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Chapter Text

It had been three weeks since they'd successfully (depending on your definition of the word) infiltrated the Ministry and repossessed Slytherin's Locket. By Harrie's definition, it had been successful; they'd achieved their main purpose and escaped, even if they had nearly been caught and inadvertently brought several Death Eaters into the Fidelius on Number Twelve Grimmauld Place in the process. And yeah, Ron had nearly lost an arm, but Hermione's quick thinking and excellent spellwork had saved the day once again. The gruesome Splinching injury was almost entirely healed by now, though Harrie wouldn't have known it from Ron's endless moaning and complaining.

They were currently camping in the Forest of Dean. It was mid-November; the ground was covered in a carpet of decaying leaves that filled the air with the scent of damp rot. The weather was drizzly and miserable, the sky a constant dreary grey that soon caught them in the grips of a seasonal depression, made worse by the subdued atmosphere of the Wizarding World and the impossible battle they were fighting. To make matters worse, their food was beginning to run low, the appetites of three teenagers taking its toll on the supplies they'd brought with them. Hermione had taken to foraging for mushrooms and other things to supplement their supplies, but what she managed to find was often unappetizing and frequently had the taste and consistency of tacky, half-dried glue.

The three of them had been taking it in turns to wear the Locket, unwilling to let it out of sight for even the smallest increment of time. It was currently Harrie's turn, meaning she was confined to the small area around their tent protected by Hermione's wards. If the person wearing it was captured with it on, it would only be a matter of time before Voldemort found out they were hunting his Horcruxes, and then all would be lost.

Bored out of her skull, the constant mix of mind-numbing terror and brain-rotting boredom taking its toll on her mental state, Harrie had taken to perching on a partially rotted tree stump and using a stick to poke idly at the small fire they kept burning. She was freezing, as she always was these days, not having the appropriate clothing for the near-zero temperatures. She hadn't had a chance to get to Diagon Alley to purchase a replacement wardrobe so that she could finally get rid of her ratty cast-offs from the Dursleys before it had become too dangerous.

Her ears caught the rustle of leaves and the soft impact of footsteps behind her. Harrie turned her head as much as she could without moving it from its position propped up on her hand. 

“Good afternoon, Ron,” she greeted, watching as Ron came stumbling out of the tent, yawning and stretching his arms above his head.

“Where's Hermione?” he asked sleepily, bringing his hands down to rub at his eyes.

“Out looking for mushrooms again,” Harrie replied, annoyed that he couldn't be bothered to even acknowledge her greeting.

Their situation was affecting all of them in different ways; it had made Ron rude and prickly, his temper even more explosive and hair-trigger than before. Harrie was trying her best to keep her patience, but his behaviour was getting on her nerves. She was also more than a bit vexed that Ron was sleeping so much and hardly contributing to their efforts, but he had just suffered a nasty injury, so she was trying to cut him some slack.

“Not more mushrooms!” Ron groaned. “How much longer do you think she'll be?”

“Couldn't say. It hasn't been that long since she left, so probably at least another hour?” Harrie guessed. Then she frowned. “And they may taste disgusting, but it's better than nothing. You should be more appreciative of her efforts, especially since I don't see you volunteering to find a better alternative.”

Ron scoffed, but didn't argue. Instead, he moved closer and started eying her oddly. There was a strange glint in his eyes that Harrie couldn't identify. It made her skin prickle and the fine hairs on her arms stand on end.

“What?” she asked, unable to keep from snapping a bit.

“I've done a lot for you over the years, haven't I?” Ron said abruptly. 

“I suppose you have, yes.”

“So at this point you really owe me, don't you think? All those times me and my family have been put at risk because of you. All the things we've done for you, taking you in and treating you like one of us. I deserve some compensation.”

“Ron, what? I don't understand. Are you feeling alright?”

Concerned, Harrie started to get up from her seat, but she didn't get very far. As soon as she was in a standing position, Ron drew his wand and pointed it at her.

“Immobulus!”

Her muscles froze and her body stopped obeying her commands. Harrie crashed painfully to the ground, nearly cracking her head open on a rock hidden under the blanket of fallen leaves. Furious, her own temper making an appearance, she glared at Ron as he knelt beside her. Harrie opened her mouth to speak, but didn't get more than a word out before Ron slapped her across the face. It stung fiercely and brought tears to her eyes, but what hurt far more was this callous treatment by her first and oldest friend.

“Shut up, you bitch!” he hissed. “I'm just taking what I'm owed, you don't get a say.”

He cast a Silencing Charm on her. Panicking now, Harrie tried to struggle, doing her best to throw off the magic that held her still and silent. It was no use. The spell was strong, stronger than Ron was usually capable of casting, and without her wand or her voice, she was unable to break it.

All she could do was lay there, horrified, helpless, and afraid, as Ron rucked up her skirt and forced his way between her thighs, grabbing her hips in a bruising grip.

When it was over, Ron levered himself back to his feet and sauntered away, a sated smirk on his face. Harrie remained where she was, lying on the cold, unforgiving ground, unable to muster the will to move despite the spells on her wearing off. Harrie moved just enough to tug her clothing to rights with trembling hands. She could feel tears seeping from her eyes and down the sides of her face, dampening her hair, in much the same way she could feel blood and other fluids running down the insides of her thighs to soak into the fabric of her skirt. Harrie scrubbed at her face with her sleeves, hoping she could stem the flow. She was furious at herself for crying, for displaying weakness so openly, and to someone who had just demonstrated how willing he was to take advantage of any vulnerability. But she was completely helpless to stop, her shoulders heaving in great silent sobs, no matter how hard she tried to still them.

This had always been one of her worst fears, spurred on by memories of her uncle's wandering hands and leering stares, though in the nightmarish imaginings her mind cooked up, it had always been a Death Eater that had trapped Harrie beneath him and done as he pleased. Never Ron, one of her tight-knit trio of friends and someone she had until this moment trusted with her very life. Never in her worst and wildest dreams had she ever thought that he would be capable of something like what had just occurred.

It seemed she'd grown complacent and, lulled into a false sense of security, forgotten the lessons imparted to her at the Dursleys'. Dazzled by the wonderous world of magic she had just been introduced to and the novelty of having friends of her own for the first time, Harrie hadn't remembered to be cautious, hadn't remembered the horrible, atrocious things people could do to one another. And what had happened? She'd been betrayed, in one of the worst ways she could think of, her heart rent in two and torn from her chest.

"Harrie?" Came Hermione's concerned voice some twenty-odd minutes later. The next moment, her best friend's face appeared above her, blocking her watery view of the cloudy grey sky. "What happened? Is everything alright?"

She shook her head, trying to get her voice to work.

"Ron," She managed to rasp out. "He-he raped me."

It took everything in her to get that word out, that dreaded word that made the sensation of dirt clinging to her skin worsen, as though she would never be clean again. Hermione looked shell shocked at first, then as Harrie watched, her expression cycled through a bizarre mix of emotions, too quickly for her to name any of them.

"Harrie," Hermione began gently, "how long have you been wearing the Locket for today?"

Whatever she was expecting, that was not it.

"What? What has that got to do with it?"

"It's just, I think you've been wearing it without realizing for so long that it's started manipulating your memories," Hermione said. "You know as well as I do that Ron would never even think of doing such a thing."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too," Harrie said bitterly. "How about I take the Locket off, then will you believe me?"

"I don't think-" Hermione began.

But she had already ripped the Locket from around her neck and cast it into a damp patch of grass a few meters away. She sat up in the same motion, not liking how defenseless her prone position made her feel.

"Well?" Harrie demanded, hoping, praying to some faceless, uncaring god that this wasn't going to go the way she suspected it was heading. 

Her hope was in vain.

Hermione's face had hardened as though cast from stone.

"I can't believe you, Harrie! To tell such an awful lie, and about one of your best friends too! I understand it must be very difficult for you, forced to bear witness to our relationship while you're all alone, but that's no excuse!"

Harrie reeled, everything spinning as though she'd just been hit over the head with Aunt Petunia's frying pan again.

"Wait, you think I'm making this up because I'm jealous of you guys' relationship? And what relationship, since when are you and Ron dating?"

"This reaction is exactly why we didn't tell you," Hermione said condescendingly. "Now, some of this may still be the Locket's influence, so I'll allow you some time to let it wear off. Why don't you come eat some dinner and go to bed? You'll feel better in the morning, after some food and a good night's sleep. You can apologize then."

Harrie stared at Hermione in disbelief and more than a little bit of anger, but she could tell Hermione wasn't willing to entertain further discussion on the subject.

"Yeah, alright," she said agreeably, though she made her reluctance clear in her tone.

She already knew exactly what her next course of action was, so there was no point in poking the hornets' nest. Further conflict would only serve as an obstacle to her plan.

Harrie ate dinner with them as she did every night, though she was much more subdued. She remained disengaged from the conversation, not speaking and acknowledging any requests to pass something only with grunts. She did her best to ignore the slimy feeling that Ron's gaze on her gave her, avoiding meeting his eyes and trying not to notice how they lingered on her body.

This was a special kind of hell, being forced to not only be in the same room as, but socialize and interact with her rapist as if nothing had ever happened. As if he hadn't violated her body, her being,her very sense of self. Harrie's magic rippled angrily around her, wanting to lash out at the person who attacked her, but she made a conscious effort to rein it in. While she was more powerful magically than both Ron and Hermione, Ron was a brilliant strategist and Hermione had a far more vast repertoire of spells than she did, not to mention she was physically weakened from months on the run and unsteady on her feet from her ordeal. If she attacked Ron and Hermione came to his defense, which Harrie figured to be a near certainty, she would be quickly overwhelmed and defeated.

—

After dinner, Harrie hurried away to the bathroom, locking the door and throwing up as many defensive wards as she could remember. She turned the water on as hot as she could get it, so hot it nearly scalded her when she got in. She scrubbed until her skin was red and raw, trying to erase how dirty she felt.

When Harrie went to bed, she didn't sleep, remaining awake and alert as she listened to Ron and Hermione going through their own nighttime routines. She waited, biding her time, remaining where she was until Ron and Hermione's breathing had evened out with sleep and then waiting several hours more just to be on the safe side. As soon as she could convince her reluctant limbs to move, she leapt silently from her bed where she'd been pretending to sleep.

She allowed her ruthless side, the one that had kept her alive for so many years at the Dursley's before the reprieve of Hogwarts, the one that had the Hat wanting her in Slytherin, to rise to the surface. Wordlessly, she sent two Stunners each at Ron and Hermione, not wanting to risk the magic wearing off while she was still there. Harrie then levitated them none too gently out of the tent and dumped them carelessly on the cold hard ground. She'd originally considered either leaving them the tent or trying to make a duplicate, but she'd decided that she was well within her rights to take the tent as partial compensation for what Ron had done to her and that they didn't deserve to have the effort required to make a duplicate tent expended on them.

With a wave of her wand, the tent was folded up and stored away in the beaded bag she had liberated from Hermione's person. Clutching it in one hand, her wand in the other, Slytherin's Locket hanging around her neck, Harrie sent one last look around the campsite, making sure she'd taken everything she might need. With a decisive nod, though she was feeling anything but, she stepped outside the wards (she'd thought about tearing them down before she left, but ultimately decided she wasn't that cruel) and apparated away with a violent crack.

‘Safe,’ she begged her magic, ‘take me somewhere safe.’

Chapter Text

Harrie's magic deposited her on a rocky outcropping halfway up the side of a mountain. Surrounded by boulders half again taller than she was, she collapsed to her knees, the blind apparition leaving her shaky and uncomfortable in her skin, as if her body hadn't been put back together quite correctly. 

She stayed like that for quite some time. Now that she was somewhere relatively safe, the events of the last twenty-four hours came crashing down on her and Harrie broke down. The betrayal of her two closest friends, people she had considered to be family, was like a red-hot knife slicing through her soul. She didn't think she'd ever felt pain like this before, this wrenching, tearing sensation that refused to dissipate.

Tears were pouring silently down her cheeks, dripping to the ground, and her magic lashed and coiled around her angrily. Great rents were hewn into the cliffside above and below her, and entire boulders were pulverized to dust. Harrie didn't think she'd ever lost control of her magic like this, not even when she'd blown up Marge.

But she couldn't rein it in. Her intense fury and despair only fueled her magic’s rampage, and the visual representation of her internal turmoil only increased the depth of her emotions. It was a vicious cycle that showed no signs of stopping. 

Harrie let out a sound somewhere in between a sob and a wordless shriek of combined rage and anguish. How could she continue on from this? Her very sense of self had been altered irrevocably and she couldn't help but despair at the thought of the future. Harrie clawed at her skin, her nails opening deep scratches in her flesh. She screamed again, wanting to rip at herself until she had found the part of her that made her feel so irrevocably changed and torn it out.

When at last her sobs had subsided and her magic had exhausted itself, Harrie raised sore and reddened eyes to look at where she had ended up. The landscape was much changed from the quick glimpse she had gotten upon arrival and she winced at the havoc her magic had wreaked. Perhaps Hermione had been right about her being too powerful for her own good.

'No, don't think about her. Her opinions don't deserve your consideration anymore.'

Harrie's head was throbbing from her outburst and she felt completely drained. It had been cathartic and she felt a bit better now, but it had taken all of her energy. She needed to set up the tent and some strong wards before her body gave out on her.

An ominous rumbling from above grabbed her attention. She looked up, expecting to see an approaching thunderstorm. Instead, it appeared as though her magical outburst had triggered a landslide higher up the mountain and it was now about to come crashing down on her head. 

“Well, fuck.”

She twisted into the crushing tunnel of apparition once more, aiming for a grassy valley at the mountain's base that should be out of the path of the landslide.  

It was, barely. She watched with terrified awe as the collection of rocks, earth, and plants completed its barreling path down the mountain. The thunderous crashing made her brain rattle in her skull and the cloud of dust and debris that was sent up caused her to hack and wheeze when she was unable to avoid breathing it in.

She had done that. Harrie, Harrie alone, had caused what some would consider a minor natural disaster. 

She should probably change locations again. She had just sent up the equivalent to a solar flare of magic, which Voldemort and at least a handful of the more powerful Death Eaters were sure to notice. Not to mention, the potential for Muggles to start swarming all over the place if they decided the results of her loss of control were worth investigating or studying.

Harrie frankly couldn't be bothered. All she wanted to do was sleep. She should be fine so long as she put up strong enough wards before doing so. She could worry about everything else when she woke.

---

Harrie was woken by nightmares around noon, which she really should have expected. She sighed and dragged herself out of bed, fixing a meagre breakfast from the dwindling stores within the tent. She'd have to decide what to do about that sooner rather than later; even with one person instead of three, the food wouldn't last much longer.

While she ate, she pondered her situation. What should she do now? The obvious answer was to continue the Horcrux hunt, no matter how much harder it would be on her own. Harrie may not be as book-smart as Hermione, but she was still intelligent and reasonably confident she could find them without any outside assistance. She still didn't have access to a way to destroy them, which was a problem - but hopefully a solvable one.

The real question was, should she? What benefit was there to her continuing to fight in this war? She'd only been in it to protect her friends, the family she had thought she'd gained after her achingly lonely childhood. Those bonds were broken now. Hermione had sided with Ron; there was no doubt in her mind that the rest of the Weasleys would do the same, would side with their son and their brother over her, an interloper. She was all alone once more.

That could be an advantage though. She could disappear, travel from place to place, living off the land and food stolen from supermarkets using her Invisibility Cloak. She'd only refrained from doing so before now as a concession to Ron and Hermione's far more rigid morals but that was no longer a reason to hold back.

Voldemort's desire to kill her may have been an additional reason for her to fight before, but if he could no longer find her, it would no longer be a concern. 

Maybe it was unfair of her to assume that the rest of the Order would react as Hermione had, but she'd already been caught off guard once. Harrie would not allow herself to be blindsided again; from now on, she would assume the worst, and potentially be pleasantly surprised if it didn't happen.

Many would say it was cruel of her to abandon the Order to their fate. Unless Ron and Hermione decided to tell them, it was unlikely they'd be able to figure out how to kill Voldemort. Not to mention the prophecy that said he could only be killed by her; without their so-called Chosen One, they were doomed.

Ah, the prophecy. That was something else to consider. Just how powerful was it? Would it be able to force Harrie into a situation where she would have no choice but to try and kill Voldemort or die? Although, what had made Dumbledore so sure that that was what it had meant in the first place? He had been a Master of Transfiguration, not Divination. It was entirely possible he’d been wrong about the prophecy’s meaning. So, for now, the best course of action was one of non-action. She would let events play out as they would and see what happened. 

Not that Harrie would be passive, no. She had decided she didn't want to fight in this bloody war, and so she would do her best to stay out of it. If Fate was determined not to let her, then she would cross that bridge when she came to it, and in the meantime, she would try and stay out of it altogether.

Another important thing for her to consider, though, was what she would do if something happened to her while she was out here on her own. What would she do if she became injured or too ill to care for herself? Was there anyone Harrie would be able to go to if she needed help?

She thought about it for a while, and eventually came to the bitter conclusion that, no, there really wasn't. Nearly everyone she knew was associated with the Order, and the rest, such as Neville and Luna, she didn't want to put at risk. If any hint of her presence was detected in their vicinity, it would paint a target on their backs. She couldn't bear to do that to them, no matter how ruthless she was letting herself be in her quest for survival. It was a good thing Harrie was so well practised at fending for herself, because she was well and truly on her own now. 

Chapter Text

The next few weeks were surprisingly pleasant. The frantic stress and desperation Harrie had been living with since her birthday was no longer affecting her; she only had one thing to worry about, and that was changing the tent's location often, not wanting to risk someone sensing her wards and bringing a horde of Death Eaters down on her head. The blind apparitions she was using to get around were difficult, but it was the only thing Harrie was doing that truly exerted her, so she quickly grew used to it, her magic adapting and strengthening by the day.

Other than her frequent moves, Harrie was suddenly able to do nearly anything she wanted with her now copious free time. There were no more useless planning sessions at Hermione's insistence, no more arguing in circles for hours about where the next Horcrux might be or about how to get their hands on something they could use to destroy them. She'd rediscovered her love of reading, something she'd lost when she started Hogwarts. Between Quidditch, some of the more abysmal teachers, Ron's disdain for anything perceived as academic, and appeasing Hermione's ego, not to mention dealing with the yearly near-death experiences, she hadn't sat down and properly enjoyed a book in years. When she'd been young, trapped with the Dursleys and not yet aware of her magic, the library had been an excellent escape from Dudley and his gang. She had often spent hours upon hours there, exploring the towering shelves and reading any book that caught her interest.

Hermione's beaded bag was a treasure trove of books, many of which Hermione had apparently liberated from the library at Grimmauld Place while they were staying there. Harrie was pissed she had taken the books without asking, especially when she would have happily said yes to a request at the time. It was bad enough that Mundungus Fletcher had been stealing the things left to her by Sirius; Hermione had been one of her best friends and had known how much it had all meant to her. It benefited her now though, so she didn't complain too much, although she longed to be able to rip Hermione a new one.

She should probably go back to Grimmauld Place at some point and remove everything she wanted so the Death Eaters couldn't get their greedy hands on it, assuming they hadn't already. Harrie also wanted to make sure Ron and Hermione hadn't decided to avail themselves of her property when they suddenly found themselves without any accommodation. Maybe she would go tomorrow.

The books from the Black Library were fascinating, and very informative. So many things that had gone right over her head before now made perfect sense. Many of the intricacies of magic that Harrie had never properly gotten a grasp on, she found explanations for that made it all click together in her head. Much to her chagrin, most of these explanations were in books for teaching magic to young children; it appeared as though she had been lacking quite a few of the fundamentals and everyone had just assumed that she knew them but couldn’t be bothered, or some such rot.

Not only did the books teach Harrie quite a lot about magic, they also taught her a fair bit about the Wizarding World in general, particularly about the politics and governmental affairs. Unlike in the Muggle world, most politicians inherited their positions rather than being elected. Noble titles still held considerable power and more often than not, those who held them were the true force behind the scenes of governmental decisions. Included was a list of some of the more prominent noble families in Britain. Harrie noted that both the Blacks and the Malfoys were on it. She was miffed to find that Draco's sense of superiority was somewhat justified and curious about the Blacks. Sirius had said his family used to be very important, but he had never said anything about them being nobility and holding significant sway in the governance of Britain. It was unlikely that she could claim any titles, but she couldn't help but wonder. Did being Sirius’ heir also make her the heir to the Blacks’ noble title? Surely if she was, Dumbledore would have told her when he told her that Sirius had named her his heir. Maybe she couldn't hold the title because she was female, or some equally ridiculous reason (Harrie conceded that it was possible that it was because she hadn't been raised in the Black family or because she wasn't actually related to them).

Presumably if the Potters had been nobility, someone would have mentioned something before now, even if it was only to declare a feud. Some of her behaviour since entering the Wizarding World, especially in her first few years, had apparently been unspeakably rude, at least according to an etiquette book she'd started reading out of curiosity after discovering nobility was still prevalent. The manners and customs commonly used by wixen were like nothing Harrie had ever experienced or even read about in the Muggle world. Which made sense; their clothing was different and the magical world was an entirely separate society, so why shouldn't the rest of their culture be different as well? She cursed herself for not realizing it sooner. It was immensely annoying that no one had thought to mention any of this to her back when she'd first learned about magic. It would have saved her so much hassle and strife if she'd had even a basic grasp on Wizarding etiquette. Harrie loved Hagrid, but in hindsight, perhaps he hadn't been the best person to introduce a young child to an entire new world. Then again, he'd seemed to think she already knew all about it, so Dumbledore had probably thought so too and didn't believe someone who could provide additional instruction would be needed.

Harrie was beginning to think Dumbledore's age had been getting to him for far longer than anyone had realized. Many of the decisions he had made during her time at Hogwarts had been questionable at best and grounds for criminal negligence at worst.

Not that whoever had decided it would be a brilliant idea to post Dementors around a building full of school children had been any better. Now that Harrie thought about it, her school years had been really fucked up. A possessed professor, a Horcrux and a Basilisk, Dementors, a werewolf and an escaped convict, the Triwizard Tournament and a Death Eater professor, the Ministry collectively doing their best impersonations of an ostrich, a sadist torturing children, and yet more blood on her hands, Dumbledore's creepy collection of memories, another Horcrux, and a full-fledged battle on school grounds. It was a wonder she'd ever managed to learn anything. If she'd gone back for her seventh year, it probably would have been even worse, what with Death Eaters now running the school. Mind you, Harrie would have been captured or killed on sight, so it was unlikely she would have gotten a seventh year at all.

She couldn't help but compare what her life was like now to what it had been like before. Anything was better than the Dursleys, of course, but the time she had spent in the wizarding world prior to the Horcrux Hunt had been like living in a gilded cage.She hadn't had the ability to live her life without expectations of how she should look, dress or behave, and most people she encountered saw her only as the Girl-Who-Lived and treated her like a particularly interesting exhibit in a museum. Never before had Harrie been able to make this many choices for herself, and she revelled in it. It was only when she remembered how high and awful a price she had paid for the privilege that her excitement dimmed and a bitter pall was cast over her mind. A restricted life may have been better than what she had had to endure to escape it.

Chapter Text

Harrie's latest relocation had seen her set up the tent in a small forest. The weather was awful, so she'd reduced her wards, not having the mental energy to continue putting up the intricate ones she had been using, relying on the nasty chill to keep people in their homes and away from her. Winter had enclosed this part of the world in its icy grasp, the trees around her covered in a heavy layer of snow, their barren limbs dripping with icicles. Bitter winds blew through the clearing she was using as her temporary home, rattling the branches of the trees that surrounded her in a protective shield. It was reassuring and too constrictive at the same time, the towering trunks closing in on her like the imprisoning walls of her cupboard. Harrie was filled with a sudden and fierce longing for the freedom of the skies.

She had no broom here, no way to take to the air. So she did what she'd so often done in her childhood when being chased by Ripper or Dudley, or anything else intent on harming her: she climbed a tree.

Harrie ascended rapidly, her movements smooth and practiced.The cold, rough bark scraped at her palms and froze her fingertips, snow showering down to the ground from wherever she placed her hands and feet. At one point, she nearly fell, the branch she'd grabbed old and brittle from the cold, causing it to snap off in her grasp. She landed on her stomach on the branch just below it, the air forced from her lungs with a grunt.Thankfully, the tree she'd chosen was an old one, the branches thick and sturdy. It was probably close to the end of its lifespan. A deep and inexplicable sadness filled her at the thought, but she did her best to ignore it. It had to be the lack of sleep getting to her.

She climbed until she'd found a split in the tree about halfway up the trunk and settled herself there. Snow had begun drifting down again and Harrie absently cast a warming charm, having no particular interest in freezing to death.

'Although it might be nice to just go to sleep and never wake up again.'

Nestled among the branches, she watched as dusk fell, true night following swiftly on its heels. Her stomach growled. Despite her hunger and the late hour, she made no motion to remove herself from her perch. Ever since the incident-

‘No, Harrie,’ she thought fiercely to herself, 'call it what it is.’

-ever since she'd been raped, her sleep had been plagued by nightmares, waking her as many as ten times a night. More recently, just in the last week or so, those nightmares had been accompanied by her vomiting up what felt like every last drop of liquid in her body. She was fed up with it and had decided to stay up the whole night in the hopes her exhaustion would allow her to sleep deeply enough to avoid nightmares.

Thanks to the lack of sleep and adequate nutrition, she looked horrible. Harrie wasn't prone to vanity, but even she could tell her current look wasn't ideal.The bags under her eyes were twice the size they'd been in fifth year, which was an accomplishment in and of itself. She'd lost even more weight, weight she couldn't really afford to lose; her eyes had sunk into her skull and her skin was stretched thin over her facial bones, especially her cheekbones and jaw. The bones of her hips, before only slight protrusions, now jutted from her lower abdomen and she could easily count every one of her ribs. Harrie had once been fit and strong, but now her appearance could only be described as skeletal.

She closed her eyes, knocking her head back against the tree with a thunk. Was this what the rest of her life was going to be like? Living in a tent, moving around from place to place, never lingering long, with no companionship, stealing food to survive? Harrie couldn't imagine spending the next eighty-odd years like this. She was already sick of it and it had only been a couple months. Of course, it didn't help that her relaxed existence had turned into endless sleepless nights spent hunched over the toilet. Ginger tea with just a dab of honey was about the only thing she could keep down right now, which didn't really lend itself to enjoyment of one's life.

But then again, what other choice did she have? Harrie couldn't go live in the Muggle world; she had no money, no identification, no high school diploma, and no reliable way of acquiring any of them. She couldn’t move to a wizarding community abroad; if she wanted to be there in an official enough capacity that she would be able to get a job and be a part of regular society, she would have to go through the Ministry, which was completely under the control of Voldemort's Death Eaters. This never ending nothingness was probably the best she could hope for.

—

A bright, eerie glow lit up the insides of her closed eyelids. She blinked them open, squinting against the sudden intense light and peered down into the forest.

The sight before her was not one Harrie would have expected to see. Weaving sedately between the trees was a doe Patronus, her delicate hooves making no imprint in the snow. Had she somehow cast hers without realizing it? She hadn't been thinking about anything particularly happy, much less the kind of pure, absolute happiness needed to cast a Patronus.

The doe stopped at the base of the tree Harrie was perched in and craned her neck to look up at her. She frowned.

"Do you have a message for me or something? You're made of magic, surely you can get up here?"

The Patronus huffed and stomped a hoof, the sound almost audible for all that they couldn't produce noise, turning her head to point away into the trees.

"You want me to follow you, is that it? That's asking an awful lot, you know, I'm quite comfortable up here."

Harrie felt absolutely ridiculous and like a complete fool for talking to a deer made of magic and happy, positive emotions, but it wasn't like there was anyone else around to witness it. And after two and a bit months all on her own, she was starting to feel lonely despite herself. If a doe Patronus identical to her own despite being decidedly not was the only company she was going to get, Harrie would take it.

The doe tossed her head impatiently, walking a few steps away then returning.

Harrie shook her head in fond exasperation, a faint smile tugging at her lips. The action stretched foreignly at the muscles around her mouth; it had been quite some time since she'd had anything worth smiling about. That alone was enough to convince her that it was something worth moving from her solitary perch for. Slowly, painfully, she climbed back down to the ground, her muscles stiff and her joints aching from how long she'd been sitting there.

The doe was already trotting away, glancing back once to make sure she was following.

Harrie was led to a small clearing in the trees containing a large pond. It was iced over from winter's chilly breath, the glow of the Patronus reflecting off of it and scattering fractals of light amongst the trees.

“What is it you wanted to show me? The pond?”

The doe moved to stand on the banks of the pond and Harrie followed. At the edge was a small area of unfrozen water where the ice had been broken. Harrie walked over and knelt beside the water, peering into its darkened depths.

Eventually, her eyes picked out what the doe must have wanted her to see: nestled on the sharp stones at the bottom, its blade gleaming forbiddingly, was the Sword of Gryffindor. The very weapon she and Hermione had theorized would be needed to destroy Voldemort's Horcruxes. And now it had somehow just happened to appear near where she was camping. But why was it lying at the bottom of a frozen pond?

‘Bravery,’ she soon realized. ‘The Sword of Gryffindor can only be wielded by someone who has displayed great courage. I guess my courage during second year no longer counts.’

The doe came to stand beside her. Harrie idly raised a hand to stroke along her shimmering flank, no longer surprised that she could touch what most people's hands went right through.

“Whose are you?” She whispered, a bit belatedly.

By this point, it was pretty unlikely that the caster was a threat, but it really was something Harrie should have thought about earlier. For all she knew, they were still here, hidden somewhere in the trees, watching her.

Strangely enough, the doe didn't respond. Harrie hadn't actually expected her to, but she'd half been hoping her caster would reveal themselves.

When Harrie didn't do anything more than continue kneeling on the grass, the Patronus nudged her head against Harrie's shoulder. It was clear whoever commanded the doe wanted her to retrieve the sword. An ally, then, but who?

“I'm not sure-” Harrie started, then stopped.

She may no longer intend on participating in the war, but that did not mean she should be so hasty to discard this opportunity. The Sword of Gryffindor was a formidable weapon, even more so now with the addition of Basilisk venom. It would be a considerable advantage to have something such as it to fall back on in the event her wand was taken or broken. Not to mention the value it could have as a bargaining chip.

“Alright,” she said aloud. “I'll do it, but I want it to be noted that diving into a frozen pond in the middle of winter may be one of the stupidest things I've ever done and it wasn't my idea.”

The water had frozen over again while she thought. Harrie drew her wand and melted a sizable hole with a powerful gout of flame. She stared down at it and shivered, though not from the cold. Even illuminated by moonlight and the glow from the doe, the pond looked terrifyingly similar to the Black Lake, a body of water she still dreamed of drowning in. She never had learned how to swim, had only managed during the second task with the aid of the Gillyweed. Hopefully, the pond wasn't as deep as it looked.

The doe flickered beneath her hand. “No, don't go,” Harrie pleaded. “Please stay.”

She didn't think she could do it without the phantom sense of company the doe gave her. The doe seemed to consider for a moment, then nodded. Whoever she belonged to was close by and within earshot, then. Oh, well. Harrie didn't really care if they watched as she stripped naked. Between the lack of privacy at the Dursleys, the Hogwarts dormitories, the Quidditch locker rooms, and living in a tent with two other people for months, Harrie had lost all sense of modesty long ago.

Her clothes folded neatly in a pile on the ground and the Locket still hanging between her breasts, Harrie took a deep breath. There was no delaying this any longer. She gingerly stepped a foot forward into the pond. Her entire body flinched when the first shock of the bitingly cold water hit her. It felt like her blood was freezing in her veins. There was no point in stalling now. She was in the water and it would be unwise to linger, no matter how much the thought of the dark water closing over her head terrified her.

Harrie submerged herself fully, then dove. The icy water streamed past her as she flailed her way to the bottom; she was self-conscious enough to be glad no one was here with her to witness her pitiful attempt at swimming. As she had feared, the pond, more of a lake really, was exceptionally deep. When she finally reached the bottom, Harrie had a great deal less air left than she had hoped for. If she encountered any difficulties getting back to the surface, she would likely run out.

Harrie wrapped her hand around the sword's hilt, the sharp rocks it was lying on slicing at her skin. Blood streamed from the wounds, eddying around her with the currents as she watched in idle fascination. Maybe she should just stay here. Relax into the embrace of the water and wait until her breath ran out. Drowning wouldn't be so terrifying if she chose it.

Really, what would she do if she did fight her way back to the surface? She had no chance of normality now, no chance of living the peaceful, unburdened life in a cottage somewhere that she had always dreamed of. Harrie would have to live her entire life suffering from Ron's actions; no matter what she did or where she went, the memory would plague her. It would be better, easier, if she just let herself die, let the lake take her for its own. Maybe she could even haunt it, scare some unsuspecting Muggle campers.

—

Something tugged sharply at her neck, almost choking her. It hurt, digging into her throat, bruising and abrading the skin there. Harrie reached a hand up, seeking to dislodge whatever had gotten wrapped around her. Her fingers were met with only a cold metal chain. It was the Locket. It was trying to strangle her.

‘Really, now, that's just uncalled for. I was perfectly happy to drown myself, you needn't try and strangle me on top of that.’

The pressure didn't let up. She thrashed, her limbs windmilling around her as she fought to break free. She didn't want to die like this. After so long fighting, she wanted a peaceful death, dammit! Harrie was left with no choice but to swim in the direction it was pulling, trying to alleviate the intense pain.

Before she knew it, her head was breaking the surface and she was coughing and gasping in air. The Locket stopped its efforts to pull her head from her shoulders. The blasted thing had saved her.

She tore it off anyway, and threw it onto dry land with the sword, just to be contrary.

Harrie stood from her position on her hands and knees and staggered out of the lake. She wanted to weep and tear her hair out; she had been so close to finally being at peace.The steady, wonderful presence of the doe was the only thing keeping her from diving back to the bottom to finish what she'd started.

The freezing winter night air on her damp skin was horrible. Harrie hurried to cast drying charms and pull her clothes back on before she died of hypothermia. The Locket probably wouldn't be too happy about that, either.

Or maybe it would. Maybe it just hadn't wanted to spend the rest of its existence at the bottom of a lake and would be perfectly happy with her death now that it wouldn't be stuck down there as a result.

She looked down at it, lying there on the ground, gleaming innocently in the silvery light. Harrie had the sword now. It would be the work of a moment to force the Locket open and stab the sword through it, allowing the Basilisk venom to destroy the fragment of soul within. Another Horcrux destroyed and one step closer to killing Voldemort for good.

But Harrie wasn't fighting him anymore, even if only she was aware of the change. She didn't really want to destroy the Locket. It would only make Voldemort draw her death out that much longer if he ever did catch her and it had somehow become somewhat of a comforting presence. Besides, it had saved her, albeit against her will. She might as well just keep it. It would probably be safer with her anyway; Voldemort didn't seem to be very good at protecting his Horcruxes. Fully dressed once more, she picked up the Locket and held it in front of her face, glaring at it.

“Are you going to behave now?” Harrie demanded.

It warmed slightly in her hand in supposed agreement. She scoffed, not believing it for an instant, but hung it back around her neck regardless.

The doe had vanished while she'd been contemplating the Locket's fate. Cold and alone once more, Harrie dragged herself back to her tent, thoroughly sick and tired of her miserable existence.

Chapter Text

It was now early January. Whatever was wrong with Harrie was only getting worse. She was nauseous all the time and had trouble keeping even the smallest amounts of food down.

She knew she was most likely suffering from some sort of PTSD response, but surely the physical manifestation couldn't be this bad.

It wasn't until Harrie got up one morning and happened to glance at the wall calendar in the kitchen that she identified another symptom of whatever was ailing her. She hadn't had her monthly cycle since the beginning of October.

Could she be-? But no, that couldn't be it. It had to be the malnourishment and stress that was preventing her body from functioning normally. Besides, the rape was the first time she'd done anything more than kiss. Surely she couldn't have gotten pregnant from just the one time.

Harrie tried to forget about it and continue going about her day, but the idea remained, buzzing around inside her head like a particularly obnoxious mosquito.

By evening, she couldn't stand it anymore. She leapt from her spot on the sofa where she'd been trying to focus on a book about Wizarding Law and scrambled for the stacks of books piled neatly on the floor by the armchair. One of them had to contain a spell to detect pregnancy. It would come back negative and then she could put this matter to rest for good.

Six Charm books, five books on Household Spells, and two on spells for witches later, Harrie was getting frustrated. There were countless spells to prevent pregnancy, but none that told you if they'd worked successfully or not. She'd read all the books she had that seemed even remotely relevant and gotten nothing for her efforts.

Her eye fell on the last book she'd tried, Charms for your Changing Body, which had admittedly been a bit of a stretch and ended up being spells for aging wixen who wanted to hide that they were aging. But if she selected the right spells, they would also be excellent for a disguise. She could go to Diagon Alley and purchase a book with the spell she needed and nobody would be any the wiser that it was Harrie Potter herself walking amongst them. How she wished she had found this book in first year; it would have made everything so much easier.

As tempting as it was to go right this instant, her search had taken her hours and it was nearly two in the morning. All the shops in Diagon would be closed, not to mention she needed time to practice the spells to make sure they lasted and were capable of holding up to scrutiny.

Harrie would practice tomorrow then, and go the day after that. Even if she really was pregnant, which was frankly impossible, two days wouldn't make much of a difference.

‘And if you are pregnant?’ A voice in the back of her mind whispered. ‘What will you do then?’

‘If I am, then I'll deal with it then,’ She told it firmly. ‘No sense in being worried about something that probably isn't true.’

Keeping that thought fixed solidly in her mind, Harrie went to bed.

—

A few days later, and Harrie was all set for her trip to Diagon. She'd figured out how to reverse the charms to appear older instead of younger and had also changed the colour of her hair and eyes, and lightened the shade of her skin. Everyone knew what she looked like, but like this, Harrie didn't even recognize herself. Her infamous scar was covered up with Muggle make-up she'd found in the beaded bag, so there was hardly any chance of her being identified.

Just to be on the safe side though, she also wore an oversized cloak that covered anything about her that might be memorable.

With a last pulse of magic to the wards to ensure their strength, Harrie apparated away to Diagon.

The once cheerful and bustling heart of Wizarding Britain was now dull and subdued, the streets nearly empty as the war took its toll and had most people living in fear.

‘Probably shouldn't rely on a near-child to win it for them, then.’

She kept her head down like everyone else who'd dared come out, save for a few who were clearly Death Eaters, and made a beeline for Flourish and Blotts. The bookstore was quiet, though given it was six A.M. on a Thursday morning, maybe that wasn't so surprising.

She wasted no time and got right to her search, pulling books from shelves and skimming the tables of contents to see if they contained what she was looking for.

Once again, after an hour and a half of searching, she still had had no luck.

Mr. Blotts himself popped up at her right shoulder.

“Can I help you find anything, Miss?”

Harrie looked around to see no one nearby and lowered her voice.

“Yes, er, I was wondering if any of your books might have a spell that allows one to tell if they're pregnant?”

Mr. Blotts physically recoiled from her, looking more as though she'd just announced she'd had sex with Voldemort.

“A fine, upstanding shop such as ours certainly doesn't carry any books on such Dark magic! If you've been dallying about and not been intelligent enough to use the appropriate protection spells, then that's your problem and I'll thank you not to try and make it mine! I suggest you get out, girl, and don't come back!”

Baffled at his reaction, embarrassed, and more than a little angry, Harrie left the shop. For what possible reason could a spell to detect pregnancy be considered Dark magic? Also, what was she going to do now? Her mission had been thoroughly unsuccessful and she was no closer to figuring out whether or not she was pregnant.

Although… Mr. Blotts had said it was Dark magic, which meant it could likely be found somewhere in Knockturn Alley if she dared go down there. It hadn't seemed too bad when she followed Malfoy there in sixth year, although Borgin & Burke's wasn't very far in.

Not that she had much of a choice. She needed the spell and it looked like Knockturn was the only place she would be able to get it.

Decision made, Harrie drew her cloak more closely around herself and began heading further down Diagon towards its seedier relative.

Knockturn was much busier than Diagon, its residents no longer concerned about Auror raids now that Voldemort was in power. A large number of street vendors had popped up since Harrie had last been here. Their voices rose and fell, overlapping as they hawked their wares, creating a considerable din. She ignored them as she passed, intent on her goal.

She didn't find a bookstore until she ventured down a few of the even smaller side streets that branched off from Knockturn. It was rather shabby-looking. The windows were stained and filled with dust and cobwebs, the wooden walls crumbling and barely holding together. The bell on the door hardly even clunked when she opened it.

The cash register was manned by a rather old wizard, though his glare was fierce enough to rival Snape's. Harrie judged he'd have no trouble deterring thieves if the need arose.

Should she try and look through the books again or just bite the bullet and ask? A single glance at the shelves made her decision for her; the books were piled haphazardly in random configurations, with no organizational system in terms of subject or author name that she could see.

After a deep breath, Harrie approached the cashier.

“Excuse me?”

“What?” he asked gruffly.

She was a little taken aback at his abruptness, but she supposed she really shouldn't have expected anything else for Knockturn Alley.

“I'm looking for a particular kind of spell, and I was told it was Dark magic, so I came here.”

“That wanker Blotts displaying his bigotry again?”

“Er, yes. You know him?”

A scoff. “Half my customers are because of him. What is it you need?”

“I need a spell that will tell me whether or not I'm pregnant,” Harrie told him, hoping he wouldn't ask any further questions.

He eyed her up and down for a moment. “Huh. You lot are usually more careful with your clients. The john want it that way?”

“Clients? I don't understand.”

“I suppose you don't really look like the usual sort. You new to the work?”

Harrie caught on suddenly. “You think I'm a prostitute?!”

“You're not?”

“No! Although, I suppose you could think of it that way, in a manner of speaking.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, one of my former best friends, he decided I owed him for everything he'd done for me, and he decided how I was going to pay him back.”

Harrie wasn't entirely sure why she was telling this to a complete stranger, and a male one at that, but it was rather therapeutic.

He frowned, but his eyes softened. “You need books on defensive spells as well?”

“Oh! I appreciate the thought. Really, I'm a much better witch than he is a wizard. I just didn't expect him to attack me. I've got quite a few defense books already, so maybe if you've got anything really rare or esoteric?” The unexpected kindness had Harrie blinking back tears, willing herself not to break down.

He came out from behind the counter and marched around the store, pulling books down from shelves and placing them in a neat stack that floated along beside him. The last book he grabbed he kept separate from the rest, handing it to her immediately.

“That's the one you came in for. Altogether, this lot will be thirty Galleons and twenty-six Sickles.”

“Of course.”

Harrie counted out the money she owed him, then hesitated. “I was wondering if you knew why Blotts thinks this is Dark magic?”

“It's only those that consider themselves to be on the Light side politically that think that. Basically, some wanker about a century and a half ago decided that if a witch couldn't sense the changes in her magic caused by a developing baby, it was because she had been using so much Dark and Black magic that it twisted and corrupted her own to the point she could no longer feel even that drastic of a change. Nevermind that not everyone has the necessary education or power to sense their magic like that, and that not everyone is in the right frame of mind to sense a baby, like you. The rest of us consider it either sexist bullshit or a way for the Ministry to control their citizens, or both. Sadly, the Light still has enough political power to prevent any of that sort of thing from being changed.”

Head reeling with the new information, Harrie thanked the shopkeeper and hurried back to the apparition point so she could get back to the tent.

Had everyone else known about all this and either assumed she knew as well or decided not to tell her? Because Harrie considered it to be pretty vital information. It had caused her to realize that, aside from the whole wanting to massacre all Muggleborns thing and the Voldemort being personally out for her blood thing, she agreed far more with the Dark than she did the Light.

Maybe that was why nobody had told her. Couldn't have their precious and oh-so-necessary Chosen One running off to join the enemy.

That thought made Harrie stop in her tracks. If she'd learned all this sooner, would she really have tried to join the Dark side?

Upon further reflection, yeah, she would have.

Yes, the fact that her parents were murdered was awful, and she didn't think she'd ever be able to forgive Voldemort for that. But accepting that his views were (mostly) right didn't require forgiveness.

Plus, he'd used a Killing Curse on both of them. Even when her mother refused to stop protecting her and most likely really pissed him off in the process, he used a Killing Curse. The quickest and least painful death magic could give, and the person everyone had told her was a merciless sadist had used it instead of the countless more violent options. It was definitely more of a mercy than what had happened to Neville's poor parents. Hell, Harrie would be quite happy to receive a Killing Curse right about now.

And she couldn't deny that she had some darker tendencies herself. She may not have known exactly what Sectumsempra would do when she used it on Malfoy, but she'd known it would do something vicious and potentially nasty. “For enemies” didn't really allow one to think anything else.

—

Back at the tent, Harrie hurried to open the correct book and quickly located the spell she needed. It was the work of a minute to draw her wand and follow the instructions to cast it.

She stared in disbelief at the results. No, that couldn't be right. It was her first time casting the spell, she must have done it wrong or something. Maybe the spell was faulty.

She tried again and again, and each time it came back the same.

Positive.

She was pregnant.

Now what?

If she had to tramp all over hell's half-acre to find a spell just to tell her if she was pregnant, what were the chances of her being able to find one to end it?

Not bloody good, that's what.

Harrie remembered that she'd seen a section in the law book she had been reading on laws to do with bodily autonomy and related subjects. It was incredibly unlikely that it would include any spells or potions she could use, but it may mention a process she could apply to to get access to one.

She couldn't face any more reading at the moment, however. She would get to it in the morning, after a hearty dinner and hopefully a good night's sleep.

—

It was completely illegal. No matter the circumstances, termination of any pregnancy in any way, shape, or form was sodding illegal. To the point where anyone who was found to have had an abortion, which was detectable on a standard medical exam, could be sent to Azkaban for a sentence of up to five years. Not only that, the Ministry could force the person to have children once they were out of prison, including selecting a spouse for them if they didn't have one. Supposedly, this was so they could make up for the child they had deprived the world of. The book claimed that the abortion of any magical child was a crime against Magic. The only reason the prison sentence wasn't longer was because they had tried that and an extended stay in Azkaban often rendered the convict unable to sustain a pregnancy.

It was nigh on impossible to get ahold of either a spell or a potion to end a pregnancy, since stores found selling such items were heavily prosecuted as well.

Harrie was disgusted. This was the world she had been fighting to preserve? She wanted no part of it. These laws were all relatively recent, put into place within the last two centuries like the shopkeeper had said. It looked like Voldemort might actually have the right idea after all, going back to the way things had been before the Light became radicalized and gained significant power.

She could feel herself beginning to panic as she considered that she may truly have no way out of this. She would be forced to carry the thing inside her for another five months, would have to birth and raise it as if it was something she'd wanted. She was doubtful that she would be able to bring herself to love it. And she wouldn't wish a childhood without love on her worst enemy.

If she died now, it wouldn't be a problem. The foetus would die with her and neither of them would have to suffer further. Maybe Voldemort would be willing to help her out?

Chapter Text

Harrie needed to get out of the tent and get some fresh air, clear her head. Forgetting where she was and what the weather outside was like, she charged out, marching away from the tent at her fastest clip.

Desperate to quell her racing thoughts with aching muscles and the satisfaction of a good workout, she didn't pause her rapid pace until she was truly exhausted.

She looked up from where she'd been putting one foot in front of the other and realized with a start that she had no clue where she was. It had snowed recently, and the blanket of white covering the ground and trees made everywhere look the same. She was in the middle of a field, but that information didn't tell her much.

Harrie began shivering. Her body was beginning to cool down now that she was no longer moving. In her haste to leave, she hadn't even put on a coat, let alone the heavy coverings needed to survive in these temperatures. She needed to get back to the tent before she froze.

She pulled her wand from her pocket… only she had no pockets and therefore no wand.

"Oh, for fuck's sakes! Honestly, Harrie, how can you possibly be this stupid?"

Harrie spent a couple of very satisfying minutes kicking at the snow and snarling out exasperated expletives. After a short while, though, all of her energy and fight drained right out of her and she slumped to her knees in the snow.

A bitter wind blew through the field, cutting right through her meager clothing. Harrie hunched in on herself in a futile attempt to keep warm, her teeth chattering violently together. The prospect of just curling up into a ball and waiting for the cold to shut all her vital systems down was looking more and more inviting by the second.

As the cold seeped deeper and deeper into her bones, Harrie's mind drifted back over her life, vaguely wondering just what had gone wrong for it to end with her passively committing suicide in a random field in Scotland.

So much of it had been awful that she figured it had been more of a cumulative effect than any one event. Most of that awfulness had been directly influenced by Voldemort's actions, however, so Harrie decided it was entirely fair of her to blame him for everything.

"Fucking Voldemort," she slurred under her breath, her eyes beginning to drift close.

Time passed. Harrie soon didn't really feel the cold at all. The snow was soft and pleasant against her skin. With a content sigh, she snuggled deeper into it, carving out a small hollow for herself.

A hand clamped itself roughly around her upper arm and attempted to haul her to her feet. Harrie was instantly reminded of how Ron had grabbed her. She was sure he had somehow found her. Her mind caught between past and present, she shrieked, pulling away. Unfortunately for her, her muscles were sluggish and weakened by her prolonged exposure to the intense cold, and she fell back to the ground as soon as no one was holding her upright.

Groaning, Harrie rolled onto her stomach and tried to scrabble away. She would not live through that horror a second time.

"Not so fast, little dove," a gruff voice said.

The same hand grabbed her ankle and used it to flip her onto her back, the owner moving to loom over her prone body. Harrie opened her eyes and looked up into the grizzled face of Fenrir Greyback.

Chapter Text

In the grand hall in Malfoy Manor, Voldemort lounged on his ornate throne as if it were actually comfortable and not the most terribly constructed piece of furniture he had ever encountered. It was one of the many items Lucius had commissioned in his quest to get back into his good graces. Normally, Voldemort would have simply tortured Lucius for a bit and forgotten about it, but it was a very imposing throne, so he put up with it.

" -several sightings of the blood traitor and the Mudblood, but still no sign anywhere of the Potter girl."

Voldemort's focus returned to the report being given by a low-level Death Eater grunt, and the expected but still unpleasant news that there was still no sign of the massive thorn in his side masquerading as a young witch. These meetings were tedious and rarely resulted in anything being accomplished. They were more meant to remind the Death Eaters and his other followers just who ruled over them.

"Is that so?" he asked coldly, carmine eyes glaring down at the man who was unfortunate enough to be the one who had delivered the news.

"Cruc-"

He was interrupted by the double doors at the end of the hall slamming open. Another Death Eater came running through, one that was supposed to have been at this meeting when it started nearly an hour ago. He raced down the length of the hall and threw himself at Voldemort's feet, apologies and pleas for mercy already falling from his lips.

"Not only are you atrociously late, you have also seen fit to interrupt this meeting by way of causing an unnecessary ruckus. I do hope you have an excellent explanation for this?"

"Of course, My Lord, I-"

Voldemort snarled, forgoing his usual Cruciatus in favour of a Blood-Boiling Curse. The Death Eater screamed and writhed most satisfactorily, and his fury abated somewhat.

"I'm sorry, My Lord," he sobbed, scrabbling back into a kneeling position. "It's just, we've just gotten word from Greyback and his team. They've successfully located and captured Potter, and are bringing her in now."

"You are absolutely certain that it's her? And that she has been captured as ordered, as unharmed as possible?"

"Yes, My Lord. That's what Greyback's message said."

All anger was forgotten as elation burned through him. Finally, a potential end to the stalemate the war had devolved into. Potter was in his grasp at last; all that remained was ensuring she did not escape it as she had done so often before.

"You have done well in bringing me this information as soon as you received it. You shall be rewarded; I will not punish you further for your transgressions."

"Lucius!" Voldemort snapped out. " Go wait for Fenrir and bring him straight here once he arrives."

The blond lord stepped forward smoothly and bowed, then turned and begun striding from the room.

The minutes ticked by. Voldemort imagined that Potter was still putting up quite the fight even as she was hauled into the presence of her mortal enemy to be killed, leading to the delay. Many of his Death Eaters began shifting nervously as the wait stretched on. He himself remained outwardly unaffected, maintaining his usual impenetrable façade, but at around the fifteen minute mark, even he was beginning to feel a little apprehensive. Had Potter done the impossible and escaped again? Voldemort knew of no better hunter than Fenrir; once he had his jaws around his prey, it never escaped, but this was Potter they were talking about. If anyone could do it, it was her.

Finally, Lucius re-entered the hall, Fenrir following a short distance behind him. Slung over one of Fenrir's massive shoulders was a form that Voldemort at first mistook for a sack of potatoes, before then realizing that it must be Potter.

Fenrir approached, roughly transferring her to the floor in front of his throne, though, Voldemort noted, still far more gently than he usually would have. He then inclined his head in his customary gesture of respect, the most submission that his wolf would allow him to show.

"Excellent, Fenrir. I am mosssst pleased with your efforts," Voldemort said, some of his S's becoming elongated as if he was speaking Parseltongue as they often did when he was experiencing particularly intense emotion.

"Though," he added conversationally after a couple minutes of closely watching the trembling body on the floor, "I must ask what happened that caused her to be so far from the 'relatively unharmed' that I requested her to be."

"Found her like this," Fenrir grunted. "Foolish chit was sitting in the middle of a snowstorm in no more clothing than she's wearing now. Barely put up any fight at all; only tried to get away when she panicked after I startled her out of the coma she was slipping into."

Voldemort frowned. That didn't sound like the Harrie Potter he knew. Often brave to the point of foolhardiness, yes, and with no regard for her own mortality, especially in defense of those she cared about. But she wasn't stupid, no matter what Severus liked to say about her during his frequent rants.

And why wasn't she with her equally as annoying friends? During the report earlier, he'd assumed she hadn't been spotted because she was doing the intelligent thing and keeping out of sight, but the field Fenrir had found her in was nowhere near the reported sightings of Weasley and Granger.

Voldemort leaned forward cautiously, expecting Potter to leap up and attack him or make a break for it any moment now. She didn't; all she did was groan and curl in on herself.

"Potter!" He barked, his voice cracking like a whip through the otherwise hushed room, his Death Eaters silent and hardly daring to breathe.

She let out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a sob, managing to get a hand underneath herself and push herself upright enough to be able to look him in the eye when she raised her head. Voldemort barely refrained from voicing his surprise at the sight of her. Potter had lost so much weight her face was little more than skin stretched taut over her skull.

Far away in the deepest recesses of his mind was a kernel of something that might possibly be labeled as worry, but that was an absolutely ridiculous notion, so he pushed it aside and ignored it.

"Well, Potter?" he demanded. " It's been so long since we were last face-to-face, I'm sure you have something quippy and infuriating to say."

"How did you find me?" Potter rasped out. "No one knew where I was, I made sure of it."

Voldemort blinked once, slowly, a mannerism he had adopted from Nagini long ago. That hadn't been quite what he was expecting.

"Don't tell me no one thought to tell you about the Taboo placed on my name."

"Oh. Right. Forgot about that."

"You forgot about it?" Rookwood blurted out, sounding incredulous.

"Hush, Augustus," Voldemort chided, though he was more amused than anything. Many believed that he was a ruthless and merciless Lord, torturing even his followers at the drop of a hat. And he was and did; their screams were too delightful not to. Despite that, he had more tolerance for snide commentary and the like than most outsiders would likely believe, especially when it came to his more highly-ranked followers.

He expected Potter's eternally smart mouth to make an appearance in response to Augustus' comment, but she stayed still and silent in her position on the ground. Her behaviour was very out of character and judging by the sound of rustling robes caused by nervous shifting, his Death Eaters knew it too.

Voldemort leaned back in his seat, taking a real proper look at her. She seemed physically diminished, not just in terms of how much weight she had lost. Her larger-than-life personality had always given her a presence that made her seem so much larger and more intimidating than she really was. Now, she seemed shrunken and lesser, somehow, and when he met her eyes, he could see that the fierce fire they'd always contained had dimmed to only an ember.

Not that it mattered. Sometime within the next hour, Potter would die at his hand and would cease to be an obstacle to his goals or indeed anything he needed to think about at all.

"Let's not drag this out any longer, hmm? Beg for your life, Potter, beg, and I may be willing to spare some of your friends."

"No, thanks," she whispered. "Just get it over with."

Voldemort felt himself become impossibly still, unable to do anything but stare at Potter. If he hadn't thought something was wrong before, he definitely would now. She had never hesitated to jump to the defence of her friends before.

"Why not?"

"Please just make it quick."

"You beg for a swift, painless death instead of the lives of your friends? I hadn't thought you were capable of being that selfish, Potter."

"It's not selfish if they wouldn't do the same for me!" she snapped, her glare fierce despite the tears now spilling from the pools in her eyes. "Besides, I don't have any friends anymore."

He tilted his head, surprised, though his expression didn't show it. "None at all? And why is that?"

Potter opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, clearly not having expected him to consider it a question worthy of asking.

"They're mad I wouldn't turn myself in in exchange for them going on a no-harm list."

Her hesitation before answering was brief, but present nonetheless, and he knew it for a lie.

"Lie," Voldemort said softly, leaning forward and fingering his wand.

Potter's face crumpled. "Why do you need to know anyway? Can't you just kill me and let me be done with everything?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Voldemort saw the masked and cloaked Death Eater he knew to be Severus flinch back. The movement would be imperceptible to everyone else in the room and nearly was to him. It also sent alarm bells ringing in his head. For Severus, such a minuscule change in body language was as drastic as someone else waving their arms above their head and screaming.

He couldn't help but agree, though. What had happened to make Potter so blatantly suicidal?

"Why should I do that?"

Potter leapt to her feet, a crazed look in her eye. "Because I'm apparently too much of a coward to do it myself!"

As soon as the words had left her mouth, she reared back as she realized what she'd said, a panicked expression coming over her face. Her head swung wildly back and forth as she looked frantically for an escape route, her stronger instinct apparently now flight instead of fight.

Every single Death Eater in the room had drawn their wands and pointed them at her when Potter had first moved, but were somehow still caught off guard when she bolted. She was through the doors and gone within the blink of an eye, sparks from a Stunner licking at her heels. Several of his more athletic Death Eaters made to go after her, but Voldemort raised a hand, stilling them.

"Leave it. She is weakened from the cold and, I suspect, not eating properly, she will not get far. I will not have you risking yourselves needlessly now when it will be far easier to recapture her later."

"Risking ourselves?!" Edwin Mulciber protested, never a very bright sort.

Voldemort resigned himself to explaining, but Severus beat him to it.

"She is panicked and not thinking clearly," he said coldly. "The rigid morals that Dumbledore-" as always, the man's name was said with a sneer "- drummed into her will not be governing Potter's actions right now. She tried to torture Bellatrix after her godfather was killed and is quite possibly in a similar frame of mind at the moment. Furthermore, she is clearly suicidal; she will not care what happens to her in the process of fighting you."

Edwin subsided with a grunt of annoyance.

"Luciussss, lock down the Manor's wards," Voldemort ordered. "It is unlikely she will get that far, but there is no sense in risssking it."

"Of course, My Lord. Though, you are aware the wards will also prevent us from tracking her magically?"

"Yesss, I am aware. It matters not."

Chapter Text

Harrie came back to awareness slowly. She was upside down, her head throbbing from the increase in blood pressure, and there was something solid and uncomfortable digging into her stomach. She squirmed a bit and suddenly it was as if a band of iron had been clamped around her.

Once her mind had stopped screaming at her in panic, Harrie was able to identify it as an arm. Which meant that she was currently slung over someone's shoulder like a sack of potatoes over a beast of burden.

Every step the person carrying her took jarred her sore and still freezing body, though she was slowly warming up. Every single muscle and joint she possessed ached as feeling gradually returned.

The creaking groan of massive doors opening reached Harrie's ears and then they came to a halt.

"Good Merlin, what did you do to the girl?" someone asked. The haughty, aristocratic voice was one she soon identified as belonging to the Malfoy patriarch. It appeared whoever had caught her had brought her straight to the Malfoys’ grand estate, which Order of the Phoenix intel had identified as being the Death Eaters’ main base of operations. She had little chance of escape then, assuming she could even muster the energy to try.

"Didn't do nothing to her, Lucius," her captor scoffed. " Found her three-quarters-dead in the snow when we responded to the Taboo alert."

"Hmm, well, I'm sure you'll enjoy explaining that to the Dark Lord," Malfoy commented (was that a teasing note in his voice?). "I imagine he's getting impatient by now, best bring her through."

They started walking again, this time accompanied by the clacking of Malfoy's cane against what Harrie figured were probably solid marble floors.

A few minutes later, she was tossed to the floor, albeit with far less force than could have been used.

"Excellent, Fenrir. I am mosssst pleased with your efforts," Voldemort spoke from above her.

In a flash, Harrie remembered. It had been Fenrir Greyback who had tracked her down and dragged her before his master. Only a couple of minutes ago, she had been trapped in the grasp of the most feared werewolf in Britain, who was well-known to have a taste for young flesh. She shuddered. It was only Voldemort's insistence that he deal with her himself that had saved her from a most gruesome fate, though the one that now awaited her wasn't much better.

"Though I must ask what happened that caused her to be so far from the 'relatively unharmed' that I requested her to be," Voldemort added.

"Found her like this," Fenrir grunted. "Foolish chit was sitting in the middle of a snowstorm in no more clothing than she's wearing now. Barely put up any fight at all; only tried to get away when she panicked after I startled her out of the coma she was slipping into. No sign of her wand anywhere, either."

Harrie closed her eyes more tightly upon hearing this assessment. It made her sound like a complete idiot, which she resented greatly. It didn't matter what a stupid Death Eater thought of her, though; nothing did, anymore.

The pain pulsing through her body increased suddenly and she groaned, curling into a ball on the hard floor.

Voldemort's voice snapped out. "Potter!"

A bolt of fear jolted through her body. Harrie was unable to prevent herself from releasing a pitiful noise that was a combination of a whimper and a sob, the sound escaping her lips before she could stop it. This was a far cry from their last encounter; how incredibly pathetic she had become.

Determined to at least be face-to-face with Voldemort when she met her end, Harrie worked a hand underneath herself, managing to heave herself up enough to look Voldemort in the eye. Additionally, in her current state, she didn't have the courage to ignore him.

Surprise fIickered across Voldemort's face, there and gone in an instant.

"Well, Potter?" he demanded. "It's been so long since we were last in one another's presence. I'm sure you have something quippy and infuriating to say."

Harrie pushed aside her bewilderment at the comment that, coming from nearly anyone else, she would have considered teasing and answered.

"How did you find me? No one knew where I was, I made sure of it."

Her voice came out sounding more like a Dementor's death rattle than anything produced by human vocal cords and her throat felt as though someone had poured liquid fire down it as soon as she started to speak.

Voldemort blinked slowly, just once, in a manner very reminiscent of a snake.

"Don't tell me no one thought to tell you about the Taboo placed on my name."

Harrie frowned. Of course she knew about it, and she had managed to remember, too; she'd certainly been reminded often enough. Hermi- Harrie flinched and cut off that thought before it could go any further. She just hadn't realized she'd been speaking aloud. It would probably be simpler to just say she had forgotten about it, though.

"Oh. Right. Forgot about that."

"You forgot about it?" One of the Death Eaters standing closest to the throne exclaimed. Harrie didn't recognize his voice and everyone in the room save Voldemort and herself was wearing the signature mask and hooded cloak.

She expected Voldemort to torture the speaker for interrupting, but when he next spoke, he mostly just sounded amused.

"Hush, Augustus."

When she said nothing more, the Death Eaters seemed to grow restless, their robes rustling as they shifted around.

Voldemort ignored them, leaning back in his seat and fixing her with an intense stare, considering her.

"Let's not drag this out any longer, hmm? Beg for your life, Potter. Beg, and I may be willing to spare some of your friends."

Before, the first part of his statement would've sent fear, determination, and righteous fury burning through her. Now, all she felt was a quiet relief. The second part made her pause. Harrie wouldn't have thought it was an offer Voldemort would ever be willing to make. He could be lying, of course, wanting to humiliate her thoroughly before her death in retaliation for all the times she had defeated or escaped him. Something told her he wasn't though, which left the question of what he gained from it. There was no strategical reason to allow her so-called friends to live, especially when they would only continue to fight against him. 

Maybe it was just because he was a madman; Dumbledore had said that making so many Horcruxes had driven Voldemort insane. It was probably best not to try and assign any sort of rationale to his actions.

But did she really want to take him up on it? She was tired and didn't want to expend the effort of begging and pleading for something she no longer wanted. Harrie knew it was selfish of her to not take this chance to ease some of her friends' suffering, the ones who hadn't treated her with such callous disregard, but she was so very sick of being selfless. She had also lost all faith that the people she had been so willing to sacrifice herself for would be willing to do the same for her.

Harrie lowered her gaze to Voldemort's chin, ashamed of herself, and whispered the words that would be her doom.

"No, thanks. Just get it over with."

Voldemort stared at her, clearly taken aback.

"Why not?"

"Please just make it quick."

"You beg for a swift, painless death instead of for the lives of your friends? I hadn't thought you were capable of being that selfish, Potter."

"It's not selfish if they wouldn't do the same for me!" Harrie snapped. To her horror, she could feel tears welling up in her eyes and spilling over as her emotions overwhelmed her. Deciding she may as well throughly humiliate herself (Voldemort would probably be happy about it, so at least one of them would be), she continued. "Besides, I don't have any friends anymore."

He tilted his head, surprised enough to show it. She must be setting some kind of record, getting the Dark Lord to show emotions other than anger and delight at torturing people.

"None at all? And why is that?"

Harrie floundered a bit, not having expected Voldemort to consider it information that was important enough to ask about. She thought rapidly, trying to come up with a plausible excuse that didn't sound utterly pathetic or reveal the devastating truth, which was the last thing she wanted to talk about in a room full of Death Eaters, most of whom were men.

"They're mad I wouldn't turn myself in in exchange for them going on a no-harm list."

For several minutes, Harrie thought she'd gotten away with it. Then,

"Lie," Voldemort said softly, leaning forward and fingering his wand.

Harrie felt her face crumple. "Why do you need to know anyway? Can't you just kill me and let me be done with everything?" she asked, her voice plaintive.

"Why should I do that?"

A wild, desperate sort of despair overtook her and she found herself leaping to her feet without making a conscious decision to do so. Every single Death Eater in the room drew their wand and pointed it at her. Harrie ignored them, remaining focused on Voldemort, who just watched her calmly.

"Because I'm apparently too much of a coward to do it myself!" she shouted.

Time seemed to slow down. Panic overtook her as the words she'd just uttered reached her ears. Harrie couldn't believe she'd just revealed such a weakness to her worst enemy; bad enough she'd cried in front of him, but this was exponentially worse.

She had to get out of here, away from all the prying eyes digging away at her skin. Her head lashed back and forth as she searched desperately for a way out.

One of the Death Eaters raised his wand higher and that was enough to send Harrie bolting for the doors. The only thought left in her mind was to find somewhere safe, somewhere small and dark like the cupboard that had been her only refuge from her uncle's fury.

Chapter Text

Harrie sprinted through the halls of Malfoy Manor. Her eyes searched frantically for a space she could use to hide and her ears were peeled for the sounds of pursuit. So far, all she could hear were silence and her own footfalls.

She had been running for barely more than a minute and already she could feel the beginnings of fatigue. Her legs and lungs were burning and an incredibly painful stitch was developing in her side. Harrie hadn't eaten or slept properly in months and now she was paying the price. Her recent near-death by hypothermia probably wasn't helping either.

She skidded around yet another corner (honestly, how big was this place? It was ridiculous.) and spotted a tall wooden cabinet that suited her purposes perfectly. It looked very out of place in the otherwise immaculately decorated corridor, but she didn't stop to question it. She threw open the doors, giving the contents only a cursory glance before folding herself inside and pulling the doors shut behind her.

---

"This meeting is over," Voldemort decided. "Severus, Lucius, Fenrir, Bellatrix, Edwin, and I will search for Potter. The rest of you may leave."

"Don't tell me I have to search with Mulciber, " Fenrir complained.

"You do," Voldemort told him uncaringly. "Bellatrix shall search with Lucius and Severus with myself."

"Fine," Fenrir grumbled. "But I don't like it."

Voldemort sighed internally, well used to the werewolf's dislike of most of wizarding kind. Himself and, oddly enough, Lucius, were the only exceptions that he knew of.

"Use force if necessary, but don't harm her and try to avoid doing anything that could set her ooff again. She may lash out instead of fleeing if you do."

---

Fenrir stomped off in the general direction the Potter chit had gone. Just his luck that he'd gotten stuck with that cunt Mulciber instead of the Dark Lord or Lucius, the only two tolerable wizards he knew. Even Snape would have been better; he at least never treated him differently even if he did always smell of fear when close to Fenrir.

"Can't you just sniff her out?" Mulciber whined after nearly half an hour of searching.

It was Lucius' fault, Fenrir decided. The pretentious idiot just had to have a bloody massive house that practically took days to walk through. (Nevermind that it had been in his family for generations; that wasn't the point.)

"I'm not a bloody dog," Fenrir growled, choosing not to mention that he could have tracked her by scent if her fear and panic hadn't been so strong that everything now smelled of it.

"Not right now."

"I'm a werewolf, you prick. And I'm going to tear your throat out if you don't shut the fuck up."

Mulciber scoffed, but wisely didn't say anything else.

Fenrir stopped and cocked his head to the side. He could have sworn he'd just heard a muffled sob. He followed the direction it had come from and blanched upon recognizing the corridor he was now in. Of course the chit's infamous luck had brought her here.

"Have you found her?" Mokiber hissed, at least having the good sense to be quiet.

"I think so."

Instinct led Fenrir to the large cabinet that Nagini liked to nest in when the Dark Lord was away. It was situated right outside his bedchamber and filled with old robes and probably several rodent carcasses being saved for later.

He approached it and eased a door open. Huddled in the furthest corner, tucked into the tightest ball she could manage, was Potter, clearly trying not to truly cry if her hitching pants were any indication.

"There you are, little dove."

Her head snapped up, red-rimmed eyes squinting against the light. When she saw him, Potter let out a choked scream and tried to move even deeper into the cabinet despite already being up against the back.

Fenrir crouched down, trying to make himself less imposing.

"I'm not going to hurt you, little dove, I've got orders to bring you back unharmed if possible. You can't stay in here forever, so why don't you come back with me and see what the Dark Lord wants with you?"

"He wants to kill me."

Her voice was so quiet, Fenrir wouldn't have been able to hear her if he wasn't a werewolf.

"Probably," he agreed. "But it sounds like you want him to do that."

She nodded her head slowly.

He opened his mouth to say something, but Muciber interrupted.

"What's the point of all this talking? Just grab the girl."

He pushed Fenrir to the side and reached into the cabinet, clamping a hand around Potter's upper arm and yanking.

She snarled like a wounded animal and sank her teeth into his wrist. Mulciber yelped and fell backwards, allowing her to scramble out of the cabinet and run off again.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Fenrir groaned and picked himself up off the ground.

"Alert the Dark Lord, you useless piece of shite!" He barked at the imbecile, who was stood gaping at his newly acquired wound, before turning on his heel and racing after Potter.

—

Normally, Fenrir was proud of his lack of reliance on a wand, but right now he was cursing it and his tendency to not carry one around. It certainly would have come in handy right about then, at the very least for tracking Potter if not magically preventing her escape. She may have been in a poor state of health, but Fenris was she fast. The only glimpses he caught of her were as she whipped around corners ahead of him as he entered the hallways she'd just exited.

Somehow, Potter managed to find her way out into the gardens, despite having none of the knowledge that was necessary to successfully navigate Malfoy Manor. Even with it, Fenrir still got lost half the time.

He slowed to a walk. He had her back in his sights now. She was sprinting for the fields at the edge of the property and the wards that would prevent her from leaving. There was no risk of Potter escaping.She crashed directly into the wards at full speed. A flurry of sparks flew into the air and fell to the ground, fizzling out on the damp grass. Powerful magic filled the air, heavy and stifling, before dissipating with a loud 'bang!' as the wards repelled the attack. The force sent Potter sprawling backwards.

She remained where she'd fallen for a moment, shaking her head, clearly dazed. Fenrir readied himself to catch her if she ran back in his direction.

Instead, she got up and hurled herself at the wards again. The same thing happened and she still tried again. And again. And again.

After her fourth attempt, Fenrir shook himself out of his stunned stupor and started running again. He'd never seen someone try to break through wards by repeatedly throwing themselves at them, and for good reason; the girl was going to do some serious damage to herself if she didn't stop. Already, he could smell the scent of overcooked flesh and burning hair.

The Dark Lord appeared out of nowhere (Mulciber had apparently managed to do one thing right; Fenrir hadn't thought he'd had it in him) and wrapped his arms around Potter's waist, hauling her up and away.

---

Voldemort was searching the basement of Malfoy Manor with Severus when he felt the tug on his magic that meant one of his Death Eaters was asking for him. He focused and identified the Death Eater in question as Edwin.

"Edwin is requesting my presence," he informed Severus, turning and heading back to the staircase.

"If he and Greyback were the ones to find Potter, I'm betting he's calling for you because he screwed it up somehow.'"

Voldemort scoffed. "I am nowhere near enough of a fool to take that bet.'"

The only reason he kept Mulciber around was his skill with the Imperius Curse; without that ability, he would have been killed for his incompetence long ago.

They found him lingering by the main staircase, nursing a nasty looking bite wound in his hand.

"Edwin, report."

"The little bitch bit me!" was the instant response. "She ran off into the gardens with Greyback on her tail; I stayed here so I could tell you where they went."

Voldemort suspected it was less a wish to be helpful and more a distinct desire to remain as far away from Potter as possible that had motivated Edwin to take up his current post, but he would deal with him later. Catching Potter was far more important than one cowardly Death Eater.

"Did you happen to see which part of the gardens she was heading for?"

"Towards the fields, I think."

Voldemort nodded and turned on his heel to start heading there. He hadn't taken more than a couple of steps when the telltale shockwave of magic from an assualt on the Wards crashed through the room. The only question was whether it was caused by Potter trying to escape or members of the Order come to try and rescue her.

When it happened again not even a minute later, he quickened his pace. Wards as old and strong as the ones around Malfoy Manor could withstand a lot and there was little chance of anyone successfully breaking through, but Voldemort still needed to know who was conducting the attack and what kind of power they had at their disposal.

The attacks kept on coming and he kept speeding up accordingly until he was sprinting, feet barely touching the ground as he used magic to propel himself forwards.

Voldemort could soon see Fenrir in the distance. At first, he could see no one who could be causing the wards to react. Then, he spotted Potter. His pace faltered as he watched her pick herself up off the ground and hurl herself bodily into the wards, causing them to shudder and throw her away. And then she got back up and did it again.

He couldn't use any spells on her while she was constantly coming in contact with the wards, in case it was viewed as another attack and backfired on him. It seemed he had no choice but to go the direct route.

He reached her just as she rebounded again and grabbed her before she could fall to the ground, clamping an arm around her waist and lifting her into the air so she would have no leverage she could use to try again.

The second her feet left the ground, Potter screeched like a banshee, thrashing and bucking against his hold. Voldemort had to resist the urge to drop her so he could clamp his hands over his ears.

He hadn't been in close physical proximity to her since his resurrection and she apparently hadn't grown much since then. She was incredibly light and absolutely tiny in his arms. With her pressed up close to him like this, highlighting her small physical size, Voldemort found it hard to believe that this was the girl, now woman, that had defied him so many times. Her usual bravery and defiance had made her seem so much larger and more imposing than she really was.

Holding onto her flailing body with one arm, he used his other hand to draw his wand and press it to her temple.

"Dormis," he said clearly, and felt Potter go limp as the sleeping spell took hold.

"You didn't kill her," Fenrir observed as he came over to stand next to him.

"No, I didn't," Voldemort responded slowly. "For the moment, Potter is more valuable alive than dead."

Fenrir grunted, giving her a once-over. "What's that thing 'round her neck? Looks expensive."

Voldemort took a closer look at what Fenrir was asking about and felt his blood crystallize with icy rage. What was one of his very well-protected Horcruxes doing around Potter's neck

Chapter Text

Severus stood over the prone form of Harrie Potter, examining the injuries that weren't concealed by her nearly destroyed clothing. It was rather more of Potter than he'd ever wanted to see, but he was the only option if she was going to be healed magically. The Death Eaters had had a properly trained Healer during the first war, but he had died in Azkaban. Severus with his vast knowledge of potions and his ability to create new spells was now the only one capable of even rudimentary magical healing.

"Well?" Voldemort asked from his position lurking behind Severus.

"I appreciate your faith in me, My Lord, but I'm no miracle worker," he groused in reply. "Not only does Potter have the worst case of magical burns I've seen since Avery lost control of that Fiendfyre, she is apparently also malnourished and fatigued, not to mention whatever's draining her magic, which I can't seem to identify."

"I need answers, Ssseverus," Voldemort hissed. "Potter is the only one capable of providing them, and in case you haven't noticed, she is currently unconscious."

"Answers, My Lord?"

"Yes, Ssseverus, answers. It's the only reason I haven't killed the blasted girl yet. For example, I would like to know exactly how this got around her neck and why it is now refusing to leave!"

Severus' mind raced as he stared in horror at Slytherin's Locket as it lay glinting in the palm of Voldemort's bone white hand. True to the Dark Lord's outburst, it still hung from Potter's neck instead of being back in the possession of its creator. Why had the foolish girl not destroyed it already? He had provided her with everything she would need to do so and it would have made searching for the remaining Horcruxes easier.

At least he now had a timeline on how long Potter had to survive. Severus would have to find a way to keep Potter from telling Voldemort what he wanted to know while he devised a plan to free her. Easier said than done; the Dark Lord had not ascended to his current position by being stupid.

"Refusing to leave..?" Severus repeated blankly, unsure as to what the Dark Lord could possibly mean.

"This is a sentient magical object," the Dark Lord began, running a sharp-nailed finger over the large 'S' emblazoned on the Locket in a gentle caress. "Rarely do they choose to change their allegiances, but when they do it is always absolute. For whatever reason, my creation has chosen to attach itself to Potter and is refusing to allow me to remove it from her person. I would like to know why."

Not exactly the full truth, but enough that Severus was able to combine it with what he already knew of Horcruxes to form a very interesting picture, indeed. Had part of Voldemort's soul chosen the Light? It appeared Severus needed to speak with Potter as badly as the Dark Lord did.

"Restrain her so that she is unable to flee when she wakes. I don't want to have to chase her through the gardens again."

"It is unlikely she will awaken anytime soon, My Lord, her injuries are quite severe and  significant damage has been done to her body over the course of the last few months."

Of course, being the impossible, contradictory creature that she was, Potter chose that moment to wake up, with a loud gasp just to highlight the fact that Severus had been wrong. Voldemort raised an amused eyebrow in Severus' direction, practically daring him to say something. He contented himself with scowling at Potter instead.

"Potter, I have some questions for you that I would like answered as completely and truthfully as you have the knowledge to be capable of."

Potter didn't seem to hear him, too busy yanking frantically at the rope that Severus had used to tie her loosely to the bed.

"Potter," Severus drawled. "You will not be able to get free; it is a magical binding. If you promise not to try and run again, I will release you from it, and we can have this conversation like civilised beings."

Voldemort opened his mouth, most likely to negate what Severus had just said, but Severus stopped him with a raised hand.

"You will not be able to get answers out of her while she is in this state, My Lord," he said quietly.

"Very well," Voldemort sighed. "Yes, Potter, Severus will release you so long as you promise not to leave this room until granted permission by myself."

Potter stilled and looked at the Dark Lord with narrowed eyes, her gaze heavy with mistrust and something else that Severus couldn't name.

"Fine," she rasped out. "But I want a guarantee that you won't lay so much as a finger on me."

"So long as it is not medically necessary," Severus agreed before Voldemort could say something that would put Potter's back up.

Potter hesitated for a couple of seconds before she accepted the deal with a curt jerk of her chin. Much to his surprise, magic flooded the room instantly as their promises were sealed by their very magic. To break their words now would be to suffer grievous consequences.

"Interesting," Voldemort murmured.

"What's interesting?" Potter snapped.

Voldemort considered her for a moment. "Unimportant right now," he decided. "How did you come to be in possession of my Locket?"

"I found it and decided to keep it."

"Hardly an adequate answer," Voldemort said. "You promised to answer my questions with all of the knowledge you have at your disposal."

'Damn it,' Severus cursed. There was no way Potter would be able to keep the fact that she was aware of the Dark Lord's Horcruxes a secret.

Potter raised her chin defiantly. "Dumbledore told me about your Horcruxes. I've been hunting them down and destroying them ever since."

Voldemort's eyes glowed with his rage, his magic filling the room as he lost control, deadly and suffocating. Severus was forced to his knees, a hand on his chest as he tried to draw in air through the immense pressure on his lungs.

"HOW MANY?!" Voldemort roared. "How many have your unworthy hands destroyed?!"

"Only one!" Potter yelled back. "And that was both an accident and your own fault!"

The storm of magic quieted and Severus slumped fully to the ground, gratefully sucking in great lungfuls of air.

Voldemort took a seat in front of Potter.

"Explain," he said calmly, as though he hadn't almost just killed Severus.

Severus decided he would consider the implications of Potter being entirely unaffected at a later date. He didn't think his heart could handle the additional stress right now.

"Your diary was possessing Ginny Weasley and using her to release the Basilisk and petrify a bunch of students. The school was going to be shut down; I had to do something."

Both Severus and Voldemort just blinked at her. Albus had told Severus some of the events that had transpired in Potter's second year, mostly that it had been one of Voldemort's Horcruxes responsible, but he had never mentioned a Basilisk.

"When was this?" Voldemort asked.

"My second year."

"You should be dead," Voldemort said flatly. "How did you accidentally destroy my Horcrux?"

"I stabbed it with a Basilisk fang after one broke off in my arm," Potter said, sounding entirely too casual to be talking about something that was all but a guaranteed death sentence.

Severus grabbed his wand and began casting spells at her, trying to figure out both how she survived and what effects it had had on her body.

"Stop that!" Potter yelped, swatting at one of the spells as though that would actually do something.

"I am trying to see how long you have left to live, you foolish girl," Severus growled. "Of all the stupid, idiotic, imbecilic, ridiculous things!"

Potter glared at him. "Are you going to tell me I'm wasting my parents' sacrifice by being reckless?"

"Has someone told you that?" Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Remus did, in my third year," Potter mumbled, suddenly looking as though she wished she'd just kept her mouth shut.

"Fascinating as this is," Voldemort cut in. "There are more pressing matters to attend to. Severus, have you been able to discern what the Basilisk venom has done to her?"

Severus felt as though he needed to leave the room so that he could go off by himself somewhere and just scream. This conversation was rapidly going downhill and he would much rather be just about anywhere else, including back in Albus' office, being constantly and insistantly offered lemon drops.

He peered at the results his spells had given him. "It looks as though something neutralized the venom enough that it couldn't kill her. And then her body... absorbed the venom somehow."

"Fascinating," Voldemort whispered. "Is that the only Horcrux that you've destroyed, Potter?"

"It's the only one I've destroyed personally. Dumbledore took the Sword of Gryffindor to your ring. I was going to do the same to the Locket, but then it saved my life, so I didn't."

Severus decided he needed to sit down as well.

"And how did you get your hands on the Locket? The defenses I placed around it are the most formidable of all my Horcruxes."

"Dumbledore was able to get through, with a bit of assistance from me. But your Locket had actually been taken long before we got there, by Regulus Black and his house elf, Kreacher."

"I was betrayed?"

It was probably going to get him killed, but Severus was not going to sit idly by while Regulus' memory was tarnished.

"Many of us were beginning to experience misgivings at the time, My Lord," he said quietly. "Regulus was apparently the only one brave enough to do anything about it."

"What kind of misgivings?" Voldemort asked. The tone of his voice told Severus that giving the wrong answer would end very badly for him;.

"You were behaving very erratically, My Lord. Your obsession with he prophecy, for one thing, and for another, the Death Eaters were becoming less about a united front against the Light and more about mindless killing and torture, which is not what many of us signed up for."

"Hmm. I will take your words under advisement, Severus."

Only long years of practice allowed Severus to keep his bewilderment off of his face. This was a side of the Dark Lord he had only caught the briefest glimpse of before madness began dictating his actions. Something was allowing him to behave more rationally.

Potter shifted, Severus catching the movement in his peripheral vision. It drew his attention back to her and he began to wonder. It was a viable theory, even if Albus had never mentioned anything of the sort.

Because he wanted you to convince her to walk willingly to her death.' A voice whispered in the back of his mind, a voice that sounded painfully like Lily.

"So, you found the Locket in the Black family townhouse. Why didn't you destroy it immediately?"

Severus refrained from rolling his eyes. He hadn't survived this long as a spy by being oblivious to Voldemort's inner workings nad thought processes, and he knew exactly what was going on here. More rational and stable the Dark Lord might be, but he was clearly still exquisitely paranoid. It was very unlikely that Potter had somehow set up all of this in order to get close enough to Voldemort to kill him.

"No, no, it had already been removed from Grimmauld Place by the time we figured out that Regulus was the one who had taken it from your creepy cave. We had to break into the Ministry to steal it back from that bitch Umbridge, who'd taken it from Mundungus Fletcher as a bribe to allow him to continue selling stuff without a license. Kreacher had to beat him up with a frying pan to get the information out of him."

Voldemort pinched the bridge of his nose in an obvious attempt to stave off the headache caused by Potter's... Potterness.

"Right. Is there anything else you think I need to know?"

"Ron and Hermione also know about your Horcruxes; we were looking for them together. When I split off from them, we hadn't discussed where more of them might be. We were focusing on finding something to destroy the Locket first before we actively went looking for more."

Since when did Potter leave Granger and Weasely behind when she went off on one of her mad, ill-advised adventures?

"You were trying to find something to destroy it?" Voldemort repeated. "Are you not aware that Fiendfyre can be used to destroy Horcruxes?"

Potter squirmed. "I suggested it, but it's Dark magic, so I was the only one who thought it was a good idea. We were making plans to get into Hogwarts and get the Sword of Gryffindor, but then I left, and then someone left it for me at the bottom of a frozen pond, and I nearly drowned getting it, but the Locket pulled me up to the surface."

Huh. And here Severus had thought Potter was as self-righteously anti-Dark as the rest of her merry band of Gryffindors.

“Do you know why it decided to save you?”

“No? It's not like I can have a conversation with it. I just figured it didn't want to be stuck at the bottom of a lake wrapped around a rotting corpse. Plus, I was actually really mad that it dragged me back to the surface instead of letting me drown, so I wasn't in the mood to ask it anything.”

“My Locket saved your life by bringing you back to the surface while you were trying to drown yourself,” Voldemort summarized, his tone of voice suggesting that he wasn't going to bother even being surprised at this point.

“I don't know about ‘trying’ to drown myself, it was more of an inevitable side effect of going diving in a really deep lake and not knowing how to swim.”

Which meant it had been Severus who put her in mortal danger this time. He cursed himself for not knowing such a vital piece of information when devising a task of bravery that would allow her to claim the sword.

Voldemort straightened up. “Well, the only question that remains now is what I should do with you. I cannot kill you while my Locket favours you, which leaves me with a bit of a conundrum. Any thoughts, Severus?”

Severus balked, not sure what sort of answer his Lord was looking for, but Potter saved him from having to answer. In a manner of speaking, anyway.

"I want to join the Death Eaters."

Chapter Text

Harrie watched Voldemort stare at her, caught off guard by her request. It was a conclusion she'd come to partway through their remarkably civil conversation. Her situation before being captured by Greyback would not have been sustainable for much longer; the isolation had already been starting to drive her out of her mind, along with the endless ‘what ifs’ and ‘I should have’s’. She by no means trusted Voldemort, but he hadn't broken any of the promises he'd made her or tried to get around them. There was no one else Harrie could go to, so she had decided to throw her lot in with the Dark.

"And how am I to know that this isn't your plan to kill me or an attempt to spy on me and mine?"

Harrie opened her mouth to answer, desperation taking hold as she realized her plan to find a place of refuge had no guarantee of working, but Voldemort stood and headed for the door before she could.

"Bellatrix is requesting my presence," he said. "Severus will stay with you; we shall continue this when I return."

With Voldemort gone, the atmosphere of the room became uncomfortable and thick with tension. Harrie hadn't been alone in a room with Snape since her disastrous Occlumency lessons. Worse, she now knew he was the Half-Blood Prince, the subject of her crush-bordering-on-obsession throughout all of sixth year.

The Occlumency lessons were, Harrie reluctantly acknowledged, mostly her own fault. If she hadn't snooped in Snape's private memories, Snape probably would have, begrudgingly, continued them through to the end of the year. His teaching style left much to be desired, but she'd already survived four years of his Potions classes. She would've survived the one-on-one lessons as well.

Snape was staring her down, his obsidian eyes boring holes through her skull. Harrie was careful not to meet his eyes directly, irrationally convinced he would be able to glean the entirety of her psyche with just a peek into her mind.

"Why on Magic's green Earth did you ask to join the Death Eaters?!" Snape suddenly spat out, startling Harrie. "If this is indeed some half-witted plan to spy on or kill the Dark Lord, I can assure you, it will not be successful."

"I'm serious," Harrie insisted. It had often been discussed in the Order how Snape was one of Voldemort's closest, most trusted followers. Convincing him that her request was genuine would go a long way towards convincing Voldemort that she could be trusted, at least in a 'we don't need to kill you immediately' sort of way.

"And why is that?" Snape asked quietly. "Your entire time at Hogwarts you have openly hated Lord Voldemort and everything he stands for, and with him, Dark magic and Dark wizards such as myself. Not without reason, I'll grant you that, but I'm sure you can understand why such an abrupt about-face is... suspicious, to say the least."

Harrie didn't say anything for a while, mentally weighing how much she should say.

"I was on my own for quite a while and I didn't have much to do with myself, so I started reading a bunch of books that I found. The more I read, the more I realized that I actually don't agree with most of what 'my side' has done and plans to do. "

Snape's expression was one of open disbelief. "You read books? Books that changed your opinions so radically you now want to swear allegiance to the Dark Lord, the man who killed your parents."

"Yes! I needed a book on a specific topic, and when I asked at Flourish and Blotts, he looked at me like I was slime on the bottom of his shoe. So I went into Knockturn and found the book I needed and a whole stack of others that sounded interesting and I read them, and agreed with pretty much everything they had to say."

"The man who killed your parents and countless others," Snape said again, in the same tone he'd used on her in class when he thought she was being particularly dense.

"Why do you find it so hard to believe?" Harrie asked, beginning to get angry. The nerve of this man! "You're a Death Eater, you killed Dumbledore! You should be happy I want to defect; it will certainly make it easier for the Death Eaters to win!"

"Arrogant as ever, Potter," Snape sneered. "Thinking the outcome of this entire war hinges on whether you choose to join us or not."

"That's what the prophecy says!" Harrie retorted, well and truly fired up now.

"I am trying to keep you alive, you stupid girl!" Snape exploded, losing his patience with her. "It will be infinitely more impossible to do so if you insist on transplanting yourself directly into a den of Death Eaters who all want you dead!"

"You... what?" was all Harrie was able to say.

Snape sighed and put his head in his hands, looking exhausted beyond his years.

"I killed Albus at his request. He was dying anyway from the curse on the Ring Horcrux, he had maybe a month left and he wanted to give me a way to reaffirm my place amongst the Death Eaters and at the Dark Lord's side. Everything I've done since you began Hogwarts has been to keep you alive and safe so you could fulfill that blasted prophecy. If you truly wish to swear yourself to Voldemort, then... then I suppose I shall have to be a proper Death Eater once again."

"You don't owe me anything," Harrie protested. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

Snape leaned forward, his eyes even more intense than usual. "I swore on your mother's life I would do everything in my power to protect you. I have no intention of breaking that vow."

"Oh," Harrie whispered. Such steadfast devotion was something she had thought could only be found in storybooks. To find an example of it in reality and in her mother's name brought tears to her eyes. "Thank you."

Snape sighed again and said, "Foolish girl." But this time the words sounded less like an insult and more like a fond rebuke.

Voldemort returned with the bang of the door hitting the wall and a flurry of robes.

"Excellent," he said, sounding pleased. "Neither of you are dead."

"Were you expecting one of us to be, My Lord?"

Voldemort shrugged, the movement fluid and sinuous. "It was a possibility I had considered. What do you think, Severus?"

"I believe her, My Lord, but I know it will take more than that to convince you."

Harrie suppressed a shiver; that did not sound good. She was committed now though, and she wasn't going to back down.

Voldemort prowled closer to her. "Tell me, Potter, why I should accept you within the ranks of my Death Eaters. I have many formidable witches and wizards already. Why should I allow one who is a potential risk to me to join?"

"I have no intention of harming you or anyone who claims you as their Lord," Harrie replied truthfully. Then stopped to consider for a moment. "Except maybe Pettigrew."

Voldemort smiled, though it was more of a quick flash of bared teeth. "A sentiment we share. Continue."

"Formidable your forces definitely are, but I hold more value than as just a fighter. I'm the figurehead your enemies rally behind; to see me serving you would devastate them in morale. I also possess insight into their movements that Snape can no longer access or was never privy to in the first place. Er, no offense."

"None taken," he replied. Harrie could see that he meant it and that he was surprised she'd bothered at all. It was strange how quickly their relationship had shifted from outright antagonistic to a hesitant camaraderie.

Voldemort studied her, his gaze seeming to strip her soul bare and judge all that she was. "Yes, I do believe that you aren't a threat and you've made several good points," he said. "But I do not understand why you wish to serve me even when I leave our past conflicts out of the equation. You say you no longer have friends but that is not the same as being willing to meet them on opposite sides of the battlefield. When the moment comes, will you be able to stand aside and leave them to meet their fates? Let alone carry it out yourself."

"I already have been for months now. It wasn't a mutual decision that I should go look for Horcruxes on my own; I decided to leave and did so in the dead of night, taking all of our gear with me. And then proceeded to do absolutely no searching for Horcruxes whatsoever. I haven't been an active player in this war for months now. I have no clue whether or not anyone I know has been captured or killed and I don't care if they have," Harrie answered, panting for breath when she was finished. She hadn't realized she had had that much to say until the words were pouring out of her mouth. A tiny amount of the weight that seemed to be permanently settled in her chest lifted away.

"What could possibly spur you to up and abandon your cause with no warning, no mention of it to the people you call family?"

"They're not my family!" Harrie snarled, teeth bared and tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "I owe them nothing and want absolutely nothing to do with them! If you ask me to kill them to prove it, I will!"

"You are speaking of everyone in the Order or of Granger and Weasley specifically?" Snape asked.

Harrie deflated a bit. "Ro-Ron and Hermione, mostly," she said, her voice quavering a bit when she said his name. "But I was never all that close to anyone else in the Order, so it doesn't make that much of a difference."

"I think it makes all the difference," Voldemort murmured, drawing her attention back to him. "In my experience, the bonds of family that have been chosen are always stronger than those of blood. What could have happened to break those bonds?"

Both Snape and Voldemort stared at her expectantly, Snape with a hint of worry visible in his eyes and Voldemort with the kind of fascinated curiosity most would reserve for an outlandish scientific experiment.

"Does it really matter why? Can't you just accept irreconcilable differences as the reason and leave it be?"

"No, Potter, I can't. It's something I need to know in case, for example, its something that affects your fighting abilities. I also will need something to tell my Death Eaters so that they will accept your presence amongst them."

Harrie shot to her feet, fear quickening her pulse and making her movements frantic and jerky. "No, you can't tell them! It's private, I don't want anyone to know, let alone every single Death Eater under your command."

"If it warrants it, I can keep it to myself, but I need to know before I make that decision," Voldemort said. "If you would prefer that Severus leave the room..?"

"No, it doesn't make a difference if it's one or both of you," Harrie said. It would be too intense and weird to be alone in a room with Voldemort while she told him about the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

"Very well."

Harrie nodded jerkily and sank back onto the bed, staring at her feet. Her hands were trembling and she was quite sure that if she opened her mouth, vomit would come out instead of words.

"Any day now, Potter," Voldemort drawled.

Oddly enough, his sardonic impatience calmed her down so she could speak. She lifted her head to stare defiantly into his dark red eyes.

"Ron raped me and Hermione said I made it up because I'm jealous that they're dating," Harrie blurted out, her words running together enough that she wasn't sure if she'd actually been understood. She definitely wouldn't be able to say it again if she hadn't.

A beat.

Two.

Voldemort straightened up to his full, imposing height, his shadow seeming to fill the room. The rich red of his eyes darkened, the slit pupils dilating until it was like looking into a fiery void. His magic unfurled around him until it was a menacing cloak covering the room.

Next to him, Snape appeared to be having a similar reaction, though without the dramatic effects.

"Issssss that sssso?" Voldemort hissed.

Harrie half-expected a forked tongue to begin darting in and out of his mouth exactly like a snake's.

She dropped her gaze, curling in on herself. In the face of Voldemort's rage, she felt very small indeed. Harrie had never seen him this furious before and she was unsure what, or who, he was angry at. Not even Dumbledore's condescending taunting during the battle at the Department of Mysteries had provoked this reaction from him.

Maybe he was mad at her for being unable to defend herself against a mediocre wizard such as Ron.

"I will not be sharing this information with the rest of the Death Eaters, Potter," Voldemort said, sounding as though he was speaking through gritted teeth. "But that does mean I must insist that you allow me to ask you some questions while you are under the influence of Veritaserum."

"Okay," Harrie whispered, still examining the incredibly interesting design in the carpet.

"Libby!" Voldemort barked.

Harrie heard the telltale pop of a house elf arriving and looked up to see a female elf wearing a tea towel dress with the Slytherin emblem emblazoned on it standing in front of her.

"How can Libby be of service?"

"Fetch me a vial of Veritaserum from the potions stores," Voldemort ordered.

"Right away, Master Dark Lord Sir, Libby be doing."

The title Libby used for Voldemort surprised Harrie enough that it startled a snort of laughter out of her. She instantly clamped a hand over her mouth and darted a careful glance at Voldemort, but he didn't look offended or angry, so she allowed herself to relax a bit.

Libby returned with the truth potion and handed it to Snape, who carefully measured out what Harrie assumed was the correct dosage for someone of her size. Or maybe it was based on magical strength; she couldn't quite recall that particular lesson.

"Here you are, Potter."

Snape handed the spoon to her. Harrie took it, but didn't drink it just yet.

"What sort of questions are you going to be asking me?"

"Whether you have any ill intentions towards anyone you know to be a Death Eater, whether you have truly defected from the Order and wish to take the Dark Mark, that sort of thing," Voldemort responded.

"So you won't ask me for any, you know, details or anything?"

"Certainly not."

"Alright."

Not giving herself a chance to back out, Harrie lifted the spoon to her mouth and swallowed the potion.

Voldemort pulled a roll of parchment from his pocket and cleared his throat.

"What is your date of birth?"

"July 31st, 1981."

"What is your full name?"

"Harriet Liliella Potter."

"What is my true name?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle. I don't know if your first name is actually Thomas or not."

Harrie could feel the answers being pulled from her brain and out of her mouth by the magic of the potion, including any necessary clarifications to her answers.

"Do you want to swear yourself into the service of Lord Voldemort, take the Dark Mark and become a Death Eater?"

"Yes."

"Do you intend to use this position to harm or kill Lord Voldemort or any of his followers and allies?"

"No."

"Do you intend to use this position to pass information to anyone outside of the previously mentioned groups?"

"No."

"Are you aware of anything that may compromise or pose a threat to any of the previously mentioned groups?"

"Severus Snape was, until today, working for the Order of the Phoenix and has been since shortly after the Dark Lord Voldemort decided to target the Potter family. He swore a vow to keep me safe, and in accordance with that vow, is now fully on the side of the Dark once again."

"Administer the antidote, Severus," Voldemort ordered coldly. "And then it appears you and I need to have a little chat."

---

Severus was utterly and completely fucked. As soon as the Dark Lord had asked his last question, he'd known what Potter was going to unwillingly reveal. Unfortunately, he hadn't had time to do more than resign himself to hours of extremely painful torture before he was finally killed and strung up as an example to any future would-be traitors.

He gave Potter the amount of antidote necessary to neutralize the amount of Veritaserum he'd given her and then waited for the Sword of Damocles hanging over his head to fall.

"I believed you to be one of my most faithful, Ssseverus. And yet now I learn that you have been playing double agent since- when? My return?"

"Since you killed Lily, My Lord," Severus said, needing an incredible amount of will to keep his voice steady.

"Nearly two decades you have been in Dumbledore's pocket! I was prepared to give you a swift death as a reward for the years you have served me, but now I am sorely tempted to change my mind!"

"Never in Dumbledore's pocket, My Lord! I swore on Lily's life that I would protect her daughter through whatever means necessary, even carving a place for myself amongst the Light. It was not until Potter requested to join you that such measures became unnecessary. I have been torn between two loyalties since I became aware that you survived that night. I knew at the time that I would most likely be killed for my choice and I am still prepared to accept that outcome!"

"Well, I'm not!" Potter burst out. "He only betrayed you because he doesn't know that you tried your best to spare my mother! He thinks you just killed her with no regard for the promise you made him!"

"What on earth are you talking about, girl?" Severus asked at the same time as Voldemort saying, "How do you know about that?"

"It's the memory I relive whenever I'm close to Dementors," Potter told Voldemort before turning to him.

"Voldemort tried to spare my mother's life; she was standing between him and me and he told her to stand aside three times. She kept refusing and Voldemort needed to kill me before the Order figured out what was going on. Yeah, he could have stunned her, but I think the prophecy was affecting things by that point, making sure I'd survive so that I could be the prophecized Saviour. That wouldn't have happened if my mother hadn't sacrificed herself."

Severus stared at Potter. He'd treated her terribly from her very first Potions class. Mostly on Dumbledore's orders, but he hadn't exactly opposed those orders, too wrapped up in his hatred and resentment of her father, and the fact that she'd survived while Lily hadn't. Gods below, he'd practically tortured her during their Occlumency sessions. But here she was, standing up to the Dark Lord once again to save his life.

"You remember the night I first attempted to kill you?"

Potter nodded. "It used to just be vague nightmares of flashes of green light and someone screaming, but ever since Dementors being posted at Hogwarts in my third year, I remember in far greater detail."

Severus had to close his eyes, horrified beyond words. How much had this child suffered that she was able to discuss remembering the night of her parents' murder so nonchalantly? No wonder she had passed out whenever she was in close proximity to the Dementors.

"If Potter is the reason you betrayed me, perhaps I should have her suffer the consequences in your stead. She seems determined to ensure you are spared punishment, after all."

"Absolutely not," Severus snarled, getting to his feet and allowing his wand to drop into his hand. "Torture me all you like, but I am sworn to protect her, and means from more than just death."

"You would raise your wand against your Lord and Master?"

"In this case, yes. I support your cause and agree with your ideals, My Lord, but I will defend Potter against anything that means to harm her, including you."

Voldemort hissed something in Parseltongue in response and whipped a spell at Severus. He dodged and sent an Entrail-Expelling curse in response, and then the duel was on in earnest.

Spells were flying back and forth, breaking bits of wood off the furnishings and leaving burn marks on the walls. Severus was struck first, a well-aimed Cutting Curse slicing his cheek open and sending blood pouring down his face and into his mouth.

He would not be able to win this duel; that was a hopeless prospect. The Dark Lord was too powerful, being far older and more experienced than Severus. He possessed so much knowledge of rare magics that Severus would not be able to counter if he was hit by a spell.

His only goal was to last for long enough that much of the Dark Lord's anger would have dissipated and he would not inflict his cruel means of punishment on Potter.

Potter! Where was she? If she had been struck by a stray spell, then all of Severus' efforts would be for naught. During a brief pause in the storm of spells, he quickly looked around trying to find her and hoping it would not be a limp body that he laid eyes on.

Thankfully, she had intelligently taken refuge under the bed and had raised a shield around herself to deflect anything that managed to come close to her.

Unfortunately, in his brief moment of distraction, Voldemort broke through his carefully constructed and maintained defenses and pinned him to the wall, his infamous yew wand held to Severus' throat.

Much to Severus' surprise, however, he was smiling, a wide grin that exposed the two snake fangs he had in place of his upper canines.

"Ah, Severus, I have never allowed a traitor to go unpunished before. You have the dubious distinction of being the first. Your loyalty to Lily Potter is admirable and one that I hope is at least partially extended to me. That kind of devotion is nearly impossible to find; I have no intention of sacrificing it simply because I was foolish enough to believe you would not seek vengeance for my perceived betrayal."

"Unpunished?" Severus said thickly through the blood filling his mouth, raising a hand to gingerly feel at the gash in his cheek.

"Unpunished," Voldemort agreed. "I couldn't let you get off entirely scot-free, but how many people can say a simple cut is the only injury they received dueling the Dark Lord?"

"Er, thanks, I think," Severus replied, feeling entirely off-balance. "But I still don't understand. You could've ended that duel at any time, or prevented it from even starting in the first place. Why would you allow me to defy you in such a blatant manner?"

"It was a test, Severus. If your loyalty would hold strong in the face of the chance to avoid punishment and the prospect of openly defying me to my face. If Potter is to join my ranks, she will need someone at her side other than myself. I cannot remain with her to protect her constantly and many of the Death Eaters, the lower ranks especially, will resent her for her previous role in this war. If you can stand up to me, you will have no issue putting them in their places."

"Oh," was all Severus was able to say to that.

Then he remembered what Albus had told him about Potter and winced. The Dark Lord would not be happy if he discovered Severus had withheld that information from him.

"Potter is more valuable than you know, My Lord. Shortly before his death, Dumbledore revealed something to me that he had suspected since Halloween, 1991, but had only recently confirmed."

"What are you talking about?" Potter asked. "Dumbledore never said anything to me about something like that, and we spent a lot of time together in my sixth year."

Severus met her eyes. This revelation was likely to ruin whatever tentative trust they had managed to build, but Potter needed to know, deserved to know. The Dark Lord as well, especially if it meant he would put that much more effort into keeping Potter safe. He healed the wound in his cheek with a flick of his wand and began talking.

Chapter Text

"Albus had always been interested in why Potter seemed to be so affected by her scar."

Voldemort released Severus and backed away to retake his seat as he began to speak. Potter was already the one supposedly destined to defeat him; what could Severus possibly have been told that made him believe her to be even more valuable than that?

Where was Potter anyway? He looked around and spotted her curled up under the bed, where she had no doubt sought refuge when he and Severus began dueling.

"Potter," he said as gently as he was capable of. "Come sit down; I imagine whatever Severus has to tell us will be quite shocking for you."

The girl nodded and moved to perch gingerly on the edge of the sofa.

"This interest only increased over the years, and he began actively researching possible causes in Potter's fifth year, when she began having dreams that allowed her to see into your mind, My Lord."

That was something Voldemort hadn't been aware of. He'd sent dreams to Potter to manipulate her, but he hadn't realized she'd been able to see into his mind in return.

"How much of this was disclosed to the Order?"

"He told them Potter was able to see into your mind after Nagini attacked Arthur Weasley, and that Potter would be taking Occlumency lessons from myself in an attempt to mitigate the effect. As far as I know, that's all he told them; the only person he discussed it further with was myself."

"And what conclusion did the great Albus Dumbledore come to?" Voldemort asked. He might've dismissed it if Severus had told him all of this yesterday, but Dumbledore had managed to figure out his Horcruxes. The old man had apparently been wilier than Voldemort had given him credit for.

"He told me that, at the right time, before Potter faced you for the final time, I must disclose this piece of information to her. That in order for you to be killed, she herself must die. And that she must die by your hand."

Voldemort turned his head to look at Potter, who didn't seem to have reached the same conclusion as him yet. To think he would have unknowingly destroyed one of his own Horcruxes if events had not played out in the exact way that they had.

“What are you saying?” Potter whispered.

“Severus means that you hold a piece of my soul in your scar; you are one of my Horcruxes, Potter, though admittedly an unintentional one. The connection between us is not of our minds, but our souls.”

Seeing as Potter was staring blank-faced at him, clearly needing time to process this information, Voldemort returned his attention to Severus.

 "Did he tell you why?"

"He did, My Lord. I lost my temper with him, screamed at him for tasking me with protecting her, only to turn around and tell me that I must ensure her death. But he was adamant that it was the only way, and I could not get him to budge on the matter."

"Why?" Potter finally spoke, her voice trembling the slightest amount. Anyone else would probably not be able to detect it, but Voldemort's hearing had been greatly enhanced by the rituals he had performed on himself in his youth. "Why would he let me think I had a chance to win this war and have a life afterwards if he knew I needed to die? I thought he cared about me."

It did not seem to be the disclosure of her status as one of his Horcruxes that was phasing her, but the revelation that not only had Dumbledore -may his soul suffer eternally- found out and not told her, he had actively plotted and planned her death.

"It is my belief, Potter, that he had long since grown immune to such inconveniences as caring. For as long as I have known him, Albus Dumbledore has treated the people around him like pawns on a chessboard, prepared to sacrifice them if necessary." Severus hesitated, then continued. "I believe he hoped Voldemort's killing curse would only affect the Horcrux and allow you to live on unharmed."

"Well, that's not good enough!" Potter screamed. "He should've tried to find another way, or at the very least, he should have told me himself and sooner so that I would've had time to come to terms with it."

"You would've given up the fight if you knew you would not survive it," Voldemort told her bluntly. "It matters not now; the bastard is dead and you are safe with me, where you belong."

"I will not allow you to treat me like an object, a pretty bird in a gilded cage. I may carry a piece of your soul, but I am still my own person, and I will not allow you to forget that," Potter warned.

Voldemort smiled, expecting nothing less from someone with as much inner fire as her.

"I would not have it any other way," he said. "You are a formidable warrior and a political powerhouse in your own right. Knowing that you are my Horcrux only makes me even more sure that the best place for you is at my side, as an equal."

Severus let out a shocked noise, but Voldemort ignored him in favour of focusing on Potter's expression.

"'And the Dark Lord shall mark them as his equal...'" Potter murmured, a dazed look on her face.

"Is that a line from the prophecy?" Voldemort asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

Potter blinked and refocused. "Yes, it is. Dumbledore said that that particular line was referring to my scar, but maybe it meant this."

"Maybe. Focusing so much on the prophecy was a mistake, and the cause of my downfall. I will not allow that to happen again, so while it is certainly food for thought, I don't much care for the dictations of Fate. I do not care much for what the prophecy may or may not mean."

Potter nodded in agreement, probably as sick of it as Voldemort was.

"So, what now?"

"Now, we break the news to the rest of my Death Eaters," Voldemort said grimly. "And attempt to explain to them that they are to treat you as they do me; I fear some of them may possess skulls that are too thick to absorb the information."

He focused on the magic that connected each Death Eater's Dark Mark to him and gave it a tug, summoning every single one of them to Malfoy Manor for an urgent meeting. The one that Potter's capture had interrupted had involved less than a quarter of his followers; most had remained at their posts, which were too important to abandon for a general summons. This one though, this would be mandatory for all to attend, if they knew what was good for them.

He stood and offered a hand to Potter, partially as a courtesy - between the disclosure of what had happened to her, the supposed duel to the death between him and Severus, and discovering she was a Horcrux, she was most likely unsteady on her feet - , and partially to test her willingness to be close to him.

She reached out to grasp his hand but stopped just before coming into contact with his skin.

"When you touched me in the graveyard, it really hurt," she said quietly.

Voldemort considered for a moment. "It was likely because you carry a piece of my very soul, and yet we were at odds and attempting to kill the other. My soul would have both been trying to return to me and protect its vessel, causing you great pain. It should not happen now, but I will not touch you again if it does."

If he felt a twinge of disappointment at the prospect, it was merely because it was soothing to be so close to two of his Horcruxes.

Potter placed her hand in his. It was warm, far warmer than his own skin, and heavily calloused from wielding her wand and playing Quidditch. It was also far smaller than his own and felt positively delicate in his grasp. He wrapped his fingers firmly around it and helped her to her feet.

"Be ready to defend her, Severus, with lethal force if necessary," he ordered, and guided Potter from the room, after a moment shortening his strides to accomodate her far smaller ones.

---

Harrie walked beside Voldemort through the winding hallways and grand staircases of Malfoy Manor. His strides were long and sure, the hems of his billowing robes occasionally brushing up against her legs. Tucked close to his side like this, it was more apparent than ever how much he towered over her. Harrie was barely five feet tall on a good day; Voldemort had to be nearly six and a half. It made her feel small and, strangely, sheltered, like nothing would be able to harm her when he was nearby. And considering he had the ultimate motivation to keep her safe, that was probably true.

She darted a glance up at him. His expression was calm and focused, not filled with manical glee or cruel anticipation the way she might have expected. Maybe he would not react badly if she revealed the other part of her predicament, as Harrie had originally feared.

"What exactly are you going to tell them?" she dared ask.

Voldemort turned his head to look down at her as they moved along. "No more than they absolutely need to know. Only that you are to join the Death Eaters, and that I have questioned you under Veritaserum and consider you trustworthy."

"And how many are going to actually accept that?"

"Most of my inner circle will," Voldemort said contemplatively. "They are the most intelligent and the most open to change. Bellatrix may be an issue, but Rodolphus is more than capable of handling her when she's in one of her moods. The lower ranks won't like it, but they won't dare question me, and will be taught a new meaning to the word 'pain' if they do."

Anyone else would probably have run off screaming at the last sentence. No one sane casually mentioned torturing the people who fought for them and no one sane reacted as though that was an entirely normal thing to do. Harrie was no longer sure she qualified as sane, considering her first thought had been that it was kind of sweet that he was willing to torture people to keep her safe. Then again, Voldemort probably took any excuse he could find to torture someone, but surely it was the thought that counted.

Voldemort stopped in front of a beautifully carved wooden door and looked around.

{Where are you, my sweet?} he called in Parseltongue.

{Over here, Tom.}

Nagini slithered over to rest at Voldemort's feet, her massive body uncurling from the shadow it had been concealed in. Harrie had to stifle a yelp; it should've been impossible for a snake that large to hide so well.

{Who is this, Tom?} Nagini asked, her tongue flickering out to scent Harrie. {Have you brought me a meal? It doesn't really smell like prey.}

Apparently Voldemort was a sucker for his snake because Harrie was quite sure he would have tortured and killed anyone else who dared call him by his birth name.

She knelt and offered Nagini her hand. {I'm Harrie, Nagini. I was an enemy of your master's, but I've decided to join him. It's lovely to meet you.}

Nagini butted her head against Harrie's hand, hissing softly when Harrie began scratching at the scales behind her jaw.

{I like this one, Tom. Most of the others run screaming in terror, and no one ever gives me scratches.}

Harrie glanced up at Voldemort, hoping she hadn't overstepped. He didn't look angry, more dumbfounded, which was an expression she hadn't thought he would ever wear.

"Voldemort?"

{You're a Parselmouth?}

Harrie blinked. {Yes, I am. You didn't know? Everyone at Hogwarts did after Malfoy Junior accidentally outed me to the entire school.}

{No, for some reason no one has thought it a good idea to mention it.} Voldemort said, looking pointedly at Snape.

"You know I have no idea what you're talking about," Snape drawled. "If you're trying to insult me, it generally works better when you use a language the person you're insulting can actually understand."

Harrie giggled. Of course Snape was just as cuttingly sarcastic to the Dark Lord himself as he was to his inept Potions students.

"No, I think I'd rather leave you wondering." {Would you like to be on my shoulders, Nagini?}

{Can Harrie carry me?}

Harrie wasn't sure if snakes were supposed to be capable of making puppy dog eyes, but Nagini certainly managed it.

{That is up to Harrie.}

{Of course, Nagini. Do you need me to pick you up or can you manage on your own?}

{Just hold still.} Nagini ordered.

Nagini wound herself around Harrie's legs and up her torso, draping herself over Harrie's shoulders and wriggling around until they both were comfortable.

"Well, that will certainly serve as an excellent deterrent," Snape muttered.

"We have wasted enough time," Voldemort said, ignoring him. "Let us proceed. Harrie, Severus, remain by the door until I call you forwards."

He pushed open the door. Harrie winced as the sound of hundreds of voices talking reached her ears, though they went silent as they realized their Lord had entered. She followed behind, Snape at her back, hoping that no one would recognize her until Voldemort told them who she was.

Voldemort lead the way to a raised dais at the front of the room. On top was an incredibly uncomfortable looking throne. It definitely looked impressive, but Harrie wouldn't want to sit on it for longer than five minutes. Behind the throne, tattered black curtains hung from the high ceiling, reminding Harrie of a Dementor's cloak. They bathed the area in shadows and provided a backdrop that highlighted the throne and Voldemort's intimidating presence atop it.

The Death Eaters were lined up before it, arranged in neat semi-circles that radiated outwards with the dais as the centerpoint, becoming larger and larger than they went. Harrie could see the distinctive long, platinum blonde hair that denoted the presence of Lucius Malfoy in the smallest and closest semi-circle, so she was willing to bet they were organized by rank, with the highest-ranking the closest to where Voldemort sat.

Voldemort ascended the dais and took his seat. Immediately, every single Death Eater in the hall dropped to their knees, save for those in the first semi-circle, who merely bowed deeply. They remained like that until Voldemort spoke.

"You may rise, my friends. The reason I have summoned you here so urgently is a glorious one indeed. You may rejoice, for with a single move I have struck a devastating blow to our enemies and all but guaranteed out rule over Britain!"

All the Death Eaters broke into cheers, though Voldemort must have trained them well, for they stopped after exactly ten seconds.

"We shall have a new member amongst our ranks. She will be my equal and you will treat her exactly as you treat me, or suffer my wrath as the consequence. You will address her with respect, follow her orders, and give your lives for hers. I expect many of you are skeptical, and will only be more so once you learn her identity, but know that I have questioned her extensively using Veritaserum and trust her with the secrets of our organization."

Harrie thought 'extensively' was a bit of a stretch, but Voldemort seemed to know what he was doing.

"If you would join me," he added, extending a hand in her direction.

She started forward, ignoring the hundreds of eyes burning into her as she walked. Nagini raised her head above Harrie's and hissed threateningly, causing a few audible gasps, though whether they were of fear or surprise, Harrie couldn't tell.

Snape stopped at the foot of the dais. Harrie would've been happy to remain there with him, but Voldemort beckoned to her to climb the steps to his throne.

She turned to face the Death Eaters, taking in the sea of masked faces staring up at her.

"This is our hour of greatest triumph, for joining us willingly and entirely of her own volition is Harrie Potter herself!"

If it had been loud before, now it was absolutely deafening. All the Death Eaters were clamouring to be heard, all raising their voices in an attempt to be heard over the din.

"Silence!" Voldemort bellowed.

The noise mostly subsided, though one particularly outspoken fool seemed determined that his opinion was going to be heard.

"This is ridiculous!" A voice from near the back shouted. "She shouldn't be here!"

"Why don't you come up here to the front?" Voldemort invited. "If you consider your opinion to be so important, you should join us so everyone can hear you."

The Death Eaters shuffled to make a path. A moment later, a heavyset man in Death Eater robes but no mask stumbled out of the crowd to drop to his knees in front of Voldemort.

"My Lord, surely you do not truly believe that she deserves a place among us. We are the elite, the pure, the strong!"

"I do not believe I have yet given you leave to speak," Voldemort murmured. "After all, you have not yet bowed to your Lady as you were commanded to not five minutes ago!"

The man's face went red and he spluttered angrily. He reminded Harrie quite a bit of Vernon.

"We shouldn't have to kowtow to Dumbledore's whore!" he finally exclaimed.

The room darkened ominously as several of the torches along the walls sputtered out, the oppressive force of Voldemort's magic snuffing out their eternal flames.

Voldemort lazily raised his wand. "Cruc-"

He was stopped by Harrie laying a careful hand on his wrist.

{If you object to torture, you will not last for long here.}

{I'm not objecting. Let me handle him myself.}

{Are you sure?}

{I need to fight my own battles, or they will never respect me.}

The yew wand vanished back into Voldemort's sleeve and he nodded.

{Go ahead.}

Harrie walked down the steps to stand in front of the man, still kneeling on the floor looking defiant.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Arnold Gibson, Light bitch!" he spat, the glob of spittle landing just in front of Harrie's boots.

"You're being very rude, Arnold. That deserves a punishment, don't you think?"

Arnold scoffed. "Just 'cause you've decided to spread your legs for the Dark Lord now don't mean I gotta listen to anything your whore tongue has to say."

"Our Lord seems to think otherwise. Are you not sworn to obey him?"

"With all due respect to him, he's wrong about you. You're warmin' his bed; of course he's gotta pretend you're important. Simple as that."

"Simple as that," Harrie repeated softly, her lips quirking into a dangerous smile.

She had only just remembered that she didn't have her wand with her. She would have to do this the messier way.

Harrie pulled the slim, elegant dagger she had acquired from Grimmauld Place from its sheath tucked into her waist band and sliced a shallow line across Arnold's throat before he could blink.

It was a minor injury, but he screamed as though she'd stabbed him, clutching at the wound with both hands.

"Death would be too kind for you, Arnold. I think what you deserve is a constant reminder of your foolish comments, and how you were subsequently put in your place."

Harrie raised the blade again, her hand as steady as a rock. Slowly and carefully, she placed the tip on the skin beside Arnold's right eye and carved downwards, cutting a perfectly straight line into the side of his face. Arnold screamed again. Voldemort must have immobilised him though, because he made no move to try and get away from her.

Her movements still sure and steady, Harrie added a horizontal slice across his face, just underneath his nose, and then a second vertical cut on the left side of his face, a perfect copy of the first.

Finished, she stepped back to admire her handiwork: a perfect 'H' carved into his face, deep enough to scar and provide him with a permanent reminder of his misdeeds.

Then, just as he began to relax, thinking it was over, she plunged the knife into his throat. He would live, it wasn't in the right place to be fatal, but Harrie had completely severed his vocal cords. He would never speak again.

"Return to your place, Gibson, and be grateful that your Lady is so merciful," Voldemort stated coldly.

Sobbing and whimpering, Gibson scurried back into the ranks of Death Eaters, a few kicks being aimed his way as he passed.

"Is there anyone else who would like to question my judgement?" Voldemort asked as Harrie returned to standing at his side.

No one moved.

"Good. Then you are dismissed. First Circle, stay behind."

The hall emptied slowly, many Death Eaters lingering to stare at Harrie, only to hurry off when Voldemort glared at them.

---

When only Harrie, Voldemort, and his inner circle remained, they all removed their masks and came to stand closer to the throne.

"This is my First Circle, Harrie, my most trusted followers. You already know Severus, of course. Lucius?"

"We've met," Harrie smirked.

"Yes, the Dark Lady and I are acquainted," he drawled. "I am willing to put our past interactions behind me if you are."

Harrie gaped at him, not expecting the proud Malfoy patriarch to be willing to set aside his grievances with her.

"Er, yes, of course."

"That is all well and good, but we have yet to discuss the unfortunate fate that befell the diary I entrusted to you, Luciusss," Voldemort said sharply.

Lucius winced, but made no attempt to defend his actions.

"Augustus Rookwood is my researcher and expert on obscure magics; he is an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries."

"Lovely to meet you properly, My Lady. Would you mind terribly letting me study your Parselmouth abilities sometime?"

"Yeah, alright. Um, you might as well all call me Harrie; there's no sense in being so formal all the time."

"Of course, Harrie."

"Antonin Dolohov, an excellent duelist and battle strategist. He is an illegitimate son from the family that rules magical Russia."

"Thorfinn Rowle, a master of Runes and Warding."

A massive, heavily tattooed man, nearly as tall as Voldemort and almost three times as broad. With his long, wild hair and thick, rugged beard, he instantly reminded Harrie of how Nordic raiders were often depicted.

"Théoden Nott, who possesses one of the most extensive libraries in magical Western Europe. Also the grandfather of Theodore Nott, who I believe you attended Hogwarts with."

"Narcissa Malfoy, who rules magical Britain's high society with an iron fist. Unmarked out of necessity, but one of my most valued nonetheless."

Narcissa was as lovely as Harrie remembered from when she'd caught a brief glimpse of her at the Quidditch World Cup. Tall and clad in black robes that were more fitted than those of her male compatriots, her stern, elegant face was unmarked by age. Harrie found it hard to believe that she and Lucius were Draco's parents; the younger Malfoy had neither his father's political savvy, nor his mother's grace and weaponized, flawless manners.

"I know you and my son are embroiled in a bitter feud. That is between you and him; I do not hold it against you, and your reconcilation with my husband allows me to extend an offer of mentorship. You have much to learn about your titles, and I speak nothing but the truth when I say I am the best person to do so."

"Thank you, Lady Malfoy, I am honoured. I would be delighted to accept your offer."

Narcissa smiled genuinely, the expression transforming her from a cold, perfect sculpture into a warm, approachable human being.

"Call me Narcissa, please, Harrie."

Harrie smiled back, nodding, her heart pounding just the slightest bit faster.

‘Bad Harrie. You are not allowed to have a crush on her; she's married, not to mention her being the git's mum.’

"The Lestranges: Rabastan, Rodolphus, and Bellatrix. Rabastan has extensive contacts on the black market and is also a Potions Master like Severus. Rodolphus is one of the best Arithmancers in Britain, and Bellatrix is my most formidable duelist. Harrie, I know you and Bellatrix have a... history."

"It won't be a problem," Harrie muttered, avoiding meeting anyone's eyes.

Voldemort accepted her answer with a nod, but she could tell by his narrowed eyes that he'd be asking her about it later.

Bellatrix cackled loudly, but no one reacted, so Harrie figured it was normal behaviour for the woman.

Rodolphus and Rabastan were so similar looking that Harrie would have thought them twins if she didn't know Rodolphus was several years older. Both were slender and of medium height; Bellatrix was taller than them in the towering heels she was wearing. They had dark brown hair, and their eyes were a striking pale green.

"Fenrir Greyback, my magical creature liasion and King of the werewolves in Britain."

"Little dove," Fenrir grunted. "Loved what you did to that bottomfeeder."

"You think everyone's a bottomfeeder," Lucius told him. "Though I have to ask, Harrie, why didn't you use your wand?"

"I don't have it with me, it's still in my tent," Harrie said.

Voldemort sighed. Loudly. "Fenrir, Lucius, you will go with her to retrieve it and anything else Harrie wants to bring back."

"Silly little dove, no wonder you were such easy prey before."

"And finally, the Lady Zabini, who is currently in Italy, but will be returning in early spring."

"Now that you know who everyone is, it is time for you to officially join our ranks," he continued. "Kneel before me, Harrie."

Harrie obeyed his command, going to one knee before the dais. Now that the moment where her choice became permanent was upon her, she expected herself to mentally balk, to question whether what she was doing was the right move. Instead, her mind was calm and quiet, faintly humming with anticipation of what was to come.

Voldemort walked down the steps to stand in front of her, his wand out and held in his customary loose grip.

"Hold out your left arm," he intoned softly.

Harrie did, and Voldemort placed the tip of his wand on the soft skin of the underside of her forearm.

"Do you swear to always serve and obey the Dark Lord Voldemort?"

Harrie looked up, meeting his burning eyes.

"I swear."

"Do you pledge your life and your magic to the Dark Lord Voldemort and his cause?"

"Yes, I do."

"Do you claim the Death Eaters as your brethren, your loyalty eternal, and accept the title of Death Eater as your own?"

"Yes, I do."

"Will you agree to bind your magic to the Dark Lord Voldemort and take the Dark Mark as an eternal symbol of your vow?"

"I will."

"Then accept my magic so you may be Marked forevermore. Morsmorde."

A pulse of Voldemort's magic slipped beneath her skin, filling her veins with a intense fiery sensation that soon spread through the rest of her body. It wasn't painful though; it was a thrilling ecstasy that filled her with exhilaration and a strange sense of homecoming. She had only ever felt something similar when on her broom; that rush of adrenaline and the bone-deep surety of belonging.

Harrie threw her head back as the magic writhed and danced through her muscles and bones, permeating the very fibre of her being. It settled deep in her soul, wrapping around the core of her magic, a gleaming rope of power that tethered her to Voldemort.

She sighed contentedly and opened her eyes. Voldemort was leaning over her, his version of a worried expression on his face.

"Are you alright?"

"Ye-es," Harrie said, drawing the word out. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"The magic of wixen does not take kindly to the kind of intrusion that is required to form the Dark Mark and the magic that tethers it to me. It is a painful process, and you seemed to have a particularly strong reaction."

"It didn't hurt at all though." Harrie blushed when she said her next words. "It actually felt pretty incredible."

Augustus came forward, crouching at her side and waving his wand over and around her in increasingly complicated patterns.

"Fascinating," he breathed, then said nothing more.

"Would you care to share with the rest of us?" Voldemort asked dryly after ten minutes had passed and Augustus still showed no sign of elaborating further.

"Oh! Yes, it looks as though the Dark Mark has integrated itself with an already existing bond between your minds and souls and deepened it. Her magic didn't consider yours an intruder, but something akin to an old, long-lost friend."

The Horcrux, Harrie realized, and saw that Voldemort had understood as well.

"This information is not to be shared with anyone," the Dark Lord ordered.

"Of course, My Lord. It's not the sort of thing we're allowed to study in the department anyway."

"Excellent. I'll see you later, Harrie, I have business to attend to and you need to go with Fenrir and Lucius to get your things."

"Bye," Harrie said, then tacked on a suddenly remembered, "My Lord."

Voldemort smiled, clearly pleased, and swept from the room

Chapter Text

"Come along then, little dove. I remember where I found you, but I saw no sign of your camp nearby, so who knows how long it's going to take to find the thing."

A discreet roll of her eyes was Harrie's only response. His inability to detect any other sign of her presence was a testament to the skill and strength present in her spells.

Lucius snorted and began leading the way to the front entrance.

"Ignore Fenrir, Harrie, he's just grumpy he had to be in a room full of wixen for over an hour."

"How the hell are the two of you friends?" Harrie asked, unable to restrain her curiousity.

"I presume 'hell' is some sort of Muggle expletive? As for our friendship, it started more as a mutual exasperation with the idiocy of many of our fellow Death Eaters and grew from there. Fenrir still likes to pretend he can't stand me, but he doesn't do a very good job of it."

"Er, yes, 'hell' is a Muggle word," she said. "I suppose I'd grown so used to Weasley using it all the time that I'd forgotten it's a Muggle concept."

"And what does it mean?" Fenrir asked, ignoring Lucius' commentary.

"It's originally from one of the major Muggle religions. People who follow it believe that hell is the place of punishment that sinners go to when they die. In more recent years, it's entered the common vernacular as a mild curse word. It's, erm, from the religion that was the force behind the witch-burnings, at least here in Europe."

"Muggles," Lucius spat. "It's impressive you're as open-minded as you are, having been raised amongst them."

They'd since Apparated to the snow-covered field that Fenrir had captured Harrie in. Harrie was now much more appreciative of the glistening expanse of white then she had been when she'd ended up here what felt like decades ago.

"Do you know how to get to your campsite from here?" Lucius asked.

"No, I'd gotten lost and didn't have my wand so I had no way of finding my way back."

"And I'm guessing you warded it to Avalon and back?"

Harrie nodded in agreement. She hadn't wanted to be found by a single sentient being and she'd made sure it wouldn't happen. This had the potential to be a very long and difficult search, especially in these temperatures.

"Right," Lucius said, drawing his wand from the handle of his cane. "Now that I have a better sense of your magic, it's possible I'll be able to track your signature. You're powerful enough you may be able to feel it, so don't fight against it, Harrie, no matter how weird it feels."

He cast the spell without waiting for Harrie's acknowledgement. At first, Harrie didn't know what he was talking about; she could sense what was going on, sure, but it didn't really feel like anything in particular. Then, she gasped aloud as a sticky, crawling sensation came from her magic. It felt like how she imagined a tree frog's feet would feel if it were walking on her. She had to force herself not to lash out at it, not to shove it as far away from her as she could get it.

"Almost got it," Lucius murmured, a look of concentration on his face.

Harrie felt it when he latched on to the location. A tangible tacky restriction around her magic, much like the time she'd walked face-first into a massive cobweb, sticky tendrils covering her and holding her in place until she recovered from her shock and broke free.

Lucius exhaled, releasing the spell, and Harrie was able to relax.

"That felt awful," she told him.

"Sorry about that," he grimaced. "Although at least now you know you'll be able to tell if anyone is trying to track you using your magic. Anyone familiar enough with it can, with enough power and skill. But if you know they're doing it, you can just break the spell."

Harrie smiled faintly. "Good to know."

It took a lot of walking before Harrie was able to sense the beginning of her ward line. She hadn't thought she'd traveled so far in her mad dash, but she'd apparently covered a significant distance.

"Why did you go so far?" Fenrir asked.

"I was in a bit of a panic," Harrie said, reluctant to elaborate further.

The last thing she needed was having to tell two of her new comrades-in-arms about all the issues that plagued her mind. They were supposed to be able to rely on her in battle, and probably for everything else considering she'd been named Voldemort's equal. They couldn't do that if they knew about how weak she currently was, unable to even take some bad news without running off blindly and almost getting herself killed.

Lucius made the same noise Snape did when he didn't believe something and wanted everyone to know. She told him that and he laughed.

"That's because he picked it up from me. I was a fifth-year prefect in his first year and found myself using the same sound my father used during my childhood on the younger students. I guess Severus decided it was appropriately sardonic, not to mention effective, and he started using it as well."

"Don't tell me you're friends with Snape as well?"

"How could I not be? I protected him as best I could throughout our school years, and he helped me when I was agonizing over courting Narcissa. He's probably one of my closest friends and vice versa."

Harrie was kind of struggling to comprehend all of this new information, but she had successfully changed the subject, so at least there was that.

"But you are going to have to be subtler about your subject changes if you want to distract a Slytherin," Lucius added, fixing an eagle-eyed look on her.

Harrie sighed, "And here I'd thought I'd gotten away with it."

"Not in the slightest. You're in luck though; I have no intentions of pushing you to talk about it if you don't want to."

"Good," Harrie sniffed. "Because I may not be able to outmaneuver a Slytherin, but I can definitely outstubborn you."

"You'll probably get along well with pretty psycho, then."

"Pretty psycho?"

"That's what Fenrir calls Bellatrix. The first time they met, she called him a pretty puppy and now they won't call each other anything else," Lucius explained.

"I should really stop asking," Harrie complained. "This is all making my head hurt."

"That's because your mentor and his Order didn't want you to be able to see your enemies as human beings," Lucius said softly. "So they did everything they could to make us seem less like people with normal relationships and regular, everyday lives, and more like a faceless, nameless evil, all blindly serving a ruthless madman."

"The beasts under your bed," Fenrir added.

"Then I guess that's another reason to be glad he's dead," Harrie said, and walked through her wards without waiting for a response.

Everything looked exactly the same as it had when she'd left. But something niggled at her, the paranoia bordering on a sixth sense that had kept her alive for so long. Something was wrong, but Harrie couldn't yet tell what.

The first thing she did was march into the tent and grab her wand from where she'd foolishly left it on the dining room table. She wouldn't be able to dismantle the tent if there was someone else in there with her, but she could pack away all the incriminating books laying around in case they hadn't been seen yet.

That done, Harrie retreated from the tent and assumed a defensive crouch to the left of the entrance.

Moments later, a middle-aged witch that looked vaguely familiar to Harrie emerged and glanced around.

"How did you get through my wards?" Harrie demanded.

The witch startled. "There you are, Harrie! We've all been looking for you since Hermione and Ron reported you missing; we've all been so worried!"

"Who are you and how did you get through my Wards?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose we've never been officially introduced. I'm Emmeline Vance, a member of the Order of the Phoenix. It's a pleasure to properly meet you, Harrie!"

"Are you deliberately ignoring my question or are you just stupid?" Harrie was really starting to get annoyed now.

"I have to verify your identity before I can tell you anything else, just in case you're part of a trap set by You-Know-Who," Vance said, her tone no longer quite as friendly.

"Fine, get on with it."

"Where were you when Albus was murdered?"

"Immobilized under my Invisibility Cloak only a few meters away," Harrie answered, wondering where Vance had managed to discover that particular tidbit of information.

"Oh, good, you are Harrie Potter.  I was worried I was going to have to fight a Death Eater; you aren't anything like any of the stories I've been told."

"My wards," Harrie said through gritted teeth.

"Yes, Albus gave us keys that hold samples of magic from every member of the Order so that we can easily get to them in an emergency."

Harrie gripped her wand more tightly, every muscle in her body tensing. How dare Dumbledore use her magic in such a way without asking her first!

"Is the key you have the only one that holds my magic?" she asked, hoping how she felt about it hadn't leaked into her voice.

"No, Albus made two of each. Why?"

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to give the one you have to me," Harrie all but growled.

"But it will be useless if you have it!" Vance cried.

"Not too quick on the uptake, are you?" Harrie sneered, stalking closer to her. "Give it to me!"

Vance screamed and fired a Stunner at her. Harrie dodged easily and hurled a Killing Curse back at her.

"You can't be Harrie Potter! What have you done with her, you monster!"

Harrie scoffed. "You hadn't even met me before today! How would you know how I'm supposed to behave?"

She blocked a Jelly-Legs Jinx and waved her wand, dropping her wards and directing the sudden excess of magic at Vance, throwing her backwards into the trunk of a tree. It also served the purpose of attracting Fenrir and Lucius' attention, bringing them running over to join her.

"Who's that?" Lucius frowned.

"Apparently a member of the Order. She was already in my tent when I entered it."

"Your wards felt pretty strong," Fenrir said. "How'd she get through them without breaking them?"

"Dumbledore saw fit to provide the Order with samples of every member's magic. She has one of the objects containing mine, but she knows of at least one more."

"Did you kill her?"

"Nope, just knocked her out."

"Excellent, we'll bring her back with us.

"Did you get everything you need?" Fenrir asked.

Harrie packed up her tent and bag with a wave of her wand. "Now I do."

"Then let's leave, before any other members of the Order show up."

---

When they got back to Malfoy Manor, it was quite late in the day. Harrie was struggling to keep her eyes open, fatigue weighing her down as though she was carrying a bag of bricks on her back.

"Where am I meant to stay?" she asked, fighting back a yawn.

"The Dark Lord requested that I have the room across from his prepared for you," Lucius replied. "I can show you there now if you would like. You've had a rough few days; no one would blame you if you missed dinner tonight."

"Yes, please."

Lucius showed her the way to her room, which Harrie probably would have been incapable of remembering even if she wasn't falling asleep on her feet.

As soon as she'd shut and locked the door behind herself, Harrie collapsed on the bed, not even bothering to change into her sleepwear. She felt as though she could fall asleep and not wake for years.

---

The pounding of a fist on a wooden door roused her. Halfway between sleeping and waking and in the stunned state that meant she hadn't slept for long enough, Harrie completely forgot where she was.

"I know, Aunt Petunia, I'm awake!" she called out drowsily.

"I am most assuredly not a Petunia of any kind," Voldemort's voice replied.

Harrie squeaked and yanked the covers up to her chin, even though there was a door between them and she was still fully clothed to boot.

"Um, good morning?" she ventured, her voice high-pitched and shrill.

"It is currently two hours past noon. I thought you might like something to eat given you slept through both last night's supper and breakfast this morning. May I enter?"

"Yes, I suppose, if you really want, but the door is-"

The click of the lock opening interrupted her and Harrie fell silent as the door swung open to reveal Voldemort smirking at her.

"You were saying?"

"I'm not a morning person," Harrie grumbled. "Or an early afternoon person, apparently. You said something about food?"

"Yes, but it comes with a catch."

Harrie stared at him, hardly daring to consider what it could be. Vernon and Petunia's catches had always been horrendous, so who knew what an actual Dark Lord could have come up with?

"You have to socialize."

She started to relax; that didn't sound too bad.

"With people your age," Voldemort added.

"Don't tell me I have to interact with Malfoy so soon after waking up!" Harrie complained.

That would be truly awful. She had a hard enough time keeping her temper in check around him when she was well-rested and in a good mood. Right now she was liable to take a page out of Barty Junior's book and that would be a terrible idea if she wanted to stay on good terms with Lucius.

"Draco will be there, but so will many other teenage children of my Death Eaters. He has been told not to deliberately provoke or antagonize you, so there should be a sufficient buffer between the two of you."

"Fine."

"I'll wait outside while you get ready."

Since getting ready consisted only of fighting to drag a brush through her hair and changing into a set of clothes that didn't look like they'd been slept in, it wasn't long until Harrie was joining Voldemort outside her room.

"Why exactly are you insisting on this?" she asked as they began walking.

"The best way for you to gain the loyalty of the Death Eaters and begin carving out a place for yourself is by starting with the next generation, those your own age. By the time they take their parents' places, no one will remember that you were once ranked among our worst enemies," Voldemort explained.

"I suppose it was silly of me to think you just wanted me to make some new friends."

"Very. But there is no reason you can't do that at the same time. You will never be able to generate the fear and worship that I do. Our followers will be far more willing to die for you if they believe you genuinely care for them."

"Ours, huh?"

"I named you my equal, did I not?"

"Yes, but you've never seemed very willing to share what you consider to belong to you."

"You are correct. However," Voldemort hesitated. "You are adamant that you are your own person, and you are. But there is a part of you that isn't, and that part belongs to me. It is easier to allow you these liberties that I allow no one else, knowing that in some ways, it is simply another part of me that is allowed them."

He stopped in front of an open door that lead to a cozily furnished room. Harrie could hear quiet chatter and the occasional outburst of laughter.

"This is where I leave you. You should be fine, most of them don't even bite. Good luck."

Voldemort turned and left, leaving Harrie gaping after him. It appeared this particular Dark Lord did have a sense of humour after all, albeit a very dry and twisted one.

She turned to face the doorway again, smoothing down her shirt with lightly trembling hands. Nerves thrummed in her belly, the worst they'd been since she first started Hogwarts. With a deep breath, she schooled her face into what she hoped was a convincingly calm expression and stepped inside.

It was a large room, filled with sofas and cushy armchairs. Much like the Gryffindor common room, except in blues and greens instead of red and gold. Everywhere she looked, people were crowded together on the furniture, playing card games, or wizarding chess, or simply talking. Harrie at first wondered at the number there, then calculated the days in her head and realized they all must be home from Hogwarts for spring break.

Nobody seemed aware of her sudden appearance, too wrapped up in their activities to notice her hovering in the doorway.

Normally, she would have taken the opportunity to slip away and go curl up somewhere with a book or fly on her broom until enough time had passed that it would be believable when she said she'd tried, really she had, but there was no one she could get along with well enough to be actual friends.

But Harrie didn't want to let Voldemort down or disappoint him and when the hell had that happened, him becoming a person whose opinion of her she cared about? They'd only officially stopped being mortal enemies three days ago and somehow she already cared what he thought of her. Not even Dumbledore had had that effect on her. Sure, Harrie had respected him, but that didn't stop her from doing things she knew he would disapprove of or that would make him give her that look of disappointment that always made her feel like a dog that had peed on the rug.

'Absolutely ridiculous, Harrie,' she sighed at herself

That didn't stop her from scanning the room for a likely candidate she could ambush and force to talk to her so that she wouldn't feel like a complete impositor.

There! Tucked in away in the corner reading a book and ignoring the chaos around him was a tall, slim boy with dark honey-blond hair. His position hunched over his book, in an almost protective manner, reminded Harrie painfully of Hermi- Granger, and how she used to sit in the Great Hall during meals, desperately trying to read despite the hordes of Gryffindors determined to make that impossible.

Calling her former best friend by her last name, even just in her head, made Harrie want to go hide under a blanket and sob, nausea twisting her stomach.

Best find something to distract herself, and fast. Double-checking that no one was paying attention, Harrie worked her way around the edges of the room until she was beside the boy's couch.

"Hello," she said, deciding to go for the direct approach. "May I sit with you?"

He jumped and look up at her, his gold-tinged brown eyes not quite meeting hers.

"You hardly need my permission."

"If you don't want me here, just tell me and I'll fuck off," Harrie told him.

When he just blinked slowly at her, she decided that would have to be good enough for now and sat down beside him.

"I'm Harrie! And you are?"

"Theodore Nott. Most people call me Theo."

He was incredibly soft-spoken. Harrie had to lean in close to be able to understand what he was saying.

"Is Theo what you prefer?" she asked, knowing all too well about being addressed with an unwanted name and being unable to do anything about it.

"Only my grandfather calls me Theodore."

"That isn't actually an answer," Harrie pointed out. "Hey, is your grandfather Theodén? I met him yesterday."

"Yes, he is. You are permitted to use his first name? Grandfather is very picky about that; hardly anyone is allowed to use it."

"He said I was, yes."

"Then I shall give you the honest answer that I prefer to be addressed as Theo, despite it being mostly used by those who are not friendly towards me."

Theo turned his head to look at Harrie, examining her with his head canted slightly to the left.

"The Dark Lord told us you would be coming here today, but I cannot fathom why you would choose to speak to me before anyone else."

Harrie gave her answer careful thought. "You looked calm and thoughtful and I'm not sure I could handle anything else right now."

'And lonely, like me,' she thought, but kept that to herself. It probably wouldn't be appreciated and she wasn't quite ready to get that personal with a near-total stranger.

"That is a very candid answer."

"You didn't lie to me, so I'm not going to lie to you." Harrie looked at Theodore appraisingly. "Honesty for honesty?"

"Honesty for honesty," Theo echoed. "Yes, I like this idea."

Harrie held out her right hand to him. "Friends, then?"

Theodore looked startled, then suspicious. "If this is because you think me friendless and pity me, I assure you, I am not."

"Awww, Theo, I knew you loved me," another voice cooed.

Harrie looked up at the newcomer. He was tall like Theodore and ridiculously attractive; smooth, dark skin, broad shoulders, an exceptionally well-muscled body, and the face of a Greek god. He stood with his arms crossed, showcasing those muscles very well, glaring down at her with- Harrie blinked and squinted to make sure she had seen right - bright purple eyes.

"Theo doesn't need your pity, darling, so why don't you mosey along now?"

Harrie stood and copied his posture, going on her tiptoes so she could go nose-to-nose with him, her glare becoming cross-eyed from how close she was.

"And yet he just told me that nearly all of the people who call him Theo do so out of malice, so why should I believe you're actually his friend and aren't just trying to drive me off so you can treat him horribly with no witnesses?" she hissed, poking a finger into his very firm chest.

He raised an eyebrow and looked down his nose at her. "Awfully protective, aren't you? Why is that, I wonder?"

"I'd like to be his friend, and I'm protective of my friends!"

"Doesn't look like it from where I'm standing. You were pretty quick to abandon Granger and your Weasley."

"That's what your problem with me is?" Harrie demanded.

"No, my problem is that you now have a history of betraying your friends and Theo already has a history of his supposed friends not treating him well. I'm not going to let you do the same!"

"My friends betrayed me first!" Harrie snapped, already sick of having to say it. "And while I appreciate your wish to protect  Theo, it seems to be an awfully toxic friendship if you won't even let anyone else near him without trying to scare them off!"

"Are you two fighting over me?" Theo asked bemusedly.

Harrie dropped back onto her heels, a blush rising to her cheeks.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"You'll do," Hot Dude announced. "I'm Blaise, darling, pleasure to meet you."

"You were testing me?" Harrie all but shrieked.

"Nah, I really was trying to scare you off, but turns out you're probably just the sort of friend Theo here needs. You fuck this up, though, and even the Dark Lord won't be able to save you."

"Blaise," Theodore groaned. "You can't just say things like that."

"Harrie doesn't mind, does she?"

"Not particularly."

"Excellent." Blaise threw an arm over her shoulders. "Theo and I are a package deal, so you'll have to be friends with me as well, but I'm sure you'll be able to handle it."

Harrie eyed him, doing her best to suppress a flinch at the sudden weight wrapped around her shoulders and neck. "I'm sure I will."

—

The noise in the room died off suddenly.

"Decided to slum it again, have you, Potter?" Malfoy jeered. "Stick with the tried and true instead of befriending people of quality?"

Harrie turned around. He was standing in the middle of the room, as usual flanked on either side by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Jealous you were overlooked again, Malfoy?"

"Jealous? Hardly! I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you managed to pick the worst people you could to become friends with, yet again."

"Are you looking to challenge me to a duel, Malfoy?" Blaise said from beside her, his voice deadly soft.

Malfoy stuck his nose in the air, not quite successful at hiding his fear at the prospect. "Not at all, Blaise. You at least are a perfectly respectable wizard, and would be even better if you dumped that piece of useless baggage you insist on hauling around with you."

"You better not be talking about Theo!" Harrie said angrily.

Malfoy let out a bark of ugly laughter. "And why not? He's not going to do anything about it and Blaise isn't allowed. He's not welcome among us!"

"By whose decision? Yours?"

"And everyone else in our generation." Malfoy made a sweeping gesture with his arm that encompassed the whole room. "Blaise is the only one here willing to spend time with an outcast like Theo."

The back of Harrie's neck was beginning to heat up and her cheeks flushed red. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms hard enough to draw blood.

'Sorry, Voldemort,' she mentally apologized. 'Looks like I'm not going to be able to avoid a fight after all.'

Harrie drew her wand. "Then I guess you're going to have to duel me instead, Malfoy!"

He scoffed. "You can't do that! Rather arrogant of you, Potter, to just barge in here and try to throw your weight around despite being ignorant of the customs."

"I think you'll find that it is you who is ignorant, Draco," a stunning girl spoke up from her perch on a straight-backed armchair. Her bright blue eyes gleamed with shrewd intelligence as she stared Malfoy down. "Harrie Potter is Voldemort's consort now; she is much more highly ranked than you and can challenge whomever she pleases."

Malfoy spluttered indignantly, but Harrie was too busy having a quiet mental breakdown over being called 'Voldemort's consort' to properly appreciate it.

'Not the time, Harrie,' she told herself.

"Well, Malfoy?" she said coolly. "Are you going to accept or forfeit?"

"I accept," he gritted out.

"Then let us take this to the dueling ring," the same girl said.

She stood gracefully and led the way from the room with a swish of skirts, her long, perfectly straight tawny hair rippling with her movements, reflecting the light from the magical torches.

Theo caught up to Harrie. "You didn't have to stand up for me like that. I'm used to it; it doesn't bother me."

Harrie could hear the silent 'anymore' that belonged at the end of that sentence.

"I hate bullies and what kind of friend would I be if I'd just stood there?" She cast a searching glance his way. "You're not mad I just butted in like that?"

"You're risking your reputation and the respect you've earned for this. You wouldn't bother if this was just a sick game to you."

Harrie snorted. "What reputation? I'm the half-blood upstart that, until three days ago, everyone here wanted dead. And apparently the only reason that's no longer the case is they all think I've connived my way into being the Dark Lord's bedwarmer."

"Daphne didn't mean it that way, darling," Blaise said, shoving his way in between her and Theo and linking arms with both of them. "It's the most logical scenario, and most people here will have made that assumption, based purely on magical history."

"Why, because women can't wield power on their own?"

"Not at all," Blaise said, sounding somewhat bewildered. "It's just that throughout history, no Dark Lord or Dark Lady has voluntarily shared their power with anyone other than a spouse or partner, a sibling, or one of their children. I suppose you could be his daughter, but it seems pretty unlikely, all things considered."

"Okay, I suppose I understand why you would think that, then, but I'm honestly not any of those things. I was just hoping he'd give me an easy death, and next thing I know, he was calling me his equal and saying I could help him rule."

Theodore and Blaise exchanged a cryptic glance.

"What?" Harrie demanded. "Do you not believe me?"

"I believe you," Theo said soothingly. "It just doesn't make a lot of sense, is all."

Harrie was quite sure that wasn't all, but there was no time for further discussion. Daphne, as Theodore had called her, had finished leading them to a room that reminded Harrie quite a bit of the one and only Ministry courtroom she'd seen, only far larger. A circular expanse of stone floor was surrounded by tiers of comfortable seating protected by strong wards to prevent watchers from being harmed by stray spells.

There were already two people dueling there, though it looked to be more for practice than anything else. Harrie recognized them as Rodolphus Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov.

Daphne waited until they paused for a break before clearing her throat.

"Yes?" Rodolphus asked.

"A challenge has been issued. We have need of this room, if you are willing to relinquish it to us."

"A challenge? I thought all of that had been sorted out already."

"I'm sure you are aware that we have recently welcomed a newcomer, Lord Lestrange," Daphne replied.

Antonin laughed, which seemed to surprise and discomfit many of the other teens.

"Stirring things up already, Harrie?"

Harrie smiled in a way that she knew was rather shark-like. "The Dark Lord wanted me to make friends. Having done so, I was hardly going to stand by and do nothing while one of those new friends was gravely insulted."

"Good for you." Antonin studied her for a minute. "I've heard some rumours about you pulling a fancy sword out of a hat. You ever want to learn how to wield it properly, you come find me."

"I'll definitely take you up on that," Harrie decided. It would be brilliant to know how to actually fight with the Sword of Gryffindor, instead of waving it wildly around and hoping for the best.

Antonin nodded once, a sharp jerk of his chin. "Room's all yours, though I think we'll stay and watch if you don't mind."

"Go ahead."

Out of the corner of her eye, Harrie saw Malfoy visibly gulp. Being watched by two renowned Death Eaters apparently made him nervous.

Soon, it was only her, Daphne, and Malfoy still standing in the ring. Harrie had read enough about formal duels to know that Daphne would be taking the role of referee and, if the outcome was unclear, judge.

"Draco, you are the challenged. How would you like the winner of this duel to be decided?"

"First blood," Malfoy snapped, his eyes not leaving Harrie's and his hand clenched tightly around the hilt of his wand.

"Is this acceptable to you, My Lady?"

Harrie blinked, not expecting the title, but she didn't let it distract her.

"It is," she agreed.

Daphne stepped back to the only area on the floor that was protected by wards. "Then you may begin."

Contrary to what Lockhart had taught them in second year, they were not required to bow or start at a set distance from one another. That was impractical for this sort of duel, which was more like a battle than a competition.

Malfoy sent several spells flying at her right off the bat, all of them painful and potentially deadly if she allowed them to hit her. With well-practiced reflexes honed by years of dodging Vernon's fists, Harrie darted out of the way. A quick twirl of her wand created a shield that bounced Malfoy's Joint Reversal Curse back at him and sent her own Bonebreaker after it.

He dodged successfully, but tripped over the rope Harrie had conjured at his feet, sending him sprawling to the ground. She followed it up with a Blasting curse aimed at the floor, sending dust and chips of stone flying into the air.

Malfoy shielded, narrowly avoiding a scrape along his cheek, and rolled away, shooting a Skin Flaying spell at her to buy himself time to get back to his feet.

Harrie blocked it using a large disk of ice that she then broke into large, razor-sharp spikes with a wave of her wand and sent hurtling for Malfoy's pale, vulnerable throat.

He yelped, the first sound either of them had made since the duel started, using a burst of hot air to melt them just before they struck.

Harrie frowned and picked up the pace. She cast an Entrails-Expelling curse at Malfoy's right side. He jumped to the left to get out of the way, right into the Petrification Jinx she'd followed it up with, leaving him unable to avoid the Blood-Boiling curse she'd also cast.

Malfoy screamed under its effects, his eyes screwing shut from the pain.

"Expelliarmus!" Harrie shouted, unable to resist using the spell she'd been mocked for for using too often.

Malfoy's wand went flying through the air, landing neatly in her palm at the same time that she cast a simple Cutting curse, opening up several deep cuts in the exact same place Malfoy had been clawed open by Buckbeak all those years ago.

Not that Harrie was petty or anything.

"First blood goes to Harrie Potter, making her the winner of this duel. Would the loser like to continue this as a duel to the death?"

Harrie released her curse on Malfoy so that he could speak.

"No," he spat, sounding like he wanted nothing more than to string her up and kill her slowly. "I yield."

"Then I trust you won't be making anymore nasty, unsolicited comments?" Harrie drawled.

"I won't," Malfoy agreed, looking like it pained him more than the Blood-Boiling curse to do so.

"Excellent," Harrie chirped, suddenly in a wonderful mood. The depression that had plagued her for weeks had lifted, at least temporarily, and she was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

"That was incredible, darling," Blaise said, suddenly beside her where no one had been mere seconds ago. "No wonder they call you the Chosen One if you can fight like that."

"That's a bloody stupid title, and you better not call me it ever again," Harrie grumbled, mostly good-naturedly.

"Is that what Dumbledore was teaching you last year in all those private lessons?" Theodore asked. "How to duel and stuff?"

"No, he didn't teach me anything like that. Are you kidding? Half of those spells he'd have probably dragged me to Azkaban himself for using."

"True."

"What did he teach you then?" Blaise asked eagerly. "I think over half the school was betting on it."

"A bunch of useless shite," Harrie scowled. "A lot of it was speculation, all of it was creepily invasive, and only about ten percent of it contained actually useful information."

"Harrie."

She turned. Voldemort was standing in the doorway, surveying the scene with a raised eyebrow.

"When I asked you to get to know the children of my Death Eaters, I meant make friends with them, not 'challenge one to a duel and potentially alienate all the rest.'"

"I made friends!" Harrie protested. "Theodore, and Blaise, and I get along splendidly!"

Voldemort hummed consideringly. "Very well, then. You may bring them with us, Harrie."

"Bring them with us where?" Harrie asked as she followed him. "And since when do you call me Harrie? Yesterday it was all 'Potter this' and 'Potter that."

A choking noise came from behind her; Harrie was pretty sure it was Theodore experiencing her usual audacity and general lack of self-preservation for the first time.

"There is no sense in maintaining the distance implied by that form of address. You seem to have already forgotten to address me as 'My Lord', so I may as well resign myself to it, especially since I suspect your blatent disrespect is less an intentional insult and more an aspect of your personality. If you wish, you may call me Voldemort.

As for where we are going, I would like you to accompany me to visit the prey you so graciously brought back for me."

"You mean Vance? I thought you'd have already interrogated her by now?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot fill my entire day with torturing people who deserve it; I have other duties I must see to. Besides, you need the practice."

"Why did you invite Theodore and Blaise along then? Do they need the practice as well?"

"I wouldn't know, though I suspect not. Their education is for their guardians to take care of, and neither Lord Nott nor the Lady Zabini are the sort to slack on such matters. They are accompanying us because you need to begin building your own Inner Circle, and while they are not the choices I thought you would make, they are still excellent ones."

"You approve of us, My Lord?" Blaise asked, immediately followed by a hissed, "Blaise, shut up!" from Theodore.

"Harrie needs true, loyal friends at her sides and back," Voldemort commented, either missing or choosing to ignore the byplay. "I think the two of you will fulfill that need nicely, though I trust I don't need to spell out what will happen to you if you prove me wrong."

"Of course not, My Lord," Theodore squeaked.

Voldemort led them down several flights of stairs, the hallways narrowing and becoming less richly designed as they went. It took a while, but they eventually arrived in an area that was nothing like the rest of Malfoy Manor. The air was heavy and damp, with an earthy smell to it. Mosses and lichens grew on the walls, water dripping down them in small rivulets. The floor was nothing more than hard packed earth and Harrie could hear rats squeaking and scurrying somewhere nearby. As they walked, she could occasionally feel something brushing against her face, hopefully just a plant root or something similar. It was hard to tell; the only lighting was eerie green magefire that flickered erratically and made the shadows into strange, twisted shapes.

"I'm guessing this is the dungeons?" she asked drily.

"That is correct, yes," Voldemort said.

He stopped in front of a set of thick iron bars, recessed slightly into the wall.

"Are you awake, Emmeline?" he called. "It's considered polite to greet your visitors, you know."

Vance shuffled out of the gloom at the back of her cell. Her eyes were fixed fearfully on Voldemort, like the owner of a rabid dog waiting for it to lunge.

"Y-You-Know-Who," she said shakily, brushing a lock of dirt-filled hair out of her face. "I'm not going to tell you anything. I refuse!"

Voldemort smiled, his eyes shining like twin coals in the gloom, and Harrie could see the man that nearly all of Wizarding Britain feared. His expression was darkly amused, filled with a sadistic delight that said he'd hoped for that response.

"We shall see how long it takes you to rethink your decision," he murmured. "Crucio!"

Vance fell forwards into the bars, smashing her face against them. She was howling, her limbs spasming as she tried fruitlessly to escape the agony Harrie knew she was experiencing.

"The average human body can withstand the pain of the Cruciatus Curse for over a day before it starts to cause permanent damage," Voldemort said conversationally. "But the mind... well, I'm sure you're aware of what happened to the Longbottoms."

"If you do that to me, you won't get the information you need," Vance groaned.

"Oh, I know. But you're a very naive witch indeed if you think the Cruciatus is the only way to torture someone."

Vance raised her head enough to spit a mouthful of blood at Voldemort. Her nose had been nearly flattened by her impact with the iron bars; she already had two spectacular black eyes blooming on her dusky skin.

"Do your worst," she challenged.

Voldemort laughed, the same high, cold laugh Harrie heard in her dreams. "Oh, I certainly will."

He turned his head to look at Harrie and raised an eyebrow. Somehow, she knew what he meant and dipped her chin in agreement. A steady hand drew her wand and she approached the cell, crouching down next to the bars.

"Emmeline," she said, adopting Voldemort's strategy of addressing the witch by her first name. "You're going to tell me where the Order keeps the Ward keys containing its members' magic."

"Harrie!" Vance cried. "You have to get out of here. Don't believe whatever he's told you, he's You-Know-Who!"

"I don't recall giving you permission to use my first name," Harrie scolded, using the tone of a disappointed mother. "And don't worry, I know exactly who he is."

"You're supposed to be able to resist the Imperius Curse!"

"Oh, I can. I'm not being mind-controlled."

"You're lying! Harrie Potter would never join her parents' murderer!"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, cease your blubbering," Harrie sighed exasperatedly. "Are you going to tell me or not?"

"Never!"

Harrie hummed in response, using a spell to pull out one of Vance's fingernails.

"I'm just going to keep going," she told her. "When you can't take it anymore, you tell me what I want to know and I'll stop."

Harrie's first impression of Vance had been of an annoying, naive, idiot, but she had to admit, the witch was stubborn and had a pretty impressive pain tolerance. Even when Harrie began carefully peeling the skin off of her hand in a way that kept it in one piece, exposing the intricate anatomy of muscle, tendon, and bone beneath, she still refused to talk.

Enjoying herself now, Harrie began plucking at some of the exposed nerves like guitar strings and pulling them this way and that, seeing how far she could stretch them until they snapped.

When that ceased to amuse her, she set her wand alight and used it like a paintbrush, drawing random symbols and simple sketches on Vance's skin with the burns caused by the fire.

The witch screamed and screamed, but had still not allowed a shred of information to pass her lips. Harrie had now grown tired of experimenting, and the screams were starting to give her a headache.

She conjured a rusty, jagged-edged spoon and, using the thumb and forefinger of her opposite hand to stretch Vance's eye as wide open as it would go, began working it into her eye socket, doing her best not to puncture the actual oculus.

“Come on now, Emmeline,” Harrie cooed. “You know you don't want me to do this.”

Vance shuddered, sobbing in ernest, but her lips remained firmly sealed.

“Alright then, but don't say I didn't warn you!”

With a deft twist of her wrist, Harrie scooped the eye out of its socket and dropped it from the bowl of the spoon, allowing it to dangle from the nerve that connected it to the brain.

Vance writhed, convulsing and screeching bloody murder.

“Fine, fine,” she panted, her voice wet with blood and mucus. “All of the keys containing Order members’ magical signatures are divided between two properties. Half are stored in an apartment in Edinburgh under Aberforth Dumbledore's name. The other half are kept in an old Dumbledore family property that Albus reacquired some years ago. It's under a false name, I don't know what. Both places are heavily warded.”

"I've told you now!" Vance gasped. "You promised you'd stop."

"Tell me, Harrie," Voldemort said, approaching from behind and looming over her. "Have you ever successfully cast the Killing Curse?"

"No."

"Then what an excellent opportunity for practice we have! Go ahead!"

Harrie narrowed her eyes, imagining her magic gathering around her in preparation, ready to shoot from her wand in the same manner as an arrow from a bow. She wanted Vance dead, this witch who had had the audacity to use her own magic against her. Death was the least she deserved. Vance had suffered satisfactorily and now it was time for her to die.

"Avada Kedavra."

That unmistakable jet of green light, the exact same shade as her eyes, flew from the tip of her wand and struck Vance in the chest, directly above her heart. Harrie could practically feel the moment life left her body, sending her corpse toppling backwards to land in an undignified sprawl on the floor.

Chapter Text

"I'm bored," Harrie announced.

It had been several weeks since she had tortured and killed Vance. She hadn't been given any more Death Eater-y tasks to do, instead told to rest and recover as much as possible. How she was supposed to recover with a parasite inside her, Harrie didn't know, but she figured asking would do more harm than good.

She, Theodore, and Blaise were hanging out in an out-of-the-way corner of the Malfoys’ Library. Blaise and Theodore were engaged in a half-hearted game of wizarding chess and Harrie was flopped on her back reading a book that she was only somewhat interested in.

Theodore looked at her with an exasperated expression on his face. “Okay? And what would you like us to do about that?”

Harrie thought for a bit. “Why don't we go exploring? I want to see how big the dungeons really are.”

Blaise snorted. “If you want to torture someone, you should just say so.”

“That's not the reason!” Harrie protested. “It's just that the rest of Malfoy Manor all looks the same and it's too cold to go outside!”

He sighed and hauled himself to his feet, extending a hand to help Theodore get up. 

“Alright, but if either the Dark Lord or Lord Malfoy are mad about it, we're throwing you to the wolves.”

Harrie laughed, shoving her book back into its spot on the shelves and jumping up. “Seems fair enough. Now, do either of you remember the route we took last time?”

“Honestly, Harrie, I don't know how you're this bad at finding your way around!”

“And when would I have had a chance to learn? Hogwarts was straightforward, but this place makes absolutely no sense at all.”

Blaise tilted his head at her. “You didn't grow up in the Potter family's manor?”

“No?” Harrie gaped at him. “I didn't even know we had one! I grew up with my mother's Muggle sister and her family. I thought everyone knew that!”

“The wizarding world was told you were being raised by a distant cousin of your father's,” Theodore said quietly, which was how he said everything. “No mention was made of Muggles, so only the people you've specifically told would know.”

“What?” Harrie cried. “But I didn't even know the magical world existed until my eleventh birthday!”

“Can't we discuss this on the way?” Blaise complained. “If we're going to explore the dungeons, there's no point in just standing around.”

“Yes, yes, fine, lead the way then,” Harrie said irritably.

They set off. Theodore wasn't able to restrain himself for long, asking questions again only a few minutes later.

“How could you not have known? Surely your aunt was aware of our existence, why did she not tell you?”

Harrie huffed out a breath. They were quickly getting into uncomfortably personal territory and she wasn't sure she wanted to spill the entire sob story of her childhood. It was over and done with now; it didn't matter, it was completely irrelevant.

“Well?” Blaise prompted.

Theodore glared at him. “She doesn't have to tell us if she doesn’t want to. It could be sensitive.”

“It's fine,” Harrie said, her voice nearly as quiet as Theodore's. “It's just that my aunt and uncle were very intolerant of anything that didn't fit within their view of what was ‘normal’. Including magic.”

“Oh,” Theodore said softly, his eyes filled with an understanding that Harrie didn't like. “You don't have to say anything more, I get it.”

“Well, I don't,” Blaise grumbled.

“That's because you can be shockingly oblivious sometimes, Blaise,” Theo scoffed.

“Rude,” Blaise retorted. “And after I just successfully guided you to the dungeons, too.”

Sure enough, they were now standing in front of the same musty, poorly-lit staircase they had used yesterday.

“Good job, Blaise!” Harrie said with a bright, gleeful smile.

It helped her push aside the melancholy and misery that had suffused her during her and Theo's conversation. Finding out the Potters’ had an ancestral home that she had never even heard of had been a blow right to the gut. The amount of family history it surely contained; when Harrie was a child, she would have given anything to have that sense of belonging and connection.

“Come on then, let's go explore!”

—

Immersed once more in the gloomy atmosphere of the dungeons, Harrie peered around contentedly as they walked.

The first cell they came across still held a skeleton clad in tattered robes. Its empty sockets stared at them accusingly, one arm stretched towards the door in a final desperate bid for freedom.

“It's a memorial,” Theo explained, his hushed voice seeming much louder in the endless quiet. “To all the Death Eaters that died in Azkaban.”

“Oh.”

Harrie crouched and gently touched the tip of her finger to one of the skeleton's finger bones. Ever since she first learned of Azkaban, she'd been horrified by the cruelty with which magical criminals were treated, at least in Britain. Azkaban was so far beyond inhumane; Harrie didn't think anyone deserved to be sent there. Well, alright, that was a lie. She'd happily drop Ron (and maybe Umbridge too) off at the infamous prison and forget about him, but that was different.

“Do you know who it is?”

Blaise crouched down beside her. “Evan Rosier. He didn't actually die in Azkaban, he was killed by Mad-Eye Moody, but anyone who dies in Azkaban is cremated and their ashes Vanished. His was one of the few bodies that was able to be recovered before the Ministry got their hands on it.”

“Moody killed him? I thought he was famous for catching dark wizards.”

“Before and after the war, yes. During, he just killed them. The fight with Rosier was four on one. Rosier took three of them out, but Moody got him in the end.”

“Oh, yeah, I think I remember him mentioning that. He said Rosier was the one who'd removed part of his nose.”

“Sometimes I forget how well you know them. To most of us, they're just the enemy, but you've spent quite a bit of time with them.”

“Is that criticism?” Harrie asked. Her place here was still uncertain no matter what Voldemort said. It was a near certainty that her motives and past allegiances would continuously be questioned, but she'd hoped Blaise and Theo wouldn't be among the people doing the questioning.

“Not at all, darling. I'm just worried about how you'll feel if you end up killing someone you know. You handled Vance with no problems, but no matter how committed you are to the cause, something's bound to give eventually.”

Harrie shook her head. “Maybe if it's Remus or Tonks, but I never really interacted with any of the other members of the Order.”

“And if it's one of the Weasleys or Granger?” Theo asked.

“I guess you want to know what went down there, huh?” Harrie looked up sharply.

“It's pretty much all anyone's been talking about since you arrived,” Theo said apologetically. “Everyone wants to know what happened to break apart the trio that's been joined at the hip since first year. Blaise wanted to drag the answer out of you so that he could win the betting pool, but I told him he shouldn't pry.”

“Thank you for that,” Harrie told him, managing a painful semblance of a smile. “It's not really something I want to talk about.”

“Then we won't make you,” Theo replied.

“Speak for yourself!” Blaise squawked indignantly. “We're your friends, you should help us win.”

“Don't be so insensitive, Blaise!” Theo scolded. “She said she doesn't want to talk about it and we need to respect that!”

Harrie interrupted before their discussion devolved into an hours long bickering session.

“I'm not going to tell you, at least not yet. But I will tell you who else knows and you have my permission to try and get the information from them.”

“Who?” Blaise asked, leaning forward eagerly.

“Severus Snape,” Harrie began, watching in amusement as Blaise slumped slightly in disappointment before she delivered the killing blow. “And Voldemort.”

Blaise deflated entirely, pretending to suffer a gruesome death in his usual dramatic fashion. “Both of them would torture and kill me before I even got the question out!”

Smiling smugly, Harrie told him, “Exactly.”

“Can we move on now, then?” Blaise asked. “I need time to recover from the grievous blow dealt to me by someone I believed to be a close friend.”

“Fine,” Harrie snorted, entertained despite herself.

They wandered on. It seemed most of the cells were being used for storage instead of actually containing prisoners. Harrie poked around in a few, investigating the Dark artifacts that were being kept there. It was a fascinating collection, filled with all sorts of things that she didn't recognize or know the purpose of.

Blaise and Theo were much more wary, and far less interested, than her, having grown up around similar objects, but Harrie was quite content to investigate the extensive hoard.

Blaise wandered off after a bit, claiming boredom, although Harrie thought he was just incapable of staying still for too long. Theo sat down on the ground and began reading the book he'd brought with him, more the type to enjoy spending time in companionable silence.

Harrie had just picked up a unicorn skull, cracked around the horn and blackened with some unknown substance, when Blaise's voice called from a fair distance away.

“Guys, I think you should come see this! Especially you, Harrie!’

She carefully put the skull down and darted off, Theo close on her heels. Blaise was standing in front of a stone door, peering through the small window set near the top.

“What is it?” Harrie asked.

“I think you should see for yourself.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” Was Harrie's next question, exasperation colouring her voice. “In case you haven't noticed, I'm much shorter than you.”

Blaise considered for a moment. “None of us know how to safely levitate a person. We'd probably end up cracking your head against the ceiling. Maybe… Theo, you're the tallest, pick her up.”

Theo stammered incomprehensibly for a bit. “I really don't think…”

“It'll be fine, Theo, come on,” Blaise encouraged. “I don't want to be down here all day.”

“If he doesn't want to, he doesn't have to,” Harrie said. “”I'll just go find someone who can levitate me, or better yet, someone who can unlock the door.”

“No, it's alright. I can do it.”

Harrie eyed him doubtfully. Theo looked uncomfortable at the mere thought. She'd noticed that he shied away from physical touch nearly as much as she did. Whether it was for the same reasons or not, she couldn’t say. Théoden hadn't seemed the sort to poorly treat his only grandchild, but that didn't mean someone else hadn't. Harrie hadn’t known him long enough for them to have discussed that sort of personal information. 

“Whenever you're ready.”

The least she could do was do him the courtesy of not questioning his decision. If Theo said he could do it, then she would trust that he knew himself well enough to make that choice. Merlin knew Harrie was heartily sick of people not believing her when she said she could do something.

Theo moved forward and scooped her up without further warning, lifting her into the air with an ease Harrie wouldn't have guessed at based on his slight frame. She yelped, caught off balance, and clutched desperately at his shoulders.

Harrie had never been picked up before, or at least, had never been picked up with the end goal not being throwing her into a wall. It was a disconcerting experience; Theo's arms were warm and comfortingly solid around her, but her stomach still squirmed with unease despite the air being one of the places she was most at home. She wrapped her legs around Theo's waist, clinging desperately to him like a baby koala.

“It's okay, I've got you,” Theo murmured.

“I trust you,” Harrie said, then squeaked in alarm when he took a step towards the door. “I think.” The ground seemed very far away, even though it never did when she was on her broom.

Blaise snickered from behind her and she whipped her head around to glare at him. He was lounging against the wall, watching them with amusement.

“Aww, look at you two,” he cooed. “So cute. I would appreciate it though if you'd stop flirting and get on with it.”

Theo flinched. It was the barest amount of movement; Harrie probably wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been plastered against him.

“We're not flirting, Blaise,” she scoffed, hoping her denial would help Theo. Or it might make it worse, she had no way of knowing.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “That's not what it looks like to me.”

“Just because you're always thinking about sex and flirting with everything with the barest degree of sentience doesn't mean everyone else is,” Theo retorted.

It was Harrie's turn to flinch. She hadn't considered that Blaise might be a threat; sure, he was incredibly tactile, always wrapping an arm around her shoulder, or petting her hair, or grabbing her by the hand to lead her somewhere, but that didn't automatically mean he was interested in more intimate touches. She'd have to be more alert, watch him more closely, make sure he wasn't behaving inappropriately towards herself or Theo.

Theo briefly squeezed her a bit tighter in apology, likely having felt Harrie flinch just as she had felt him. He took the final few steps to the door, and she looked inside the cell.

—

At first, Harrie wasn't sure what she was looking at. It looked like a pile of old clothing topped with a wig made from dirty Malfoy hair. Then it moved and she realized it was a person. She squinted, knowing she had seen that hair somewhere before, albeit cleaner and in far better condition.

“Luna?” she blurted out, suddenly sure of their identity.

“Oh, hello, Harrie,” Luna said in her dreamy voice, rolling onto her back so she could peer up at Harrie's face framed by the small window.

“Are you alright?” Harrie asked desperately. “I didn't know you'd been captured, how long have you been here?”

“I'm feeling quite well, thank you, Harrie. I've been here since just before Christmas. When did you get here?”

“Just a few weeks ago. Are you sure you're okay in there?”

“Oh, yes, there's lots of Blibbering Humdingers in here. I'm having a great time watching them,” Luna replied seriously.

“Okay, but I'm still going to try and get you out. Just hang tight for a bit.”

“Can I put you down now?” Theo gasped.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Theo set her down lightly, keeping his arms around her until he was sure she was stable on her feet, then hurriedly releasing her.

“So,” Harrie grinned manically. “Should we break her out now or should I go and ask Voldemort for permission first?”

“Definitely ask for permission,” Theo said, staring at her like she'd grown a second head. “I do not want to have to explain to the Dark Lord why I helped break out one of his prisoners, and I definitely don't want to know what my grandfather would say once he found out.”

“Aww, that's no fun,” Blaise said, tugging Harrie over to stand next to him against the wall. “I vote we just break her out; easier to ask forgiveness than permission, and all that.”

Harrie rolled her eyes. “Well that was decidedly unhelpful. Guess we'll just break her out then.”

“Wait! Maybe we should-!” Theo was cut off by Harrie drawing her wand and blasting the door apart.

“-check for traps,” he finished, lowering the hand he'd raised to try and stop her.

“Oops?”

Blaise was laughing so hard he was practically crying. “You're an absolute menace, Harrie,” he choked out. 

Harrie refused to dignify that with a response, instead striding into Luna's cell to hug the friend she thought she'd never see again, unless it was on the opposite side of a battlefield.

“It's so good to see you, Luna,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Luna asked.

Harrie pulled out of the embrace just enough that she could pull up her sleeve, exposing her left forearm and the Dark Mark now permanently emblazoned on it.

“I joined Voldemort. I'm a Death Eater now, Luna, what don't I have to be sorry for?”

Luna stared at the brand created with Dark Magic, her luminous eyes surveying it with that intense curiosity that was unique to her. She reached up slowly, her gaze flicking up to meet Harrie's, making sure that Harrie was okay with the touch. Harrie dipped her chin, allowing it, and Luna’s hand settled on her arm, wrapping around her Dark Mark.

“It doesn't matter to me, Harrie,” she said. “No matter your choices, you'll always be my friend.” Her tone was fierce, her words unrelenting, allowing no room for argument.

“Even if I told you I'm planning on killing both Ron and Hermione?”

Luna smiled, taking Harrie's face between her hands. “Harrie, Hermione was never kind to me, always disdaining my peculiar views simply because she couldn't find supporting evidence in a book. Ron had no interest in me and so followed her lead. But you… you included me, became my friend. You even protected me from the girl you were in love with when you found out she was bullying me. How could I be anything but loyal to you?”

Harrie's eyes welled up with tears. “Okay,” she whispered, then leaned forward to bury her head in Luna's shoulder, wrapping her arms around her friend and holding on tightly.

—

Some time later, Harrie drew away, wiping the tears from her cheeks and helping Luna to her feet.

“Come on,” she said. “Let's go convince Voldemort to allow you to stay here as a non-prisoner.”

Luna giggled, a knowing expression on her face. “I doubt you'll have too much trouble.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

When Luna didn't answer, Harrie poked her in the ribs. “Luna? What did you mean by that?”

“Nothing important.” 

Harrie subsided with a grumble, knowing that if Luna didn't want to share, no amount of blackmail, threats, or bribery would be able to drag it out of her. She forgot all about it an instant later when Voldemort appeared with a loud pop, flanked by several cloaked and fully masked Death Eaters, all with their wands raised and ready for battle. Voldemort halted upon seeing Harrie, just about to exit the cell with Luna at her side.

“I suppose I should have known it was you,” he sighed.

Unrepentant, Harrie shrugged.

“You shouldn't be down here, and you certainly shouldn't be breaking prisoners out of their cells.”

“Luna's a close friend of mine and is loyal to me. She's not a threat and has skills we can use.”

Voldemort lowered his wand, blinking slowly at her. “You want her to be released?”

“Yes, I do,” Harrie said firmly.

He stared at her for a minute, then turned away. “We'll discuss this upstairs. Lucius, find a room for the girl and lock her in. Post a guard nearby; we don't know if she was a member of any resistance groups.”

That didn't sound promising. At least there wouldn't be anyone else present for their discussion; Harrie would be able to yell at him without undermining his authority.

The other Death Eaters dispersed. Theo and Blaise were already gone. Were they in trouble for the role they had played?

“Where are Theo and Blaise?” She asked, trepidation in her voice.

“It's Sunday, Harrie. They went to prepare for their return to Hogwarts tomorrow.”

“Are they going to be punished?”

“Is that what you think of me? You believe I would torture children for the slightest infraction, even when they haven't truly done wrong?”

“You tortured me when I was fourteen. And I know you've tortured Malfoy.”

“Draco is Marked and failed most spectacularly in the task I set him. As for you, you were my enemy and a significant threat. I could not afford to treat you with mercy or compassion.”

Relieved, Harrie fell silent as they arrived in the section of the Manor that held their rooms. Voldemort's reasoning made sense and she was glad that Blaise and Theo would not suffer because of something she had asked them to do.

—

Once they were in the small seating area that was part of Voldemort's bedroom, the door shut and locked behind them, Harrie spoke again.

“Are you going to release Luna?”

“No.”

“What?” Harrie spluttered. She'd expected him to give her a chance to argue her case and convince him why it was a good idea. Instead, he'd apparently decided before they had even started. “Why not?”

Voldemort was suddenly right in front of her, her knees pressed against his calves, his hands gripping the back of the sofa, one on either side of her. Harrie gasped, pressing herself back against the cushions, startled by his sudden closeness.

He loomed over her, his eyes blazing red and his teeth bared.

“You seem to be operating under some delusions, Potter. Just because you have now joined the Death Eaters does not mean we are suddenly paragons of saintly virtue. We are exactly the same as we have always been, that being evil.I am not a kind man, nor a good one; I torture people because I enjoy it. I am not going to allow your friend to walk free just because you asked me to. The only way prisoners leave my dungeons is by dying.”

“You think I don't know that? You're just being stupid,” Harrie cried. Angry herself now, she stood up, forcing Voldemort to back up or risk getting headbutted.

“Excuse me?” He hissed.

“Luna's a valuable asset, even ignoring the fact that she's my friend and would follow me wherever I went. It’s stupid to squander that just because you're so bloody determined not to do anything that could be perceived as you being nice!”

“Well, you've not exactly proven to be the best judge of whether your friends are loyal to you or not, have you?” Voldemort snapped.

Harrie let out a wordless scream and swung her fist at his face. 

“How dare you!” She yelled.

He caught her fist and shoved her backwards, away from him. “Resorting to Muggle brawling now, Potter?” Voldemort taunted.

“Argh! Why are you being such a dick!”

“I'm a Dark Lord! What's your excuse?”

Harrie launched herself at him again, consumed by her rage. She curved her fingers into talons, clawing at his face and neck, wherever skin was exposed.

“Let. Luna. Go!” she hollered, punctuating each word with another strike.

Voldemort hissed, a scratch above his eyebrow dripping blood down his face, and threw her to the ground. Undeterred, Harrie twisted so she could kick him in the back of his knees, bringing him down on top of her, rolling out of the way so she wouldn't be trapped. He followed, straddling her waist, grabbing her wrists and pinning her arms above her head, using his greater strength and weight to hold her there.

Harrie howled, bucking madly, trying to heave him off of her. He may have at his mercy, but she was not going to let him have his way without a fight!

Voldemort cursed above her but she was only peripherally aware of it. She was lost to instinct, her hindbrain demanding she get away, away, away.

The pressure on her shoulders let up and she instantly lashed out, hitting at whatever she could reach, screaming all the while. She had to get away! She couldn’t allow Ron to keep her here, trapped and beholden to his sick desires! Harrie would rather die than suffer that again.

Her wrists were seized again and she was lifted into the air, then sat back down with her back against a warm, solid surface. Bands of steel wrapped around her, her struggles dying down as her strength faded.

—

Slowly, her awareness returned. Harrie could sense more than hear a deep voice murmuring comforting phrases in her ear; the rumble of it sent soothing vibrations into her back where it was in contact with the speaker's chest. It was comforting in a similar manner to a cat's purr. 

She was curled up on someone's lap, their arms wrapped around her making Harrie feel warm and secure instead of trapped and caged. Her head rested on their shoulder, the fabric of their clothing soft and silky against the skin of her cheek.

“What?” she croaked out. Her throat was raw and painful, making it difficult to speak.

“We were fighting and you had a panic attack,” Voldemort replied, letting go of her.

Even now knowing who it was who had been holding her, Harrie missed his embrace as soon as it was gone, feeling cold and lonely without it.

“Oh,” she mumbled. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Voldemort said, his tone almost what Harrie would call fierce. “It's not surprising that you are suffering from some form of what the Muggles call PTSD. I pinned you underneath me during our fight; your reaction was perfectly reasonable. The fault is mine.”

Harrie blinked at him, the most feared Dark Lord in a century, apologizing (in his own way) for terrifying her so badly she flashed back and believed she would have to suffer through being raped again.

“It's fine,” she whispered. “You couldn't have known I was going to react like that. Even I didn't know.”

“I could have guessed,” Voldemort returned.

“Sooo, about Luna….”

Voldemort sighed. “As stubborn as ever. You never do give up, do you, Harrie?”

“It's not in my nature. I'd probably be dead by now if it was.”

“Likely,” Voldemort agreed. “Very well. I shall allow her to join you, but even a hint of treachery or spying, and right back in the dungeons she goes.”

“Thank you!” Harrie beamed, flinging her arms around him without thinking.

He froze, giving Harrie just enough time to start to feel embarrassed, before he hesitantly returned the hug. It lasted until she suddenly realized just where she was sitting and leapt to her feet in alarm.

“I'm going to go find Luna now,” Harrie blurted out, and ran out of the room.

She'd never be able to face him again.