sick, for it was the time of
famine and economical crises and there was no money to maintain the heating
during the cold seasons. Nobody wished to adopt or could afford a child in
those times, so I have never had a chance of leaving, of finding a family.
Running away wasn't an option, for I would have surely died out there. I talked
to garden snakes - somehow I didn't find it to be strange or unnatural,
perhaps, because I wished to be different so much I could accept any kind of
deviation in myself... I read the few books that were available to us through
the church, which made donations from time to time... As you can imagine there
were no Paradise Lost or Portrait of Dorian Gray amongst them," he drawled
sarcastically and smiled, sensing that Harry was smiling too, even though was
adamantly hiding his mirth.
"We all were thieves and beggars. My pretty face often got me a piece of bread
or a sweet treat from the rich hags of the upper class muggles, that used to
take walks in the city center and around the market, where we usually spent our
days. It was a tough life, sometimes I starved for days and it was only my
magic that kept me alive through winters. I didn't know about it, of course,
but I knew that I was special, since sometimes I managed to use the power of my
will and get something I desired. Nothing really interesting has happened
during my first twelve years, I was a loner, a calm, shy boy, smart and cunning
of course, a troublemaker."
"Just like Domhnall," Harry finally smiled.
"Yes," Voldemort laughed, "Very much like Domhnall. But don't lay all the blame
on my blood, Harry, I know you were just the same." At the mischievous gleam in
the emerald eyes he laughed some more and sighed contentedly. "Honestly, if I
wasn't accepted into Hogwarts, I might have become a magician to swindle people
into giving me money for cheap tricks," he chuckled and Harry joined him,
obviously imagining Marvolo in a black cape, pulling a rabbit out of his top
hat. "I was always good at deceiving and charming," the Dark Lord concluded
smugly, making the young wizard roll his eyes and huff at him.
"How did you get your Hogwarts letter?" Harry asked with bald curiosity. He was
hungry to know more about Marvolo, to know everything about him, to be even
closer than they already were.
"Dumbledore brought it to me personally," Voldemort sneered haughtily and
snorted indignantly, "He thought I was a muggleborn because of the address and
the establishment I lived at and decided it would be a nice gesture to check on
me. He wasn't a headmaster at that time, but a Deputy Headmaster and a
professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts, so he could find a few minutes of his
precious time for someone like me."
"He came to you personally?" Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was
Hagrid who came for him in the end, although he was the bloody Boy-Who-Lived
and Dumbledore could have easily spared an hour of his time for him or at least
send McGonagall to introduce him to the world of magic. What, had he actually
expected Dursleys to take him to Diagon Alley? He knew them well enough to
foresee what exactly would they do. He could also foresee something else...
"Do not dwell on that, little one," Voldemort guessed what was his Prince
thinking about by the sight of the green eyes that grew dim and by the crease
of the brow. "He has wronged you terribly, but it is quite pointless to regret
it now, after everything that has happened."
"Yeah," he reluctantly agreed and rubbed on his eyes angrily, as if it was
going to help to get rid of the unpleasant thoughts. "So what happened when he
visited you?"
"I didn't believe him. Deep in my heart I, as any other child would have I
suppose, wished it was true and I was indeed a wizard, but my life had taught
me practicalness and wariness of dreams and empty promises. I gave him his
letter back and said that I wasn't going to buy old weirdo's petty tricks." The
Dark Lord smiled nostalgically, "We didn't like each other right from the very
start."
Shaking his head amusedly, Harry chuckled, "What did he have to do to convince
you?"
"He had to burn the wardrobe in our common bedroom," Voldemort grinned, "I was
so excited, I still remember the glee I have experienced then, when he simply
glanced at the old thing and it was instantly set on fire and turned to ash. "I
always knew I was special" I told him then. He asked about my accidental magic,
asked to describe what exactly I have done..." his smile suddenly disappeared
as if it had never been on his face just a moment ago. "He has spoken to the
caretakers before meeting me, of course, and they have told him all the
complimenting facts about my persona - he despised me in advance, saw me as an
amateur criminal and a pathological liar."
"Did he know about you being the parselmouth then?" Harry asked, frowning at
the prejudice so untypical for the old, kindhearted headmaster.
"In my own childish folly I bragged about it, in the effort to impress him, I
suppose," he sighed resentfully. "He was shocked, his look suddenly changed
from pitying and scornful to calculating and wary, frightened. He was
particularly curious to know about any kind of details of my magic, of my
childhood. He understood there and then that I was no muggleborn but the Heir
of Slytherin, the last living descendant of Salazar... He offered to help me
with shopping at the Diagon Alley, but I refused. I knew that look of his, when
adults had it in their eyes I always got into some shit..." he laughed
bitterly, as the flood of memories of the so long hidden past filled his mind
and vision.
Smiling wistfully, Harry nudged him to continue, "And what happened then? Did
you go to Diagon alone, all by yourself?" He stared at Marvolo in astonishment
an admiration.
"I vaguely remember seeing you with that oaf of Hagrid at the Leaky Cauldron,"
Voldemort narrowed his eyes in a feigned disdain, making Harry cover his face
with the blanket shyly. "If I had such an entourage in my youth, I would have
never come to Hogwarts!" he burst into bouts of quiet but rich laughter,
grinning cunningly at Harry's displeased expression. "Of course I went alone,"
he said after he pulled himself together and stopped chuckling, though his eyes
shone brightly, mirthfully. "As I have already said I was a professional thief
and, even though there was a fund at Gringotts for the poor students to be able
to afford second-hand supplies, I wasn't going to confine myself to a necessary
minimum. After I saw all those wizards and witches, dressed in most expensive
suits and dresses of unimaginable material and colour, I realized how much I
have missed, how much I have been deprived of for my whole life. It was then I
decided that I needed to find my parents or at least relatives, to learn the
origins of my magic..."
"How did you manage to steal money from wizards?" Harry propped himself up on
the elbow, looking down at Marvolo with his eyes opened wide.
Pleased by the other's unguarded interest and excitement, Voldemort smiled
smugly and crossed his arms behind his head. "Even a muggle can trick these
idiots and for someone like me there is nothing impossible as long as one has
his magic and a clear understanding of what one wants. I decided that if what
has helped me survive was magic, then it could also help me in making some
money. I simply made some of the purses disappear from their owner's belts and
pockets and appear in my hands. It was easy to do, since nobody would have
suspected such a sweet boy as myself," he batted his eyelashes at Harry
teasingly and got smacked on the chest. He doubted he would have ever enjoyed
something as childish and unfitting for a gentleman, disrespectful towards his
person, but with his green eyed Prince everything was a pure joy to him.
Harry's easiness and genuine playfulness around him turned Voldemort on and
warmed him on the inside.
"Your arrogance will one day cost you dearly," Harry chided Marvolo smiling
idiotically, unable to restrain himself from doing so. All of his fear and
discomfort was forgotten now, as they lay together and talked. It was such an
ordinary thing to do with such an extraordinary man as Voldemort, who, despite
his snobbiness and cynicism, was a good storyteller. He couldn't help but
imagine as one day, when Domhnall would grow up a little, he would sit in
Marvolo's lap and listen to the tales of his father's adventures and travelings
- this picture made his heart flutter in a particularly pleasant fashion.
"Whatever," Voldemort rolled his eyes and carried on, "I bought second-hand
textbooks and robes, for I had no idea what kind of a society I was going to
get into at school - I imagined it would be very much like at the orphanage,
but with a comfortable accomodation, good food and a lot of magic. The money
that I stole I intended to save and hide away for a time being, in case I would
need them later. I was completely smitten with the apothecary, I never
understood others' repulsion with the ingredients and smells - it simply showed
that they have never been to the docks of London and to the fish market there,"
he wrinkled his nose, remembering the horrible stink that never left that
place.
Smiling, Harry watched the dark wizard and marveled his relaxed, satisfied
expression. Somehow he knew he was the first and only person Marvolo had ever
shared his story with - this knowledge made Harry feel special and wanted,
valued, cherished. He regretted there was nothing intersting he could tell
Marvolo about himself - the man probably knew everything already. "What about
your wand? Has Olivander also freaked you out? Has he told you about it having
a brother?"
"Oh, Olivander scared me shitless," Voldemort laughed. "I thought there could
be nobody weirder than Dumbledore, in all honesty. However, he has never said
anything about my wand having a brother..." he added thoughtfully. "Though, now
that I think about it, I doubt I would have done something about this fact, for
what was the point of taking your wand as well? It was obvious that the person
who was destined to master it was going to be just as talented and powerful as
I am... I would have probably watched over it to see who would be its owner..."
He smiled at the young wizard, feeling especially pleased that it was Harry who
got it in the end. The young wizard lowered his eyelashes shyly and even in the
darkness of their bedroom Voldemort could see the lovely blush on his cheeks.
"Olivander warned me that I was going to do great deeds and there was a thin
line between great and terrible... It sounded more like a threat than a
warning, I think," he smiled. "In truth, I am still not sure who the hell is
Olivander really. He is definitely not a Seer, but not an ordinary wizard
either. Perharps, he bears an ancient blood, perhaps, his ancestors weren't
from Britain but from the East? I find it hard to determine the source of his
odd talent to read the future by the person's aura."
"Perhaps, he is just crazy," Harry offered, shrugging one of his shoulders.
"The way he speaks suggests he is far from alright."
Voldemort chuckled at that, shaking his head in amusement. "What has he told
you?"
"Basically the same thing he told you. I think he sensed the similarity between
us and decided I was going to become Voldemort number two, of what he had
informed me quite vaguely, but I got the hint," he muttered. "I was so scared
after that, I couldn't even look at the bloody wand, hid it in the farthest
corner of my trunk and took it out only when I realized I was supposed to use
it in classes."
"He is indeed an odd personage," the Dark Lord smirked.
"But if you grew up at the orphanage and knew nothing of magic, how did you
learn of the ettiquette, traditions and everything else?"
"Don't you know how to read?" Voldemort scoffed at his Prince.
"Thanks to you I had my hands full of shit during my years at Hogwarts, I had
no time to study more than it was necessary to get through with the classes,"
Harry growled, twisting his lips in a parody of a smile.
"Forgive me, but you can't deny that I added an element of adventure and
excitement into your life, can you?" he drawled smugly, squeezing Harry in a
tight embrace and rolling over to lie on top of him.
"Yeah, yeah, living in a constant anticipation of being tortured and murdered
is a very exciting alternative to an ordinary life of an ordinary student,"
Harry bit out, but circled his arms around the other's neck anyway and nuzzled
closer, sighing contentedly. "Well, tell me how have you managed to become the
pureblood know-it-all?"
"Although this is an insult I will take it as a compliment," Voldemort smiled
into the thick raven hair, reveling in its silkiness and fresh scent. "My first
train ride was uneventful, I spent it studying potions and history, having have
met only a few prefects, whom I can't remember now. I wouldn't lie to you:
Hogwarts impressed me, mesmerized me and I doubt that I have ever seen anything
more magnificent and beautiful, than the view of the castle floating above the
lake in the darkness and faint light of stars and candles."
"You sound so romantic," Harry mumbled, embracing him tighter.
"Cruelty and romance are not mutually exclusive as it is said, but blend well
together."
"Can't say I agree with you, but do go on." This was a pointless dispute not
worthy of their time, since both of them were not going to reach a compromise.
Smiling at Harry's attempt to avoid another argument that might have very well
turned into a quarrel, Voldemort sighed, "I have read about the houses in the
History of Hogwarts and thought that I could end up in either Ravenclaw or
Slytherin, but didn't really care for it then, thinking that it was a miracle
enough that I got into the world of magic and a special school for the freaks
like I was myself."
"Did the Hat talk to you?" Harry pulled away a little to look at Marvolo, "Did
it ask you where would you like to go?"
"No," the Dark Lord raised his eyebrows in a mild surprise, "Were you offered
to make a choice?"
"It said I could become a great wizard in Slytherin, but I had an unpleasant
introduction to the house in the form of Draco, so I begged the Hat to put me
into Gryffindor, where my mother was, as I've been told."
"Ah, imagine their horror if only you had agreed to become a snake..."
Voldemort drawled amusedly.
"Well, what happened then?" Harry hurried him.
"So impatient," the Dark Lord shook his head, smirking at his lover. "I met my
housemates and my Head of the House, Slughorn. It was then I realized that I
got into a dangerous and prejudiced society - I was the only muggleborn, as
they called me, out of the whole house. Every slytherin student there was a
pureblood or a half-blood, they all were rich and spoiled, corrupted,
completely ignorant of the outside world and muggles. I was once again a
scapegoat and a rara avis amongst my peers, mocked for my poverty and lack of
education, my parentage."
"This is so cruel and unfair," Harry frowned, pitying the young Marvolo,
involuntarily projecting his troubles onto Domhnall's future.
"People, and children in particular, are always unfair to each other, my dear,
it is a lesson you still have to learn," Voldemort sighed, looking at his
Prince kindly.
No matter how right he was, he secretly wished Domhnall grew up just as
innocent and kindhearted as his young father. Having had been surrounded by
bitter, cruel, heartless people for his whole life he craved to have something
pure and enthralling, beautiful both on the outside and on the inside, to let
him breathe and find the light in the eternal darkness that was his life. Harry
was his salvation and his redemption, his most prized possession, his only
reason for joy, as was his little son. His lucky stars guiding him on his long,
hard way... He used to think he would be forever alone, separated from the
whole world by the huge rim that was his past, his sins, his being... but not
anymore. He had his family, he could very well turn his back on everything and
everyone else.
"Were they abusive towards you?" His Prince asked quietly, watching him with
wet, pained eyes. How could Harry have a heart so big, so kind that it ached
for somebody like him?
"They were at first, though it was nothing in comparison to what muggles have
done to me," he said, trying to remember anything specific. "Petty tricks and
stinging hexes, nothing more. As soon as I have started practicing magic my
power grew dramatically and very soon I was able to pay them back and make them
wary of teasing me. In the end they decided to simply ignore me, which played
out well, since I didn't need their friendship or company. I used to spend all
my time in the library, reading, practically devouring every book I could
reach. I didn't care of it was a textbook or classic literature - I needed to
improve myself, to catch up with all of them and surpass them eventually. I was
very stubborn and I desired to excel at everything so much, that I think my
magic helped me even in that," he laughed, amused by the conclusion.
"But when I met your younger self you were a prefect, you were dressed rather
well, as far as I remember," Harry said, creasing his brow as he tried to
recall Tom Riddle's appearance.
"It took me four years to become the successful and respected young man that
you've met," Voldemort smiled ruefully. "I learned very fast, in my second year
I had already covered the material of the third and the fourth and started
writing others' essays for money. Very soon the whole house began using me and
my knowledge and unique memory, they paid with money, jewelry, expensive sweets
sent from their parents, rich clothes - I would sell those and buy myself
ordinary, but nevertheless new robes of high quality. In my fifth year my marks
were so high, the amount of points that I brought to my house was so great that
Slughorn asked the headmaster to make me a prefect, which was rather beneficial
to me, since it allowed me to spent nights in the library as well. The
Restricted Section wasn't a restriction for me, as you can imagine," he smirked
and Harry could only roll his eyes at his haughtiness.
"What about parseltongue and your Slytherin background?"
"In my third year I found a short note on parseltongue in one of the books on
the history of magic, it said that only the descendants of Salazar Slytherin
could speak to serpents and that was the starting point in the search of my
family and origins. Later, during my wonderings around the castle I met
Slytherin himself, his portrait to be exact. He and I had a very long and
interesting talk, though he couldn't help me in finding my ancestors, since I
looked nothing like any of the slytherin families, who had distinguished
features inherited from him. They all were rather ugly, if you ask me," he
huffed good-naturedly which made Harry giggle quietly. "He told me the names
that he knew belonged to his descendants and suggested to ask one of my
pureblooded peers' parents about their whereabouts. It took me a long time to
find out that only Gaunts have survived and were the last Slytherin line known
in Britain, but nobody had heard from them for almost eighty years - none of
them attended Hogwarts."
"And the Chamber?" Harry asked, strangely resigned. It was ridiculous how much
they shared and how painful and unpleasant to remember most of it was.
"Salazar told me where to find it when I asked him," Voldemort said simply. He
saw the change in the wizard's face, saw how reluctant he was to think of that
particular encounter of theirs and once again he felt irritated by the fact
that he didn't have the memories of what had happened between them then. And
something told him Harry wouldn't be enthusiastic to share his recollection of
events. "Mirtle..." he started uncertainly, "It was an accident, though you may
very well call her my first victim, since I used her death to create my first
horcrux. Initially I planned to train basilisk to follow my commands and let it
get used to the new surroundings - I wanted to set it at a muggle from one of
the closest villages and use that death for my horcrux, but... Well, I can
admit that now, that I was too young and inexperienced to control such an
ancient and a dangerous creature. I don't regret Mirtle's death but I can't say
I am proud of it either."
Scowling, Harry muttered, "And you set Hagrid up to cover up your mistake."
"Yes," the Dark Lord shrugged his shoulders carelessly. "It was either me being
expelled and forced to live at the orphanage for two more years and... to
endure everything that followed, or Hagrid being expelled but given a chance to
stay at the school. It was the lesser of two evils."
"Yeah, right," he huffed, knowing very well that Marvolo never cared for
others' well being but his own. "How did you find out about the horcruxes?" he
decided to steer the conversation into a different direction to avoid yet
another sore spot of his.
"There was an old tome on the darkest sides of Dark Magic, including the
Unforgivables, some areas of Blood Magic... I was so advanced in the basic
magic that we were taught and I found a strong affinity towards the Dark in me,
so this almanac became the source of my new perspective and aim in life - I
wanted to perceive the Dark Magic completely, to its full extent, I wanted to
develop it further and improve myself, become the most powerful wizard of
all... It was a romantic, arrogant dream, but as you can see I have fulfilled
it." Voldemort stopped, giving them both a little break to ponder over
everything he had revealed. He had never felt so free and unburdened before -
he could never imagine that sharing his past would be so rewarding, so...
healing.
"You were so lovely, so sympathetic, until the very last moment I didn't
suspect you," Harry suddenly murmured after a long pause, staring unseeingly
into the darkness around them. "You talked so kindly to me and then simply
laughed when I begged you to spare Ginny's life. You offered me to join you,
said you saw yourself in the little, defenseless Harry Potter and when I
refused you easily condemned me to death by setting the basilisk on me." His
hands involuntarily squeezed Marvolo's shoulders in the search of support, for
he found he couldn't let go of the dark wizard who had almost killed him
then...
Sighing heavily, sadly, Voldemort stroked Harry's face as gently as he could,
barely touching the warm skin that seemed to glow from the inside. "Forgive me,
Harry. I do not have those memories, they were destroyed along with that part
of my soul, but I am sorry for scaring and hurting you." He waited for the
green eyes to lock with his and offered the young man a small but sincere,
apologetic smile, "I was so young then, I hated children so much, it was so
easy to not care for their lives... I know it is not an excuse and it will
never make amends enough, but unfortunately there is nothing I can do to change
what has happened."
"I know," Harry whispered, pressing his face against Marvolo's chest and
circling his arms tight around him. "It was just so painful to realize what a
hypocritical, deceitful boy you turned out to be when I honestly thought that I
have found a friend in you."
"But you did, Harry," he buried his nose into the raven locks, as his hands
rubbed on the man's back soothingly. "The circumstances were against us, but we
could have become friends if it wasn't for my condition then. If I was a
corporal boy, a human being, not a fragment of a soul, blinded by the desire to
come back to life, I am certain we would have gotten on very well, like we do
now. Our current friendship proves that."
"Yeah," Harry sighed. "You seemed so lonely, so sad when we talked through your
diary, I wished so much to help you, to become your friend, your rock."
"You are now, my sweet Prince," Voldemort pulled him up to kiss him tenderly on
the mouth and tightened his hold, enveloping Harry into a most passionate,
trusting embrace. If only he had Harry then, when he was young, if only he had
that rock, that light he had now...
"How did you find your father?" Harry asked in a small voice, sobbing softly
after their lips parted, for the tenderness with which Marvolo treated him
overpowered all the pain he had caused him before - his kiss was a plead for
forgiveness, a reassurance of trust and care, of safety.
Tasting his Prince's tears on his tongue, Voldemort considered his lover for a
moment, wondering if they should put that story away for a time being. But
Harry looked determined, though heartbroken and vulnerable. So fragile, the
Dark Lord could turn him to ash with a flick of his fingers. "Not long before I
made a horcrux I found out that there were Gaunts registered at the village of
Little Hangleton. Surprisingly, I have discovered them in the muggle archives.
They used to be a prominent family with a long history. And since I knew my
name wasn't a wizarding one, I have concluded that most probably my mother was
a witch, while my father was a muggle or a muggleborn, that was how I became a
half-blood." His lips twisted slightly at the mentioning of his father, but he
restrained himself from demonstrating his disdain and hatred. It was enough for
Harry that he had to know the truth and accept it. "But I never had an
opportunity to meet them, since there were wards around the orphanage that
monitored my magic and time of absence. I was able to travel to Hangleton only
when I turned seventeen and became a legal adult in the magical world."
"Did you kill Gaunts as well?" Harry asked in a hollow, distant voice, pressing
harder into Marvolo's frame, anticipating the worst.
"No, I didn't." Frowning, Voldemort stroked Harry's hair, seeking comfort and
calm from touching him. "I came to an old, half-ruined shack with a dead snake
nailed to its door. Inside I found Morfin, my uncle, who was absolutely insane.
He couldn't speak any language but parseltongue and his aura was dramatically
weak - he was a squib. I think it was the result of the inbreeding in the
family, for, as I have found out later, they were so proud of being the only
descendants of Slytherin, that they started marrying between themselves to save
the purity of their blood, which led to the weakening of their magic. Morfin
was inadequate, he could barely make up comprehensible sentences that made
little sense to me, however, he managed to tell me my mother's story."
"Did he know about you?" Marvolo looked suddenly upset and Harry held his
breath, foreseeing that the story wasn't going to be a happy one, far from it.
"No, but he recognized me, he even addressed me by my name before I could
introduce myself, clearly having had taken me for Tom Riddle, whose appearance
I inherited to its very last detail. He told me that there were three of them
left: he, Merope - my mother and his sister, and their father Marvolo, whose
name I was given at birth. They were poor, squibs all of them, sick
physically... They were the lowest sort of wizards even though their blood was
the purest of all. Riddle was a young aristocrat who lived a few miles away in
his parents' manor, the one we stayed at before. He was young, beautiful,
arrogant, ugly rich and very popular amongst the golden youth of that time - an
ordinary high class muggle. Morfin said that Merope fell in love with him, even
though he had never once exchanged a word with her, never once spared her
another glance. There were rumors amongst the villagers, that she was a witch,
for she was talented in potions and often brewed some easy ones for sale, to
make ends meet, since neither Morfin nor Marvolo could work. They were known
criminals, theives, both had spent some time in muggle prison."
Harry could easily guess what happened at this point. "Did Merope brew a love
potion?"
"Yes," Voldemort sighed, wrinkling his nose in disdain and closing his eyes in
resentment. "A potion for the most unworthy candiate. Morfin mocked me, saying
that my very existence was a joke, an insult to their family and that Merope
got what she deserved for getting involved with a muggle. I can't say I was
repulsed by the fact that she chose a muggle as much as I was repulsed by the
notion that she chose the one who could never appreciate her, could never
understand her and her world, let alone love her. She had personally condemned
herself to Hell and for that I can't forgive her."
"Riddle found out about the potion?" Harry asked, confused, since it was
impossible to fight the magic while being under the power of the drug.
"Merope stopped giving it to him. Morfin said she hoped that once sober Riddle
would remember his fake feelings for her and develop them into the real ones,
but I think she got pregnant and naively thought that the bastard would never
leave her for the sake of his child." Seething on the inside, Voldemort hissed,
in half english half parseltongue, like an angered snake, "Any respectable
gentleman, any worthy man would have helped her, would have never left her to
die in loneliness. He didn't have to marry her or give me his name, he could
have easily taken her in as a maid and simply support her with a small but
steady income... But he threw her out, threatened her to never come back
again..."
"Did he know she was pregnant?" Harry's hands reached out to hold Marvolo's
face, to give him warmth to help him calm down, for the rose lips were pursed
into a straight pale line, that was a sign that the dark wizard was shaken with
rage inside.
"Of course he did," Voldemort bit out and dropped his head onto Harry's chest,
hiding his face in the folds of the other's shirt, and tightened his embrace,
trying to cover the trembling of his body. Harry stroked his head, barely
breathing, but there was no fear in him - there was only sorrow. Voldemort tore
the upper buttons off of his shirt and pressed his cold face against the
burning skin, unable to hold back a deep sigh, that escaped his lips at the
heat that enveloped him, easing his heart.
"I wanted to kill Riddle, Harry," he whispered against the young man's chest,
"I took Morfin's wand to set him up for the murder. I wanted kill my father,
wanted to do that more than anything else, for I blamed him for all the horrors
and abuse that I had to endure, for my mother's death, for my unhappiness and
loneliness... But I would have given him a chance. If he honestly promised to
atone himself, if he offered to become my family... I would have spared him.
But he didn't, Harry. His parents mocked me, insulted me and my mother, and
he... He was so scared, so pathetic in his fear for his bloody money... I was
blinded by rage and disgust, I killed them all in a matter of a minute. It was
the first time I personally killed a human being, the first time I used the
Killing Curse..." He went silent, listening in to the heartbeat of a wizard
that was holding him, frantically pressing him closer, as if trying to take all
of his pain and poison away.
Frightened, upset, Harry grabbed on the man's form, embracing him with as much
strength as he could master, willing his magic to cleanse Marvolo of his
crimes, of the blood of the innocents on his hands. He was so miserable in his
hatred, it was ruining him form the inside, for there was never anyone in his
life to hold him, to help him fight his pain, to help him cry and find his
catharsis - Harry desperately wished to become this person, to heal and
preserve what was left of the scarred, maimed soul. "You were so young, too
young for something so horrible," he murmured shakily, carding his fingers
through the soft chestnut locks, "It must have distorted you completely, broken
you."
Breathing slowly, deeply under the gentle touch of trembling fingers, the Dark
Lord closed his eyes, kissing the hot skin, rubbing his face against it. Harry
wasn't running away, wasn't calling him a freak, an abomination, not even a
monster - not anymore. How could one boy, barely an adult, have so much
compassion to feel sorry for him, have so much courage to stay with him and
accept his being and his sins? Harry. His lovely, wonderful Harry, his and his
alone. Mine.
"I didn't feel anything when the three of them lay dead at my feet," he said
quietly, nuzzling into the crook of the wizard's neck. "Perhaps, I was in
shock, perhaps, it was my magic - the curse is very powerful and must be
practiced before actually used... I exhausted myself, my body was too weak for
such a force. I was so sick I threw up. And then I ate their dinner during
which I disturbed them - it was so delicious, Harry, even at Hogwarts we were
never given that kind of food and they... They had it despite the crises,
despite the war and famine... I felt like I was eating my own tears and fears
then. Perhaps, I was really crying? I can't remember."
"My poor, poor Marvolo," Harry breathed out, crying for him. There was nothing
else he could do for a man he loved so much. In this very moment he realized
with an outmost certainty and clearness just how dear was the dark wizard to
him. Words of love, however, were not going to be a consolation for someone
like Marvolo, Harry knew. He wished it was different, wished he could just say
the three silly words and take all of the grief and sadness away, but it was a
childish dream, nothing more. "My poor Marvolo."
"I feel so much better after I have told you everything," Voldemort confessed,
lifting his head up and looking into the tearful emerald eyes, that shone
brightly even in the complete darkness of the night - Harry's light was coming
through, mesmerizing the Dark Lord, pulling him closer like a moth to the
flame, so alluring it was in its pureness and warmth. "Nobody has ever felt
sorry for me, never called me a poor thing," he smiled despite himself and
kissed Harry, who answered with a desperate readiness. Their deep kiss lasted
for so long, they both were reluctant to let go of each other, to part, to
stop.
"I don't want you to suffer anymore, I won't leave you, you won't be alone
anymore," Harry cried into Marvolo's mouth, kissing and kissing him, biting his
tongue and lips, sucking on them harshly, passionately, as if they were seeing
each other for the very last time.
Voldemort slowly pulled away, panting, and groaned against the trembling,
swollen red lips, "Swear it, Harry, swear you will never leave me as I once
swore to you."
"I swear." He kissed Marvolo again. "I swear."
Even though Harry never performed a vow, the Dark Lord felt a warm, soft glow
spread around them - the man's sincerity was undoubtful, his own magic sealed
his promise. Elated, overwhelmed with a sudden glee that nestled in his heart,
Voldemort smiled brilliantly, looking at his Prince, brushing the tears gently
off of his face, "You make me so happy, Harry. I doubt I have ever been happy
before."
Laughing at the lightness that these words brought him, Harry sighed, "That is
all I wish - to make you happy, Marvolo." He pulled the wizard closer and
rested his head on his shoulder, kissing Marvolo's neck, circling his arms
around it affectionately. "I also wish you wouldn't have to ever kill again."
"We will see about that," he offered as a compromise, smiling and covering
Harry's head with featherlight kisses. "We have plenty of time ahead of us."
xxx
"Tell me more," Harry murmured after they coiled around each other comfortably
under the warm covers, having shed their clothes. "What happened to Morfin?
Your grandfather?"
"Marvolo was in prison at that time and never left before his death a few years
later. I never met him. I came back to the shack after I cleaned after myself
at Riddle Manor, gave Morfin his wand, for which he had little use anyway. He
wasn't a complete squib, of course, but not as powerful as a common wizard,
though, theoretically capable of performing a Killing Curse. He was arrested
the next day and then the Aurors took him into Azkaban, where he died five or
six years later," Voldemort said, keeping his eyes closed, listening in to
Harry's breathing. "He was a perfect cover, since he couldn't speak english and
couldn't tell anyone it was me who took his wand. Nobody doubted his guilt, for
he was a known criminal and a thief."
Harry considered him for a moment, putting all the events into order in his
mind. "And what about Voldemort?" he asked. "Your younger self showed me the
anagram, so have you made him up then?"
"Yes," the Dark Lord cracked one of his eyes open to look at his Prince
mischievously, "I have created the anagram in my third year and in my fifth I
was already using it as a pseudonym for the little club of mine. By that time
many of the slytherins realized that I was no ordinary "muggleborn" and that I
wasn't just a teacher's pet. They've grown to respect me and even fear, for I
was never shy to curse and hex, to trick and deceive and I never ever got
caught."
"Not even by Dumbledore?" Harry scoffed playfully.
"Oh, the old coot was practically obsessed with me, he kept following me around
and asking everyone about my hobbies, the way I spent my free time," Voldemort
sneered, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "He was a pain in the arse, as you
could call it, but even he could never find enough evidence to nail me down. He
had put the two and two together: my parseltongue ability and the circumstances
of Mirtle's death, but he had no proof that there was a basilisk in the castle,
since the Chamber of Secrets remained to be a legend and nothing more. I was
the only one who could open it and he knew I was never going to do it for him."
"But why was he so suspicious of you, only because of your heritage? And if he
was, why hadn't he taken you under his wing, why hadn't he tried to help you?"
Harry frowned, confused by Dumbledore's lack of action. "He wasn't a
headmaster, he could have even adopted you himself or found you a good family."
"Your naiveté and innocence is truly miraculous, my dear," the Dark Lord smiled
in satisfaction and mirth. "He had decided for himself that I was a criminal
and he had this gryffindorish prejudice about me, that if I was Salazar's heir
then I would follow in his footsteps and become the darkest and most dangerous
warlock in the world... " He laughed loudly at that, "I did but it wasn't a
reason enough to never allow me a chance to prove myself worthy and decent. "I
am watching you, Tom" he used to say every time we met in the corridors during
our nightwatch." Chuckling, he snaked his hand over the nape of Harry's neck
where the skin was the warmest. "As for adoption... I would have never agreed
to come to live with him, I was never suicidal. I have told Slughorn and
headmaster Dippet several times that I was abused at the orphanage and couldn't
go back there for summers again and again... But they both were weak, pathetic
men, they listened to whatever Dumbledore whispered into their ears and all I
got every spring before leaving was: Tom, it is very unfitting for a young
gentleman to lie to gain our attention. Do not exaggerate, Professor Dumbledore
here checks on your establishment every August and your caretakers never
complain," he mimicked an old man with a high, unpleasant voice, grimacing in
disgust.
"Fucking unfair," Harry growled lowly, "He told me just the same and nobody has
ever once checked on me."
"That is why I despise him and his fans so much - he is just as hypocritical as
I am, but he is the Light Lord, the kind Merlin look alike with his bloody
lemon drops in his sleeves and undergarments," Voldemort huffed, "While I am a
quintessence of everything evil and filthy in the world. He is not a saint
everyone paints him to be."
"Do you envy the admiration that people feel towards him?" Harry raised his
eyebrows, looking at the dark wizard curiously.
He pondered over the question and a slight crease formed on his brow. "No, it
is not the admiration that I crave but justice, honesty. I know it must sound
ridiculous coming from me of all people, but I am simply tired of living like
this. I want everyone to know the truth, to improve themselves and their lives.
I want this world to be a better place and live with a notion that it was I who
helped change it for the better." He glanced at the raven haired man by his
side and smiled involuntarily at the pleasant surprise written on the young,
beautiful face. "I used to desire other's admiration and submission, mistaking
it for sincere affection and understanding. I was very wrong - nobody has ever
wanted me for myself, nobody has ever needed me, the half-blood orphan with a
hole in his pocket. Everybody cringed before and sucked up to Voldemort - the
mysterious, the rich, the brilliant pureblood warlock that promised them power
and influence..." he trailed off with an evident disappointment in his voice
and sighed, when a warm palm cupped his cheek and caressed it gently. "Now I do
not really need anything from anyone, Harry, because I have you. You admire me
for who I am, I know and appreciate that. You are the only person whose opinion
and affection, whose company I crave." He took his Prince's hand and pressed it
against his lips, smiling softly at the sight of the dark blush on the other's
cheeks.
"What did you do after you graduated Hogwarts?" Harry whispered, not trusting
his own voice, for Marvolo had once again made him cry - happily this time.
The words that the dark wizard spoke to him touched the strings in the very
depth of his soul, making it sing, making his heart flutter and palpitate so
pleasantly. How could he not love him when he was so gentle, so genuine in his
affection and appreciation? Perhaps, the young Tom Riddle did need to grow up,
see the world and lose his humanity in order to become a man he always dreamed
to be? Harry doubted he and Tom could have found a common ground or mutual
comfort in each others arms, but Marvolo was a completely different person.
Mature, experienced, scarred, lonely - he was everything Harry ever wanted in
an imaginary person he used to dream of sometimes, when he dared to think that
maybe one day he would be able to be with somebody, to have a family of his
own.
"I was the best student of the year, had the highest marks that the school
hasn't seen in many years. All the teachers were quite certain I would join
them sooner or later, since it wasn't a secret how much interested in science I
was, how much I could do for the future of different fields of magic,"
Voldemort told him, still holding his hand next to his lips, tickling its skin
with his hot breath. "Since I was already eighteen and living on my own at the
Diagon Alley, I went straight to the headmaster and asked for the DADA position
- I knew the old professor that taught us was going to resign soon. At first
Dippet was rather enthusiastic about hiring me, however, Dumbledore, who has
always stuck his long nose into my business, convinced him I was too young and
inexperienced to work with children and suggested I try different jobs and
places to mature a little. I was enraged then, though, now I have to admit he
had a point, even if it wasn't actually meant for me," he chuckled bitterly. "I
did need to grow up a little, to see what else was out there beyond the safety
of Hogwarts' stone walls. I ended up working at Knockturn Alley, at Borgin &
Burkes shop, where I used to buy some of the darkest literature. I have already
had followers at that time, have already had a plan of what I wanted to change
in wizarding Britain, but the war was still going on, in both worlds, people
were too scared to even think of some kind of a revolution, so I had to put
everything off. It was then I decided I could try to make another horcrux. It
was a scientific curiosity, yet another height I was going to take."
"But how have you come up with the number of seven?" Harry frowned slightly,
disturbed with the notion that Marvolo had fractured his soul so cruelly to
gratify his scientific interest.
"Ah, Slughorn helped me," he offered the young man a cunning smirk. "Before I
made my first horcrux, I asked him about the theory behind it, since he was a
dark wizard himself and, though rather weak and useless, had a vast knowledge
of prohibited or undeveloped spells. Poor Slughorn has always been the easiest
to charm and trick, he readily shared the little information he knew. If you
took Arithmacy as an additional subject, you would have learned about the
meaning and magical significance of numbers. The most powerful numbers are 3
and 7, but if the former is usually used for spells, as in incantation, wand
movement, intent behind the spell, the latter is used in more intricate areas,
like potions and rituals. Creation of a horcrux is a ritual and I have
concluded that the number 7 was going to be the most beneficial. Seven
horcruxes would have made me invincible and immortal. That was how I used to
think," he pointed out at Harry's glare, "And that was what Slughorn agreed
with, however, he warned me that nobody had ever made a horcrux and so it was
pure theory with consequences unknown. It is always dangerous to experiment
with the area nobody had dared to study before, even more so, when there is
nobody to try it on but your own self. I didn't feel any effects after I
created the first one, though now I can see how had it actually affected my
personality - I became impatient and impulsive."
Wriggling his eyebrows sarcastically at that, Harry nudged him, "Did you feel
anything after you have created the second one?"
"I... don't remember," Voldemort admitted, looking a little confused and
feeling the same, for he truly couldn't remember. "With every new horcrux my
recoveries took longer and harder on my body and mind, memory. I used to be
emotionless because I couldn't remember what it was like to feel... While
working at Borgin & Burkes I have met all sorts of wizards and have seen
hundreds of perfect magical objects that could work well as vessels, for I have
come to a conclusion that as the insurance of my immortality the horcruxes must
be hidden in the plain sight. But I was vain," he allowed himself to smile
nostalgically, "I thought that such an achievement deserved only the most
powerful, most prized objects of all... That was how I met Hepzibah Smith. She
was an old, ugly, obese witch, so rich it was painful to look at her - only her
fat could rival in its dazzle with her jewelry. She was very much like that pig
that was your uncle. But she was also our best client and I had to personally
visit her and set value for the relics she wished to sell. The war was over and
many wizards, even wealthy ones, found they needed money to restore their
fortune. During one of my visits she showed me her most treasured possessions -
the Hogwarts Founders' personal items. Helga Hufflepuff's Cup and... Salazar
Slytherin's locket I have seen on his portrait."
Harry involuntarily clutched on the locket, hanging around his neck. "It was
the second one..."
"Yes, Harry, this used to be my second horcrux," he smiled, taking the small
but elegant medallion into his fingers and stroking it longingly, "And the only
thing I have left of my mother."
Widening his eyes in astonishment, Harry tried to take it off, "Why would
you... I can't... I can't have it! Take it, you must be wearing it!"
"No," Voldemort shook his head and pulled the other's hands away from it,
squeezing them softly between his own cold ones. "I want you to have it, I want
you to always wear it, it will keep you safe. I am not superstitious, but I
believe it belongs with you. You will pass it on to Domhnall when he grows up.
It is my family heirloom, Harry, my mother inherited it from her ancestors,
from Salazar himself, it is the only thing that is left of his magnificence and
fortune."
"But how do you know it was hers? There are no names or markings on it,
pointing that that out," Harry stared into the blood red eyes, asking himself
if this was a dream. Could Marvolo really give him something so priceless, so
precious, as his mother's locket? There was nothing he could give him in
return.
"I asked Burke about it, how much should we ask for Slytherin's locket, and he
laughed, rubbing his hands greedily," Voldemort twisted his lips in disgust and
tightened his hold on Harry's hands. "Pleased, he told me a story how he had
obtained it the first time, before Hepzibah bought it. He told me that one
night in the late December a pregnant witch came to him, she looked very sick,
hungry, her clothes were old and torn... She said that she had no money and
this locket was her only valuable possession, that she would have never sold it
if it wasn't for the baby that was due to come very soon..." He took a deep
breath, suppressing his anger, "Instead of helping her, that bastard gave her
twenty galleons and sent her away. Twenty bloody galleons for the priceless
locket! It costs a fortune! I asked him to describe that woman and got a
description of Morfin's sister. I had no doubts it was my mother then."
"Have you bought it from that witch? Have you given her twenty galleons as
well?" Harry stroked the cold hands, that trembled slightly in hidden rage.
"No," the Dark Lord bit out, "I stole it and Hufflepuff's Cup as well. I knew
then that I could not work with Burke anymore, not after what he had told me. I
killed Hepzibah, poisoned her, for she disgusted me. She was such a
hypocritical bitch. Can you imagine... She wanted to buy me," he laughed coldly
and the sound made Harry shiver. "She noticed how much the locket was affecting
me and would show it to me every time I came for "a cup of tea" and then she
would hide it and tell me about how lonely she is in her love for jewelry, that
nobody understands her passion, nobody but me, that my youth could become a gem
of her collection..." Shaking his head and laughing cruelly, he hid his face in
Harry's warm, welcoming hands. "She offered it in exchange for my body, my
freedom, she wanted to make me her personal sex toy. It wasn't the question if
the locket deserved such sacrifice, the question was if I would dare to fall so
low and insult my blood, my heritage, my great ancestor, my magic by such an
atrocious act? I couldn't, Harry, I couldn't. She was so disgusting and I was
still bound by my fear and repulsion towards anything sexual then," Voldemort
looked up at his Prince, suddenly anxious, afraid to be judged. But the green
eyes watched him kindly, pitifully, lovingly, and the hands never once
quivewered, holding his face carefully. "I resigned my position at the shop,
came to her for her usual tea, used Imperio on her house-elf and made it add
poison into her cup. I asked to take a look at the locket and the Cup, lied
that I came to bargain from Burkes' name... She fell dead to my feet, I took my
future horcux' vessels and left, living no trace."
"You couldn't let her live?" Harry sighed rather than asked, pulling Marvolo
closer, tucking his head under his chin and kissing the chestnut hair. He felt
so sad, devastated, but there was no fear inside. It wasn't as if he had
accepted Marvolo being a murderer, but there formed a place in him, where
resignation and understanding lay. Harry may have been terrified of what the
man had done, but he knew where was he coming from. What a twisted way of
forgiving him for unforgivable crimes.
"I would have gladly killed her now again," Voldemort growled into Harry's
chest, circling his arms around it possessively. "Do I repulse you?" he
suddenly asked, insecure. How weak and vulnerable Harry made him feel in his
warm, forgiving embrace.
"No," he sighed, "I pity you, though. Your crimes made you miserable, made you
ignorant of the difference between justice and vengance. You maimed your soul
so much, Marvolo, you ruined yourself and hurt yourself worse than anybody
else. I wish I could fix the damage that turned your heart so cold."
Voldemort pondered over Harry's words, marveled their simple wisdom. He could
never recognize his own disadvantages, his own wrongs, while his Prince read
him like an open book it seemed. "I think I hated myself even more than the
world, but I mistook this self-hatred for a righteous wrath," he breathed out,
astonished by the unexpected realization.
"That is why I would never be repulsed by you, would never hate you," Harry
moved to kiss him on the lips as tenderly as he could. "You are your own enemy,
Marvolo. Let me help you find your peace, let me become your solace."
Grateful, overwhelmed with the knowledge that he was welcome, accepted,
cherished and wanted, Voldemort squeezed the young man in a passionate embrace
and deepened their kiss, hurrying to take all of Harry's air, to unite their
beings into one. "Oh, Harry," he murmured, when they parted to breathe, "You
are my world."
Blushing and smiling idiotically at the romantic confession, that sounded so
odd and yet so lovely out of Marvolo's mouth, Harry closed his eyes and mumbled
weakly, "Let's get some sleep. You owe me sixty years of stories of your life
and I want to rest well before listening to them."
Laughing, Voldemort nodded and kissed him again. "You will soon get tired of
listening to the old man's tales, my dear."
"You're not old," Harry grinned, shifting to lie more comfortably under the
other's weight, "You're just nasty but I like you that way."
"Oh, maybe you also like me that way..." He wanted to offer a quick sex for a
good night's sleep, but his innuendo was interrupted by the loud calls from the
nursery. Domhnall was once again displeased with something.
Harry sighed and looked up into the ruby eyes, "Let's take him to bed,
otherwise none of us will rest tonight." At his words Voldemort disappeared and
a second later came back with a soft cracking sound, carrying their little son
in his arms, who was smiling very cunningly and happily.
"You spoil him awfully," the Dark Lord grumbled, but cradled Domhnall next to
his chest and kissed him on the cheeks, all but purring at the affectionately
bubbling boy.
"I wonder who spoils him worse," Harry muttered mellowly and scooted to lie on
the child's other side. Marvolo's hand instantly snaked around his waist and
soon the ruby eyed wizard fell asleep, snoring along with Domhnall, who leaned
so sweetly to his father's chest, it made Harry sob softly in adoration.
He watched the dark wizard's face and thought about everything he had been
told. How great, terrifyingly great was Marvolo's life, how devastating and
miserable. He could only ache for him, cry for him and hope that future would
bring a change for the better. Sadly Harry wondered how come he had lost any
kind of fear in the face of Voldemort, how had he come to trust him so much, to
hold him and listen to his horrible confessions without a second thought that
he might fall a victim one day as well? No, Marvolo would never hurt him.
Somehow this knowledge was absolute to Harry, he didn't doubt it. But he was
still wary and uncertain of declaring his love to the Dark Lord - even though
the man was slowly becoming human again he was incomplete, didn't understand
many of the most complex emotions, didn't appreciate them and it galled Harry,
made him scared of being rejected or, worse, ignored. Marvolo could very well
enjoy their life together, their family union, but it didn't mean that he could
or wanted to love another. In all honesty Harry was afraid to hear that Marvolo
didn't love him back, or didn't care for his love - it was easier to keep it a
secret and not dwell on senseless dreams, than be hurt so painfully.
xxx
He was running through the thick forest, so dark he barely avoided trees that
suddenly appeared in his way. He didn't know why was he running, what kind of
fear was compelling him to move so fast, was making his heart beat so
maddeningly against his ribcage. It was cold, so cold around him, the steam
that came out of his mouth froze in the air and turned into snow, prickling on
his face. He heard a low howl somewhere far away and jerked to run even faster.
Where was this place? Was it the Forbidden Forest? Harry stumbled and fell on
his knees, coughing in pain in his lungs at the sharp intake of the air, it
felt like his feet were burning and were going to turn into ash the next
second. Staring around wildly, he crept backwards to press his back against the
nearest tree and searched for his wand, that got lost in the layers of his
robe. He thought he saw a strange gleam out of the corner of his eye and turned
to squint into the darkness - was it a lake down there?
Shaking all over, he crawled towards the water on his fours, panting in fright,
unnerved by the brooding atmosphere of the place. The crescent moon's
reflection was the only source of light around him, however, when he looked up
he couldn't find it on the black blue sky, covered sparsely with tiny dots of
dimly shining stars. Confused, scared, Harry moved closer to the water to wash
the deep cuts and scratches on his trembling dirty hands and jerked when a
sudden shiver ran down his spine. He turned around, but nothing could be seen
in complete darkness around him. "Lumos," he breathed out almost inaudibly and
froze in terror when the faint light of his holly wand showed a hundred of
dementors floating in the air above him. He screamed, snapped out of his stupor
by the searing pain in his chest, when they suddenly rushed down at him.
"Expecto Patronum!" he cried, backing into the water, wheezing and grabbing on
his throat, that felt hurtfully sore. A huge silver panther erupted from the
tip of his wand and jumped at the screeching dementors, roaring fiercely.
He felt human flesh under his hand and turned sharply only to see Sirius'
corpse lying under water with his grey glassy eyes open wide. "Sirius!" Harry
choked on the word, frantically splashing the water around him, as he tried to
take the man out - he weighted a ton it seemed. The tears of frustration
covered Harry's face and he helplessly sank down on his knees, mourning his
godfather, of whom he had been thinking so rarely lately, for the sense of
guilt was too overwhelming for him to bear. "Forgive me," he sobbed loudly,
having had completely forgotten about the dementors that were still circling
him from afar. His patronus dissipated into the air and his wand's light died
out and Harry found himself in oppressing darkness once again.
"Lumos, lumos," he mumbled weekly, but his wand only glowed faintly, barely
illuminating the air around its tip. "No, no," he cried desperately, as the
clawed hands reached out for him and grabbed on his shoulders, and the
freezing, rotten breath brushed against his cheek. Deafened by his mother's
screams and blinded by the flashes of green he struggled with the pain that was
searing through his very soul, hysterically wishing it all to be a dream,
begging to wake up.
"Harry," the familiar deep voice called for him and he opened his eyes,
squinting at the bright light that fell on his face, reflected by the lake. The
soul sucking monsters jerked away from him, hissing at the tall man, who was
standing with a lighted up wand in his hand. "Harry, why are you hanging about
in that water, you will catch cold." Marvolo slowly walked towards him,
completely unimpressed by the number of the disgusting creatures flying around
him threateningly, though keeping distance from him.
Harry stared at his lover, shocked and excited to see him here, grateful to be
saved from the horrible death. However, when his eyes got used to the bright
light of the other's wand, he noticed there was somebody else standing between
them - a tall hooded figure in black, floating above the ground, very much like
dementor, very much like... The stranger turned and Harry gasped at the sight
of the blood red eyes gleaming ominously from underneath the hood - it was
Voldemort, the Voldemort that Harry had met in his first year at Hogwarts. He
could clearly see unicorn's silver blood dripping from the fiend's mouth. Harry
wanted to warn Marvolo, to call him, to make him stop, but his tongue has gone
numb and he watched helplessly, fearfully, as the dark wizard got closer and
closer to the monster with his every step.
"Do I have a halo above my head you are staring at me so wildly?" Marvolo
drawled amusedly and simply walked through the hooded figure of Voldemort, that
dissipated into the air as if it had never been here before. "Would you mind?"
Marvolo confidently strode into the black water and held out his hand for Harry
to take. He was smiling in his usual arrogant fashion and his eyes shone
brightly, watching Harry warmly and affectionately - his whole posture was
nothing like the monster that had been standing at the shore. It was Marvolo,
his dear Marvolo.
"Marvolo, I..." Harry croaked, grabbing on the offered hand with relief.
"Dementors..." he whispered shakily, staring around in terror, when the man
pulled him up easily, as if he was a feather.
"Oh, never mind them," Marvolo sighed and waved his hand in annoyance at the
creatures, who instantly shrunk away from him, screeching in fear he might
curse them. "So much drama for nothing," he shook his head and looked Harry
over, rising his eyebrows in wonder. "Would you mind telling me what are you
doing here?" He looked around curiously, twirling his wand in his long fingers.
"I... Sirius..." Harry groaned devastatingly and leaned against Marvolo,
seeking support, for his knees have suddenly given away. "He is dead. I
couldn't save him... He is dead because of me," he sobbed harshly, shaking in
cold and grief. A pair of long, strong arms enveloped him in a welcoming
embrace and dragged him gently away to the shore, while he was staring into the
blackness of the lake, trying to catch a glimpse of his godfather's corpse
again.
"I will never understand why do you blame yourself for something you haven't
done, something you haven't had control over," Marvolo muttered, pulling him to
stand straight and waved his wand, drying Harry's clothes with a spell.
"But he..." Harry threw his arms in the air helplessly, pointing at the lake,
trying to convey the horror of the situation. "He went after me to the
Ministry..."
"Did you ask him to come with you?" Marvolo sighed in exesperation, looking at
Harry as if he was a little child, who couldn't grasp a simple concept.
"No," he frowned at his oddly bare feet. Why had he come into the forest
barefoot?
"Did he die protecting you? Did one of my people kill him?" Marvolo asked
reasonably, squeezing his shoulders sympathetically.
"No. Aurors killed him after you took me away..." Harry looked up into the
blood red eyes that were bright as burning coals, standing out sharply against
the surrounding darkness.
"Harry, he came after you because he was worried for you, he wanted to make
sure you won't get hurt. What happened to him was the consequence of his own
decision. Nobody forced him into fighting, hadn't he been told to stay hidden?
He didn't listen, that was why he died. Not because of you." He pulled Harry
closer and stroked his head, looking him straight in the eye, speaking calmly
but seriously. "Do you really believe he wouldn't have gotten caught or killed
later? Do you really believe he would have obediently waited for you to be
found and returned safely back? I doubt that a man like Black wouldn't have
done something stupid to "help" you. Harry, you must accept his death and most
of all you must realize that you are not at fault here." Marvolo considered him
for a moment and then sighed heavily, tiredly, closing his eyes in resignation.
"Do you blame yourself for you mother's death?"
"What?" The question got him by surprise. Harry raised his eyebrows, staring at
the ark wizard in confusion and disturbance.
"You are a child of a prophecy, Harry, if it wasn't for you I would have never
killed her that night. If it wasn't for you she would have never died," Marvolo
told him in a grave voice, looking up at him expectantly.
"No," Harry shook his head in denial, suddenly hollow inside, "No, she... She
loved me too much, she would have never let me die, prophecy or not.... She...
She fought you anyway, she was in the Order..." Lost, he threw the man a
desperate glance, pleading him to say it was true.
"Exactly, Harry, exactly," Marvolo smiled sadly. "She loved you so much she was
ready to sacrifice herself for your sake. I or any other Death Eater could
haver killed her in one of the many fights she had participated as a member of
the Order. Prophecy or not, she was always in danger, because she thought she
was fighting for what was right, most importantly she was fighting for you. It
is not your fault that you are her son and that she loved you as a mother
should. It is the same with Black, Harry. It is not your fault he wanted to
protect you."
Harry covered his mouth, as a loud sob escaped his lips, and pressed into
Marvolo's frame, crying desprately, harshly. He was embraced and held so
lovingly, so kindly, just like he had aways dreamed he would be held by
somebody whom he loved and who loved him in return. Shaking, clutching on
other's clothes, he wept, wept like he hadn't had in many, many years. It felt
as if a great weight was slowly leaving his shoulders, as if chains around his
heart were being broken, he thought he had never felt so sad and so light at
the same time. It was a purifying kind of grief, the one that led him to his
catharsis. "Marvolo," he whispered gratefuly.
"Sh-sh," a cold finger was pressed against his lips. "I know. It is alright,
Harry. It is always hard to see the truth for yourself," Marvolo murmured,
rubbing on his back in soothing circles. "I will never leave you, I promised
you, remember? And I will never let anybody hurt you, especially yourself. I
will always be here for you, my dear, I will always chase your nightmares
away," he kissed Harry's cheek, caressing it gently with the knuckles of his
hand.
"I..." He wanted to say it, he wanted to tell him how much he loved him, but
the dark wizard smiled and shook his head, once again silencing him.
"It is time to wake up, my dear."
Harry opened his eyes and sat up sharply on the bed. It was early morning, the
first rays of the sun lay on the covers, painting them yellow. Catching his
breath in realization that it all was just a dream, he slowly turned his head
and looked at Marvolo, who lay next to him, watching him intently.
"I hope you have finally understood, Harry," Voldemort said softly. Harry had
been slowly but steadily opening up to him, leaving his mind unprotected more
often now. He knew there were still many unresolved issues between them and
planned to gradually help his Prince, by studying his consciousness and
entering his nightmares to get rid of the root of the problem.
"I have," Harry nodded, remembering what had happened. It wasn't just a bad
dream - Marvolo had penetrated his mind and memories, initiating him to endure
his fears again in order to banish them altogether. Thinking back on Sirius he
had to admit that it wasn't as painful now, as it used to be. Now that he truly
believed he wasn't the one to blame for his godfather's death, he didn't feel
ashamed and crushed by the notion. He felt upset thinking of the man, he missed
him, but his heart didn't bleed anymore. "Thank you," he murmured, looking at
the dark wizard with admiration. He could never imagine that Marvolo could feel
so deeply, could understand his heart so well...
"No point in torturing yourself for no reason," Voldemort shrugged and relaxed
back into the pillows. "We have two more hours of sleep before your next
"performance" and I would suggest to actually sleep this time and rest," he
grumbled, tossing and turning to find a more comfortable position.
"Yeah, I remember," Harry sighed and nestled cozily next to him. It was already
the end of March, the Easter holidays were coming soon and Marvolo expected a
bigger audience this time, since they chose to set up their conference at the
Central Market in the wizarding area of the docks of London.
"Are you ready?" The Dark Lord inquired in a patronizing tone.
They had spent the last week training, both he and Severus taught Harry simple
but efficient dark spells, though the progress was slow, since Harry was
stubbornly against learning anything of a maiming and harming kind, insisting
that he could get by with his knowledge of Defense. It took a great deal of
time and patience to convince him that he had to know exactly what he was
defending against and for that he had to master it as well.
"I think I am," he rolled his eyes carelessly. "Could you tell Severus to stop
torturing me with those nasty spells of his, that make my insides burn and my
skin itch like mad, it is so annoying. He simply takes pleasure in making me
suffer!" Harry huffed, giving the man a mischievous look.
"I am not going to ask after you, you lazy snot. You have to learn to endure
little discomfort, it isn't like we are making you grow used to surviving
Cruciatus," Voldemort muttered, feigning ire, though he knew very well that
Harry was simply baiting him. He glared pointedly at the young wizard and
closed his eyes, demonstrating that he was planning to get his so long desired
sleep. Domhnall had finally grown his first tooth and was now sleeping
peacefully at nights, giving his parents a chance to catch a break.
"You are truly evil," Harry sighed dramatically and grinned, when he noticed
that the corners of Marvolo's mouth have slightly quivered in a suppressed
smile. "How about spending this time doing something else but sleeping?" he
offered playfully, twirling a lock of chestnut hair in his fingers.
"I approve of the way you think." The rose lips stretched in an arrogant
lustful smile and Voldemort grabbed on Harry harshly, making him laugh in
surprise. "Two hours won't be enough, but you will be ready and absolutely
impeccable today in front of them."
"This is so much better than your bloody curses," Harry smiled contentedly,
"This is the best practice in the world." The beastly wild, hungry gleam of the
ruby eyes made him blush fiercely and he moaned indecently, when Marvolo
assaulted his mouth, growling possessively. You are the best in the world,
Marvolo.
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Chapter XII
"I can't fucking take it anymore!" Harry shouted as he fell back on the short
grass, that had just recently grown in the backyard. Panting harshly he lay
with his eyes closed in exhaustion and creased his brow at the unpleasant
burning in his left arm. Severus had once again hit him with that nasty spell
of his and Harry was too slow to shield himself against it properly.
"You were not paying attention again," the potions master sighed and stepped
closer to crouch next to his son's form and feel for the injury. The skin was
slightly burnt as was the sleeve of his shirt, but it wasn't dangerous. Shaking
his head skeptically, he pulled a small vial out of his pocket and corked it
open to apply some ointment onto Harry's arm. It had been almost a month since
he started training the boy dueling and curse fighting - Harry was progressing
very well, however, something on his mind kept distracting him and he kept
falling into the easiest of traps. "I see that you and the Dark Lord have found
peace after that unpleasant incident, that was a month ago... What keeps you so
busy and unfocused now, after the two of you have reconciled?"
He opened his eyes and looked up at the mint blue sky above him. The spring
came so suddenly to the Irish shore, so rapidly, it seemed only yesterday he
had been struggling with the many laces and buttons on Domhnall's tiny winter
clothes... April bloomed and brought warm breeze that slightly rocked the apple
and cherry trees in his garden and made the small bells, that Dobby and Easy
had tied to the branches, dingle softly. Their mild, lovely ringing turned his
head and he smiled, as he thought back on the ruby eyed man, who had left him
this morning with a promise to come back as early as he could.
"He sometimes enters my nightmares when I am too tired to hold my mind shields
up... He takes them away," his eyes locked with the black onyx ones, "The bad
dreams. He heals my scars. Tells me to not be afraid."
"How very... Humane and kind of him," Severus murmured, watching Harry
intently. "Has something happened?"
"No, it is just that I... I have realized recently that I cannot imagine my
life without him and Domhnall anymore. I look back and everything that happened
to me seems unreal, as if it happened to somebody else and I am a mere
spectator..." Harry drawled absentmindedly, relaxing more and more under his
father's gentle rubbing on his sore skin.
"People call it a habit, Harry," Severus sneered lightly, hiding the vial and
pulling on the boy's hands to help him stand up. "We easily get used to each
other, especially when we are tied by more than just an acquaintance, let alone
blood or sexual relationship." When Harry straightened himself, he pushed him
slightly forward, urging him to go inside the house. "We have exhausted
ourselves, let's have lunch before I leave for Hogwarts."
"Alright," Harry nodded in agreement and trudged towards the porch and up the
few steps. In the kitchen he obediently lowered himself on the chair and rested
his elbows on the table, propping his head on his palms, and watched Dobby
happily serve him and Severus bowls of soup, a plate of goat cheese and crunchy
loafs of bread.
"Take a short nap after you are finished," Severus muttered, assessing Harry's
tired, pale face. "Dobby will manage to look after Domhnall for a few hours.
You need rest."
"Alright," Harry nodded again and munched on the piece of cheese, staring at
his father's thin, narrow hands, that moved gracefully and slowly, picking
everything up and placing it back again. Mesmerized by the pattern of their
motion he sat silent for some time. Harry tried to analyze what was he actually
thinking about and found he couldn't. It felt as if his mind was completely
blank. "Dad?" he called quietly.
Severus looked up, sipping on his spoon, and raised his eyebrows questioningly.
It still affected him so strongly, this wretched word. He sometimes thought he
would never get used to it, that it would be constantly disturbing him, very
much like an injury or an unpleasant itch from a curse. Or like a very pleasant
pang in his heart. He would never get used to having a son for that matter - of
that he was absolutely certain.
"Have you ever been in love?"
Severus' spoon froze in the air on its way back into the bowl, as he caught his
breath. Tentatively he glanced at Harry, who was watching him openly,
sincerely, whose emerald eyes shone so brightly it was painful to look into
them for long.
"Oh no," he growled, "Such questions shouldn't be asked during meals...
Shouldn't be ever asked of me, to be honest." The potions master exhaled slowly
and lowered his spoon to lie on the side. Folding his hands together tightly he
cleared his throat and stared at Harry, like he used to look at the students
during the examinations in potions. "Are you trying to tell me you are in love
with the Dark Lord? Do you... Do you even understand what love is?"
Shrugging his shoulders, Harry blinked at him, "Yes and yes."
"And you are certain of it...?" Severus confirmed, failing at keeping his face
bored and unaffected. He knew he must have looked scared now.
"Have been for a long time. I just don't have anything to compare it to, but I
have no doubts of the true nature of the feelings I have towards him," Harry
sighed, pushing his long hair back and over his shoulder. "It is so odd to
admit it aloud, but I do love him." He laughed soundlessly to himself and
blushed slightly.
The confession made Severus frown worriedly, "After everything he has done to
you? Murdered your family, tried to kill you, killed your friend, deceived
you..."
"Yes, yes, and after he killed Vernon, after he healed me, after he made me
into a normal human being, taught me to not fear to be touched, after he saved
me so many times, after he gave me Domhnall and after he took away so much of a
burden that rests upon my soul..." Harry smiled wryly. "Every time I try to
think of all of the suffering he has brought upon me, of all the wrongs he had
ever made, I can't help but think back on how completely humane he actually is,
how generous and affectionate, how kind... I know why and how has he become the
monster that everybody sees in him, the monster I used to see and despise so
much. I see beyond its thick, rough skin now, I see him for who he truly is. A
man, bitter and broken, scarred by others, but a man nevertheless. And I love
this man, love him even though he hurts me sometimes, but he makes my happy,
makes me complete and that overcomes everything else."
Listening to his son's soft voice, watching his eyes grow warm and gentle,
loving at the thought of Voldemort, Severus could only shake his head sadly.
The price one had to pay for true love was too high and he couldn't help but
feel sorry for Harry. "Does this man love you back?"
"I don't know. I am too frightened to find out," Harry whispered, lowering his
gaze.
"You fear to be rejected," Severus sighed, knowing too well what was Harry
going through. The boy nodded silently, keeping his eyes trained on his plate.
Sighing again Severus rubbed on his face harshly and closed his eyes in
resentment. "I am not the person to be asked for an advice in the matters of
heart and feelings, Harry."
"There is nobody else I could turn to. Even if I wasn't forced into hiding,
there is practically nobody I could ask... What, Dumbledore? He doesn't have a
family as far as I know and I doubt he would give me a comprehensible advice
anyway. Mr and Mrs Weasley? I know their story, that they fell for each other
as soon as they turned fifteen and never parted after that, they were destined
for each other and all that rot... I am pretty sure they do not even realize
their own love fully. I... I am in a very odd, difficult relationship, as you
call it, it is not only sexual, never really was, you know... I can't talk to
him about it," Harry shook his head, twisting his fingers. "Every time I feel
like confessing to him I get frightened that should I say it aloud he would
laugh at me, or would simply ignore me. Or would tell me that for him it all is
just a game, an entertainment. He has never known love in his life before, and
I am afraid he is incapable of experiencing it." He suddenly chuckled, "Imagine
me asking about the Dark Lord's feelings somebody else? It is as insane as it
is ridiculous."
Watching Harry carefully Severus pondered over everything that had happened
during the last year. Pondered over his lord's behavior, his obsession with
Harry, his unexpectedly humane treatment of the boy... There was no telling,
really, if it was a game or if it wasn't. Voldemort was certainly obsessed,
addicted, there was no denying it. But obsession and addiction were not going
to necessarily transform into love, never really did. Besides, Severus doubted
that such love could be healthy and harmless for Harry.
"I wish I could tell you something, anything to dispel your fears, but,
unfortunately, the Dark Lord is just as unpredictable to me as he is to you.
All that I know is that he cares for you and Domhnall like he had never cared
for anybody else. If he is a human, as you say, then he might be just as
confused as you are. Perhaps, he simply doesn't understand that what he feels
is actual love?"
"I thought about it," he looked up at his father, offering him a small,
strained smile. "There are so many possibilities, it drives me nuts. I
rationally understand that I would never know unless I asked him, unless I told
him the truth and saw him reflect. But irrationally, in my heart, I am a
pathetic coward. The mere possibility to lose all this in just a blink of an
eye, in one harsh word... It terrifies me. I'd rather never declare my feelings
than..."
How much Harry resembled him, in everything, and especially in his heart's
torment... Severus stared at the young man helplessly, seeking the right words
to say and finding none. He had been in just the same situation with Lily, had
been scared to death to tell her how much he loved her out of fear she would
push him away and he would lose his only friend, the only person who never
cared for his blood, his wealth, his magic, even for his political views. And
he had ruined it all by being the very same coward and by letting her go,
letting her fall into the arms of another. His confession came too late and was
laughed at cruelly, unfairly.
"Perhaps, it is not the time yet?" he lifted his shoulders up and concentrated
on his soup again. "You would know when it is. There is also Domhnall, who, I
believe, would not let the two of you part... Eat, Harry, for Salazar's sake!"
"Alright, alright," Harry rolled his eyes and obediently stuffed a few spoons
of a barely warm, thick liquid into his mouth. "You would never tell me of you
and mom, would you?" he asked nonchalantly, looking at everything around him
but his father.
"No. There is nothing to tell," Severus replied just as simply and relaxed back
in his seat, accepting the cup of tea from Dobby.
"Well, at least tell me how the two of you managed to... Conceive me?" Harry
finally dared to meet the other's hard eyes. However, they weren't cold
anymore, there was no usual malevolence in their expression. Perhaps, the
grumpy potions master was finally warming up to him and was actually enjoying
being a father?
"Whatever for? I have no wish to return to those times, to those memories, they
bring nothing but disappointment and anger. You were conceived as naturally as
any other child on this earth... Well, except for Domhnall, I suppose," he
noted sardonically, smirking into his cup, and sipped on the tea intentionally
loudly.
Shaking his head, Harry let out a long, exasperated sigh, "Sometimes you are
absolutely insufferable, you know that, don't you? Even Ma-Voldemort told me
about everything, about his worst times, even though he didn't have to. And
here you are, my own father, refuse so childishly to give me one, simple
answer."
"It is not as simple as you think," Severus cut him off, placing his cup on the
table rather harshly, "It is very much complicated and humiliating."
Arching his eyebrows sarcastically Harry could only huff at that, "Are you
still paranoid about being laughed at? I never mocked your pain, your past, I
would certainly not mock you for something that has somehow hurt your pride and
dignity. I just... Well, I am your son after all, don't you think I deserve to
know at least that?"
"I was trying to protect you from another disappointment in your own mother,
but if you insist..." Severus drawled snidely and crossed his legs, crossed his
arms over his chest, trying to look as much unaffected as he could. "Lily and I
became true enemies at some point, to be honest, I can't remember when exactly.
Not very long after the war had actually begun in its full severity... I had
been just made a spy for the Order and it was the first time we saw each other
after graduating from Hogwarts. Lily openly confronted me, insulted, called me
a traitor and a filthy Death Eater, a scum of our world and everything else she
learned from Potter. I had already told Voldemort of the prophecy, but since
nobody knew who was pregnant at that time I had no idea it was going to be
Lily."
"Why did you become a spy then?" Harry asked, leaning forward, looking at him
curiously.
"Because the Dark Lord had gone insane by that time, his condition worsened at
the fast, uncontrollable pace, it wasn't a matter of years but of months then.
I couldn't stand that anymore, I saw where was all this going and I desperately
wished to survive and, preferably, get out of the mess, that he had made,
unharmed," Severus looked at him pointedly and cleared his throat to continue.
"The Order never trusted me completely, only Dumbledore did. Every meeting
turned into a duel between me and Potter or Black, and every time she would not
say a word but simply watch me being humiliated and openly hated... It was a
rainy night of November. I was at home, at Spinner's End - the house I have
inherited from my muggle father - drinking after another horrible torture that
I had to endure under the Dark Lord's wand. The last thing I wanted then was
company and sex, of all things. Lily came knocking on the door and before even
crossing the threshold told me she needed a potion from me. She, who was just
as talented as I am myself, needed a potion, ha!" He chuckled coldly and
bitterly and twisted his lips in disdain. "She needed a fertility potion, she
couldn't get pregnant from Potter. Neither of us thought about the meaning of
pregnancy at that time, I never connected it to the prophecy. She was adamant
that I helped her, which led to yet another fight, for I refused to brew a
potion. 'How do you know it is you, when it could be Potter who is incapable of
conceiving? Why do you always blame yourself?' I asked her. I was a little
drunk, I had a hard time controlling my tongue..."
Seeing that Severus trailed off, clearly burdened by his own memories, Harry
poured tea into his father's china and discreetly pushed it towards him, "Drink
this."
The potions master nodded and gulped down the whole cup not even registering
what was he doing.
"Lily realized that I was drunk then," he continued after a long pause, "She
saw an opportunity and she took it. Potions were never reliable in the matters
of fertility, simply because it is either given to you by the nature or not.
They rarely helped at all. I know now that she added something into my drink.
She said that since I was so useless I could have at least offered her whiskey
to warm up before leaving. I was completely ignorant of her game, I wished to
get rid of her as soon as it was possible, for my body ached as did my head. I
simply gave her the bottle and the glasses and turned my back to her... I
believe I was foolish enough to still trust her. She drugged my drink, she
always had potions on her, as any good brewer would. In a matter of half an
hour I lost all control. I simply... Told her that I loved her and that she
should have been mine. And she said I could have her now. She took off her
clothes, she kissed me, forced my hands onto her breasts..." Severus covered
his mouth with his hand, staring at Harry, who was watching him
sympathetically, with tears already welled up in his beautiful eyes. "I fucked
her, like I always wanted to," he bit out, after he had pulled himself
together. "She was disgusted with me, repulsed by my caresses and kisses, and
yet she let me do everything I had ever dreamed of... The last thing I remember
before I lost my consciousness - for the alcohol and the drugs had only
postponed the inevitable collapse of my exhausted organism - is Lily throwing
up in my bathroom and leaving without another word. Next time I met her was
almost a year later, with the newborn you in her arms. I never connected the
dots, probably because I hated her so much for what she had done to me... She
always hid you from me, always left the meetings as soon as I arrived and I
thought that was because of her hatred towards me as well..."
Sighing forlornly Harry stirred his cold tea, twirling his finger above the
cup, "So I am the child of hatred and a broken heart..." He sniffed, chuckling
softly, as a lonely tear trailed down his cheek.
"Haven't I told you this story would only disappoint you? You never listen, of
course," Severus sighed as well, scowling into his own cup. Surprisingly he
felt relieved, he could never imagine that telling this to somebody would free
him, would let him breathe deeper, better, would let him shake off yet another
burden off of his shoulders. He never expected that sharing with Harry, of all
people, would help him stop feeling his guilt and remorse.
"No, I am grateful you told me," Harry smiled, brushing the tear away and
looking up at the man warmly. "I am happy I am able to protect Domhnall from
suffering the way we - all the three of us - had, I am pleased to know that my
son was born differently, was created differently, that he is surrounded by
those who love him and would never ever hurt him... It is truly fortunate that
he would never repeat any of our sad, horrifying past."
"Yes, I believe it is time we break this vicious circle," Voldemort drawled,
walking in as if he had just arrived, hadn't been standing in the shadows and
listening in to their conversation. He had returned from the meeting right in
time to hear the potions master's story, that he too wished to know some day.
Both Severus and Harry jerked at the sound of his voice and stared at him in
surprise. "No need to stand up and greet me," he waved his hand dismissively at
them and sat down next to Harry. "It is a novice to see you not being cladded
in black, Severus. I never imagined there was any... colour in your wardrobe,"
he arched his eyebrows humourously, looking at the other's grey shirt.
"I do wear normal clothes, my lord," Severus bowed his head respectfully,
"Usually on weekends, out of school. Black is the colour for intimidating the
dunderheads I have to teach and for concealing the potion stains."
"Full of surprises, both of you," Voldemort smirked at the two raven haired men
before him and placed his hand on Harry's thigh. "How did you do today? I sense
your aura is rather wickened."
Before he managed to answer, Severus rose up and picked up his woolen robe,
"Harry needs rest, master, he is drained completely. I suspect that he doesn't
eat properly again, whatever is the reason for that, and he doesn't sleep much
either. If he carries on like that, he might very well collapse soon, and all
of our hard work and training would be for naught," he said coldly and glared
at the young wizard pointedly.
"I see. Well, I will have to force him into following your prescription,
Severus," Voldemort sighed, nodding his head at the man and watching Harry out
of the corner of his eye. This must have been that mysterious secret, that the
boy had been keeping for some time, something that had been disturbing him
greatly. Why else wouldn't he eat and sleep peacefully? But he hadn't managed
to get to it yet, however hard he tried, Harry kept it very well hidden.
After his father left, Harry turned to Marvolo and hit him lightly on the
shoulder, "Force me? Really?"
"Harry, dear, you have to eat and sleep properly, otherwise I swear I would use
Imperio curse on you," he purred and squeezed the boy's thigh gently.
"Fuck you," Harry flashed him a shit-eating grin and rose up to leave.
"How about now?" Voldemort perked up and grabbed on his arm to pull him into a
heated embrace. "You can always have your rest afterwards," he murmured
seductively, caressing the rose cheek of the flushed face. Harry was instantly
turned on by his innuendo and there was no trace of tears or sadness left in
his brilliant eyes. Voldemort hated it, absolutely hated to see his lovely
prince cry, his tears were like stones that injured his already maimed soul.
"This wasn't prescribed, however, your offer appeals to me," Harry laughed,
biting on his lower lip in trepidation and anticipation, lust and indescribable
warmth, that spread through his body. He knew what Marvolo was doing, and the
notion made him want to cry again - of joy and happiness this time. Marvolo was
trying to cheer him up, having had, no doubt, heard the story of Severus and
Lily... "How long have you been hiding there?" he asked suddenly, with a
sinking feeling in his gut. The man could have very well heard something
else...
"Long enough to agree with Severus - you didn't need to hear this story. The
less you know of your past, the better..." He pressed his lips against the scar
and smiled at the sound of Harry's sigh, that seemed to be of a relieved kind.
However, he chose to ignore it for the time being. "You know, I think today is
the day when you should get rid of everything that holds you back, when you
should shut the door into your past completely," Voldemort whispered,
apparating them both into the bedroom and slowly unbuttoning the other's shirt.
"What do you mean?" Harry looked up at him in mild confusion, leaning into the
touch and readily taking the man's clothes off, hypnotized by the long, crafty
fingers, that were cold as ice and sent pleasant shivers down his spine and
goosebumps all over his skin.
"There is still one matter we haven't solved yet. One fear we hadn't eliminated
from you mind." His hands slid down to the soft buttocks and he moaned into the
kiss that he had caught on the other's moist, plump lips.
Trembling in want Harry hastily pushed Marvolo's clothes away from his body and
circled his arms around him tightly, panting and whining into the hot mouth,
"Oh, please... Tell me..."
Voldemort pressed him even closer against himself and moved sharply to the side
to drop them both onto the bed and pin Harry down to the mattress, "You said I
will have to help you with this. And I intend to. Now." He rubbed their cocks
against each other, as he assaulted Harry's lips again and, when he heard the
boy growl impatiently and demandingly, shifted to roll him onto his side and
nestled behind him.
"No, wait!" Harry instantly tried to jerk away, as soon as he had realized what
was Marvolo going to do. "Wait, I..."
"Sh-sh, my dear, relax," Voldemort crooned, holding him tightly with one hand
and stroking his cock with the other. "Just lie next to me like that, I am not
going to hurt you," he hissed under his breath as he covered the tensed
shoulder in featherlight kisses, sucking and licking on the skin tenderly,
carefully.
Swallowing harshly and breathing deeply and unsteadily, Harry obediently froze,
lying rigidly on his side and staring at the curtains, that rocked slightly in
the wind from the opened window, as he kept telling himself that it was going
to be alright, that it was Marvolo behind him, that it was Marvolo's big penis
pressed against his buttocks, not the tiny ugly prick of his uncle, that it was
the cold hand of his lover that was touching him so nicely, not the meaty paw
of that fat bastard. No, no, no, it was the man he loved, the man who surely
wouldn't hurt him, wouldn't use him. His gut churned unpleasantly and he
twisted the sheets between his tightly balled fists, letting out shuddering
breaths of fear.
"Don't be frightened, Harry," he whispered into his ear, "I want to give you
only pleasure, pleasure and nothing else. I want you to scream in my arms, to
scream and beg for more. I want you to enjoy every second of it." He pulled on
the half hard penis again, teasing its head, and rubbed himself against the
man's backside. "I want you, Harry, I want you. My beautiful, beautiful
prince." He knew he had to say what Vernon would have never told Harry, he had
to say completely opposite, had to be as gentle and sweet as he could, to make
his lover see the difference, feel the difference. He carefully pushed him onto
his stomach and proceeded to kiss and bite on Harry's back, massaging it
soothingly, probing on the tight knots of tensed muscles underneath the warm
skin. "You are perfect, you are so magical, I feel I am going insane..."
Harry listened, crying into the pillow, with the back of his hand pressed
against his trembling lips. Marvolo's low, velvet voice resonated deep inside
his chest, and his heart fluttered pleasantly at every tender kiss that was
being placed on his body, at every appreciative touch he was being graced with.
This was so different and yet the very same thing that Marvolo did to him every
day... Only it had never led to what was definitely going to happen. He knew
this day would come, he knew the wizard wouldn't be able to wait any longer for
him to comply... "Marvolo," he whined pitifully, grateful and scared at the
same time.
Voldemort bit him playfully on one of the buttocks, squeezing and stroking them
passionately. "I want you, Harry, you have no idea how much I enjoy being
inside of you," he growled and sucked on the flesh, groaning lustfully. "Don't
you like it too?"
"I like it... very much," Harry stuttered out, flexing his muscles in rejection
and yet involuntarily pushing his hips slightly up to meet the greedy lips.
He smiled and laughed softly as he spread the cheeks apart and licked on the
tiny entrance. "My sweet, sweet prince," he purred into it and sucked on it
harshly, drawing a loud gasp out of Harry's mouth.
"Ah!" He squirmed, squeezing his eyes shut at the sensation of the long, wet
tongue forcing its way inside the ring of muscles, that constricted around it.
It felt so good, so maddening. Moaning into the pillow he struggled against the
man's strong hands and tried to move away from the mouth that was practically
eating him up. "Marvolo!" The images of his uncle tying him with his belt to
the bed's frame stood in front of his eyes, he shook violently, anticipating a
hard blow on his ribs or back, or his buttocks, anticipating a painful push
inside of him and a violent hammering, disgusting sound of flesh slapping
against flesh, horrible feeling of Vernon's huge stomach bumping against him...
But nothing ever came. All Harry felt was mindblowing, lecherous caress and all
he heard were lustful moans and sweet, sweet words of a deranged, enchanted
man.
Voldemort sucked on the man's balls and, stroking his penis, placed a pillow
underneath his lover's abdomen. "I want it, I want you, Harry. Trust me, you
will love it," he promised, spreading the buttocks apart once again and
nestling between Harry's legs, as close as he could. He heard the other catch
his breath and freeze in wait and, undoubtedly, fear. "I will never hurt you,
my darling, you know that. You love having me inside you, I know you do. We
fuck every day and you love it, you love it," he whispered and pressed the head
of his cock against the entrance, "Listen to my voice and think of me, Harry,
only of me..."
He obediently strained his mind to concentrate on the image of Marvolo coming
and begging him to come for him, when the thick, long cock that he learned to
love so much, slipped easily inside his anus, wet and sleek, well adjusted for
it, and instantly filled him just the way he enjoyed... "Oh, god," Harry
hissed, panting hard into the pillow, panicked and simultaneously aroused. The
strong, lean body pressed against his back, slightly pressing on him with its
weight, two cold arms circled his chest in a most comforting way and a face
pressed against the back of his head, burying the long nose into his hair.
"This is my favourite place, Harry, your body is my temple. Only when I am with
you I feel complete. Let me show you how good you make me feel," Voldemort
whispered, grinding slightly inside of him and rubbing his nose against the
nape of the long neck. "Let me give you the pleasure you deserve."
A thrust. Slow and gentle, barely perciptible. Another one. Harry moaned,
sobbing hysterically, and drew his head back and turned it as much as he could
to feel the other's lips on his cheek, the other's tongue collect his tears.
And another thrust. A cock rubbing against the constricted walls of his inside,
burning and stroking him so well. He honestly fought the terrible memories that
threatened to take over his consciousness and listened in to the lascivious
hisses that brushed against his skin.
Voldemort shifted to hold Harry between his thighs and to thrust his cock under
a sharper angle. "I know you love it, Harry, don't think of anything else but
how much you love to come because of me," he groaned and kissed him painfully
on the mouth, muffling his weak cries. He pushed harder and deeper inside,
holding the man tightly in his arms and intensified the pressure when the anus
convulsed to force him out. "No, no, no, relax, it is fine. You are with me,
Harry, I am here for you."
It was as painful as it was pleasant. What was Marvolo doing to him, how could
this feel so amazing, when all of his life it felt worse than Cruciatus? Harry
wailed into the man's kiss and pushed up to meet another thrust. "Please,
Marvolo," he begged he didn't know what for. All the thoughts of Vernon seemed
to dissipate, as his mind was clouded with the haze of desire and hunger. Was
it the other's magic or his own doing, he didn't know. His body was insatiable
when it came to the ruby eyed wizard, it seemed to have a sense of its own,
obeying the cold hands so dutifully, following their every touch and stroke.
His inside seemed to want the big cock that stretched it so harshly, it seemed
to welcome it and urge it deeper and deeper inside... Harry didn't notice when
had Marvolo changed the pace, all he knew was that he was screaming and coming.
"Yes, yes, you love it, you love it, I know you do, my darling, I love it too,"
Voldemort mumbled, slamming hastily inside the small arse, rolling his hips as
quickly as he could and panting loudly, breathless and on the verge of his
sanity. His skin slapped against Harry's, sweated, it slipped and his cock
squelched as it was pushed in and pulled out, wet and pulsing maddeningly. "Ah,
ah, Harry!" he cried in unison with the young man wriggling underneath him and
ejaculated, jerking in bouts of pleasure that washed over him in waves. "Oh,
Harry..." he breathed out into the thin shoulder, biting on it, as he pressed
inside the anus and moaned at the sensation of his semen filling his lover up.
Harry sobbed loudly, shaking in hysteria, and frantically clutched on the cold
hands, squeezing them tightly in his own. "Thank you, Marvolo, thank you," he
chanted into the pillow, exhaling as his penis shot out the last drop, "Thank
you, this is so good... So good..." He could feel Marvolo inside of him, could
feel his sperm against his stimulated, pulsing prostate and the sensation
soothed him, helped him calm down.
"Come here," Voldemort sighed contentedly, carefully pulling out and away from
the thin body, and rolled on his back and made Harry lie on top of him, "Hold
me and sleep with me. You need rest."
Harry didn't say anything, there was nothing for him to say really. All he
wanted was to listen to Marvolo's heart, beating loudly and quickly against his
ribcage, to his breath, to feel his arms and to feel his fingers play with his
hair... The fear had gone somewhere, had disappeared at some point and for the
life of him Harry would have never guessed when. And he didn't want to. Marvolo
did it again. He healed him. Made yet another scar dissipate and be no more.
Why had he even been afraid of this position after everything they had done in
bed? This was ridiculous. Frowning, Harry drew patterns on Marvolo's chest with
the tip of his finger and wondered if he would forever be dependent on his
lover, if he would always be the weak and pathetic idiot in a need of
reassurance and support...
"Harry, you are not weak, nor are you pathetic. Stop it," Voldemort muttered,
pulling on the raven long locks slightly. "You were hurt, deeply and painfully,
of course you were afraid. There is nothing weak about being scared to be hurt
again, believe me... You belong to me now, you are mine and it is my wish to
help you as long as you need me to."
"Doesn't it seem strange to you, that we mostly spend our time together in
bed?" Harry mumbled in reply, though smiled in delight at the wizard's words.
Barking out a hoarse laugh, he shook his head and kissed the young man's hand,
that he had taken into his cold one. "No, I would love to stay here forever.
Fucking you endlessly, eternally... What could be better?"
"You are a sexual maniac and you made me into one as well," Harry clicked his
tongue and covered the man's mouth with his palm, looking at him mischievously.
"I have a suggestion and whatever you say, I will assume you have agreed to it,
alright? I think we should take Domhnall out for a walk. Out, into the city, to
the sea, to show him something else beside the house and the garden. The
weather is fine and I think he would enjoy it immensely if we were to spend
some time together, like an ordinary family."
"You do realize how dangerous this is?" Voldemort growled against his hand,
"Neither you, nor Domhnall are ready to go out yet."
Batting his eyelashes and pouting innocently, he crooned at the other in a
small voice, "Oh, but Marvolo, we wouldn't be alone, we would be with you, you
will protect us from any kind of danger, won't you?"
"You are truly horrible at manipulating people, Harry," Voldemort sighed
skeptically and pushed the sweated palm away from his face. "I am against this
idea."
"Am I?" Harry chuckled and kissed Marvolo on the lips, "I used to think I was
actually very good at it," he whispered and sucked on the man's lower lip,
moaning intentionally lustfully, as he rubbed his knee against the big cock.
"Please, pleeaaaase, Marvoooloooo."
"Just sleep already, Harry, stop this," he muttered, as he rolled onto his side
and turned his back to the young wizard. "I said no."
Looking at the broad, thin back covered in countless moles, Harry heaved a
long, sad sigh and scooted closer to lie behind Marvolo and pressed against
him. "I know it is dangerous, I know that very well... I just can't stay a
prisoner here anymore, a prisoner in my own house. I want us do some ordinary
things that an ordinary family does even though we don't really fit this
category... We all need this," he mumbled quietly and snaked his arm around the
man's waist.
Voldemort didn't reply in favour of feigning sleep, but Harry's words made him
doubt again. Of course he was right that it wasn't safe to ever leave the
perimeter of the wards, especially with a child... However, Harry was also
right - they had to be a real family for Domhnall, if they truly wished him to
grow up a happy man, a healthy, unscarred, different from them... Had he ever
imagined he would be sacrificing his own comfort and protection for the
satisfaction of one little boy, who hardly understood anything yet, being the
brainless infant? Voldemort didn't think there were even any feelings that he
had for his son. His beautiful, beautiful little son... The more time he had
spent with him, the more he had watched Harry and Domhnall play together, the
more he realized he wished to be involved. Not only to hold the tiny boy and
sleep with him on the sofa, but to be able to speak to him in that relaxed,
natural fashion just like Harry always did. To kiss him and to make him laugh.
How soft and pathetic he had grown... Scowling, Voldemort growled lowly to
himself in displeasure and turned around to look at the green eyed man - he was
asleep.
"What do I do with the two of you, hmm? You have me wrapped around your
fingers," he whispered tiredly and shifted to press Harry against his chest and
circled his arms around the wizard's thin frame. "It feels as if I am being
constantly kept under the Imperio, only every time I indulge you I feel better
than I have ever had... This is the oddest magic there is." He placed a soft
kiss on the top of the raven haired head and sighed contentedly. "When this is
all over I promise we will have it the ordinary way. We would be just as
ordinary as you wish..."
xxx
Harry ducked another curse and surrounded himself with a huge glowing shield.
Shuddering under the strong, merciless blows it groaned into his ear and he
squeezed his eyes at the unpleasant sensation of his magic flaring and hurting
him on the inside. This was the price he had to pay for the powers he possessed
- he often wondered what was it like for Marvolo, how much did it hurt him when
he strained his every nerve and cell in the fight? Harry glanced to the side,
at the tall dark form of the said warlock who was surrounded by the red,
aggressive light - so fast was he sending his spells at the Aurors who had once
again surrounded them. Marvolo, even glamoured to look differently, didn't seem
all that burdened or tired, his face was alight with excitement of danger and
possibility of hurting others. The blood thirst which Harry wished to rid him
of so much was now more than ever evident in the dark brown eyes.
"Come with me."
Somebody, Dolohov perhaps, grabbed on Harry's arm and steered him in the
opposite direction, casting his own shield over them to reflect the sparkling
streams of light that kept coming at them from all around the place. There were
just too many people today. His performance went terribly wrong, for as soon as
he started the speech on the equality between the Light and the Dark, a
horrible fight began between the spectators from the audience and he got
involved against his own will. He doubted that the Aurors - who took their time
to arrive, which led to a few deaths of civilians - were aware of this
conference in advance, however, the Order members were here as always and the
anti-apparition ward once again prevented him and Marvolo from simply escaping
the mess that they hadn't even started.
"I shouldn't be running," Harry looked back helplessly, trying to make out his
lover's form in the midst of fighting wizards, "I should be there by his side."
"The Dark Lord's orders were very clear: to get you out of the harm's way and
deliver you into the muggles' world, where he would personally pick you up,"
the masked Death Eater muttered, pulling on him and dragging him faster away,
elbowing his way through the crowd of frightened wizards and witches, who were
cramping the docks. "Hold on tight, we are jumping into the river! I hope you
know how to swim!"
Harry managed to cry only "What?!" before he suddenly found himself breathless
under the heavy, icy cold mass of the water of Themes. The wizard waved his
hand indicating which way was he to swim and Harry dumbly followed, disoriented
and deafened by the sharp and unexpected fall. He quickly moved his arms and
legs, squeezing his wand as hard as he could and inwardly counted the seconds
he spent without air, though what for he had no idea. It reminded him of the
Triwizard Tournament and he warily looked around for the signs of merpeople,
despite knowing that they couldn't really live here, in such a polluted
environment.
Shivers ran down his legs, that were already going numb, and his stomach
churned when they finally crossed the anti-apparition ward. The Death Eater
shot a blasting curse at the grate that led into the sewerage system and Harry
watched the spell's long, sparkly threads float slowly and gracefully through
the water, coiling and swaying very much like a sea snake would. With a soft
thud the metal bars burst and the two wizards quickly swam into the hole.
Before Harry tardily realized that he was choking, he was harshly pulled up and
above the water.
Coughing and wheezing he crawled up the slippery, cold stones and onto the
platform, where his trembling limbs had finally given out and he dropped his
suddenly exhausted body onto the ground. "No time for a lie down, Potter," his
companion rasped through his own coughs, as he too barely stood on his fours
with a breathing bubble still around his neck.
"How long have we been underwater?" Harry asked out of nowhere, for he had
suddenly remembered that he stopped counting the seconds at 115.
"Six, seven minutes? The river's wide... What the Hell does it matter? Get up,
I must deliver you to the safe place!" the man growled and forced himself to
stand up.
Six minutes? No wonder he couldn't feel his legs - his magic helped him stay
breathless yet very much alive for so long! Astonished Harry awkwardly got up
and limped after the wizard, whose weak Lumos barely lit their surroundings.
Neither of them could apparate yet. "Where exactly are you taking me?" Harry
asked the back in front of him, that was hunched under the heavy weight of a
wet fighting outifit.
"You'll see." Was his answer.
The scheme seemed all too complicated and Harry scowled at the wizard, suddenly
suspicious. His gut was telling him something wasn't quite right. Marvolo never
really trusted his followers with handling Harry, they guarded him during his
performance in front of the audience, but they were never allowed to take him
anywhere. Dolohov always stood close to him, sometimes shielded him during the
fights, but never really hung around for long - it was only the Dark Lord
himself who stood by his side. Only Malfoys or Severus had the privilege to
physically interact with Harry...
"I am too tired, I need a break," he groaned loudly and pressed himself against
the dirty wall, frantically thinking of what he should do next, how should act
and, most importantly, how is he going to get back to Marvolo. As soon as the
man notices his absence - the Hell will break loose, for he would kill
everybody in the search for Harry. And said Harry didn't want that!
"There is no time, my lord will be livid if we won't get there on time!" The
supposed Death Eater barked over his shoulder as he stopped abruptly and raised
his wand higher to have a better view of the young wizard hidden in the
shadows.
"How would he know we made it there if he never saw me leaving?" he asked
nonchalantly, rubbing on his legs and moaning for pretense's sake. "He will
wait as much as necessary, believe me."
"You have him wrapped around your finger, don't you?" The snide question came
as a surprise, but Harry never showed it. For such a question was a concrete
evidence of the fraud that this man actually was. No Death Eater would have
dared to ask him that, not even Lucius Malfoy would, even though he could allow
himself to speak out of terms...
He offered the stranger a small, tired smile instead as he straightened up and
moved to continue his way forward, "No, I just know him much better than any of
you do." He emphasized the 'you', meaning the Order, but the wizard ignored him
and hastily walked further. Either he was too weak to use spells on Harry or
had orders to simply deliver him into Dumbledore's arms, Harry couldn't know
and didn't really care. He needed to get out of the dump tunnels and escape as
soon as possible to find Marvolo.
They walked for ten minutes more, getting higher and higher, climbing the
ladders and changing lavels. Soon Harry felt the light breeze of fresh air, if
it could be classified as fresh, since it came from the crowded streets of
London. He could hear the cars pass right above his head and the loud din of
two-storey busses taking their turns. They were very close to the ground, Harry
saw entrances into the short tunnels that led towards the manholes, however,
they never used any of those, and it led him to believe that he was being led
into a building or some underground construction.
"We're almost there, be quiet," the wizard murmured and turned left. Harry
followed closely, with a Stupefy on the tip of his tongue. There was not a
manhole but a steel hatch that led up and inside the cellar of a building just
as he has anticipated. They stepped out into the small, dusty room, cramped
with boxes and barrels, the air felt stuffy and sour to the nose, as if
something started to rot in here. "We're inside an abandoned church, you've got
to go up..." the man turned to Harry. He didn't have a chance to finish, the
spell hit him straight into the chest and his body fell onto the floor without
a sound.
Harry quietly tiptoed up the few stairs towards the door and opened it very
slowly, enough to peek into what seemed to be the aisle of a half ruined
church. There were old, broken benches somewhere in the middle behind the
columns, he could see a huge crucifixion on the wall further down and a few
wizards standing beside it, looking at it curiously. He instantly recognized
one of them as Tonks and closed the door, breathing deeply and trying to think
rationally. His chances to outrun and outspell them were very high, however, if
he was going to fight right now he wouldn't be able to apparate, for all of his
energy would be spent on curses and shields. Hiding here, though, wasn't an
option either, for they were clearly waiting for him to show up any second
now...
"Marvolo, Marvolo," he chanted, squeezing his eyes and reaching for the link in
his mind, lowering his Occlumency shields. He was so weak, his head began to
spin, but he stubbornly kept calling for the man, for his best chance to escape
depended on the diversion.
Voldemort's head shot up and he let the young recruit of the Order go when he
heard Harry's weak voice in his head. He looked around in confusion, but the
boy wasn't anywhere close, of course. There were only corpses and Death Eaters
pushing the Aurors away. "Where? Where had they taken him?" he roared at the
scared wizard again, grabbing on his throat and squeezing it with all of his
strength, mercilessly bursting into his unprotected mind once again... But
there was nothing, this idiot knew no such thing. The ruby eyes, that have lost
the glamour, scanned the faces of injured fighters who lay on the ground
moaning in pain, but none of them were of any use to Voldemort - all the
members of the Order escaped as soon as Harry disappeared.
"Harry, where are you?" Harry jerked as he suddenly heard the familiar
baritone, distant yet very clear to him.
"I don't know, somewhere on the other side of the river, some old, abandoned
church, very small in size. I am in the cellar, I can't apparate yet, the Order
is inside." That was all he could say, the next moment Harry threw up right
onto the slumped body of the wizard that had brought him here. Nauseating
feeling in his stomach made him twist his face in disgust, but he was grateful
he didn't lose his consciousness. How he hated this inconsistency of his magic,
how unreliable it was and how much strain it took on his health. He was never
going to recover completely at such pace.
Voldemort threw the now dead man onto the ground and walked straight through
the crowd, ignoring the curses and spells that flew over his head and inches
past his chest and back - he had no time for these games anymore. Halting for a
moment by the very edge of the docks he surveyed the other shore, looking for
any sign of a church but it wasn't visible from here. Harry said it was small,
there was no other option but to see it from above. Flying was going to weaken
him, but Voldemort stubbornly brushed away any doubts that his rational mind
offered him and in a whirl of black robes he disappeared and flashed through
the sky like a black lightning, scaring the clouds away.
Harry opened the door again and carefully walked out, keeping close to the
stone walls, holding his wand at ready. There were four of them standing by the
altar, it was impossible to say if there were more, but it didn't matter. He
saw Moody talk to Tonks and point at his watch. There was no sense in hiding
and stalling any further, the man's eye would spot him any moment now. "I am
here," Harry called out and stepped from behind the column and into the central
nave. Four wands were instantly drawn up and pointed at him, while his holly
one was hidden in his sleeve. "I believe I was tricked into your crafty trap,"
he raised his hands up in a submissive gesture and stopped by one of the
benches, reluctant to come any closer to them.
"Potter. Or should I say Snape? Or traitor? These are synonyms in my opinion,"
Moody barred his crooked teeth and stepped down to shorten the distance between
them. "So calm and composed... Where is your escort?"
"He left me here all alone, he ran away," Harry shrugged his shoulders, looking
innocent and perplexed. "Why should I be nervous, I know you would never harm
me, you are not criminals after all."
"And yet you prefer to stay on the opposite side of the barricades, eh?" The
maimed wizard limped closer and Harry took a tentative step back. "Why, we
would not harm you just as you said. Where are you going?"
"Nowhere, I just don't like it when I am being pointed with a stick in my
face."
"You are truly a son of your father, boy, your long tongue knows no boundaries,
does it," Moody narrowed his healthy eye and rolled his magical one around, but
found nothing suspicious. "Now, hand me your stick and we would all forget
about our hostility and will civilly travel to Hogwarts, where a mediwizard and
professor Dumbledore are waiting fro you."
"Why would I need a mediwizard?" Harry asked, trying to buy himself some time,
simultaneously taking another step back.
"To check you for potions and curses that affect your will, of course," Moody
growled, signing for his comrades to join him and they dutifully stepped behind
his back and spread around a little to capture Harry should he try to run.
"Nobody in his sane mind would side with a man who killed his mother."
Harry stumbled backwards and at the same time the ceiling fell through with a
deafening thunder and the wizards had to shield themselves from the stones and
beams that showered over them. A huge black shadow floated down and landed next
to Harry, embracing him into the tight cocoon of black mist.
"Marvolo," he grabbed on the familiar cold hand and looked up into the
distorted snake face of Lord Voldemort, whose stone hard ruby eyes instantly
assessed his form and his aura - upon finding no injuries the warlock turned
away and pointed his wand at their enemies, ignoring Harry altogether, simply
holding him pressed against his broad chest, that rose and fell very fast.
Harry thought the beating of his beloved heart would deafen him worse than the
explosion.
"Voldemort!" Moody roared and shot a spell as soon as he could see through the
wall of dust that stood between them.
And again the world turned green, red and blue to Harry's eyes, as the exchange
of curses began. Despite Marvolo's warning growl he strained his magic and drew
up a shield to let the man fight freely and save his own energy for their
escape, that they were going to make any time soon. Imperceptibly they kept
moving back, closer to the tall doors of the church, through which they were
supposed to run outside... And put muggles into the harm's way. Harry knew they
shouldn't be any concern of his, however, he didn't wish to have their blood on
his hands, for Marvolo was certainly not all that averse to kill them if he got
the chance. He only hoped that the Aurors would hesitate to fight out in the
open, aware of the innocent lives at stake...
Of course they couldn't fight in the broad daylight. As soon as Voldemort
stepped under the sun a hundred people turned their heads and witnessed the
black smoke moving fast past them and four strangely dressed people pointing
their wooden sticks at it. Somebody started shouting for help, many applauded
and cheered for the show to continue, and the Aurors had to hold back. "Hold on
tightly," Voldemort whispered and circled his both arms around Harry, who
embraced him back just as hard. The wind stormed past them and they both fell
onto the ground right in front of the back porch of the Red House.
"Are you alright?" Harry took the pale, glamoured face of a snake into his
hands, peering into the red eyes worriedly.
"Of course I am alright, Harry, I just used too much of my powers at once. No
need to panic because of an ungraceful landing," Voldemort grunted irritably,
but didn't push the wizard away. The touch was just too pleasant and gentle to
reject it so carelessly. "You'd better tell me how the Hell have they managed
to take you away? Were you counting crows or what?"
The grumpiness of his lover calmed Harry down and he smiled at Marvolo
sheepishly, blushing slightly in embarrassment, "I feel so stupid now, but back
then it was truly hard to realize that the man who took me away wasn't a Death
Eater."
"He was wearing the outfit and the mask?" Voldemort confirmed, slowly relaxing
and letting his glamour gradually disappear.
"And he used all the right words, like "my lord" and whatever it is that you've
trained them to say," Harry nodded. He sat up and pulled on Marvolo's robe to
help him up, smiling at the other's displeased expression. "I realized that
something is wrong when he told me to hurry up, for we needed to be there on
time, as if you were not going to wait for me... And then he said something
very disrespectful about you and it was then I knew he was a fraud."
"Oh, did he call me names?" Voldemort raised his eyebrows, smiling arrogantly
back at the raven haired man, whose happy grin was simply irresistible.
Shaking his head and laughing softly Harry pointed his index finger at Marvolo,
"No, he said I have you wrapped around this very finger."
"Can't disagree with him," he snorted and caught the wizard's hand into his,
brought it against his mouth and kissed the back of its palm. "You, my dear,
are my personal kind of Imperio," he kissed each and every knuckle, making
Harry chuckle and squirm in embarrassment and delight.
"It was a close call, but you were there to save me again," Harry murmured, as
he moved closer and pushed his other hand into Marvolo's thick, disheveled
hair, "Thank you."
"You thank me so much I might turn into a kind fairy godmother one day,"
Voldemort scoffed, but an honest, pleased smile stretched his lips and ruined
his acid remark. He pulled Harry into a heated embrace and kissed him deeply,
hungrily, feeling relief washing over him in waves with every breath that was
being taken from him. The moment he saw Harry gone from the docks was the
moment he thought he would have a heart attack, so frightened he became.
Marvolo kept squeezing him between his arms so hard, to the point when it
became painful, but Harry stoically bore with it, for he could feel all the
emotions that the man was expressing through their kiss and they both saddened
him and brought him joy. Marvolo cared for him, truly cared, was worried sick,
feared to lose him, was happy to have him back in his hold... Perhaps, he
didn't have to ask at all? Perhaps, this was love? And the actions of this man
indeed spoke louder than any words. "When will you teach me to fly like that?
That was a very impressive entrance, right through the roof," he laughed into
the other's mouth when they finally parted for air.
"Wasn't it? All this drama works as a perfect distraction, whatever they say,"
Voldemort drawled haughtily, staring into the emerald eyes that looked at him
strangely, held so much inside, he found it hard to read what exactly. Wisdom,
affection, gratitude, longing... But so much more apart from that. Even though
he thought he knew Harry, there were still so many riddles for him to solve
about the beautiful prince, who was capable of making his blood rush at a
maddening pace through his body with only a glance of these mesmerizing eyes,
with only a swish of the long black eyelashes... "You haven't recovered
completely yet, flying takes a lot of strength and energy."
Harry rolled his eyes and pouted his lips, feigning disappointment, and dropped
his head on Marvolo's shoulder. "Today was really bad, wasn't it?" he sighed
after a long pause that they spent in complete silence and harmony with each
other. "My speech, the fight... They started hurting each other instead of
trying to solve the problem..."
"Not at all," Voldemort murmured, coming out of the slumber that the warm wind
and Harry's breathing lulled him into. "I have told you before: people never
accept changes readily, harmlessly. All the revolutions and grand coup d'etats
were possible and reached their goal only because of the blood that had been
spilt. Why do you think the blood magic is the most powerful of all? The fact
that they are fighting each other now means that half of them have taken our
side, which in turn means that now we have equal chances for a legitimate win
at the election, should it be held. And I am working hard to make it happen."
He stroked Harry's hair and wrinkled his nose when he placed a kiss on top of
his head. "You could use a shower, you know. Themes is not a Black Lake, if you
were a muggle you would have died already after a swim in it..."
Laughing, Harry simply hummed in agreement, but didn't move, for sitting in
Marvolo's arms was much more comfortable, besides, he was so bloody tired.
"I know you depend on me in many things and I don't see anything wrong with it,
you are my responsibility and my lover after all, but... Harry, I am not going
to wash you, this is a different type of services I do not really provide."
"Your lover, eh?" Harry mumbled and sighed in satisfaction. "Why won't you join
me? You could use a shower as well. Or a bath..."
"I see." Voldemort looked into the beautiful, peaceful face and kissed the
closed eyes and the long nose and brushed his lips against the red mouth.
"Dirty manipulator," he gritted out and stood up, carrying Harry in his arms.
"A bath it is."
xxx
Easter holidays came unexpectedly even though it was all over the newspapers
weeks before the appointed dates. Yet Harry was surprised to see the small
crowd of people dressed up and marching out of the church to serve some kind of
a ritual. He didn't know anything about muggle religion, for Dursleys and the
muggle school never educated him in this area, and after he discovered that he
was a wizard he lost all of his interest completely. He stood by the window of
Domhnall's nursery, sipping on his morning tea, and watched the small
procession curiously. Their bright, rich clothes reminded him of how wizards
preferred to dress for balls and official gatherings...
Domhnall's blubbering made him turn his head and he smiled at the boy, who was
crawling towards him with a blinding grin plastered all over his face. He was
already big and heavy and had a few front teeth almost fully grown. He even
began pronouncing his first words, although they hardly sounded eloquent, still
his progress was astonishing. At least to Harry it was. Whenever he looked at
his son he couldn't believe that just in a few years he would turn into a
grown, powerful wizard. The transformation from the tiny sweet infant into a
complete and independent person seemed to Harry the greatest of the magical
miracles.
"Do you too want to look at what is going on outside?" he crooned and picked
Domhnall up, covering him in kisses and laughing in unison with him.
If his boy was a dark wizard, then certainly all the most pleasant and
beautiful things in the world were also dark, for it was impossible to stay
unaffected around him. Domhnall simply crushed on others like a tsunami wave
and drowned them in joy and grace, so positive his attitude was so happy he was
around others, meaning them all, his family and his friends - elves. Harry
wondered how would he affect strangers, muggles, or wizards who know nothing of
him except for the fact that he is one of them? Would he react just as kindly
to them, or would he be guarded and careful, sneaky like his older father?
"It would depend on how we raise him." He heard Marvolo reply quietly to his
thoughts and turned around to smile at him. Domhnall jerked and cried excitedly
in his arms at the sight of his parent.
"We? Are you too going to raise him a noble and a kindhearted prince from a
fairy tale, who rides a white horse and strives to help those who are in
trouble?" Harry laughed, brushing his hair back and coming closer to the man,
whom he was incapable to resist. It was simply unbearable to keep distance
between them when the other's arms brought him so much comfort and pleasure.
"Why, yes, of course," Voldemort said simply as he too took a step closer and
involuntarily reached out to touch the child. The more he got used to him the
more and more he found he wanted to constantly hold him and talk to him and
watch him even if the boy was simply sleeping. "We must raise him a wise and a
generous man, a new Merlin of the new era."
"What, would you take him out for a walk on an Easter day as well?" Harry tried
sarcastically.
"Why not?" Voldemort shrugged his shoulders carelessly, as he glanced at the
wizard, looking perfectly innocent.
"What, did you take a potion that makes you say all the right words?" Harry
huffed, narrowing his eyes at Marvolo's sudden submission.
Smiling, he cupped Harry's cheek and murmured into his face, "Yes, and I am
choking on it."
"Pff, I knew it, you are playing me again!" Harry rolled his eyes in
exasperation.
"Harry, Harry," Voldemort shook his head and took Domhnall out of his hands and
pressed him against his chest much to the boy's sparkling delight. "You are
always so fast to believe those who are kind to you... However, I would let you
have your blasted walk today. In my company of course."
"You would?!" Harry instantly perked up and all but glowed with happiness. "Oh,
Marvolo, thank you, thank you! It means so much to me!" He quickly pecked him
on the cheek and darted towards the chest of drawers to take out warm clothes
for their son.
He wanted to say that he tricked him again, that it all was a cruel joke, just
for the gist of it, but seeing how excited and pleased was Harry with him
Voldemort bit back on his initial words and drawled lazily instead, "Why, I am
a kind and a generous man after all."
Listening to Harry's laughter, he looked down at their boy and smiled in
response to his blinding toothless grin. The emerald green orbs were as bright
as precious gems and he watched, with an overwhelming satisfaction and pride,
the tiny sparkles swirl inside them. His son was going to become a truly
powerful warlock, was going to bear his and Harry's magics and use them for
doing the right thing. Never the one to be the romantic sappy idiot Voldemort
couldn't help but muse of the future that his... their child was going to live
in. The future that they would build together. Whatever compelled him he
couldn't know, but he kissed Domhnall once, twice, and again and again, feeling
lighter and lighter, chuckling to the sounds of the boy's happy giggles and
enjoying the small hands holding his face.
Harry watched the two discreetly out of the corner of his eye and smiled to
himself, feeling the pleasant lump clog his throat. Crying of happiness was
something he rarely had the luxury of doing but now that he saw how much
Marvolo loved their son he thought he was going to do it quite often.
Especially in the moments like this one, when the most feared man in their
world looked so helpless in the face of an overly affectionate and joyous
infant, when he looked so completely smitten with a tiny child and couldn't
stop covering him with the feather light kisses...
"I have to intrude on the little idyll of yours - since we are going out,
Domhnall needs to be dressed appropriately," Harry pointed out, imitating his
father's bored, sneering tone.
"Don't go all Severus on me, I have enough of it, thank you very much,"
Voldemort laughed and reluctantly tore the boy away from himself.
He watched with wondrous amusement how Harry dressed, or rather struggled with
Domhnall to put the clothes on, and more than once he marveled the
impressiveness of emotions that parenting gave to a person. He never thought
himself to be a man that could be influenced so much by something so mundane,
so... Silly. However, now that he saw how much time Harry spent with their son,
how much he gave him, Voldemort understood that it all came from the parents,
the ability to feel and to love, to regret and to sympathize - it came through
a loving and a caring touch and word, none of which he or Harry had had in
their lives. Yet he never developed them in himslef, while Harry seemed to have
survived only with their help... But he didn't lack those emotions, he felt
them now, they gradually grew inside of him, developed slowly along with
Domhnall and his and Harry's relationship. The two of them weren't really that
different, they were the same, he simply had a very back luck...
"This is so awkward," Harry smiled nervously, when Marvolo threw a long black
coat over his shoulders and arranged a warm green scarf around his neck, for
his arms were full of squirming and loudly blubbering Domhnall, who was very
excited to be outside in the sun.
"What is?" Voldemort asked absentmindedly, as he buttoned up his own coat, so
grey and plain and mugglish that it made him look ridiculously ordinary, as if
he was a man from the neighbourhood, who came out for his weekend's paper and a
pint of beer at the nearest pub - Harry couldn't stop smiling idiotically at
his appearance.
"Us. Going out. This is the first time we are actually going beyond the borders
and wards together, you know? It seems... Well, like a very odd kind of
date..." he trailed off shyly, blushing, and started walking abruptly, holding
the boy tightly in his arms and looking straight ahead of him.
"I never really looked at it from this angle," Voldemort murmured thoughtfully,
enjoying the sight of the red colour tinging the cheeks of the beautiful face,
that took on a much healthier hue now that the young wizard was outside in the
fresh air. "A date. How ridiculous. However, there is a first time for
everything."
"Yes," Harry stole a tentative glance at the tall man beside him and blushed
even harder. This was what he secretly wanted, wasn't it? To be able to freely
walk by Marvolo's side, to love him and see pride in his ruby eyes whenever the
man looked at their son. But now these eyes were dark brown again. At least he
didn't change his face.
They slowly walked down the streets past the neighbourhood and the industrial
area and turned to pass through the city. Domhnall could only turn his head to
the left and to the right and cry excitedly every time he saw something new or
bright and especially something that produced loud noises - Harry hurried to
catch up with his observations and tried to name everything for the boy to
learn.
"Harry, he is too young, he wouldn't remember any of it," Voldemort sighed. For
the life of him he couldn't get enough of the happy, absolutely thrilled Harry
that he was sensing and seeing now. He never imagined that some stupid emotions
could make the young Prince look even more beautiful than he already was.
"You never know. He is a very smart boy, you should have faith in him," Harry
smiled at Marvolo and waved Domhnall's hand at him chidingly, mirroring the
boy's funny grimace.
The sun shone brightly yet its hue was deeper today and everything around
seemed to be painted golden, especially Harry's eyes and skin, and hair, and
his smile.
Voldemort watched him helplessly and tried to rationally decipher if this all
was a delusion of sorts, for he felt oddly drunk and enchanted, as if he saw
his lover through a distorted prism. What kind of magic was this?
"Do you feel it?" he asked uncertainly, involuntarily and possessively grabbing
onto the wizard's shoulder when they found themselves amidst the crowd of
muggles, who were also enjoying the sunny weather and the celebrations outside.
"Something very strange is in the air."
Chuckling, Harry pressed against his side and bounced on his toes to murmur
into Marvolo's ear, "It is not magic, it is you being happy, that is all. You
are happy, Marvolo, like a human being, you are enjoying life at this very
moment." The perplexed and sincerely astonished look that he received in reply
was absolutely priceless and Harry could only laugh helplessly at the confused
warlock. He himself thought that he had never enjoyed life as much as he did
now. With his family. Finally.
Scowling at his own inability to distinguish one emotion from another Voldemort
draped his arm over Harry's shoulders, holding him closer and his other hand
found its way around Domhnall's smaller one, that kept jerking and grabbing on
his fingers. He sometimes caught interested or slightly judging looks thrown
their way, but couldn't care less - what was the opinion of some muggle next to
the magic that was certainly flaring and building up between the three of them
now? It drugged him and he wondered if it was possible to make it into a
formula and bottle it up in a form of a potion. There was a bottled luck after
all...
They didn't notice how very soon they reached the shore, and Voldemort found he
was once again mesmerized with the sight of his lover, whose hair swayed in the
wind, long raven locks touching his face and tickling on his skin almost
imperciptibly. Harry turned his face and put it out to the breeze, enjoying its
caress, squeezing his eyes and stretching his red lips in a lecherous, pleased
smile. All Voldemort could do was to stare at his lover and question himself if
it wasn't a dream and he indeed had this man by his side, indeed had this...
this happiness all to himself? The salty air disturbed his sense of smell - no
matter how many places on Earth had he visited never once had the scent of the
sea been so sharp, never once had he acknowledged it with such clarity. In
fact, he never felt so aware of his surroundings, of nature, of time... And for
the first time he felt that his life was truly normal, right, just like he had
once dreamed it would be, when he was a six year old, confined to a tiny space
of the dark, dusty attic, punished for his accidental magic yet again... The
taste of his own salty, childish tears - he thought he could feel them again in
his mouth.
He never realized that they have stopped. It was Harry's hand squeezing his
that made him snap out of his stupor. Voldemort looked up and saw the deep blue
sea. Everywhere he looked there was only the colour of their magic. The tiny
ships, very much like he and Harry, drifted the waves, so strong visibly and
yet so fragile and weak in their proud loneliness... He looked up at the young
wizard who stood next to him, leaning against the rails, with Domhnall
comfortably seated in his hold, and watched the sea as well. There was no smile
on his face, he seemed sad, but when Harry's eyes met his, Voldemort saw the
storm of emotions inside them, and the sea that was throwing heavy blows at the
rocks, it seemed to have taken this very hue of the deep emerald...
"I wish I could drown all of our pain in the sea," Harry murmured, entwining
their fingers together, "I wish its waves could cleanse our souls... I wish I
was the sea..." He smiled, somewhat embarrassed to say something so naive and
horribly romantic, but the cold hand squeezed his tighter in reply.
"I wish to be the rock amidst the sea, for only the sea can mould its form by
not breaking the rock but caressing it with its gentle waves." This was the
honest truth and he felt he didn't want to take his words back. "Only you can
touch me so deeply inside and keep me warm with your gentle caresses, that like
waves cover me completely and send me to the very bottom of the darkest, safest
place there is..." At Harry's lost, surprised and silently begging look
Voldemort smiled softly and placed a tender kiss on the man's mouth, simply
holding their lips pressed together... But he didn't move for a long time,
there was something purifying and gentle about it, about just standing
together, holding each other's hands and feeling each other so closely, feeling
each other's breaths brushing against their skin along with the careful wind
that all but cradled them in its embrace...
"Do you see what I see or am I bloody dreaming?" Ron nudged Hermione on the
elbow, shamelessly pointing his finger in the direction of the kissing pair.
"Well, the two lovers are kissing, what is wrong with that? Ronald Weasley,
when you will grow up, and I doubt it would happen any time soon, you will
learn that-"
"No, no," he interrupted her tirade, "It's Harry."
"What?" Hermione lost her bossing demeanor and blinked at the red haired boy
dumbly. They stood by the tourist's shop, looking for a detailed map of the
suburbs of Belfast - since they had no license for apparition they had to floo
to the nearest pub and make their way to Harry's house on foot.
"It's Harry being kissed by another man, see?" Ron waved his hand impatiently
at them, hurriedly stuffing what was left of his ice-cream into his mouth. "He
has a baby in his arms. I'm certain it's him!"
"This man... It must be the Death Eater that, you know..." Hermione felt
suddenly uncomfortable, intruding on the most intimate and romantic moment so
rudely. It was one thing to imagine it and to support her friend in this and it
was a completely different one to actually witness him and his lover being
together.
"Yeah, the one who made him pregnant!" Ron exclaimed anxiously. "I figured it
out too, you know!"
"Sh-sh, be quiet!" she slapped him on the back of his head and pulled him to
hide behind the newspaper stand. "What do we do now? Do we follow them to the
house or do we confront them here?" In all honesty she had no idea what to do.
She just never expected that mysterious wizard to be here. Harry's story led
her to believe that they weren't close, had barely known each other... But that
man surely couldn't be somebody else! Harry wouldn't have trusted a stranger to
get close to his son.
"Well, we won't get past the wards there and quite frankly I don't want to make
all this long way up through the city I barely know..." Ron whined, rubbing on
the sore spot. "Let's just take him by surprise. Maybe he would listen to us
now that he isn't there, but here out in the open?"
The tall man, the Death Eater, finally let go of Harry's lips and drew slightly
away. They could see his face clearly now. "He looks rather young, and very
handsome," Hermione observed, "Oh and look the baby, the boy looks just like
him! Their hair is the same."
"I can't see, it's wearing a hat," he squinted to see better against the bright
sunlight, "I mean how can you tell if it took after this man, it's just a baby.
Babies are all the same when they're tiny."
"Women can tell such things," she retorted. "Harry looks healthy, much better
than I ever remember him looking, to be honest. He looks... happy..."
Their lips parted and Harry reluctantly opened his eyes, feeling melted down
completely by the insane tenderness that Marvolo was capable of. He knew, oh he
knew there was so much more to him... The brown eyes peered into his
unwaveringly, as if hypnotized or, on the contrary, trying to hypnotize him, he
didn't know. Their soft glow and kind, affectionate expression sent sharp, very
pleasant pangs into his heart and his chest burned with the fire that he knew
could never be extinguished. Marvolo carefully took Domhnall from him and into
his arms and pressed his long nose against the boy's tiny one, smiling at him
melancholically, happily. Words were unnecessary and Harry simply stood behind
his lover, embracing him, with his arms circled around his waist and his face
pressed against his back, while Marvolo held their son and watched him gurgle
sweetly, trying to imprint every last detail of it and this whole day in his
memory.
Something unique has happened, Voldemort knew, he simply had no name for it
yet, but he knew that something changed. Or, perhaps, it had always been there
and he simply learned to feel it only now? He turned the boy around to watch
the sea and hissed into his ear in parseltongue, "Watch, this is your legacy,
my child." He held out his hand to the sea as an offering and began whispering
lowly the words that couldn't be deciphered, only the wind knew their meaning
and it took them away with it, hiding from everybody else. The waves grew
higher and the clouds slowly crawled towards them, swirling in the sky,
circling each other and transforming into vague, unclear shapes. The colour of
the water changed, it darkened and the greenish hue dissipated into the black
bringing the crimson out to the surface. Domhnall sat silent, mesmerized by the
display, completely blown away by the magic that surrounded him, as was Harry,
who kept pressing against Voldemort in fear he would fall under the sheer power
of it.
"Do they teach all Death Eaters to do that?" Ron mumbled nervously, as he
watched the horrifying and simultaneously impressive show.
"I highly doubt that..." Hermione breathed out. Her gaze tore away from the
scene and slowly searched the mysterious wizard's face. "Ron! Ron, look at his
eyes! He is not a Death Eater!" she barely held back from shouting, so scared
she suddenly felt. It was the one and only Dark Lord, whose name could not be
named - there was no other wizard with such enormous powers and such
terrifyingly red eyes, red as blood.
"Damn me... But why is Harry pawing him? I mean... He is V-V-You-Know-Who!
Wait, but does this mean he is the one who, who, who..." Rom stammered
hysterically, completely lost at this point.
"The child is his carbon copy, I am certain he is the father. This is insane...
Does Harry know? Of course he must know!" Hermione couldn't stand still and
finally left their shelter. "We must go and tell Dumbledore all about this! No
use talking to Harry, this information is very important!"
"Yeah, and what would you say? You know, professor, I think V-V the snakeface
is the father and Harry would never return to our side because he is in love
with him," he imitated her high voice, grimacing slightly, though it didn't
look funny but desperate. "Hermione, he loves this man, he loves this
psychopath. He would never leave his side, especially now that they have a
baby!"
"Precisely! That is why we must tell!"
"And get the baby killed?!" Ron exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air in
exasperation.
She stared at him in confusion and fear and blinked often before it finally
dawned on her. Ron was right. Should they tell who was the father of the child
they would undoubtedly doom the little boy - whose only crime was to be born -
to be killed off in vain. "But... What do we do? If we can't tell about this,
then how do we help Harry get back?"
"You don't." A heavy hand rested on one of their shoulders and the teenagers
turned around sharply only to see professor Snape standing behind them with a
very sour, displeased expression marring his features.
"Professor?" they both breathed out, gaping at him.
"What have I told you about Harry?" Severus hissed at the two of them and
pushed them inside the nearest shop, away from the sight of his master. "Leave
him alone. How thick are you if you still cannot understand, cannot acknowledge
the awful sacrifice that he have made? Don't you appreciate that both you and
your families are still alive?"
They fearfully nodded in affirmation that they did appreciate that. "But, sir,
this is You-Know-Who," Hermione tried, "He could be influencing Harry or
forcing him into holding those speeches against his will! Shouldn't professor
Dumbledore know that?"
"This is what Dumbledore already thinks about Harry. Did he seem forced or
drugged out there, hm?"
"Not really," Ron gulped down in discomfort, cringing under the heavy glare of
his potions teacher.
"But why then... Why is he willingly...?" she asked the older wizard
helplessly.
"This is the sacrifice I am talking about, Ms Granger. I hoped you would not be
that thick to see it for what it is. Harry sacrificed himself to the Dark
Lord's cause and took his side to make the senseless killings stop, to save
you, and your families, and your friends. It is now only Death Eaters and
Aurors and the members of the Order who kill and maim each other restlessly,
but nobody is burning down towns and villages, nobody is attacking muggles.
Haven't you noticed that? Or does professor Dumbledore keep you in the dark?"
Severus sneered and heaved a long sigh of a man who was unbearably tired with
his life.
"But Harry is going to be executed for treason!" Hermione cried, tardily
remembering where she was, and slapped her both hands over her mouth, looking
around fearfully.
"That is if the Dark Lord's plan fails," Severus pointed out and looked around
as well - fortunately there were no customers at the shop and the salesman
watched a match on TV with his back turned to them. "I have no choice but to
obliviate you two," he pulled out his wand and the teenagers stared at him with
wide, horrified eyes.
"Wait, whose side are you on?" Ron involuntarily moved forward to shield
Hermione with his body.
"This is none of your business, Mr Weasley. But since you are not going to
remember my answer, I will indulge your curiosity. I am on the side of the man
who is going to do what is right, and I am on the side of my son."
"And what do we have here?" A deep, laced with venom voice reached their ears
and all three of them turned to see the Dark Lord standing at the threshold.
"The infamous Golden... duo?" he cackled menacingly and walked closer to stand
by Severus' side.
"I was going to obliviate them, my lord, they have seen your face," the potions
master told him, surprised that the warlock didn't put the glamour back on his
eyes that glowed with the precarious shade of crimson.
"Is this how Dumbledore going to solve his every problem from now on? Send
children to fight his wars and do his dirty job?" Voldemort twisted his lips in
resentment.
"What have you done to Harry?" Ron demanded, summoning all of his courage to
look the murderer straight in the eyes.
"It would be fairer to ask what had he done to me," Voldemort barked out a
laugh. "I never forced Harry into anything against his wishes, without him
knowing. I know Dumbledore loves to paint me as a sinner and the cause of all
the grief in the world, but I am not the one at fault here - Harry joined me
deliberately, in a sane and clear mind, and strong spirit. Did you know,
Severus," he turned to Snape as if they were discussing weather, "What they say
about me? They say Harry has me wrapped around his finger! I believe it is the
first time they actually made a right guess! If it wasn't for him and his gift
of a manipulator, I doubt you would have lived to see this particular day..."
"What do you mean?" Hermione furrowed her brow, but her question wasn't as bold
as Ron's.
"Don't they teach you anything at Hogwarts nowadays? I am entitled to be called
sir, whatever is my status, of a criminal or a saint. Even Harry called me sir,
after he called me names," Voldemort smiled evilly, making the teenagers
shudder at the display. "What I mean, young Miss, is that Harry and I share an
almost healthy and almost normal relationship, I have never once hurt him and
we co-exist in a complete harmony with each other. Oh, and one thing I wish you
to know as well before your memories would be wiped clean..." He bent lower to
look into their frightened eyes, "Harry is mine. I will never let anybody take
him away from me." He straightened up, smiling unpleasantly again and turned to
leave. "Severus, don't erase my last words out of their minds, let it be the
message for Dumbledore." With that he stepped out into the sun again and with
an untypical spring in his step walked back to Harry and Domhnall who were busy
eating ice-cream at one of the stalls on the street.
Five minutes later, after he had apparated both children to King's Cross and
left them at the 93/4 platform obliviated and unconscious, Severus returned to
Belfast and walked out of the same shop in search of Voldemort and Harry. They
sat at one of the tiny tables under a wide, green umbrella, Harry and Domhnall
shared an ice-cream and the Dark Lord, as if on cue, reached out to brush the
cream off of Harry's nose and licked on his finger, smiling brightly at the two
young Princes. If the potions master didn't know him he would have never
believed his own eyes. This all seemed too surreal. Harry noticed him and waved
his hand, calling him to join them and Severus walked towards them despite his
better judgement. There was something serene and delightful about being able to
freely join somebody one cared for very much in something so mundane and very
ordinary, yet delightfully pleasant.
xxx
Chapter End Notes
     I do not intend to continue the story, it is incomplete, but it is
     finished. Please, stop asking me for a new chapter.
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