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Chapter Text

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Harry knew this. Hermione knew this too. It was the most dangerous thing they could have chosen to do. And yet… Godric’s Hollow meant something to both of them. They couldn’t not go.

And then the old woman appeared to them.

“You’re Bathilda, aren’t you?” asked Harry.

She didn’t answer verbally but held his gaze. Then she turned and started walking down the road. 

She means for us to follow , thought Harry. He started to take a step forward, but Hermione touched his arm, stopping him.

“Harry, I don’t like this,” murmured Hermione. “I wish we’d used polyjuice potion…”

Harry reached over and squeezed her hand, trying to send waves of comfort towards his friend through the contact. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words ‘it’s okay’ or ‘don’t worry.’ She had every reason to worry. They had risked a lot coming here. 

“She knew Dumbledore. She might know where we can find the sword of Gryffindor,” said Harry. “Maybe she even has it to give to us…”

Hermione looked at him doubtfully. Oh, she wanted to believe him. Desperately. But what were the odds…?

He moved to follow the old woman who hobbled down the road, her small feet crunching quietly through the snow that covered the cobblestones of the tiny hamlet.

Minutes later, they entered a rather dark and decrepit house. There was a stench that permeated the house and a couple of times Harry had to choke back bile that rose in his throat. The old woman went over to the fireplace and in shaky hands, tried to strike a match to light the hearth.

“Please, I can do that for you,” said Harry, gently taking the matchbox from her papery hands.

“You are Potter?” she whispered so only he could hear, even with Hermione just on the other side of the room, examining the books that lined the shelves.

“Yes, I am.”

She nodded, moving towards the stairs. Harry made quick work of lighting the kindling and letting it catch on the logs that sat in the grate. He stood up in one fluid motion and made to follow her, lighting his wand first.

“ Harry… please… ” murmured Hermione, terror gripping every fiber of her being. Something wasn’t right…

“It’s okay. I’ll be right back,” said Harry. He mounted the stairs.

When he reached the top, he saw Bathilda Bagshot standing on the far side of the room from the landing near a tattered old armchair. He came a bit closer.

“Ma’am, have you got anything for me?” Harry asked.

The old woman watched him with her discolored eyes, a slight smirk quirking up the corner of her mouth.

Harry’s head started to throb with a dull ache and he fought himself to stay in the moment, to stay where his feet were planted. But something inside him shifted. He felt a leap of joy and spoke in a high, cold voice: Hold him!

“Have you got anything for me?” he asked again, grasping at the wall.

“Over here,” she whispered, pointing to the corner where a small table stood with rumpled and dirty clothing piled on top, a single drawer at the center.

“What is it?” he asked.

Harry hoped against impossible hope that the sword was hidden somewhere in the pile. His eyes darted between Bathilda and the clutter, his stomach turning into a bundle of tightly curled nerves. He was about to pull the dirty clothes away when he sensed unnatural movement out of the corner of his eye. He redirected his attention in time to see the old woman crumble to the ground, sliding to the ground like a discarded costume and a giant snake sprung towards him, knocking him to the ground at the same time as he raised his wand. His holly wand went flying and landed somewhere in the dingy room.

The snake was impossibly huge and deceptively quick. He could not get enough breath into his lungs to scream, to call for help, anything. The heavy, smooth mass smashed him to the floor and he felt it slide over him, around him, powerful, muscular, crushing… 

“No!” he gasped, pinned to the floor and in the coils of the serpent.

“ Yes ,” whispered the voice. “ Yess… hold you… hold you… ”

“ Accio… Accio wand… ”

But nothing happened. Wherever his wand had landed, it wasn’t answering his summons. Harry felt himself shaking with mounting panic underneath the great beast… Suddenly, he felt something sharp embed itself in his arm and he cried out.

“Harry?!”

Pain radiated from his arm where the snake’s fangs had sunk into his flesh. Harry could feel fire pulsating in his shoulder and in his chest as the venom spread. He screamed, his throat feeling like it would give out any moment, his heart like it could stop in a matter of seconds. Tears streaked down his face as he tried to fight off the snake, to no avail.

“He’s coming! Hermione, he’s coming!” shouted Harry through gritted teeth.

Harry wretched when the pain in his head reached a fever pitch.

“Go-- get out of here, Hermione!” yelled Harry.

“I’m not leaving without--”

“There’s no time! Run!”

Harry could hear sharp cracks renting the air and he knew that the Death Eaters had arrived. 

“ Go!! ”

He only hoped Hermione heard and left before it was too late.

“Nagini, enough.”

Harry’s heart seized when he heard the cold, high voice of his nightmares. A whimper escaped him before he could stop it. Suddenly, he felt the giant snake loosen her hold on him and start to pull away.

“ He is here… I caught the boy for Master… ” hissed Nagini.

“Harry Potter… at long last,” said Voldemort.

Harry felt the floor beneath him shudder and saw several pairs of footsteps came up behind Voldemort.

“Seize him.”

The Death Eaters moved around the Dark Lord and grabbed onto Harry, turning him onto his stomach, pulling his arms behind him, and binding them so tightly he felt his hands go numb. He struggled against their hold, a painful growl ripping from his throat. He felt himself being pulled to standing and a dark cloth was forced into his mouth, effectively silencing him. Another length of cloth was tied around his head to hold it all in place.

Harry struggled harder against the Death Eaters who were holding him so tightly he was sure they were leaving bruises up and down his arms. A third Death Eater in a mask came up to him and slapped his face. Hard . Harry let out a grunt of pain, his eyes watering. Voldemort came closer and grabbed his jaw, his nails digging into his skin. Harry felt dizzy.

“Now, now, Harry, there’s no need to fight,” said Voldemort silkily. “It’s all over now.”

He brought his wand up to Harry’s temple and said silkily, “ Crucio. ”

Harry could feel his jaw tightening painfully, his mind shuddering as it tried to fight against the pain that radiated throughout his body. He had experienced the Unforgiveable before, but this… this just didn’t compare… it was somehow even stronger than before… He jerked violently against the hold of the Death Eaters. His knees gave out underneath him and a muffled scream could be heard through his gag as his resolve weakened.

All at once, the pain stopped. Harry’s body went limp.

Voldemort gently lifted Harry’s head by his chin so he was looking directly into the young man’s eyes. A shiver of terror went through Harry and he let out a fearful moan through his gag. Voldemort gave him a sinister smile that spelled nothing but danger. Hunger . 

“ Somnus ,” he whispered. Harry slumped forward, losing consciousness, and the Death Eaters holding him took his full weight. Voldemort turned his back and walked toward the stairs of the crumbling home.

“Take him to the Manor,” said Voldemort over his shoulder.

And with that, the Death Eaters apparated away and the old woman’s house lay still and silent as the grave.

***

Cold.

When Harry came to, he was surrounded by stone walls. The chill in the air sank deep into his bones. His body ached all over and his head threatened to split open. He let out a sore grunt that was muffled by the gag still in his mouth. It was in that moment that he realized he couldn’t move-- his back was pressed against a set of bars, his arms threaded in between and bound on the other side. He tried to adjust himself to find a more comfortable position, but it was impossible. He was tied too tightly and there wasn’t any give to the ropes binding him.

A quick look around told him that he was in a cell. Behind him was some kind of walkway. He could see a cell door with an ancient-looking lock to his right. The other walls were made up of stone with a small grate in one wall leading into the next room over. How long had he been here?

Where am I?

A hundred different thoughts raced through his head all at once. Where was Hermione? Had she gotten away or did they have her here too? Maybe she had apparated in time and been able to find Ron… or would Voldemort be able to trace Hermione if she had escaped via apparition?

He heard a distant clang of metal on metal from somewhere in the dungeon. He tried to turn his head but couldn’t look very far in either direction. There were steps coming closer and closer with every second.

Harry inhaled sharply through his nose-- his chest felt like it flared with fire. Anger. Irritation.

The locket. Oh shit…

He could feel the chain, warm and pulling against the back of his neck, like it was trying to break away from him. He pulled at the ropes helplessly, hoping against hope that they would loosen, that he would be able to hide the locket better… what on earth would Voldemort do if he knew Harry had this? Harry shuddered to think…

“Oh Harry… surely you’ve realized by now that struggling is useless.”

Harry felt a shiver of fear course through his entire body and he choked back a whimper.

There was the scrape of metal on metal and the door to his cell opened. Voldemort strode in after unlocking the cell with a wordless, wandless spell, his long black robes flowing behind him. He stopped in front of Harry, his red eyes gleaming, a smirk crossing his lips. Harry pushed himself as far back as he could with his feet, drawing his knees a close to his chest as he could. He could feel his heart hammering almost painfully in his chest.

“I must admit, this isn’t how I imagined our next meeting would go, but… I can’t say I’m disappointed,” said Voldemort. “Oh my, the Death Eaters spared nothing when they brought you here, did they?”

The Dark Lord crouched down so his eyes were level with Harry’s. He reached his hand out, caressing Harry’s cheek. Harry clamped his eyes shut at the freezing touch, anticipating pain, but surprisingly none came. He let out a shaky breath and slowly opened his eyes. Suddenly he reached behind Harry’s head, causing Harry to grunt in surprise at the quick movement and in pain at the sharp burn from the locket as it reacted to Voldemort. The Dark Lord began tugging at the knot in the cloth holding Harry’s gag in place.

“I have some questions for you,” said Voldemort. “Your only task is to answer them honestly. If you do that, I won’t hurt you. Understood?”

Not knowing what else to do, Harry nodded and Voldemort pulled out the cloth that was shoved in Harry’s mouth, tossing it aside.

Thirsty… thought Harry. He licked his lips and tried to push the thought out of his mind. He knew relief wasn’t coming anytime soon.

“Why were you in Godric’s Hollow?” asked Voldemort.

Don’t look him in the eye… Harry thought frantically. The few lessons he’d had in Occlumency had yet to take hold. If Voldemort wanted to fight his way into Harry’s mind, he’d be useless at stopping the man… I need a good lie…

“I-- I was… visiting my parents’ graves,” said Harry, his voice slightly raspy.

Don’t look at him… don’t look…

“Really…” drawled Voldemort skeptically. “We are at war, Harry. You are Undesirable Number One. Godric’s Hollow is one of the last places you should be right now, especially if you were looking to avoid notice.”

“Th- that’s why I was there…” said Harry quietly, staring at the ground.

“I don’t believe you,” said Voldemort. “Look at me.”

Harry froze, his breath quickening slightly. He only hoped Voldemort wouldn’t notice…

“Look at me , Harry Potter,” said Voldemort.

“N-n-no…” Harry couldn’t feel any smaller than he did right now.

Voldemort drew out his wand-- it wasn’t the yew wand that Harry had seen him use before, but a different one. Whose wand was that? Voldemort tapped Harry’s sternum with the tip of his wand.

“I can be patient when I want to be Harry, but admittedly, my patience is wearing thin. Look at me .” Voldemort snatched at Harry’s face, attempting to turn his head. Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

“Very well. Crucio .”

His bones were on fire. It felt like his skin was bubbling, melting off his form… He tried his utmost to hold back his scream, not wanting to give Voldemort the satisfaction, but the sound ripped from him against his will. Harry hit his head on the bars behind him and he felt a stabbing pain shoot through his skull… and then it was over, a dull ache permeating every part of his body as the curse left him. He sagged against the ropes holding him in place. He could feel himself shaking uncontrollably.

“You don’t want to feel that again, do you Harry?”

Harry let out a moan and lifted his head, taking care not look at Voldemort.

“There’s nothing to tell… I visited my parents’ graves. That’s all,” said Harry.

“Then explain to me why you were found in the home of Bathilda Bagshot,” said Voldemort.

“She was an old woman who needed help. I didn’t know who she was,” lied Harry.

“ Crucio! ”

Harry screamed, writhing in pain until Voldemort lifted the curse. Harry moaned, leaning his head against the bars, sucking in air.

“I don’t like being lied to, Harry,” said Voldemort. “I’ll ask you again. What were you doing in the home of Bathilda Bagshot? ”

“I wasn’t doing anything…” said Harry.

Voldemort paused, then stood up, straightening his robes. He paced slowly in front of Harry who only looked up and watched the man… the monster…

“Perhaps… I’m not asking the right question…” mused Voldemort. “Perhaps it’s not what you were doing… but what you were looking for .”

Harry’s breath hitched slightly before he could stop it. He hated himself for it.

“So that is the right question,” said Voldemort.

Without missing a beat, Voldemort looked Harry dead in the eyes and said, “ Legilimens .”

His mind felt like it was being ripped open and Harry cried out in shock. He tried desperately to force Voldemort out, but nothing was working. Memories flashed by at lightning speed-- his final farewell to the Dursleys, flying through the air on Hagrid’s motorbike, Hedwig falling from the sky, the wedding, Grimmauld Place, the Ministry… the locket … 

Stop stop stop, please…

Ron’s injuries from being splinched, walking across fields and hiding in forests, Ron’s sudden departure, Harry urging Hermione to visit Godric’s Hollow with him… “ Hermione, she knew Dumbledore… she might have the sword of Gryffindor.”

Ah! No no no no…

“You’re not working alone then,” said Voldemort, pulling out of Harry’s mind with a violent yank. Harry shook violently, gasping for air, his nose starting to bleed. “Your friends are helping you. Where are they? ”

“Please don’t hurt them…” said Harry. He felt something in his eyes burning, threatening to spill over. 

The same clang of metal on stone could be heard again and once again, Harry attempted to see who had joined them.

“Lucius, is that you?” asked Voldemort, his tone even.

“Yes, My Lord. You summoned me?”

“Tell the others to double their efforts in their search for Hermione Granger. She must be found at all costs,” said Voldemort.

“ No! ” exclaimed Harry. “Please, leave her. She doesn’t know more than I do.”

Voldemort reached down and slapped Harry sharply across the face. Harry yelped in pain.

“You friend may not know more than you do, but she may be easier to… convince.”

“Of course, My Lord,” said Lucius, bowing his head reverently. “And… Undesirable Number 3 as well?”

Voldemort paused, considering. “Yes, I think that would be prudent. But the girl first and foremost.”

“It will be done, My Lord.”

Lucius turned and walked back up the stairs he’d come from, the barred door slamming behind him. Harry turned his attention back to Voldemort, who was glaring down at him. A flash of pain cut across Harry’s scar, but he fought to keep his eyes open. Then, before he knew it, the pain faded slightly, and he heard Voldemort hiss, “ Renodo .”

The ropes around Harry’s wrists unknotted themselves and fell off. He pulled his hands back through the bars and held them close to his chest. Though feeling was very slowly returning to his fingers, he could still feel the locket beneath his shirt… burning .

Then Voldemort was in his face, grabbing Harry by the front of his shirt and robes and lifting him so that his toes barely brushed the ground. Harry cried out as he was handled roughly.

“We’re not finished,” said Voldemort darkly. Then he paused, his facial features flattening, his eye darting to Harry’s neck. He set Harry down and pushed him against the bars. “What is this?”

Voldemort, not letting go of Harry’s clothes, reached up a single pale finger and traced the inside of the boy’s collar. Harry flinched. His heart nearly stopped. His mind was racing, trying to figure out what Voldemort was doing. He came closer, his forehead almost touching Harry’s. He could feel the man’s breath on his face. He squeezed his eyes closed and held his breath. He felt the chain of the locket slide against his skin, and all at once, Harry wanted to throw up. He wished as hard as he could that Voldemort would not find what he was looking for… There was stillness… slowly, he felt Voldemort’s cold fingers leave him.

Then his shirt was ripped open. The top button landed on the floor with a light clatter on the stones, the sound of ripping material filled his ears.

“ Stop… please… Please, don’t! DON’T! ” cried Harry, his voice breaking. Voldemort pushed his hands away as Harry tried to block him.

“It can’t be…”

Voldemort yanked the locket off Harry’s neck, breaking the chain. Harry gave an involuntary sob at the loss of the soul piece. 

“How did you get this?”

Harry didn’t answer, just stared right below Voldemort’s gaze, visibly shaking. Voldemort’s hand closed tightly around the locket, his knuckles blanching whiter than the rest of his pallid skin.

“You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Potter. Between what you and Dumbledore have done, you are in way over your head,” said Voldemort darkly. “You will remain here. When I return, you’ll wish that you had never begun this quest of yours. You’ll wish you’d never been born.”

A strong sense of dread pooled in Harry’s stomach. The door of Harry’s cell clanged shut, the lock creaking loudly as the tumblers fell into place. Voldemort swept up the stairs and with a wave of his hand, extinguished the torches in the dungeon. A slight chill that wasn’t there before sank into Harry’s skin. 

“Enjoy rotting in the dark, Harry Potter. It’s all you’re good for.”

Chapter Text

Time meant nothing in the dungeon. Harry rotated between moving to different corners of his cell, sleeping, ruminating about what his life had come to after all this time, worrying about Ron and Hermione, and agonizing over when Voldemort might return, as he had promised he would. There was no indication that he’d be back in five minutes, five hours, five days, or longer… all Harry knew was that it had been a long time since he had seen anyone… even a Death Eater.

His stomach growled uncomfortably. This wasn’t a new feeling. Hunger had been his near-constant companion when he was small. Harry knew how to live with hunger. Judging by the feeling in his stomach, it had been several days since his last meal. It was… bearable. He’d felt worse.

Something was dripping between the cracks in the wall and onto the floor, creating a small, dark river that divided the cell in two, ending in a small puddle in the far corner. The dripping was slow but consistent. Harry counted each drop as it landed on the floor… 5,167, 5,168, 5,169… It was the loudest thing around Harry next to his own heartbeat and racing thoughts. In the distance, he could hear moans and the occasional scream, but they might as well be coming from someone in a different township.

Harry shivered violently, catching him by surprise. He realized he couldn’t feel his fingers. Looking down, he saw the puddle in the corner had iced over and he could see his breath in front of his face. He drew in his arms and legs tightly, trying to rub some warmth into his extremities. Had it always been this cold down here? Or was he just becoming conscious of his surroundings?

There was the sound of metal on metal from above him, causing him to jump, turning his head to look.

“Stand, Potter.”

Lucius Malfoy came down the steps and stopped at the bars of the cell door. Not knowing what else to do, Harry stood up and walked towards the door, stopping a few feet away. 

“Put your hands through the bars,” demanded Lucius. 

“Why?” His voice sounded like gravel in his throat after days of silence.

“Don’t ask questions,” said Lucius. “You’re in no position to refuse.”

Reluctantly, Harry did as he was asked and Lucius wrapped tight cords around Harry’s wrists, pulling them to the point of being painful. But Harry didn’t make a sound. Lucius unlocked the door and gave Harry room to step out.

“One more thing…”

Lucius reached out and plucked Harry’s glasses from his face. The Deatheater reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a length of black cloth. Clutching it in his hand, he walked around Harry and put it over his eyes, wrapping it around his head twice before tying it.

“The Dark Lord requests that you don’t see where it is you’re going. Just another security measure,” drawled Lucius.

Harry swallowed hard and tried to stifle a shudder. There was little he hated more than being incapacitated around people who meant him harm. Memories of being pushed against walls in Number 4 Privet Drive while he was helpless to move, a belt leaving welts and bruises across his skin, making his bones ache, drifted hazily through his mind. He was quickly brought back to the present when he felt a sharp yank in his arms, forcing him to walk forward. He let out a startled gasp but quickly found his feet, following Lucius.

“What does Voldemort want?” asked Harry.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” snapped Lucius.

It felt like they walked for ages, stumbling up stairs that Lucius didn’t bother to warn him of, walking through corridors that echoed with their footsteps…

There was the sound of a wooden door swinging open, creaking before hitting the wall behind it. Warmth washed over Harry as he and Lucius entered the room. He could hear the soft crackling of a fire in the fireplace.

“Sit,” said Lucius, pushing Harry roughly into what he assumed was a dining chair of some kind. His hands were pulled up onto a flat surface before being fastened in place so he could hardly move at all. Then his blindfold was removed, his glasses returned.

They were in a rather medieval-looking parlor with a rectangular table and two chairs sitting opposite each other, including the one Harry occupied. The rest of the room was dark and appeared to be cut off from the outside. Harry tugged uselessly at the ropes binding him, testing his range of movement.

“Don’t bother,” said Lucius, his words laced with judgment. “Even if you were to come loose, where would you go?”

Harry froze, watching the man’s face. He could feel his heart trying to beat out of his chest. His breath quickened.

“I-- I don’t--”

“This room is guarded by no fewer than five Death Eaters inside and outside this room, not including myself. Anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards permeate the entire property, including the grounds. Unplottable wards make this place undiscoverable by mage or muggle alike, so one can only enter the boundaries if you are keyed into the various wards. Whenever anyone crosses in or out of the property line, a sound can be heard by all. And all, especially the Dark Lord, are aware of everyone’s movements on the property,” explained Lucius. “To top it all off, the ropes that bind you are laced with magic inhibiting charms and are local to you. But please, by all means, I would love to see you try and get out of them.”

Harry ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach… of hope slipping away.

“Why tell me all of this?” asked Harry.

“You’ve greatly angered the Dark Lord with your antics. He so longs to see you suffer,” said Lucius. “Seeing you mentally defeated before he… disposes of you would only increase his enjoyment.”

“Glad I can assist his Lordship…” muttered Harry.

He felt a hand smack the back of his head. He gritted his teeth against the pain.

Suddenly, the temperature dropped-- even the once blazing fire in the grate reduced to wispy flames.

“What’s happening?” asked Harry, unsuccessfully trying to keep the tremble out of his voice.

The door to the parlor swung open, revealing a man in loose-fitting black robes. The hood was draped over his head; only the pale skin of his hands could be seen in the dimly lit room.

“ Harry Potter …”

“Voldemort.”

There was yet another sharp pain in his face as Lucius reached over and slapped him with the back of his ring-clad hand. Harry groaned.

“That’s enough of your cheek,” snarled Lucius.

“Don’t overstep, Lucius,” said Voldemort, making his way across the room to the table. “The boy is mine, after all.”

The elder Malfoy bowed his head in reverence, taking two steps away from Harry and the table. Voldemort sat in the other open seat and lowered his hood, letting his vibrant red eyes meet Harry’s. Harry steadied his gaze in response, his jaw set. He could feel something dripping down his face… blood? Sweat? Both? He made up his mind to ignore it.

“Leave us,” said Voldemort, waving his hand and opening the door to the parlor once more with an emphatic slam. Without hesitation, the Death Eater left the room, the door closing loudly behind him. There was the click of a lock.

They were alone.

Harry felt his heart hammering against his ribs, threatening to burst from his chest.

“I’ve imagined this day-- this final meeting-- so many different times and happening in so many different ways. But I must admit, I’ve managed to surprise myself this time,” said Voldemort. “I had not expected that stationing Nagini in Godric’s Hollow would amount to anything, but I’m certainly pleased that it did. A stroke of genius, really.”

We must have different ideas of genius… thought Harry.

Voldemort’s burning eyes narrowed at him angrily.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I-- I didn’t say anything,” said Harry quietly. Did he…? No, no, he couldn’t have…

Harry heard a familiar voice in his head that wasn’t his own mutter, How odd… but it couldn’t be…  

Maybe it was a memory resurfacing in his consciousness…

“You’ve cheated death too often for my liking. It’s time this comes to an end,” said Voldemort.

“You might get rid of me, but there will be dozens more ready to fight you in my stead,” said Harry.

“I look forward to crushing them one by one,” said Voldemort, a sneer crossing his face.

He stared a moment longer before reaching out and touching Harry’s face with icy fingers. If Harry didn’t know that he was sitting across from the most infamous Dark Wizard of the age, the murderer of his parents, and the greatest personal threat to himself, he’d almost think the contact was… kind. Admiring , even. Harry tried to move away but his bindings wouldn’t allow it.

“It’s interesting… the entire wizarding world thought you would be the one to best me. They saw a hero. Their savior. I see a boy trying to fill shoes that will always be too big for him,” said Voldemort. “But soon, that won’t be a concern. And everyone else will know it too.”

The wizard stood up and neatly pushed his chair in. Then, with a wave of his wand, some kind of magical barrier that Harry hadn’t noticed among the myriad other wards in place shattered and rained down on the room. A wind blew in from underneath the only remaining door in the room, the meager fire blew out like a candle, leaving ashes to suffocate slowly. Harry breathed out in surprise and noticed his breath clouding the air. This had only happened to him when…

A cloaked figure with skeletal hands drifted into sight, following a direct path to Harry. The young man’s eyes widened in recognition of the horror before him. His hands shook against the table and he pulled hard at the knots holding him in place-- they didn’t budge.

“You have met my… colleague, of sorts,” said Voldemort. “The dementors thrive on pleasant memories, but it’s always a treat for them when they can devour an entire soul.”

He had crossed the room and had taken up a perch in one of the armchairs in front of the fire grate. Now it had become his front row seat.

“No… no , you can’t do this…” said Harry, his heart beating faster the closer the dementor came to him.

“You’re a fascinating creature, Harry Potter, but I can’t harbor anyone who sees fit to destroy what is mine. You’ll understand what that’s like momentarily,” said Voldemort.

Harry could feel the dementor siphoning off memory after memory, good feeling after good feeling… He saw it come closer, reaching out its hands to him. He could hear his mother’s screams and his father’s shouting grow louder in his ears until it felt like he was in the same room on that fateful Halloween night. The room around Harry faded away and he watched his father scramble to meet Voldemort at the front door and buy time for his young family to hide, to get away… anything… 

“ Expecto--”

A green flash filled his vision. He saw his father fall. He hadn’t even had his wand in hand. Harry could see it sitting idly on the kitchen counter just ten feet away.

“No… expecto patr…”

He could feel claw-like fingers touch his face.

There was a sound that came from upstairs. Voldemort’s eyes glanced in the direction of the ceiling. A small smile crossed his lips and he made his way up the stairs, never treading on the hem of his long robes when he stepped. Lily’s scream was in his head, pain radiating through his skull along with it, and slowly it melded with his own scream of agony. There was a flash of green and then…

“Expecto… Patronum… ”

It was fruitless. Wandless magic hadn’t worked for him often when he tried it on purpose. He could feel a swell of magic beneath his skin. But like an ocean wave against a breakwater, the moment it seemed he would succeed, it broke and ebbed away…

Please work… I can’t…

He saw Sirius, lying on the ground in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, unmoving as a ball of light left his body. Harry remembered the desperation he felt… he felt himself slowing down… washing away… dying… 

The sound of throaty laughter filled Harry’s ears and sent shivers down his spine, panic building in his stomach to a fever pitch. Somewhere in his core, he felt a searing pain, like he was being burned from the inside out. 

The scene changed. He was in the Department of Mysteries, standing in front of the veil, voices speaking unknown words and languages into his ears. He sees a flash of green and Sirius falls backwards, through the veil, vanishing in front of Harry. His heart shatters into a million pieces. He’s felt loss before, but never like this…

Sirius… please… help me…

He’s standing on the Astronomy Tower, watching from down below as Snape, Draco, and a slew of Death Eaters face Dumbledore, Snape’s wand pointing directly at his chest.

“Severus…. Please…” says Dumbledore weakly. He knows the end is imminent. There is no escape. Harry is helpless to stop the course of events.

“Avada Kedavra.”

His mentor falls endlessly, the ground several stories below welcoming him with open arms, the sky glowing green with a Dark Mark that appears to be laughing in triumph. Voldemort has one thing battle. And there’s nothing Harry can do. He’s well and truly on his own now…

There was silence.

There was blackness. Stillness.

It was over. Everything was gone.

***

He was going to enjoy this moment. At long last, Harry Potter, his mortal enemy, would finally meet his end. To think that anyone would have predicted this… boy -- a mere child, barely a man, could ever defeat him. How very wrong they were. There was nothing particularly special about the son of James and Lily Potter. He’d been foolish to put so much stock in the prophecy of a pathetic witch, one who should be ashamed to say that she had the gift of the inner eye.

A quick visit to Azkaban. The dementors were a natural ally to him and were eager to follow him… well, their version of eager, anyway. The temptation of a complete soul was too great, too rare a reward.

The dementor had played its role perfectly, coming into the room at the signalled moment and wasting no time doing its job. Potter had immediately sunk into a fearful stupor, fighting his bonds and trying desperately to move out of the path of the dementor.

Yes, Voldemort smiled to himself. He would enjoy this moment immensely.

The dementor came closer and closer to Harry, taking his face in its hands, coming closer, closer, impossibly closer. Potter looked on the verge of passing out. He pulled helplessly against the rope that bound him to the table, tears streaming down his face. Pathetic. The boy was nothing like either of his parents. They died on their feet. They died defending someone. Unfortunate that magical blood had to be spilled, of course, but they were honorable deaths all the same. 

Voldemort had never gotten to witness a kiss from the dementors. If this worked so well, perhaps the dementors would be willing to work with his Death Eaters more often. Time would tell if such a collaboration were possible.

Then it happened. Potter stilled where he sat, his head tilted back as far as it could go, mouth slightly agape. A small golden light could be seen shining through his skin. It rose in his chest, up his throat, and past his lips. A small golden orb rose in the air, Harry’s chest falling, his entire body going slack. The room itself seemed to freeze in time.

Voldemort stood up from the armchair where he had been sitting, watching. He came closer, beholding the ball of light that was Harry’s soul emerging from his body. 

Something wasn’t right…

Something dark and shiny-- like oil or gasoline spilled over the ocean-- clung to the golden orb, the size of a large marble. 

What is that? thought Voldemort, staring intensely at the anomaly.

He hadn’t laid eyes on many souls in his time. He couldn’t recall his soul ever being this blindingly bright. Each time he had seen his soul, growing smaller and smaller with each tear, it dimmed, until it became an inky black. The kind of black that felt like it would just draw in light. It wasn’t just turning off the lights, it was becoming a black hole absorbing every part of the universe it could touch.

It couldn’t be…

The anomaly called to him. Spoke his name. He knew this aberration.

It is… but how…?

He had to do something. There was too much on the line.

Voldemort stood up in one fluid motion and moved himself in front of the dementor, physically pushing it away.

“ Leave this place. You are no longer wanted here!” said Voldemort.

The dementor froze in place, as if considering the man’s words. With a quick glance behind him, Voldeort checked Harry. His soul sank back down, following the same path it had used to leave him. 

There was a death rattle that seemed to fill the room. A sound of anger, of deprivation, that drained all warmth and mirth from the room, coming from the dementor 

“Your services are no longer needed. Be gone and return to Azkaban forthwith,” said Voldemort loudly, trying to communicate above the nearly deafening sound of the angry dementor.

The dementor hovered in front of Voldemort, who stood his ground and stared it down. It reached out its skeletal hands, touching Voldemort’s face with its skeletal hands. At first contact, a shrill scream pierced the air and the dementor violently recoiled, but Voldemort didn’t flinch. Only a sinister smile crossed his lips as the creature withdrew its hands quickly, as if burned.

“Return to Azkaban. Now. I won’t repeat myself again,” said Voldemort, his voice steady and dark. 

There was a moment’s hesitation before the dementor turned and left the room again. With a flick of his wand, Voldemort locked the door behind it and turned back to his prisoner, sitting bound to the table in the middle of the room. Sometime between his intervention with the dementor and now, Harry’s body had been thrown forward so his head was resting on the wood of the table. He breathed erratically, his entire body shaking violently. Slowly, Voldemort eased forward, closer. He reached out a pale hand and turned Harry’s head to the side. The boy’s eyes were closed, his face contorted in pain or fear… or both. Voldemort’s fingers tangled in the dark curls, lingering longer than they should have. This boy… no, he’d have to rethink some things. He hadn’t anticipated any of this…

He tore his fingers away.

“ Lucius !” he yelled.

A few seconds later, the blonde man walked through the door into the parlor.

“Bring the boy back to the dungeons. There’s been a change in plans.”

***

Harry gasped awake. 

Awake? Awake? But… how?

He glanced around and realized he was back where he came from, in the cell underneath Malfoy Manor. 

Was all of it a nightmare?

Harry raised his hands, now freed, to eye level and turned them over to inspect them. They were dirty and there were red marks around his wrists, but he was otherwise unharmed. He touched his face, his fingers leaving trails of cold on his skin.

Am I…?

His entire body felt numb from his toes to his fingertips. Had the dementor succeeded?

The scrape of the dungeon door could be heard above him. He flinched back, hitting the stone wall behind him. As quickly as he could, he pulled himself to sitting. He watched Lucius Malfoy make his way down the steps and through the bars of his cell. With a flick of his wand, a steaming bowl with a spoon in it appeared in the man’s hands and he placed it on the ground, pushing it towards Harry with his foot. Harry glanced from the bowl to Lucius and back again.

“Eat,” he said sharply.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry drew the bowl closer to him. The bowl was filled with a gray mush that fogged his glasses when he brought it closer to his face. It didn’t smell great, but the fact that it was warm and it was thawing his frozen fingers was a small consolation to him. He took a bite. Plain oatmeal. 

Ravenous hunger took over and he scooped up mouthful after mouthful, never taking his eyes off Lucius. Harry felt sick, but he wasn’t sure when he would get to eat again. He willed his body to keep the gray mush down. 

“I don’t understand,” said Harry.

“There’s nothing terribly complex about porridge,” said Lucius. 

“No, not that…” said Harry. “Is… Am I dreaming?”

“You’re not,” said Lucius. 

“But then, what happened?” asked Harry. “Did he take my…?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss any of the events of three days ago with you.”

“Three days? Oh…” Harry set the spoon back in the empty bowl and drew his knees to his chest. Questions raced through Harry’s mind at a thousand kilometers per hour. His brain felt foggy and he had trouble keeping up with his own thinking.

After starving him for so long, why feed him now?

Was he alive or was this what it was like to be soulless? If he was soulless, why didn’t he feel too different from before?

How had he lost so much time?

Where was Voldemort? What was he planning? Or had his plans already worked out? Had something changed?

How would he find out the answers to any of this information?

“The Dark Lord has summoned you,” said Lucius after a lengthy silence. “I’m to take you to him now.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. His sense of deja vu was strong and yet, it did feel like something was significantly different. Lucius knelt down, tied Harry’s hands together, and yanked him up again. His legs felt shaky beneath him after having been unconscious for so long.

“Please tell me what’s happening…” said Harry. He felt his hands shaking.

“And to think others find you intelligent…” muttered Lucius. “The Dark Lord will share with you what he deems appropriate, I’m sure. Come now. Enough time has been wasted.”

The blindfold was tied around Harry’s eyes once more and he followed after Lucius as he was pulled along. His stomach churned not knowing what awaited him wherever Voldemort resided in the manor.

Chapter Text

Harry expected many things as he walked blindly with Lucius through Malfoy Manor-- the screams of torture, the soft pop! of house elves apparating in and out of different rooms, a tense silence where the sounds of a happy, unburdened family ought to be… but the smell of bacon was not one of those things. And given how much of his childhood he had spent cooking the stuff, there was no way his nose would identify the smell incorrectly.

He wanted badly to say something, but figured he’d probably have his answers soon enough, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Sit,” said Lucius curtly, roughly pushing Harry down by the shoulders into a wooden seat as he said it. Lucius grabbed the length of rope connected to Harry’s bound hands and tied it to one of the arms of the chair Harry was forced to sit in.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Voldemort. 

Harry’s blindfold was removed, his glasses roughly shoved into his hands so he could place them on his own face, however awkwardly.  He could see a long table before him with only one place setting at the opposite end. Voldemort was perched in front of it, carefully working a knife and fork through the breakfast food on his plate. 

“I don’t understand,” said Harry. “I should be dead. Why aren’t I?”

“In good time, Harry. Lucius, bring a glass of water. Mr. Potter is surely parched after his ordeal,” said Voldemort.

Lucius gave a curt nod and turned to leave the room. 

It was just Voldemort and Harry. Alone.

“You haven’t answered me,” said Harry, his voice low but steady.

Bright red eyes locked with his from down the table. Harry found that he couldn’t look away, no matter how hard his heart pounded in his chest. He willed his body to mask every ounce of fear he felt in that moment.

“Of course. We have much to discuss, but none of it shall be the subject of our conversation before Lucius is formally sent away,” said Voldemort.

Not long after, Lucius returned and with a smirk, placed a glass of water on the table in front of Harry, just barely within his restricted reach.

“That will be all, Lucius,” said Voldemort with a wave of his hand.

It didn’t take long for the blonde man to obey orders. The door closed with a heavy thud as it hit the door frame. Voldemort flicked his hand in the direction of the door and the tumblers in the lock could be heard falling into place from across the room.

Harry carefully reached for the glass in front of him and brought it to his lips, crouching over when the ropes hindered him from moving any closer.

“So… what now?” asked Harry, setting the glass back down.

Voldemort calmly placed his knife and fork down on his plate, vanishing it all in the next moment with another wave of his hand. He strode over to where Harry was tied. His arms were clasped behind his back. He paced, noiselessly.

“We have a predicament before us, Potter,” said Voldemort. “And it’s all because of this…”

He reached around Harry’s head and dangled Slytherin’s locket before his face, the jewelry swinging on its chain. Harry felt a prickling in his scar which quickly turned to a warming sensation in response. He wasn’t afraid of it. He wanted it… to be close to it… desperately .

“Come now, none of that,” said Voldemort, pulling Harry back in his chair by his shoulder. Harry wasn’t sure when he had tried to move closer. “But… it certainly explains a lot.”

“Explains what?” asked Harry. “You’re not telling me anything!”

A sharp pain in the side of his face made him grunt in response. Voldemort had hit him across the face. Then he brought the locket closer again, trailing the cool metal against the skin of Harry’s face. Harry felt his brain go fuzzy.

“Please stop…”

“You know what this is, don’t you?” asked Voldemort.

Harry tried to swallow again. Should he play ignorant? Say that he just liked the look of the locket and took it with him? No, no… Voldemort would know that Harry knew what this was. It’s not like one just stumbled across a locket like this one every day… There was no use lying.

“Horcrux…” said Harry quietly.

“Very good,” said Voldemort, threateningly. 

He rounded the edge of the table and set the locket down in front of Harry with the glittering green ‘S’ facing him. His ears rang dully. It took everything in him to focus on the man in front of him.

“Tell me, Harry… how is it you became familiar with horcruxes?” drawled Voldemort, taking up his vigil behind Harry once again. 

“Reading,” said Harry, almost without thinking.

“Reading,” said Voldemort. “Most interesting… tell me, what was the name of the tome where you found this information?”

“I… can’t recall… I read it a long while ago…” said Harry, looking down at his hands in his lap.

“Certainly. One can’t remember every book they read. I assume, however, that you don’t have access to many old wizarding libraries. So you’d be limited to what Hogwarts has to offer,” said Voldemort. 

“Right. You make due with what you have,” said Harry. Where is he going with this?

“From your reading then, you would know that Horcruxes come from such dark magic that much of the magical community has chosen to remove this from public knowledge by now. If one wanted to learn more on the subject, one would have to know a wizard with a very old library, likely passed down from one pureblood family member with dark inclinations to another. Or you’d have to have unlimited access to the restricted section at the Hogwarts library. One doesn’t just… stumble upon this knowledge anymore. Even when I was a student, it wasn’t knowledge that could just fall into my possession by coincidence,” said Voldemort.

“I had a pass to the restricted section,” said Harry, thinking of Hermione’s permanent pass that she often used, especially during their fifth year when she would help Harry research defensive magic that they could teach. “Madame Pince let me check out any of the books I wanted with it, no questions asked.”

“That would be rather… irresponsible of her,” said Voldemort. “She should be the one most familiar with the myriad of magical knowledge a student could access in those books in particular. Knowledge one wouldn’t want just any student to access…”

Harry sensed Voldemort circling around to the other side of his chair, looming closely.

“Severus has told me over the years that you haven’t been a particularly studious pupil,” said Voldemort. “Forgive me, Harry, but… I’m finding it rather unlikely that you would be the one to uncover this knowledge of Horcruxes.”

Voldemort stopped and faced Harry. In less than half a second, he pointed his wand at Harry’s head and said, “ Crucio! ”

Harry writhed in his seat, fighting against his bonds, hitting his head on the back of the chair… anything to relieve that fire in his brain and knives stabbing into every inch of his body. Harry couldn’t think anything other than pain, pain, pain . He couldn’t remember where he was… who he was… It was impossible to tell how long the spell lasted…

And then it was over.

“I don’t tolerate liars, Harry. You would do well to remember that,” said Voldemort, not taking his eyes off of him. “No, you did not learn of Horcruxes on your own. But since you seem to like playing games, perhaps you would prefer if I guess the answer. Shall I do that then?”

“I already told you…” said Harry weakly, still struggling to catch his breath.

“Enough,” said Voldemort harshly. “Obviously, Dumbledore put you up to this. The old man is always behind things of this nature. I believe he had a suspicion, learned all he could about them, then shared that information with you, knowing you would bend to his will and destroy them.”

Harry stared straight ahead, examining the grain of the wood table.

“Not so interested in our game anymore, are you?”

The Dark Wizard rounded on Harry again, reaching out and grasping a tuft of his hair, pulling his head back.

“Look at me.”

“No…” Harry squeezed his eyes closed.

“ Imperio, look at me,” said Voldemort. 

Before he could think to fight it, Harry's eyes were forced up and he was lost in Voldemort’s intrusion into his mind. Flashes of meetings in Dumbledore’s office passed under his eyelids. Memories of Voldemort’s life that he had been shown over those months. The cave. The inferi. Glimpses into Voldemort’s mind. The Hall of Prophecies. Nagini attacking Arthur Weasley…

With a jolt, Voldemort abruptly pulled out of his mind, causing Harry to cry out in surprise and pain.

“So that’s how he did it,” said Voldemort. His quiet was unnerving to Harry. “That conniving old fool…”

Voldemort released his grip and turned on his heel, slowly striding away, his hands clasping behind his back in thought. 

“This… confirms much of what I thought to be true,” said the Dark Lord. “Dumbledore tracked down memories from my past. Even proud Slughorn… he will pay… No, you know too much for your own good. You are too much of a liability…”

This is it. This is how the story ends.

Harry watched the man carefully, expecting him to turn around and kill him with that lethal green light. He almost welcomed it… but that didn’t happen. Harry’s heart hammered against his ribcage on borrowed time.

“You have been hunting for Horcruxes on Dumbledore’s orders. I don’t know how you made it through the cliffside cave alive, but… that matters not anymore,” said Voldemort. “You cannot leave this place. You will remain in the dungeons for the foreseeable future.”

“No!” gasped Harry, failing to stand as his bound hands pulled him back into his seat. He felt his panic rise up in his throat. ‘The foreseeable future’? He could be down there for months… years … where would his mind be after he’d been given even more time to waste away?

“Silence, Potter,” said Voldemort. He continued his predatory circling. “There is… one more thing you should be informed of before you are returned.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I made… a bit of a discovery three nights ago… I admit, I hadn’t foreseen this as a possibility, but nevertheless, it’s true… A part of my soul resides in you.”

“I-- I don’t--” Harry’s mind went uncharacteristically still, his mind completely blank. He felt an uncomfortable cold settle into him.

“You were the Horcrux I never intended to make. You were a mistake,” said Voldemort. 

“That can’t be…”

But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. Why else would he feel so many unexplained bouts of anger so often? How else was he able to see into the man’s mind without ever attempting Legilimens ? How else was he able to hear the locket so loudly ringing in his ears, even when he wasn’t wearing it?

“It… but it is…” conceded Harry. He felt a heat behind his eyes and a lump form in his throat. He swallowed hard.

“You don’t seem entirely surprised,” said Voldemort.

“It… makes a twisted sort of sense,” said Harry. 

“So you see now, you can never be free,” said Voldemort. “I may not care about your life, but you are the carrier of my soul. You can’t be allowed to wander around as you have been. I can’t even kill you without damaging a piece of myself.”

“Please, I can help,” said Harry. 

Voldemort’s eyes bore into his.

“I-- please, if I’m just going to be sitting around in the dungeon for the rest of my life, I might as well be useful.”

“... Explain.”

“I’m just as unhappy about carrying part of your soul as you are,” said Harry. “There must be a way to move this soulpiece from me to something else… something you’d prefer to be the carrier. I could research for you. There must be something out there…”

The two were silent, weighing the other’s words and minute reactions. A low chuckle rumbled out of Voldemort’s throat as a smile spread across his face, sending shivers up Harry’s spine.

“ Stupid boy… ” snarled Voldemort. “You really must be eager to die! Never have I heard a more ridiculous suggestion… Lucius!”

Moments later, the blond man re-entered the dining room. 

“My Lord?”

“Mr. Potter may return to the dungeons.”

“Wait!” exclaimed Harry, wrenching his hands away as Lucius bent to untie him from the chair. “Please, let me try and help us both!”

“I’m not discussing this any further with you, Potter. Take him, Lucius,” said Voldemort. 

“No, please…” said Harry. “Just kill me then! What’s one piece--”

“Silence, Potter,” said Voldemort. “Lucius, extinguish the torches in the dungeons.”

“ NO! ” yelled Harry, panic dripping from his voice. He couldn’t go back in the dark… he’d already spent so much of his life in darkness…

Harry pushed back on Lucius’ grip violently, but the man wouldn’t let up. 

“Stop fighting me, boy!”

“ Stupefy ,” drawled Voldemort.

There was a flash of red and and cry ripped from Harry’s throat as he felt his body go limp. His vision faded to black.

***

The room was dark. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure he was awake. He could feel a nightmare ebbing away, though he couldn’t remember what it was about this time. His heart pounded in his chest rapidly. He felt the cold and the damp of his cell sinking deep into his bones; he knew that he was fully conscious again and not stuck in another one of his mind’s horrors. He pulled himself up to sitting, realizing that his hands were no longer tied, and leaned against the bars of the cell.

How long had he been here this time? Was it the next day? Much later than that? It was impossible to tell.

His head fell back against the bars.

I wonder where Hermione is now , he thought. Of course, if he could find out, he didn’t want to know. His mind was too easily pried into when it came to Voldemort. Still, it was tempting to think about…

Would she ever come back for me? Did she somehow manage to find Ron? Are they safe? What if the Death Eaters found them?  

They’d been traveling long enough to know that Snatchers were combing through the UK looking to make some fast money in exchange for fugitives of the Ministry. Somehow, that felt dirtier than the Death Eaters finding them outright. 

I wonder if they think about me… maybe… But maybe this is a good excuse to just… be done… leave this fight… I’ve put them through enough, haven’t I?

At this, he felt his own heart sink.

Oh, stop it, nothing is for certain… no use losing your mind over…

He found that he couldn’t push the thought away. Maybe it would be better if they stayed out of sight indefinitely. Don a glamor, change their names… start a new life. Shed the labels of being Undesirables Two and Three. Leave the Wizarding World to just deal with their Number One.

But they had him. And now, because of this stupid piece of a soul stuck somewhere in his being, he wasn’t even allowed to die. He would just exist here for the rest of his miserable life. 

What did I do to deserve this?

***

It was unclear how long he had been down here. There was no routine to his days. A masked Death Eater-- probably not Lucius, but there was no way to tell for sure in the dim light available-- came down every once in a while and shoved a bowl through the bars at Harry. Sometimes it was plain rice, sometimes it was chicken broth that tasted like it might be going off, sometimes it was simply stale bread and a metal cup of water. Usually it was warmer than his surroundings, so… a small kindness, if it could be considered that. Oftentimes whoever brought food would wordlessly set the bowl down and walk away, but other times…

“Dinner, Potter,” said the Death Eater who came down that day, using an annoying sing-song voice. Harry couldn’t place who this was, even with the ridiculous tone of voice. Maybe a young recruit; someone the inner circle could force to do the grunt work, like keeping him alive.

“I’m not hungry,” said Harry.

“Come now, it’s been days since you were last given anything,” said the Death Eater.

“Just leave it there then. I’ll get it when I’m good and ready,” snapped Harry. 

“I don’t like your tone, Potter,” said the Death Eater. 

“I’m not too fond of yours either,” said Harry.

Are you actually an idiot, Harry? Stop talking…

“Oh, you think you’re hilarious, do you?” said the Death Eater. “Talk to me like that again, I dare you.”

Harry let out an exasperated sigh. He felt his hunger pangs more acutely as he exhaled, not that he was going to say anything about it.

“Come here, Potter.”

Harry didn’t move, didn’t say anything. 

“I said come here! ”

With an unseen force, Harry was hauled off the floor and dragged across the cell, stopping only when his head hit the bars. He cried out in pain and surprise.

“ Get up! ”

Harry blinked the stars out of his eyes as best he could and stood up, careful to keep some space between himself and the Death Eater.

It wasn’t enough.

The young Death Eater reached through the bars and grabbed him by the hair before he could react. His hands fly up to clasp the man’s wrist in an effort to relieve the sharp pain in his scalp.

“What does the Dark Lord see in you, hm?” sneered the Death Eater. “Years of just longing to kill you and then suddenly his plans change so drastically? It doesn’t add up.”

“ Let go of me! ” said Harry through gritted teeth. Why was it they always went for his hair or his face?!

The Death Eater’s grip tightened marginally for a moment. His face softened slightly, studying Harry’s face with his eyes. With his free hand, the Death Eater reached up and touched Harry’s face softly, tenderly, moving from his temple to his cheek, running a thumb over Harry’s cracked lips. There was the feeling of lead in his stomach. He pressed his lips together tightly and tried to pull away.

“Come now, don’t fight me…” said the Death Eater, anger suddenly absent from his voice. It was almost soothing. His free hand ghosted down Harry’s neck, his chest, briefly pausing at the torn material of his shirt before moving further down.

“What are you…?”

“Shh… it’s becoming more obvious now… why He keeps you here…” said the Death Eater. His wandering hand reached the lower hem of Harry’s shirt, hesitating momentarily before finding its way underneath, touching the sensitive skin of his stomach, his rib cage… Harry felt his body beginning to respond against his will… he wanted to be sick…

“No, don’t! ” said Harry, trying desperately to rip himself away and keep the fear out of his voice at the same time.

“ Winters! ”

The Death Eater froze.

“I thought the Dark Lord was perfectly clear. The boy belongs to him in every way.” Lucius Malfoy. Harry was positive. “Mock him, bait him if you must, but no one may harm him otherwise. Surely you remember?”

“Yes… I do…” said Winters, reluctantly releasing his grip. Harry backed as far away as he possibly could. 

“You were instructed to feed the boy and leave. I don’t understand how those directions could be misconstrued,” said Lucius.

There was a low growl from Winters and the sound of the wooden bowl hitting the stone floor. The slosh of some kind of liquid. Then Winters made his way up the stone steps and the door creaked and slammed closed. 

Keeping one eye on the door in case they came back, Harry slowly approached where he saw the bowl land, feeling blindly ahead of him with his toe. He found it and picked it up. So it was the broth today. He downed the substance as quickly as he could. It tasted more sour than the last time he’d eaten it. But it was something for his painfully empty stomach. He returned to his corner, willing his body to keep the food down, despite his roiling stomach. 

***

Days when Harry didn’t have to see anyone were marginally more tolerable than the alternative. But sometimes, when he’d been left alone for a little too long, Harry longed for an escape for his mind that sleep and wandering through his memories and troubling thoughts just couldn’t provide. So when a thin light appeared at the top of the steps leading out of the dungeons, it was a welcome distraction from the usual pendulum between nightmares and monotony. He heard someone murmur something and the torches on the wall crackled to life. This wasn’t a food drop then. Harry squinted against the sudden brightness. Dark tailored suit pants and dress shoes came into view. He’d recognize those anywhere. He let out a breath that unconscious anxiety held in.

“Good to see you, Malfoy,” said Harry, trying to put some measure of energy back into his voice. He didn’t even bother looking in Draco’s direction.

“Why the hell were you just sitting down here in the dark, Potter?” asked Draco.

“I wasn’t exactly given an option in any of this,” said Harry. 

The Malfoy heir reached the bottom of the steps and approached the bars of Harry’s cell. 

“You look like shit, Potter,” commented Malfoy.

“Gee, thanks,” said Harry. Harry looked over at him. Malfoy’s clothes were pressed and pristine. Not a hair on his blonde head was out of place. It was when Harry looked at his face that he knew things weren’t entirely as they seemed. Dark circles lay under his eyes that made him look like he hadn’t slept in weeks and he looked even more pale than usual. He swallowed his retort. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I’ve been asked to escort you to the library,” said Draco.

“The library?”

“Yeah, it’s a new thing where they put the books that people collect into one room so they’re easier to find,” said Draco.

“I know what a library is, Malfoy,” spat Harry.

“Good to hear. According to the Dark Lord, you’ll be spending quite a bit of time in there,” said Draco.

“He-- he said that?” asked Harry, not believing his ears.

“I’m not here for my health, Potter,” said Draco. “Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, alright,” said Harry, slowly getting to his feet. It had been a while since he had had a reason to get up. His joints screamed in protest.

“And um… I have to…”

Harry wasn’t used to hearing the arrogant Slytherin so flustered. But when he looked up, he saw Draco holding a length of rope in his hands. With a sigh, Harry put his hands through the bars and let Draco bind them.

“Magic dampening?” asked Harry.

“That’s mainly what they’re for,” said Draco, deliberately not making eye contact. “You understand.”

He opened the cell door and Harry fell into step behind Draco. 

“No blindfold this time?” asked Harry.

“The Dark Lord didn’t think it was necessary,” said Draco.

Once outside the dungeons, he led Harry up two more flights of stairs and down a hallway that had several doors on one side and a wall of windows that reached the ceiling standing opposite. Ornate chandeliers festooned the ceiling at regular intervals. Harry was incredulous that someone could actually call this place home. It was more elegant than anywhere he could ever imagine calling his own. If he’d ever get that chance…

Draco turned, opening a door and leading Harry inside. It was dark here too, except for two plush armchairs, illuminated by a lamp on a small table situated between them. A small stack of books was there, basking in the lamplight. Wordlessly, Draco waved his wand, and the lights came on from up above, casting a warm glow on the dozens of shelves that lined the walls of the entire room. 

“Woah,” uttered Harry before he could stop himself.

“My family has built and maintained this library for centuries,” said Draco by way of agreement. He gestured towards one of the two arm chairs. “You’re to sit in one of those.”

Harry went over and took a seat, awkwardly reaching for the top book on the side table. Draco waved his wand once more and the ropes came apart, only to be replaced with a chain around Harry’s ankle. Harry glanced up.

“Seriously? I’m not going anywhere,” said Harry.

“Orders are orders, Potter,” said Draco, shrugging.

Harry let out a breath and then redirected his focus back to the book he was reaching for. In the small stack were books with titles like The Darker Side of Soul Magicks and Les Magies Interdites et Comment les Utiliser . 

“Malfoy?” said Harry softly.

“What?”

“I don’t speak French. I can’t read this one.” He handed Draco the dusty tome and the other boy took it, reading over it himself.

“Here…”

He took out his wand and pointed it at Harry’s face, causing Harry to go momentarily cross-eyed.

“ Linguam Intellegere ,” muttered Draco. Harry didn’t feel anything.

“Well… did it work?” asked Harry.

“You tell me, Scarhead,” said Draco, tossing the same book back to him.

Harry looked down and while the title didn’t look different, he was certainly perceiving it differently.

“‘Forbidden Magics and How to Use Them,’” he read.

“A lot of the titles in here aren’t in English. That spell’s come in handy many times in my childhood,” said Draco. 

“But not now?”

“Maintenant, je parle français, alors je n’ai pas besoin le sortilège très souvent,” said Draco.

“Show off,” said Harry.

“Better start reading, Potter. You’ve got quite the workload ahead of you,” said Draco. “I’m not supposed to talk to you anyway.”

Harry cracked open the French book that was still in his hands and began to read.

***

“So did you volunteer to bring me here or were you assigned?” asked Harry a week later, when they were back in the library.

The simple act of coming to the library each day, even for just the handful of days that they had been coming here, had done wonders for Harry’s mind. Sure, he had a lot more questions since he had started research for Voldemort and he wasn’t being fed more than he already was, but just the act of seeing the sun’s movements returned a semblance of time to him. It was enough to know how much time was passing for now.

“Does it matter? The result is the same,” said Draco.

“Yeah, but… I’m still curious,” said Harry. “You could be doing anything else right now.”

“That’s part of the draw of guarding you,” said Draco, vaguely.

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know if you’ve realized, but there’s a war going on right now,” said Draco. “Tasks assigned by the Dark Lord aren’t exactly…”

“Fun?” suggested Harry.

“Not quite the word I had in mind, but sure, I guess,” said Draco.

Harry stuck his finger in the book he was holding and softly closed it. He kept his eyes on Draco who was reading a book of his own in the next chair.

“You seem… different…” said Harry.

“We’re not talking about me,” said Draco pointedly.

“You’re… not so exasperating to be around,” said Harry.

“I’ve grown up,” said Draco. “I’ve had to.”

“Ever since last year. With Dumbledore,” said Harry. 

“Like I said, we’re not talking about me,” returned Draco. “Don’t ask anymore questions. There’s nothing for me to say.”

The two remained silent, Draco’s eyes practically boring a hole in the book in his hands, Harry not sure what to do with himself.

“I thought about you differently after that night,” said Harry.

“Potter, if you don’t shut up, I’ll put you back in the dungeon hours ahead of schedule,” warned Draco.

“No, listen--” started Harry.

“You’re not in a position to tell me what to do,” said Draco, his voice rising slightly. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just. Stop. Talking. ”

“Draco.”

Both boys froze, their eyes locking with the other briefly before Draco abruptly stood up, turning to face the owner of that cold, menacing voice.

“My Lord,” said Draco, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“I will return Mr. Potter to his quarters. Leave us,” said Voldemort. 

Draco gave a small bow and then walked away, not making eye contact with Harry. Voldemort made his way around the now empty armchair. Harry heard the door of the library click shut. Voldemort took a seat.

“I haven’t finished reading what you gave me yet, if that’s what you’re here for,” said Harry, staring at his knees.

“Watch that insolent tongue of yours,” snapped Voldemort. Then he paused, calmed. “I didn’t expect you to be finished.”

Harry was silent. The longer they stayed this way, the more uncomfortable Harry became. He knew what to do with a Voldemort who threw curses at him and watched him scream. He didn’t know what to do with this Voldemort that ensconced himself in an armchair at Harry’s side, deliberately not saying anything.

“Did I… do something wrong?” asked Harry quietly.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” asked Voldemort, turning to look at Harry, his eyes flashing malevolently.

“N-no… it’s just… I’ve only had Death Eaters interacting with me for weeks. You must have a reason for making a personal appearance this time,” explained Harry.

“I don’t need a reason to check on what’s mine, Harry,” said Voldemort. 

“I’m not yours,” said Harry. “I never will be.”

The man chuckled darkly. Harry made a point not to look in his direction as he heard Voldemort get up and stop right in front of him. He felt a cool hand touch his face.

“Don’t touch me,” he spat, tensing up and attempting to jerk away.

One of the cool hands roughly grabbed his jaw and tilted his head to look up, into the gleaming eyes of Lord Voldemort.

“Winters will not be returning to you. He has been punished and reassigned after his transgressions,” said Voldemort. “It was a public spectacle. No one with even a minute amount of sense in their head will attempt to touch you in that way again.”

Harry instinctively wanted to thank him, but then he remembered who he was talking to. Voldemort saw the conflict in his eyes and smiled before releasing him. He straightened and waved his wand, vanishing the chain around Harry’s ankle, instead leaving just a single metal cuff that fit beneath his pant leg.

“Take my arm,” said Voldemort.

That took Harry aback. He hesitated.

“No.”

“ Take my arm or I will make you regret your insolence,” said Voldemort.

Harry suppressed an eyeroll. He could test Voldemort’s patience further… but this was also the most civil conversation he could recall ever having with the man. Perhaps this was something to be appreciated. Harry took his arm.

“You may take that book with you as well.”

He took up the battered French book once more.

With a twist and a crack, they disapparated and reappeared in a small room with a barred window set in the wall next to a single bed. There was a shabby blanket and pillow there and across from the bed was a plain desk, chair, and a small lamp. 

“Where are we?” asked Harry, confused.

“This is where you will stay,” said Voldemort. “I will not let you out of my sight, but young Draco has reported that you have been in considerably better spirits since your forays into the library began.”

“Will I still get to return to the library?” asked Harry.

“Only when accompanied by Draco,” said Voldemort. “You won’t be able to leave this room without him.

Without another word, the man made his way to the door.

“Wait,” said Harry.

Voldemort turned slowly in place.

“Why are you doing this?” asked Harry.

“You are doing a small service with your research. You are no longer just a simple prisoner, Harry. You never have been,” said Voldemort. “I shall return in one week to inquire about your progress. I will be most irate if I am forced to return before that time.”

Harry nodded and watched as Voldemort left. The locks of the door tumbled loudly into place.

Chapter Text

Hermione slid into a chair at the corner table of the Muggle pub she had found on the outskirts of Whitechurch. There weren’t many patrons around. Just a couple men, one younger, one middle-aged, sitting alone at the bar and two women who sat across from each other at a small table on the opposite side of the room. It had been a while since she was out in the open like this, but she was confident in the Glamor she’d applied to make her look older-- more wrinkled, more tired, grayer-- and with much darker hair and features than she typically had.

“Hey love, can I get you anything?” asked the barkeep. He was an older gentleman with graying hair that went past his ears and a scraggly beard that looked like it hadn’t been looked after in some time. He carefully rubbed a glass he was holding with the towel he’d thrown over his shoulder.

“Right, sorry…” said Hermione. She tried to pitch her voice lower than her natural cadence. She could hear her great-grandmother in her own voice. She ignored the twisting feeling in her chest. “What have you got on tap?”

Hermione chose the first ale the man mentioned to her, paid him, and returned to her chair. She checked the time with the clock on the wall. If they followed through, they’d be here very soon. She hadn’t seen any Death Eaters in the area, so there shouldn’t be any delays.

Ten minutes later, a tall man with a hood pulled over his head entered, stomping the snow off his feet on the front mat. He said something in a low voice to the barkeep and then made his way over to Hermione, glancing up at her from the floor. She caught sight of his red hair poking out from beneath his hood. The same one he’d left wearing that night.

“Ron, you came,” she said with a sigh and a smile.

“‘Mione, I’m… I’m so sorry… I screwed up, I should never have left…” said Ron, sinking into the chair across from her, taking her hands in his. “I was so stupid…”

“Are you okay? Are you alright?” she asked him in a hushed voice. “We’ve been worried sick about you…”

“Where’s Harry?”

A silence hung between them as they took in each of the questions and sentiments the other had said. 

“We… have a lot to catch up on…” said Hermione. “Where have you been all this time?”

“I’ve… kind of been all over…” said Ron. “I wanted to come back as soon as I left. So I wandered through forests, from one pub to the next, sleeping on benches if I thought I could get away with it… wherever I thought you might wander. When your Patronus found me, I was sitting near a parking garage outside of Sheffield. In hindsight, I don’t know why I thought you might be there, but anyway… I apparated here and stayed in an unlocked car just to keep out of the cold for a bit.”

“You must be freezing…” said Hermione.

“I’m alright now,” said Ron. “Your turn then.”

Hermione explained her and Harry’s decision to travel to Godric’s Hollow and about seeing Bathilda Bagshot. 

“We thought she might have information that could help us, but… Ron, it was awful… next thing I know, there’s a loud sound coming from upstairs and Harry is screaming, telling me to run. I didn’t know what else to do! But I heard people apparating outside the house and I panicked-- I left as fast as I could. I figured Harry would be right behind me, but when I apparated back to the last campsite, I waited… even left the wards down so I’d be easier for him to find… but he never came back,” said Hermione. She clasped her hands together, trying to cover up their trembling. “I didn’t see anyone’s faces, but I’m pretty sure the Death Eaters got to him…”

For a moment, Ron forgot to breathe.

“Do you know where they took him?”

“No, no… but… have you…? Have you maybe heard anything while you were moving from place to place?” asked Hermione.

“I… generally tried to stick to Muggle areas, mostly… you know, fewer snatchers around… but I did have a close call once. I was caught while wandering around some forest. They had a group of us. Some dark-haired bloke was there and one of the snatchers was absolutely convinced he was Harry. He kept saying, ‘Is it him? Did we catch him?? Should we go to the Malfoys?!’ before someone shut him up. Guess they don’t want that getting thrown around. Too many false alarms, otherwise, I suppose…” said Ron.

“Malfoys? So… they would have taken him to Malfoy Manor?” asked Hermione.

“Yeah, where else?”

“For once, I hate that I’m right… but in light of that news, it’s a good thing I invited someone else here,” said Hermione.

“How do you mean?” asked Ron, looking her in the eye.

A beat passed.

Two.

Three.

“You can’t mean…?”

“I do… he should be here in about five minutes.”

“Hermione, have you lost your mind?!”

“Stop, keep it down…” said Hermione. She silently and subtly renewed the privacy barriers around them. “No, I haven’t lost my mind, but… well, you have to admit, we have very few options. It doesn’t feel right to sit and wait for something to happen. They’re not going to let him go-- Harry’s Undesireable Number One.”

“By the way, why am I considered Undesirable Number Three?”

A bell rang over the door. Ron and Hermione’s heads whipped over towards the sound. A tall man in a black hooded cloak come in. The barkeep nodded at him, he nodded back, and he crossed the room towards Hermione and Ron.

“ Malfoy… ”

“Surprise, Weasel,” quipped the blonde.

“Very subtle,” said Hermione, indicating the cloak as she once again cast a silencing charm around the three of them.

“I don’t exactly have Muggle attire in my wardrobe!” Draco hissed, pulling down his hood.

“Just try not to draw attention to yourself more than you already have, alright?” said Hermione.

“Tell me why you called me here, Granger,” said Draco.

“Not yet. We need to come to an agreement first,” said Hermione.

“Fine. I’m listening,” said Draco. “I assume you want to make an Unbreakable Vow.”

“I do. Our terms are as follows: you must promise you won’t say or write anything to the Dark Lord, any Death Eater, or anyone even remotely connected to the Dark Lord that you met with us, had this conversation, share what we asked about, or share any plans we may disclose to you,” said Hermione.

“What’s in it for me?” asked Draco.

Hermione let out a sigh. Ron looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Listen, we don’t have anything we can give you. That’s just the reality. But if you were to help us, we would be able to speak up on your behalf that you played a vital role in ending the war with You-Know-Who,” said Hermione. “It’s not much-- not tangibly, anyway-- but… Draco… I can’t help but feel that the facade you’re presenting to the world isn’t entirely you.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Draco.

“You’ve been putting on this persona that you were this Death Eater in training since we were kids. Hiding behind your father and what power he could throw around. But… you’ve just been a regular school bully. You’re not evil. And something changed about you after fifth year. I don’t think you’ve ever pushed for this war. Not at all,” said Hermione. “So… let us help you come out clean on the other side. Make that choice.”

Draco was quiet for a long time, just staring at his hands clasped on the table, his face not betraying the thoughts racing through his head.

“Alright. I’ll make the vow,” he finally said.

With that, Draco and Hermione clasped arms and Ron cast the spell.

“You’re looking for Potter, aren’t you?” asked Draco, though it was phrased as a statement more than anything.

Hermione nodded.

“Harry was taken by Death Eaters,” said Hermione. “We intend to free him… somehow… but we don’t know for sure where he is, so it’s hard to form a plan. We thought you might know.”

“As it happens, I do know,” said Draco. “I’ve been his guard a lot lately.”

“You have?!” exclaimed Ron and Hermione simultaneously. 

“What’s happened to him?” asked Hermione.

“Is he alright?” asked Ron.

“He’s… as fine as can be expected,” said Draco. “I don’t know all of the details, but I know that once I started guarding him, there was a change in his living conditions. He’s no longer locked in the dungeons, but he is still a prisoner. Within my own house, actually…”

“So those snatchers weren’t lying then,” said Ron.

Draco shook his head.

“It doesn’t happen too much anymore, but for a short period, we had snatchers turning up with whichever poor sod with dark hair and glasses they dragged off the street claiming that they’d found Potter,” said Draco. “It doesn’t take many tortured snatchers to spread the word that anyone looking has to be more discerning. The Dark Lord is many things, but stupid isn’t one of them.”

“So then, we need to get into your home in order to get Harry back…” said Hermione. “That both simplifies and complicates things.”

“I trust that you won’t tell anyone we had this conversation either?” asked Draco.

“Who would we tell? We’re both wanted. We’d just be endangering ourselves,” said Ron.

“Right…” said Draco. “In that case, I can help you…”

***

Harry remembered the last time he had stayed up and watched the sunrise. It was shortly after his twelfth birthday. After Uncle Vernon had installed bars on his window, Harry had felt like a caged animal. It drove him half crazy to know that the door was right there and yet he couldn’t get out of the smallest bedroom, even for the simplest need. That first night, nightmares plagued him, chasing away any restful sleep he could have gotten. And that was before Voldemort returned… before Cedric died… before he started waking up from nightmares screaming…

The French book of forbidden magic lay open on the desk on the other side of the room, abandoned hours ago when he found himself getting too stuck in his head. His head ached and he realized that he had been reading and trying to understand this rather innocent-looking book of magic for hours. There wasn’t a clock anywhere, but by the time he’d decided to stop, it had been dark outside for what felt like hours. It would probably do him some good to get some sleep-- even just a little bit.

Sleeping in a bed again-- even one that was fairly hard and had bare bones amenities like a thin blanket and pillow-- had settled Harry’s mind enough to dream again. The nightmares returned with a vengeance after not dreaming at all while down in the dungeons. It wasn’t enough to just be living a nightmare. 

Cedric’s vacant gaze.

The veil.

Wormtail taking his blood.

Dementors in Little Whinging.

Red eyes locked in on him.

He yelled himself awake and the feeling of terror clung to him like a second skin that would not shed. 

The door to the room opened with a loud clatter, hitting the wall behind it, causing Harry to jump out of bed into something resembling a fighting stance in his panicked, half-asleep state. A Death Eater wearing a mask was standing in the doorway.

“ Stop that shouting ,” growled the Death Eater.

“‘M sorry…” mumbled Harry. “I usually put up a silencing barrier, but…”

Harry gestured outwards with his hands to show his lack of wand.

“Just make sure it doesn’t happen again,” glowered the Death Eater. 

The door slammed behind him and Harry was left in the dim room once again. He stumbled backwards onto the bed, his head falling into his hands. A quiet sob escaped his lips, very much against his will. He hated crying. Other people hated it when he cried. But he couldn’t help it. It felt like reality had hit him like a train.

There was no way he could even conceive of falling asleep again. So he stayed up, watching the stars fade into the earliest rays of light through the window that couldn’t help but remind him from one moment to the next that he was a prisoner and he’d never get to be anything else. A pink glow spread over the gardens of Malfoy Manor. Harry stood on his knees, leaning on his arms on the window sill to get a better view.

Behind him, he could hear the door opening again.

“Let’s go, Potter.”

Harry briefly looked over. It was the same Death Eater who had come bursting in in the middle of the night. The Death Eater came closer and grabbed him by the arm, dragging him off the bed.

“What for?” he asked, startled, working to get his feet under him.

“Don’t ask questions,” said the Death Eater.

“Let go of me,” said Harry warningly as they stumbled into the hallway. “Let go of me!”

“Shut up!”

The Death Eater pushed him into the wall face-first, crushing him and twisting his arms behind his back.

“Stop!” Anger rose up in his belly and he felt hot behind the eyes.

“Quit your fighting,” said the Death Eater.

Harry didn’t understand. Voldemort told him he would return three days from now. Where could this Death Eater possibly be taking him? Had the man changed his mind? Or was this all some great trick to keep him vulnerable?

The Death Eater grabbed his arms, keeping them behind his back and dragging him down the hallway. They stopped in front of a door, which the Death Eater turned the knob for and opened without fuss. 

“Please, I don’t--”

“Calm down, Potter,” said the Death Eater. “Just get in there. You have ten minutes.”

The Death Eater pushed him into the room and quickly closed the door behind him, magically locking it. 

Harry turned and took in the white-tiled bathroom around him and let out a small breath of relief. The room was simple-- a pedestal sink, a square-framed mirror, a white toilet, and a clawfoot bath. There was a pile of black clothing sitting on the lid of the toilet and a towel hung over the side of the tub.

With his senses suddenly coming to him, he plugged the drain and twisted the knob to run the water. The warmth was glorious . He couldn’t remember the last time he had properly bathed since going on the run. Harry peeled off his clothes, placed them in a pile on the floor, set his glasses on the sink, and stepped into the steaming water. On the side of the tub were a two small bottles with a cloudy liquid inside, a bar of soap, and a sponge. Harry lathered up the sponge and immediately began scrubbing everywhere he could reach. The dirt and grime ran off his body in streams. All that had stuck to him from those long nights in the tent, endless days of darkness in the dungeons, too long on the run… all of it would go down the drain at the end of this.

Harry finished scrubbing at his hair and rinsed. He glanced around at the grayish-brown water that surrounded him. He’d been through so much. He’d put Ron and Hermione and countless others through so much in his pursuit to fulfill this final mission Dumbledore set before him. A mission he had every intention of finishing, even now, but… obviously with the complications Voldemort had set before him, that was going to be more difficult than ever. 

It was in this moment that he realized just how far he was from being done. Maybe… maybe he’d never…

No, he couldn’t think like that. There was too much at stake to give up now, no matter how impossible the odds appeared to be. If he gave up… where would that leave everyone else?

It was too much. How much pressure could one person realistically withstand before they drove themselves crazy? Harry wasn’t sure how much more he could take. 

A sharp knock on the door brought him out his thoughts with a jolt.

“ Let’s go, Potter! ” yelled the Death Eater.

With his heart pounding, Harry quickly drained the tub, toweled off, and dressed in the new clothes that had been left for him-- a jumper, a simple t-shirt underneath, dark trousers, knit socks. He’d forgotten how good clean clothes could feel on his skin. He gathered up the damp towel and his filthy clothes in his arms and tried to open the door, only to be met with the lock. 

“I’m finished,” said Harry, loud enough to be heard.

The Death Eater quickly unlocked the door.

“Leave those in there,” said the Death Eater, indicating the garments in Harry’s arms. “They’ll be dealt with accordingly.”

Leaving them on the mat by the sink, Harry walked out into the hallway ahead of the Death Eater and back to his door at the end of the corridor.

“The Dark Lord would like to remind you that you will meet with him in three days’ time. He suggests you be properly prepared for your meeting,” said the Death Eater.

“Right,” muttered Harry, watching the floor.

Without another word, the Death Eater backed out of the room and locked the door.

Harry turned to face the desk where Les Magies Interdites et Comment les Utiliser lay open and waiting. This time, there were a couple more books piled next to it. Which was a good thing, because once again, the French book was indeed only intelligible to those who could read French. He couldn’t have progressed any more in the book if he’d wanted to. Maybe Draco would visit again before Voldemort did and could renew the translation spell… again… it was never meant to be long-lasting. Draco had warned him.

The book at the top of the pile had its title emblazoned in fading gold across the top of the cover: Vitae Fragmenta . He lifted the cover and saw that while it was written in an older style of English, he could still read it.

“Better get started then…” Harry whispered to himself.

***

Learning about souls was proving to be more frustrating than Harry anticipated. The concept of the soul was fairly simple. The way he understood it, the soul was your sense of self. You can remain physically alive without your soul, but you would lack individuality and a sense of right and wrong. Without a soul, your focus becomes survival (oftentimes at the expense of, or at least without consideration for, other people) rather than living to find meaning and your place in the universe. The Vitae Fragmenta described this soulless existence as being only a step or two above being part of an army of inferi. Instead of being controlled by another, one simply became lost when not in possession of one's soul. The wizarding world knew this from witnessing the existence of Azkaban prisoners who were the victims of the Dementor’s Kiss. All of these things were observable. But once a soul was torn or no longer residing within a body, such as in the case of physical death, it was mostly speculation.

For all intents and purposes, the soul is thought to be immortal. So when wizards created horcruxes, they created a path to immortality. Yet, those fragments of soul can be destroyed. And in that case, what happens to those pieces of a soul? And what happened to your soul, whether intact or fragmented, when you experienced physical death but your soul had already been mostly removed from the body? 

Harry resisted the urge to throw his copy of the Vitae Fragmenta against the wall. It made a lot of assumptions about the answers to these questions and Harry really needed to know some cold hard facts about the soul after experiencing a physical death. 

What a useless book… Well, maybe something would come up towards the end of the book that he could research further…

Les Magies Interdites, at least as much as Harry could read before the translation spell wore off, was even more useless as it described the process of creating a Horcrux, which Harry already knew about (more or less). Although it might be useful to have the incantation one needed to invoke during the ritual for creating one. But that was the extent of its usefulness. What Harry really wanted to know was whether there was a limit to how many Horcruxes a single person could make. And what happened to the person in question with each subsequent Horcrux made? What if that person changed their mind? Could they merge their fragmented soul back into one?

Harry had too many questions swirling in his brain…

Suddenly, pain seared through Harry’s head as he sat at the desk, catching him by surprise. He leaned his head into his hands as hard as he could and almost missed the sound of the doorknob rattling and the door opening with an ominous creak.

“Potter,” Voldemort greeted frostily.

“Riddle,” retorted Harry.

Harry felt sharp, cold fingers on the back of his neck.

“I know you know not to call me that, Harry.”

“The name you created is under a taboo,” said Harry. 

“You couldn’t be surrounded by more of my Death Eaters at the moment if you tried,” said Voldemort. “By all means, use the name. Try it.”

“ Voldemort .”

Harry paused, half-waiting for snatchers or Death Eaters to come swarming into the room for having invoked the taboo. But indeed, nothing happened.

“You see? You are perfectly safe,” said Voldemort.

“Somehow I doubt that…” muttered Harry.

He felt Voldemort’s fingers find their way up his neck and into his hair, sending shivers up his spine. He clenched his eyes closed. Every part of the touch felt wrong . Harry moved to get up from the desk.

“Come now, Harry…” said Voldemort, taking Harry by his shoulder and turning him around to look at him. “You can’t deny it. You have food, shelter… Occasional company… Something to occupy your mind and your time… you are not under attack. You have everything you could possibly need.”

Voldemort’s gaze held him in place. Harry jerked his arm out of his grasp and backed up. He hated that Voldemort stood between him and the door. If he intended to get out of here, he’d have to be extremely creative.

“You and I both know I can never be happy here…” said Harry. 

He gasped. He hit the wall behind him sooner and with more force than he anticipated.

“I never promised your happiness,” said Voldemort, drawing closer. “Only that I would no longer leave you to rot in that dungeon and that you would remain alive. I have fulfilled my end of the bargain. Now… have you fulfilled yours?”

“N-not yet, no…” stammered Harry.

“Then what have you found out?” demanded Voldemort.

“Look, I haven’t been sitting here twiddling my thumbs. It’s just… the reading I’ve done hasn’t proven to be particularly useful yet…” said Harry.

“So you have been wasting your time,” said Voldemort.

“I-- no…” said Harry. “It’s helping me understand things as you do.”

“Explain.”

“If I understand how a soul works and if I understand the theories that exist around them, I can get a better idea of what sources I actually need to locate. I can know what sources to ask for if you won’t let me look myself,” explained Harry. “It’s just a step in the process.”

Voldemort paused, considering Harry.

“You never said when you demanded an answer. Only that I try and find the answer to whether soul pieces can be transferred from one vessel to another,” said Harry. “I don’t even know how much time is reasonable to suggest… it seems that a lot of what’s been written about souls and soul magic is speculative… what if I never find a definite answer?”

“Then your task changes, doesn’t it?” said Voldemort. “If you can’t find someone who will outright give you the answer that you’re seeking, then you must put two and two together and give a recommendation based on where the research is pointing.”

“Oh… right… that makes sense…”

“You do have a brain in that head of yours, don’t you, Potter?” 

Voldemort drew impossibly closer again. Harry sank slightly lower down the wall. 

“Then… I have a request,” said Harry.

“Do you now?” mocked Voldemort.

“I want free access to the library,” said Harry. “With or without Draco. I don’t care which.”

“Go on.”

“I just… if I’m going to do this properly, it’s going to be easier if I pull the books based on the question I’m currently trying to answer,” said Harry. “Theoretically, that question could change from one moment to the next, depending on what I’m finding. It would be much easier if I could decide what to read rather than relying on you or whoever chose books for me last time.”

“Interesting proposition… I see your point,” said Voldemort. “You may not have free access to the library. And Draco can’t spend every spare moment with you. However, there is an alternative arrangement.”

“What’s that?” asked Harry.

“I will accompany you to the Malfoy library every two days. That should be sufficient time to read anything new you take from the shelves and be ready to find new books to continue your research,” explained Voldemort. “That also allows me to keep up with your progress.”

“Draco can take me if--”

“This isn’t a discussion, Potter. It’s this arrangement or we continue as things currently are. And clearly the current arrangement isn’t acceptable to you,” said Voldemort.

“Fine… I accept,” said Harry.

“Come then. We’ll go now,” said Voldemort. 

With a wave of his hand, the door to Harry’s room unlocked and swung open. Voldemort led the way. Harry followed at as great a distance as he dared. Voldemort never once glanced back at him. They passed through several lavishly decorated rooms that felt stuck in time and down hallways that were lined with portrait after portrait of one prominent Malfoy family member or another. Several of them sneered down at Harry and bowed their heads to Voldemort as they passed. 

“Keep up, Harry,” said Voldemort, his robes trailing behind him.

An unseen force pushed him from behind and he would have stumbled into Voldemort’s back if he hadn’t caught himself at the last moment. Suddenly, Voldemort threw open the doors in front of them, revealing the Malfoy library. Harry carefully breathed in the scent of the place. It smelled of aged parchment and a little like incense, although Harry couldn’t see the source, so he might have imagined it. Voldemort shoved Harry forward, into the library.

“Where do I find books on soul magic?”

Voldemort waved his hand and several books from multiple places around the library came soaring in their direction. Harry did his best to catch all of them, putting them in a pile near the two armchairs.

“You have ten minutes,” said Voldemort. “I do have work of my own to do.”

Harry nodded and started sifting through the rather large pile of books sitting before him. He read their titles, flipped to the back index (at least for the books that had one), read the chapters listed in the table of contents, looking for anything that seemed like it might align with his questions. He found a book that looked like it might be a journal or a book of notes. He set that on his pile to take with him. There were several books that were in other languages. He could randomly pick one and hope for the best, but that would probably slow down any progress he’d be able to make.

“Umm… excuse me?” said Harry hesitantly.

Voldemort’s eyes met his.

“It’s just… er-- some of these aren’t in English… I can’t understand them,” said Harry.

“Have you not been taught other languages? Or done any self-study?” asked Voldemort.

“Well… they did teach us a little German in primary school…” said Harry.

“There are German books in that selection,” said Voldemort.

“They didn’t teach us enough to be able to read books like this,” said Harry. “Please… there’s a translation spell…”

“And you want me to apply it for you,” said Voldemort. 

“Yes. Draco cast it a couple times before, but seeing as he isn’t here and I’m not allowed a wand…”

“Very well,” sighed Voldemort exasperatedly. “Come here, Potter.”

His heartbeat picked up slightly, but he moved closer to Voldemort until he was standing a couple feet in front of him. Voldemort stood up and closed the gap even further, touching his wand-- the same wand that he had used to kill his parents-- to Harry’s temple. Harry flinched before he could stop himself.

“Relax,” said Voldemort. “I would have killed you by now, if I intended to do just that.”

“Great, that makes me feel loads better,” said Harry. 

“Enough of your cheek. Hold still,” said Voldemort.

Voldemort put a stabilizing hand on the other side of Harry’s face and murmured the incantation under his breath. Harry could feel heat and pressure that felt like it was radiating from inside his skull. There was a throbbing sensation originating in the leftside center of his head and Harry closed his eyes against the ache.

Finally it was all over, though the ache remained.

“What did you do?” demanded Harry. “That didn’t feel like when Draco cast it…”

“No, what I cast on you is the improved version of what young Draco performed on you. The effects of the spell are now permanent,” said Voldemort. “Permanent effects have a more significant impact on the body as there is more to adjust to.”

Harry took a step back, rubbing his head with the heel of his hand.

“One moment…” said Voldemort, once again closing the gap between the two of them. He touched his forehead to Harry’s, holding Harry’s face in both of his hands with a surprisingly gentle touch. Harry tried to pull back. Voldemort wouldn’t let him.

“What are you…?” started Harry, scrabbling to unlock Voldemort’s grip.

“Allow me,” said Voldemort.

Not knowing what he could mean or what else to do, Harry stilled, hoping whatever was happening would be over with sooner if he did so. Voldemort’s hands were cool to the touch and softer than he expected a Dark Lord’s hands to be. He calmed.

But soon, Harry couldn’t focus on the touch anymore. In that moment, his world was turned on its head. An intoxicating warmth felt like it was growing in the core of his being. His eyes fluttered shut as he was overtaken by memories that moved like a film strip before his eyes.

He was in a yellow room filled with sunlight. He didn’t recognize where he was, but it felt familiar somehow. 

“Harry!”

The voice was familiar-- a woman’s voice. Someone who sounded younger. He couldn’t place it…

And then there she was-- Lily. His mother. She looked like she had in the Mirror, like when she and his father had come to his defense in the graveyard. She smiled widely at him and bent down to pick him up. 

“What are you doing over here? Come on, let’s get you ready for the day,” she said.

She held him on her hip, cradling him in one arm as they walked to the stairs that were near the front door. 

“Oh, sorry, love. Come through.”

Harry glanced up and saw his father standing at the top of the stairs, a wicker basket of laundry resting near the railing. He stepped to one side so Lily and Harry could come up the stairs. Lily leaned over and planted a kiss on James’ cheek and he leaned over and kissed Harry on the top of his head.

“Be good for your mother, will you?” smiled James.

The next moment, the scene changed. 

Harry was in a dimly lit, wood-paneled room. He didn’t recognize this place. Had he been here before or was he imagining this? There were several cribs standing in a long row along the wall. Harry could tell that he was in one of them at one end of the room. 

A pain rippled through his middle and he felt a cry leave his throat, but the voice didn’t sound like his-- it sounded like a much smaller child’s voice. It was angry. Demanding. An older woman in a long gray dress walked by and didn’t even glance his way. Why did she do that? Couldn’t she see that he needed something? Food. He needed food. He was hungry. Couldn’t she even look at him to tell him she’d be there in a moment? 

His cry got louder and harsher. She would notice him. Somehow, some way. He stood up, holding onto the side of the crib to steady himself on that hard mattress.

“THOMAS! That’s quite enough!” yelled the woman, slamming her fist down on the nearest piece of furniture in frustration. “Go to sleep-- you’re disturbing the other children.”

Harry felt the frustration growing within him. Sleep didn’t fill empty bellies.

Another woman walked up beside his crib-- she was older than the other woman but wore a similar gray dress. She picked him up and held him at arm’s length.

“Hush up! That’s NOT how you get what you want,” said the older woman severely and with a slight shake. She laid him down on his back in the crib. “To bed. And that’s enough out of you.”

The scene changed and Harry was in darkness. 

There was a sharp knock that startled him to attention. A door opened and Harry realized he was in his cupboard. Aunt Petunia was standing in the doorway.

“Get up!” she demanded angrily. “Get to the kitchen and don’t burn anything.”

Harry made to get up, scooting out of the cupboard to the best of his ability. He hadn’t yet reached his same height, so he knew he was younger. Old enough to have moved from the small portable crib in the guest room at the back of the house to the cupboard under the stairs. 

Harry walked into the kitchen. Dudley was sitting at the table already, violently stirring his cereal with a spoon. Harry walked up to the stove where Aunt Petunia had already set the bacon and sausage to sizzling in the frying pan. Harry stepped up on the step stool so he could see properly. Grease popped and landed in flecks on his face, causing him to flinch a little. Harry focused on the cooking meats as best as he could, but was distracted by Dudley dropping his bowl on the floor and throwing a fit that his food had fallen. Aunt Petunia fawned over her son. While Harry had no desire to throw a tantrum like that, he couldn’t help the small pang of jealousy of seeing his cousin be fussed over. If Harry had done the same thing, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would make him clean up the mess, tell him it was all his fault, and then send him to his cupboard without breakfast.

“BOY! The breakfast is burning! Get your head out of the clouds!” yelled Uncle Vernon.

Sure enough, in the time Harry had looked away, the bacon had turned black and began to smoke while the sausages were getting rather dry and hard. There was no saving this meal and he knew it.

He felt a sharp whack! on the back of his head and he cowered, yelling and knocking into the hot pan with his arm. He cried out again at the burn he received.

“That’s it-- out with you. Just get OUT!” yelled Aunt Petunia. “Ungrateful child… we don’t ask much of you and yet you can’t seem to do a simple task. Absolutely worthless…”

The scene faded and Harry opened his eyes in a daze. It took him a moment to place where he was. It took him a beat longer than that to learn that he was slumped forward in the arms of the Dark Lord. He startled.

“What… what happened?” asked Harry, coming to. “Did you feel that too?”

“Yes… most peculiar…” 

Voldemort moved slowly away, pushing Harry away and dropping him on the floor of the Malfoy library. Harry landed with a grunt and got shakily to his hands and knees. 

“But… why did that happen? What did you find before?” asked Harry.

“Get your books. We’re leaving,” snapped Voldemort, not looking at Harry.

“No, I want to know what happened,” demanded Harry, clenching his fists to prevent his hands shaking.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Voldemort grabbed whatever armful of books happened to be within reach, grasped Harry’s shoulder, and disaparated back into Harry’s tiny room. Almost as soon as they arrived there, Voldemort dropped the books unceremoniously on the desk and turned to leave.

“ Stop! You haven’t told me what’s going on!” shouted Harry, clutching at Voldemort’s sleeve. “You activate some weird-ass connection and you don’t think that’s worth at least commenting on?!”

“I could comment on it, but you would be just as frustrated as you are now,” said Voldemort. “There is much that I don’t understand about this… connection… we will discuss it when I return.”

He turned again to leave. Harry suddenly felt desperate to keep Voldemort there longer. Of all the things…

“When are you coming back?” asked Harry quietly.

“When I have found the answers I seek,” said Voldemort. 

“That could be weeks,” said Harry. 

“It could,” said Voldemort. 

A moment of tense silence passed between the two.

“I’m going to lose my mind in here,” said Harry. 

“You have things to occupy you. A task to complete. You will be fine, Potter,” said Voldemort. 

Once more, he turned to leave. Harry moved to follow, reaching out for the wood of the door.

“Please, you can’t just leave…” said Harry, his voice breaking slightly. “Don’t do this…”

Immense pain seared through his head and gritted his teeth against the sensation, grasping his head in his hands, steadying himself against the bedpost. Voldemort slammed the door behind him with finality. The pain dissipated as quickly as it had come.

When would he see the outside of this room again? Harry feared it wouldn’t be soon enough.

***

Two weeks had passed. The Dark Lord had been away the whole time and Malfoy Manor was in a tentative state of peace. No one new was brought to the Manor and the usual Death Eaters came and went at regular intervals. A quiet routine fell into place and no one complained. As devoted of a man as his father was, even Draco noticed the tension leave his father’s shoulders during this time. 

And then a message arrived at the breakfast table. A message directly from the Dark Lord demanding a report on Potter. He wanted Draco to fulfill this task. Lucius led him there.

It had been a while since Draco had been asked to check on Potter, ever since a permanent translation spell had been cast on the boy; he hadn’t needed to come at regular intervals in order to renew the spell. So he had stayed away.

“Remember, Draco: you are Potter’s guard. You are not to give him any information he asks for and you are not to converse with him beyond what is necessary,” said Lucius.

“I understand, father,” said Draco.

“You will report to me how Potter fares after your time is up,” said Lucius. “The Dark Lord wants assurance that he is alive and well.”

Draco nodded slightly. Lucius stopped his progress down the hall and turned sharply toward his son.

“Do not let the boy take your wand, under any circumstances.”

“Yes, father,” said Draco.

Did Potter try something stupid? Why all the extra precaution?

As if reading his mind, Lucius said, “Other Death Eaters have reported concern that Potter is becoming increasingly desperate. He spends most of his time alone and the meals he receives return minimally touched. His mental state must be monitored. We don’t know what the boy is capable of.”

They stopped in front of the last door at the end of the hall. Lucius wordlessly tapped the doorknob once and the door swung open. At first, Draco, didn’t see anyone. That is, until the bed came into view. Potter-- no, Harry-- was curled into a ball in the middle of the bed, facing the wall.

“You have company, Potter,” said Lucius loudly and sharply.

He flinched where he lay, but otherwise didn’t move

“I’ll return in three hours’ time, Draco,” said Lucius quietly.

Draco nodded and stepped into the room, the door closing behind him. The silence hung in the air.

Draco stepped over to the desk, hesitating before pulling the chair out. He glanced over the books that were piled there, deciding not to disturb whatever order they were in, if there was any kind of organization to them. He glanced back at the bed.

“... Potter?” said Draco, tentatively.

Harry sighed on the bed, his back still facing the desk.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” he asked in a gravelly voice.

“How-- how are you?”

The words felt weird rolling around his mouth. They’d never spoken like this before. Not really. Harry jerked his head to look directly into Malfoy’s face.

“Spectacular,” he deadpanned.

“I mean… given the circumstances…” said Draco.

Harry twisted his body so he was sitting on his bed with his feet on the floor. He didn’t have shoes, only socks. Draco wondered if his shoes were taken from him or if they were just out of sight.

“I’ve been locked in a room by myself for… I don’t even know how long. And a dungeon before that,” said Harry. “It… I mean… it’s not great.”

Draco nodded. He hadn’t expected much better. He looked over at the desk again.

“Your pile of books has grown,” he commented.

“Yeah… more just appeared the other day. I don’t know if there’s a hint I’m supposed to get,” said Harry. “‘Read faster’? ‘You’re looking in the wrong places’? I don’t know…”

“What are you researching?” asked Draco.

Harry hesitated.

“I… don’t know if I’m supposed to talk about it,” he said. “He angers rather easily, the Dark Lord.”

Draco suppressed a smirk.

Understatement of the age…

“Soul magic?” asked Draco. “Why on earth would he want you to research that?”

Harry looked down at the floor and shrugged.

“Well, whatever the reason… why haven’t you begun?”

“I have begun,” said Harry. “I’ve been working at it for a while.”

“It looks like only two or three of these have been disturbed,” said Draco.

“I guess I just haven’t felt like it…” muttered Harry.

“Well, there’s time now,” said Draco.

“Did you come in here just to tell me what to do?” asked Harry.

“It seems like you need a kick up the arse. At the rate you were going, you would have spent the entire day sulking in bed,” said Draco. “Actually it looks like you’ve been doing that for a while any way…”

There was a pause.

“Potter?”

“What?”

“Have you… given up?”

Harry shrugged.

“I don’t know anything anymore…” said Harry.

“How do you mean?” asked Draco.

Harry took in a breath, letting it out slowly. 

“It’s complicated,” he finally said. 

“I don’t mind complicated,” said Draco.

“I… I think he’s actually hopeful I’ll find an answer to this… problem we’re having. But I’m worried I won’t find the answer. Or worse, I will and that won’t make any difference. What if I’m just doomed to hold onto both of our secrets and suffer this… whatever it is that’s between us? What if he never lets me go?”

Draco froze, feeling his heart sink. 

“Listen, it’s false hope…” said Draco. “The Dark Lord doesn’t exactly just… let people walk free, even if you do a service for him.”

“I know, I just… I don’t have a choice… If I don’t do anything, then things will only get worse, won’t they?” said Harry. “Although… maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m just losing my mind and hanging my hat on false hopes. He’ll probably never let me go, no matter what I do.”

Without knowing the details, it was hard for Draco to answer. But he wasn’t optimistic.

“Sounds like you know what you need to do then, Potter,” said Draco. He stood up from the chair next to the desk. “Switch with me.”

Harry did, standing up slowly and sitting in the desk chair while Draco perched on the edge of the bed.

“So… you’re just going to sit there while I read then?” asked Harry. “Isn’t that boring for you?”

“I have a lot to think about. I’ll be plenty occupied,” said Draco.

“Oh?”

“Don’t ask questions when you know very well I can’t answer them,” said Draco. “Go learn about soul magic or something.”

Harry turned to face the desk, cracking open on top of the large pile. He didn’t have that much left.

Before he knew it, he reached the end.

“That didn’t clarify much…” he muttered.

Draco wanted to ask so many things. Soul magic wasn’t something one saw just anyone researching in their spare time. What did the Dark Lord want Potter to figure out? Surely nothing good if the answer could only be found in the dustiest and most ancient tomes. Ones that had been hidden in the darkest libraries away from prying eyes. Draco had certainly never seen these books before Potter had access to them.

“You want to ask me something,” said Harry. It was a statement, not a question. “I can see it in your face.”

“I know my place, Potter. If you want to survive past your eighteenth birthday, you’ll learn yours in a hurry,” said Draco.

Harry turned back to face the wall again, but Draco noticed his attention did not return to the books on the table.

“You want to say something,” said Draco.

“I just… I don’t understand something…”

Draco waited. His silence would be prompting enough for Potter.

“That night on the astronomy tower…”

“Not this again…”

“No, please… something…. I don’t know… shifted in you. I don’t know how to think of it any other way. What happened to Dumbledore—“

“What happened was I was a coward. I regret it every day that I didn’t fulfill the Dark Lord’s orders. He gave me a chance and I failed,” said Draco. “You don’t need to analyze it further.”

“Can I say something?” asked Harry.

“I suspect you’re going to say something whether I wish you to or not,” said Draco.

“I don’t think you acted cowardly,” said Harry.

That made Draco pause. What was Potter playing at? There was surely a hidden agenda behind him saying this…

There was a knock on the door to the tiny room causing both of them to start. The door swung open to reveal Lucius. 

“Come, Draco. We are expected elsewhere,” said Lucius. “I can’t allow my only son to waste away here all day.”

“Yes, father,” said Draco. He stood and crossed the room. 

“Sir?” asked Harry. “Do you know when the Dark Lord is due back?”

“The Dark Lord is very busy. He will return exactly when he intends to,” said Lucius.

Harry glanced at the floor, nodding slightly at the non-answer. The door closed and locked behind the Malfoys and once again Harry was alone. Not wanting to read anymore, he moved over to his bed. It was then that he saw it-- he’d almost missed it. A tiny scroll of scrap parchment. He took it and unraveled it carefully.

Two days

Two days for what? Did Draco write this? He must have… It wouldn’t be Voldemort, would it? What could it mean? Whatever it was, he’d have to be ready.

Chapter Text

Evening fell. Harry dreamed. 

At first it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like another lonely morning in this tiny room of Malfoy Manor. He sat on his bed with his back against the wall, another book from the growing pile propped against his knees. 

Suddenly, the door burst open, nearly flying off its hinges, causing him to startle violently.

In the doorway stood Voldemort, the hood of his cloak leaving most of his face in shadows. Even so, Harry could tell he was angry. 

“You’re back,” said Harry, stupidly.

Voldemort didn’t say anything… just stared, locking eyes with Harry who didn’t move a muscle from where he sat.

“Your time is up,” said Voldemort. “I demand answers. Can the horcrux be transferred or not?”

“I-- I don’t--” stammered Harry, wracking his brains for anything… anything that would help answer the question on the table.

“Well?!”

“I couldn’t… find anything…”

A growl emitted from deep in Voldemort’s throat. Harry couldn’t recall ever hearing such a noise come from a person before.

But then again, Voldemort wasn’t exactly one hundred percent human, was he?

With a twist and a flourish, Voldemort vanished from the tiny room. Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Harry relaxed his shoulders. He was alone again. 

Until he wasn’t.

A sharp pain flashed through his brain that made Harry’s vision go white and cry out, collapsing to his knees. He heard Voldemort’s voice in his ears like rushing water.

“Useless boy… PATHETIC.”

“I-- I’m s--”

“You had but one. Measly. Job, Harry Potter. You gave your word,” said Voldemort. 

The pressure increased until Harry was positive his skull would crack open, spilling onto the grimy floor before him. He squeezed his eyes closed against the pain and felt his teeth creak.

“However similar our childhoods were, there is one main difference between you and I,” said Voldemort. “Can you guess what that is, Harry?”

“N-no… Please, I can’t--”

“While the adults in my life came to realize, very painfully, just how wrong they were about the young boy who simply couldn’t control his very powerful magic… the adults in your life were correct in their assumptions. You can’t do anything right. You’re useless and a waste of space,” said Voldemort. “To think the world thought you’d be my downfall. If only the rest of the world could see their beloved savior now.”

Harry’s stomach felt like it was turning in on itself and he could feel streaks of tears running down his face. 

“Stop… please… it’s not true…”

The pressure released, leaving his head throbbing. When he opened his eyes up just a crack, he could see the man standing before him. 

“Useless hero of the wizarding world!”

Voldemort threw his head back and laughed a low, maniacal laugh that Harry could feel reverberating in his bones.

He woke with a start, echoes of the dream fading in his ears and around the room. His heart was pounding. It was hard to breathe. Clutching his chest, he swung his legs out of bed in an effort to ground himself.

“It’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream…” murmured Harry as quietly as he could manage, his voice catching partway through. The last thing he needed was a Death Eater barging into his room complaining of the noise… It was just a dream-- he wouldn’t allow himself to cry in real life. No one was interested in the crocodile tears of Harry Potter.

As if the dreams weren’t enough, he’d also been getting more and more visions from Voldemort in the last day or so and it wasn’t entirely clear why. It was clear that not everything he saw was from the present… there were times when he saw who he recognized as a younger Tom Riddle. A child. Usually in moments where he was suffering. And there were times where Harry’s own childhood was played back at him. Harry had never been more than an unwilling passenger in the visions he shared with Voldemort. It left Harry feeling completely unsettled. Did Voldemort see these parts of his life too? Had he always had access to these memories? Or was this entirely new? If it was new, what had changed?

The connection is getting stronger… That’s what’s different. I know he felt it too. It freaked him out… maybe more than it freaked me out… that’s why he’s not here.

Malfoy Manor. This had only been happening since he arrived at Malfoy Manor. When he and Voldemort had been under the same roof for more than an hour or two. It was only since being dragged to the Malfoys that he’d begun to feel so attached… His memories were Voldemort’s memories. They were becoming closer… somehow…

Suddenly, his hopes were dashed. The door slammed open and a Death Eater was standing there, maskless but with a smirk playing on his lips. He was illuminated by the blinding light at the end of his wand. 

Harry froze. Waiting. Not sure what was coming or what he should be doing.

Then he realized, We’ve met before. This Death Eater had tended to him before, down in the dungeons. But he’d messed up… tried to take what the Dark Lord considered to be his, a thought that made Harry shudder inwardly. What an awful thought to cross his mind…

Winters. That’s his name.

“Trouble sleeping, Potter?” asked the Death Eater. 

“It’s you,” said Harry, ignoring his question. “Y- you’re not supposed to be--”

“What the Dark Lord doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” said Winters. 

“The others-- they’ll know. They’ll find out like last time. You’ve been disgraced by him,” said Harry. 

“How sweet of you to worry for me, Harry,” said Winters. “Falling from his favor was certainly an… obstacle of sorts. But obstacles are made to be overcome.”

Winters took a step into the room and immediately, Harry leapt up, reaching for a wand that wasn’t there. Winters smiled wider.

No no no…

“Now then, let’s just calm down…” said Winters in his disturbing, sickly, soothing voice. It made Harry’s skin crawl.

Harry reached over to the desk and threw the first thing his hands could find-- one of the thick books on soul magic-- at Winters, who swiftly dodged the projectile. The book thudded out into the hallway.

“Stay away from me,” said Harry as levelly as he could.

Winters didn’t respond, only closed the gap more. Harry reached back toward the desk and threw the next biggest thing at Winters causing him to dodge to the other side of the room, leaving the doorway marginally open. 

Harry knew what he needed to do.

He hopped up on the bed. Winters closed in and, seeing a split second window of time, Harry leapt as far as he could toward the door. Winters swung for him, missing, and Harry dashed out the door. 

The hallway was long. He could already see Winters hadn’t been stupid, leaving the door open. His only hope was the bathroom. There was a small possibility that it would be unlocked and he could hide.

“Potter!!”

Harry hoofed it as quickly as he could, ramming into the bathroom door. It remained steadfastly closed. In a moment of desperation, Harry banged on the door, as if someone on the other side would open it for him. When no one did, he bolted for the end of the hall. He ran into the bars at the end of the hallway and frantically looked around.

“Help! Someone-- please…!” yelled Harry.

Was the temperature dropping in this hellscape?

He pulled on the bars, hoping against hope that they would budge in some way.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he was forcibly turned around, coming face to face with Winters who had him pinned against the wall. Harry’s heart felt like it was going to pound right out of his chest and his breaths came short and quick.

“How fun, Potter,” said Winters, raising up Harry’s wrists in one hand and pinning them to the wall above him. “You make this game interesting.”

With his other hand, he cast a wordless spell at the door and Harry could see a clear barrier form around the door. He replaced his wand in the hidden breast pocket of his robe. 

“No more of this running away, now. It was exciting the first time, but any other attempt will do nothing but make me angry…” said Winters lowly, leaning closer to Harry’s face.

He moved even closer and began slowly and softly kissing Harry’s neck. The contact took him by surprise and Harry inadvertently let out a soft, high-pitched whine. 

“None of that, now. Just enjoy it,” murmured Winters into his ear.

Harry wished he could just disappear through the wall. He tried kicking his way free but Winters just pressed his body even closer, effectively freezing Harry in place. Harry’s nostrils filled with the smell of his sweat and a distant smell of aftershave.

“Don’t-- stop, DON’T!”

Winters clapped his hand on Harry’s mouth, muffling his scream.

“The others are otherwise occupied at the moment, far from this part of the manor,” sneered Winters. “There’s no one to hear you scream, Harry.” 

With his free hand, Winters reached under Harry’s sweater, touching him wherever he could, eliciting a moan from Harry that he couldn’t hold back when Winters brushed against his belly and pinched his left nipple unexpectedly.

“It must be terribly lonely, down in this part of the manor… all by yourself…” said Winters softly. He reached down and pulled at the waistband of Harry’s pants, tugging the button loose. Harry tried to throw his body forward and knock Winters’ hand away, but he was just pushed back harshly into the wall with a grunt. He tried to hold back tears of terror, but to no avail. Harry retreated into his mind.

Please, do something… hear me, please…

But there was nothing. No returned thoughts, no flicker of emotion…

Harry didn’t know what was going on around him anymore. His vision fogged. What little he could register in his mind made no sense to him. He felt his body being turned and something cold and wet unexpectedly coat his insides. He closed his eyes so he could only see darkness. He didn’t want to know what was happening.

There was a sharp but vague sense of pain and a cry of surprise and agony ripped out of his throat. Tears traced paths down his face. He felt fingers roughly tangle in his hair and push against his skull. He couldn’t tell how long things had been like this. Had it been moments? Hours? Days? He would have believed anything anyone had told him. 

You said he couldn’t hurt me anymore…

Slowly, the world started coming back into focus. The pain reached him first-- sharp pain in his neck, like he’d been bitten; his arms; his hips; his arse… Harry felt something warm slowly trickle down his legs. Not able to hold himself up any longer, he slid down the wall.

“Pull up your trousers and wash up in the bathroom,” said Winters gruffly, kicking Harry’s leg.

Harry realized his face and upper body were pressed into the wall. He shakily got to his feet and slowly reached his hand down and hitched up his pants, not bothering to button them. His hands were shaking too badly any way as his reality settled into his brain and his body.

He heard a lock turn and Winters was gesturing through the open door of the bathroom. Hugging his arms around himself, Harry slowly limped through the doorway.

“You have ten minutes,” said Winters, slamming the door and locking it again.

Still shaking, Harry reached over and turned on the water to the tub and slowly started removing his clothes. He didn’t see any new clothing lying around anywhere, so he placed his old ones on the lid of the toilet, close to the bathtub. How he wished he could burn them…

When the tub was full, he stepped in, trying not to look at himself.

The water was scalding on his skin, but if he could, he’d make it even hotter. No amount of rubbing and scrubbing would remove the feeling of the Death Eater’s hands all over him, his mouth, his teeth, his… Harry sat, curling his knees up to his chest. It was then that he noticed the water was tinged pink. A sob escaped Harry. There was no stopping them as they fought their way out of him. He turned the tap back on to muffle the noise.

So this is what they’ve reduced The Boy Who Lived to… a mess of a person soaking in his own blood and tears…

***

“We should have done this a week ago. What were we thinking?” asked Hermione.

“The Dark Lord very well could have returned to the manor a week ago. He’s never been away for this long since his return. We couldn’t have known how the timing would line up,” said Draco. “Things are lining up now. We have to act, if we’re going to act at all.”

“Right… so what’s the plan again?” asked Ron. His face was set with determination-- they were embarking on a mission that they could not fail. Not without dire consequences.

“I’ll apparate you to the forest a short distance outside of the Malfoy property. In the middle is a tree that covers a secret passage. I’ll need to accompany you into that passage since we’ll be crossing the ward lines. You won’t be able to do it without a Malfoy accompanying you,” said Draco.

“Will we be able to leave without you?” asked Hermione.

“Of course,” said Draco. “Anyone not specifically keyed into the wards will be able to leave. It’s the approach that we’re trying to prevent.”

“Will Harry be able to leave? Wouldn’t he be keyed into the wards?” asked Hermione.

“Er--”

“Malfoy!!” said Hermione exasperatedly.

“Listen! Alright? Father’s been preparing me all my life to be the heir to the Malfoy estate. That includes how to make adjustments to the wards,” said Malfoy. “Just… give me one day. I’ll adjust the wards in such a way that the Dark Lord won’t detect a change unless he’s at a very specific point in the wards.”

“You’d better not be lying…” growled Ron, getting closer.

“We wouldn’t have gotten this far if I’d intended to trick you, Weasley,” said Draco. “Far too much effort for a, frankly, pathetic punchline.”

Hermione touched Ron’s arm and gave him a firm look. Whatever silent conversation that had passed between them left Ron relenting, however begrudgingly.

“So then what?” asked Ron.

“Once we’re through the wards, that’s when we’ll separate,” said Draco. “I’ll be moving about the Manor as though I’m none the wiser. I won’t be returning with you. It’s far too dangerous--”

“Just as staying and hiding in plain sight is far too dangerous,” said Hermione pointedly.

“It’s the least conspicuous thing I can do at the moment. Running away would mean giving up… well, everything. I can’t afford to do that right now,” said Draco. “Since I’m staying, I expect that once there is a tip-off that Harry is gone, I will be among those charged with determining where he could have gone. I will likely be suspected, since I’ve been his guard so often. Especially in the last couple of weeks.”

“Isn’t Vol-- er, the Dark Lord a skilled Legilimens?” asked Hermione.

“And Occlumens,” said Draco.

“Oh, great, just what he needs: yet another advantage…” muttered Ron. 

“If you’re under suspicion of helping Harry, how do you plan to trick one of the world’s best Legilimens?” asked Hermione.

“The Dark Lord isn’t the only practicing Occlumens…” said Draco.

“You’re really playing with fire, Malfoy…” said Ron.

“What makes you so sure you can keep him out?” asked Hermione.

“Because Aunt Bella taught me. And she was taught by the Dark Lord himself. What tricks he knows, he will have taught her and she me,” said Draco. “Not to brag, but I’ve gotten to the point where I can block out my aunt. She hasn’t been able to enter my mind in two years or so. She… certainly likes to test her pupils when she thinks they might not be on their guard.”

“That’s horrible…” said Hermione.

“Yes, it is,” said Malfoy. “But all of that to say… you can trust me with this.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, taking a deep breath.

“But… if you’re confident…”

“As much as I can be,” said Draco. “I don’t believe we have any better options.”

“So once Harry’s out and we’ve crossed out of the ward line, we’ll head to the safe house--” started Ron.

“Stop right there, Weasel,” said Draco. “It’s best if I don’t know. Keep it between yourself and Granger.”

“He’s right, Ron. We can’t afford to let anything too sensitive slip through…” said Hermione. “We know where we’re going once we have Harry.”

She paused a moment, hesitating before ultimately deciding to speak her mind any way.

“But… Draco, what if you’re caught? Where will you go?”

“I have options. Don’t worry about me,” said Draco.

Hermione nodded slowly. It didn’t sit right with her to leave Draco after how much he was helping them and putting himself on the line. But she knew they didn’t have a choice.

“You have one day to reset the wards. Send your Patronus as a signal,” said Ron.

“No, too obvious,” said Draco. “I’ll send my owl, Fens. Even in this… political climate, owls are still coming and going from this house. I don’t know what I’ll send with him yet, but it won’t be a letter. Anyone who might cross him won’t have any communication to gather information from.”

“We’ll be waiting nearby,” said Hermione.

***

Sleep eluded Harry when he was returned to this room. He curled into himself at the head of the bed, knees tucked into his chest, as he waited for his heart to slow, trying desperately to take deep breaths. He didn’t know how long his mind and heart raced alongside each other. To make matters worse, his head was throbbing and he felt an overwhelming but foreign sense of anger flood his body.

Did he find out what happened? Harry couldn’t be sure. He hadn’t felt or heard anything in response to his pleas before. 

Do you even know what happened, Harry?

But then… he must know that something had happened to Harry, even if he had dissociated. He was a terrible occlumens. There was no way he could block that out no matter how hard he tried. So why wasn’t he here?

Get a grip, Harry… the man is clearly busy. Even if you’re not occluding, he can still block you out. He doesn’t care about anyone, why would he give a shit about you?

His thoughts were interrupted as pain flashed through his skull, making his vision swim. His fingers found their way into his hair, clutching at his aching head like it would make the feeling dissipate. 

Amidst the pain, he picked up on waves of ferocious anger that were not his own. That was definitely more than frustration. What was Voldemort angry about now?

As if simply wondering was enough of an invitation, his surroundings disappeared and he found himself transported into… someone’s house. He didn’t recognize it, which didn’t mean very much. The room he was in was relatively small, but filled to the brim with bookshelves full of old, dusty tomes. Some of them even looked hand-painted on the spines he could see. A table stood in the middle of the room with two candles perched on top, standing precariously near a pile of loose parchment, all filled with the same elegant scrawl.

“My Lord… I- I’m sorry, we haven’t any more titles that have to do with soul magic,” said an elderly man with tufts of hair that had gone nearly white. “My father researched and collected for many years and found many things, but… the field is still so unexplored, even now. Not a lot of people are devoting their time to it.”

“This can’t be everything,” said Voldemort tersely. “There is too much information missing.”

“As I said, My Lord, the field does not have many devoted to growing their knowledge of the subject. Breakthroughs are slow to come. You have read through everything I have,” said the elder.

Harry heard a cracking sound coming from somewhere outside of the room. A masked man came into the room, his dark cloak billowing behind him. He stopped when he was just inside the door and bowed.

“My Lord,” he said softly. 

“Rise, Nott. Why the interruption?” asked Voldemort with veiled calm. Harry could feel his emotions bubbling below the surface.

“My Lord, I do apologize… I would not have come if it were not important,” said Nott. “I was asked to report to you… the boy tried to escape.”

“WHAT?!” demanded Voldemort.

“Rest assured, sir, he was quickly recovered,” rushed Nott. “The Death Eater scheduled to be on guard this evening briefly stepped away for a… personal matter… Winters stepped in to take his place.”

“That miscreant was forbidden from being anywhere near Potter,” said Voldemort through his teeth.

“Yes, My Lord. I understand,” said Nott. “If I may… When Potter was heard shouting out in the night, Winters went to check on the boy who leapt at him, seizing an opportunity he saw. Thankfully, Winters had the foresight to lock the gate at the end of the hallway when he entered. Potter was not able to get very far. The Death Eater originally on guard before Winters took over, however… doesn’t have that same attention to detail that I have learned to appreciate about Winters. If it’s not too bold of me to say, I do believe that if Winters hadn’t been there, things would have ended a lot more disastrously.”

“Is that so, Nott?”

Without another word, Nott gave a bow at the waist.

Voldemort’s face crumpled with visible fury and for a moment, his whole body shook. And then just as suddenly, a calm settled over him like a silk robe. Harry was unsettled just watching.

The scene shifted and became hazy. Harry was in a dark forest. It didn’t look like any forest he’d seen pictures of from around England. There were sharp outcroppings of rock and tree roots twisted and tangled amongst themselves and other plants. Something that resembled a ghost in pallor lingered nearby, but Harry instinctually knew that it wasn’t a ghost. It was too solid. It moved about the ground as if it were in terrible pain, though Harry couldn’t hear if it was making any sound. It clawed at the ground, moving itself from one tree root to the next. 

Suddenly, a death rattle, an inhuman gasp came out of that… thing. The scene flashed again and Harry saw a room made of cut stone and rough hewn cave walls with snake statues scattered throughout. Sensing something familiar, he turned and saw what he immediately recognized as the basilisk, dead on the ground. But instead of the feeling of triumph, he felt an anger that came from the pit of his very being. He turned again and at a distance, saw a young boy, kneeling on the wet floor of the chamber in front of a teenager. The boy, just a waif of a thing, raised up his hand and brought it plunging down into something on the ground. He was engulfed in pain and an all-encompassing anger. It felt like betrayal of the basest kind.

He would NOT be brought down by this little boy.

Harry. FUCKING. Potter.

Of COURSE it was him. He couldn’t leave well enough alone when he had already faced off with him TWICE and gotten away with it. Now he somehow had one of his horcruxes and just happened to have one of the very few tools that could actually destroy it?! There was no fucking way.

It was an anger that made him want to tear things apart and set the world on fire. And the moment he got his body back, he would do just that.

The Chamber of Secrets zoomed out of sight and he was back in the forest, broken and alone and angry and in pain. The forest zoomed away and he was back in the dusty room in the house with the library on soul magic.

“Perhaps Mr. Potter could use a little visit to remind him where he stands sooner rather than later,” said Voldemort.

The world came back into focus and Harry exhaled forcefully. He rolled over quickly to sit on his bed. Was he coming now? He didn’t have much time. Harry stood up next to the bed in his tiny room. He couldn’t pace very far, but he still felt the need to move. To go somewhere, even if that meant walking the five feet to the door and back. He had to do something-- hide? Stand his ground? What?!

A crack sounded from somewhere outside the room. Harry felt his stomach drop and his scar twinge sharply. Surely it couldn’t be…?

A metal door slammed and there were quick footsteps. Then Harry’s door banged open and splintered slightly, making him startle violently, despite his anticipation. There was Voldemort, taking up more physical space that any person could reasonably be expected to, his eyes glowering, red and piercing, straight through Harry. He stood and backed towards the window.

“You loathesome wretch…” growled Voldemort.

“I-- I didn’t-- Listen--”

Voldemort’s arm was like a viper striking-- he grabbed Harry by the throat and squeezed. Harry whimpered and choked.

“Oh, so you didn’t try to escape under an hour ago?” said Voldemort mockingly.

“Please-- please…”

“May I remind you, Harry, that you are mine,” said Voldemort, getting closer to Harry’s face. 

He let go of his throat and Harry ducked, coughing harshly, trying to catch his breath. Voldemort pushed him against the wall by his shoulders. He could feel Harry’s heartbeat radiating through his body, as if they possessed the same heart.

“You don’t get to leave unless I allow you to do so,” said Voldemort. “And I will. Never. Allow you. To do so.”

“Please, I can explain--”

“Useless. The damage is done,” spat Voldemort. “You negotiated to be helpful and research and I thought you’d be a man of your word--”

“WOULD YOU JUST LISTEN!” shouted Harry. Voldemort narrowed his eyes at him. Harry’s voice felt too loud in the small room; he was shaking uncontrollably.

“Why didn’t you hear me?” asked Harry quietly.

“Hear what?” demanded Voldemort. 

“I-- I wasn’t escaping. I was in trouble,” said Harry. “Either you didn’t hear me or you chose not to come. And I’m not sure which is worse… and I’m also not sure why I hoped for different.”

Voldemort didn’t say anything right away, just took in Harry’s shaking hands and desperate expression. Waiting. Silently demanding that Harry explain himself. But Harry couldn’t… the words were caught within him. But there was another way.

“Take them if you must… if you don’t believe me…” said Harry, looking into the man’s eyes and gesturing at his own head.

There was some hesitation, but slowly, gently, Voldemort took Harry’s face in both of his hands. Harry tensed at Voldemort’s touch, not sure if his offer would be accepted or if Voldemort would hit him, but he forced his body to calm. Voldemort entered his mind. The intrusion was not as gentle as his touch, but the physical pain was brief. Harry saw the entire scene with Winters flash before his eyes and knew that Voldemort was seeing it too. He felt an increasing pressure in his skull.

“ENOUGH!” yelled Voldemort, pulling out of Harry’s mind. Harry slid down the wall while Voldemort stepped back towards the door. There was tense silence between them.

“I wasn’t trying to escape,” said Harry weakly.

“No. You were not,” said Voldemort. 

Without a word, he turned to leave.

For a moment, Harry thought about saying something. But what would be the point?

With a wave of his hand, Voldemort fixed the broken door before slamming it and magically locking it.

Chapter Text

Draco could remember the first time his father had taken him into the bowels of the manor and shown him the Malfoy wardstone for the first time. He’d been rather underwhelmed. It looked like the rest of the foundation, but was a pillar in the center of the house and larger property. 

“Father, it’s just a stone. What’s the big deal?” asked a much younger Draco-- maybe around ten years old. 

“Hush, Draco. Remember your lessons,” said Lucius. “It’s not only about what the eyes can see, but your other senses as well. Go on, stand here for a moment.”

He adjusted his son’s position so he was standing within arm’s reach of the wardstone.

“Close your eyes. Then tell me-- what else can you discern about this seemingly simple stone using your other senses?” asked Lucius. 

Draco suppressed an impatient huff. Father didn’t have patience for such displays of impropriety. They weren’t common wizards, after all. And he would be remiss if a Malfoy was seen or heard acting like an entitled Muggle.

So Draco took a calming breath and closed his eyes. He let his surroundings fade until it was just him and the thrum of ambient magic pushing lightly against his skin and his mind. Occasionally, he could hear his father’s voice break through.

“What do you notice, Draco?” asked Lucius, his voice soft. Much softer than Draco was used to hearing from him. It sounded almost… reverent. They he was in the presence of someone… or something greater than himself.

“I feel…” He searched for the words. It was familiar and austere. There was a sense of tradition to it. Legacy. “I am feeling the manor?”

“You’re feeling the family magic imbued in the manor,” explained Lucius.

That explained it.

“One day, Draco, you will become the head of this family. It will be up to you to continue our legacy and to feed into the magic of this house. In a manner of speaking, you will become one-- the house will give to you and you will give to the house. That’s why so many wizarding estates of the Sacred Twenty-Eight are protected by such powerful old magic. You’re surrounded by the magic of many generations before you.

Draco nodded quietly. Even at age ten, he could appreciate the weight of that honor. That responsibility.

Seventeen-year-old Draco didn’t know that he would feel that same weight on his shoulders so soon after that first conversation as he stood once again in front of the Malfoy wardstone. While the wards were often talked about rather flippantly, in his opinion, it was no small feat to alter the family wards. It required a blood sacrifice and complete conviction in the change that was about to occur. If there was a doubt in the adjuster’s mind that someone should be allowed into their family home, the enchantments wouldn’t work. If the house had any doubt that Draco was a legitimate authority… well, he wasn’t willing to even entertain the thought. He had to get it right the first time.

Taking the ceremonial knife from inside his suitcoat, he glanced at the Malfoy family crest emblazoned on the sheath, emeralds encrusting the hilt to the point of sheer decadence. He swiped the exposed blade across the palm of his hand, wincing slightly, and put his hand on the wardstone. 

“Please accept this… I’m not the head of the family yet, but I’m here to change the fate of my family… put us on the right side of history… trust that I hold this family’s best interests at heart and trust that this risk will solidify our future for generations to come. This I swear on my magic,” whispered Draco.

He felt a stinging in his palm and when he eventually pulled it away, his cut was healed. Now to cast the enchantments to allow Harry passage out…

***

It was the second day. Harry had no clue what he was waiting for, but he was on high alert for the moment a sign presented itself. 

He hadn’t expected Voldemort to leave him so suddenly. He’d left in a rage, like Harry had done something wrong, but he’d only showed him the memory of Winters on that awful night. Logically, Harry knew that he had done the right thing. He’d been mistreated. He was being accused of something he didn’t do. It only made sense that he would make an effort to set the record straight. But he felt what could only be described as guilt in the pit of his stomach. Voldemort did not do things halfway. What would happen now because he had revealed what happened? Winters would probably be yet another person who was killed because of Harry.

No, whatever happened, Winters deserved it. He didn’t need to feel guilty for choices he hadn’t made… for choices he was never given to make in the first place. He’d been violated in one of the worst ways by that man. He hadn’t deserved that. No one did.

Still… he couldn’t help but feel immense anxiety. No amount of deep breathing, half-hearted distractions, or self-assurances seemed to assuage that feeling.

There was a pounding on the door that brought Harry abruptly out of his thoughts. When the door opened, there was a masked Death Eater standing in the doorway.

“Come, Potter,” said the Death Eater, beckoning him over. He had one of the deepest voices Harry had ever heard. He wondered idly if this was the man’s real voice or if he had magically modulated his own voice to avoid recognition.

Harry came to his senses.

“No, I--”

“It’s not a choice,” said the Death Eater. “The Dark Lord has sent for you.”

“I don’t--”

“Then I shall have to force you,” said the Death Eater, stepping into the room, crossing it in just a couple steps. He roughly grabbed Harry’s hands and began winding rope around Harry’s wrists, tightening them to the point of pain. Harry tried to stretch the ropes to relieve his restricted blood flow. Before he could react, the Death Eater slipped a dark cloth over his eyes and tied a knot behind Harry’s head.

“Is this necessary?” asked Harry. 

“Don’t ask questions,” said the Death Eater. “Let’s go.” 

He grabbed Harry by his elbow and dragged him into the hallway. Harry stumbled after him, disoriented by his lack of vision. He did not have a good feeling about this…

He could hear the Death Eater unlock the gate at the end of the hallway. It was the first time in weeks that he had left the area where his room was located. The Death Eater brought him through freezing rooms that echoed with their footsteps and his anxious breathing. 

“What does Voldemort want?” asked Harry.

“He’ll tell you whatever he thinks you need to know when we get to him,” said the Death Eater. “Stairs.”

The warning came slightly too late as Harry jammed his foot into the toekick of the lowest stair. He tried to reach for a railing or something to steady himself, but the Death Eater grasped his elbow even harder and pulled him upstairs faster. In no time, Harry heard a door open ahead of them.

“Kind of you to join us, Potter.” 

Harry didn’t recognize the voice but felt his heart start to race again any way. He wanted to rip off the blindfold. He wanted answers to his questions. He wanted to know what was happening and why he needed to be involved.

“Sit,” said the Death Eater who dragged him from his room, pushing down on his shoulder, kicking the backs of his knees so that he sank to the floor painfully. He tried to swallow a groan, to no avail. Then his blindfold was taken away, his glasses returned.

He was in a room paneled with dark wood tones and filled with dozens of Death Eaters-- thirty or forty, if Harry’s estimate was correct. The room was packed with barely any room for anyone to move. He recognized a few of the Death Eaters, especially the ones who chose to remain unmasked: Rowle, Crabbe and Goyle senior, Dolohov… the Malfoys, including Draco, of course. Many chose to remain masked or were too new for Harry to recognize.

Harry felt something bump against his leg and he startled.

“Hatchling is here.” Harry looked to the floor and saw Nagini slithering in tight circles around him. How had she done that without him noticing?

“Will you kill me? Or will he?” hissed Harry.

“No, hatchling belongs to Master and Master takes care of what is his,” said Nagini. “Hatchling will have a long life with Master, just as Nagini does.”

“Why has he brought me here?” Harry replied.

“I do not know. Master will explain. But I am told there will be food,” said Nagini.

Harry didn’t like the sound of that.

The Death Eater who brought him here reached over and slapped Harry sharply across the face, causing him to cry out and fall over. His glasses fell off his face. There was jeering and laughter that rippled around the room.

“Stop doing that,” said the Death Eater.

Harry awkwardly propped himself up with his bound hands and even Nagini assisted him with a nudge of her head on his arm. He shot a glare at the Death Eater but didn’t say anything. He caught Draco’s eye and he sent what he hoped was a look that said, “Tell me what the hell is going on right now.” Draco’s face remained stony and unreadable. How unhelpful…

A door on the other side of the room opened and Voldemort stepped in. He was just as menacing as before. He didn’t glance in Harry’s direction at all but proceeded to glide across the room to a chair that sat at the front of the room and in the center of his gathered followers. Voldemort, Harry, Nagini, and all of the Death Eaters were facing the middle of the room that currently stood empty. There was a tension in the room that could be felt by anyone who stepped into the room-- anticipation.

“Nott, bring in the prisoner,” said Voldemort. He voice was level, but stern. It dared anyone to speak against him. No one did.

A masked Death Eater who must have been Nott bowed slightly and left the room only to return minutes later dragging a haggard-looking young man after him. 

Winters.

Harry’s pulse quickened.

“Get your hands off me you filthy cretin!” growled Winters, attempting to yank his arm away from Nott. Nott was much stronger than he looked. Another Death Eater assisting Nott aimed his wand at Winters and shot what Harry assumed was a stinging hex at his stomach. He doubled over, falling to his knees, just a short distance in front of Voldemort.

“Mr. Winters,” said Voldemort measuredly.

“My Lord,” said Winters, loud enough for the room to hear. “I hardly think--”

“Silence,” snapped Voldemort. If looks could kill, Winters would be a pile of ash smoldering on the ground. “If I required your opinion, I would ask you for it. As it stands, however, I do not.”

Winters bowed his head, looking thoroughly chastised.

“Yes, My Lord. I understand.”

Harry watched Voldemort’s face. A sneer crossed his lips and something danced behind his eyes.

“Interesting that you choose this moment to show deference to your betters. One might call you wise if they didn’t know of your past indiscretion,” said Voldmort.

“Whatever do you mean, My Lord?” asked Winters. His face twisted into one of confusion, but Harry could tell that the look was not genuine. Not in the least.

So could Voldemort.

“Your insolence is revolting,” said Voldemort. “You joined the ranks of the Death Eaters just over a year ago. Am I correct?”

“Yes, My Lord. It was the greatest day of my life,” said Winters.

“Tell me, what were your reasons for taking the Dark Mark at the time?” asked Voldemort.

“I-- Your message and mission spoke to me. Still speak to me, My Lord. Our Ministry is corrupt and the only way to bring order and peace to our world is to completely restructure it. Out with our leaders of old who are too far strayed from Wizarding tradition and in with leadership that seeks to honor our society from its roots outwards,” said Winters. “I think you are the one who is wise enough, clever enough, and bold enough to bring your vision to life. I long to see a Wizarding world that protects our brethren from polluting factors and celebrates Magic in her purest form. When I took the Dark Mark, I wanted to be part of the solution and saw this as an opportunity. It has been an honor to serve you, My Lord.”

“How… touching,” said Voldemort. 

A foreign wave of emotion came over Harry in that moment. Suspicion. Disgust. Earth-shattering anger. Harry could feel it radiating from within him, his head aching horribly. He closed his eyes against the pain and willed it to leave him. He felt Nagini’s head rest on his leg. It felt like a touch of solidarity. Or… could she be feeling this too? He didn’t think he’d reacted so obviously…

“Mr. Winters, if you have so much respect and reverence for me as your leader… as your Lord, then, pray tell, why would you think it appropriate to disobey direct orders?” asked Voldemort.

For once, Winters was silent. He knew he needed to tread carefully. But he didn’t know how much Voldemort knew. Harry knew by now that Voldemort’s actions were always calculated and he always knew more than he let on about almost anything.

“I’m… s-sorry, My Lord…” stuttered Winters.

“You were punished once before now for disobeying orders. Tell the others what orders were violated,” said Voldemort.

“All Death Eaters were ordered not to physically harm Harry Potter in any way,” said Winters. His head was bowed again and he was looking at the floor.

“And yet, the first time you were punished, you proceeded to touch him and create an unsafe situation for him without my permission,” said Voldemort. He stood up and slowly approached Winters, his eyes never leaving the Death Eater. “Harry Potter is mine. All Death Eaters were alerted to this fact. Everyone followed this direction. Everyone, that is, except for you.”

The other Death Eaters muttered to each other upon hearing this. Some of them had been present for Winters’ last punishment and everyone else had heard why he was reassigned from his post tending to Harry. The story had spread like wildfire. 

Voldemort walked dangerously close to Winters and drew his yew wand out of the sleeve of his robes.

“Crucio!” 

Winters writhed and squirmed on the floor, falling back and hitting his head repeatedly on the cold floor. Harry looked away-- he knew the debilitating, disorienting feeling of that spell. Even cast against someone who deserved punishment, he couldn’t stand to watch.

“Don’t look away, Hatchling,” hissed Nagini. “Master is working.”

“No…” hissed Harry as quietly as he could.

The spell ended and Winters lay panting on the floor.

“Get up, Winters,” spat Voldemort, kicking the man’s leg.

The Death Eater made his way to his hands and knees and moved to kneel at the feet of his Lord once more. Like nothing had happened. Only the trembling in his body gave away that anything was wrong with him.

“But things don’t end there, do they, Winters?” said Voldemort, pacing in front of him. “No… it gets worse.”

“My Lord, please…”

A wordless spell was cast at him that made Winters cry out in both shock and pain. He touched his face and his fingers were stained red.

“You were told to never approach Harry Potter again-- not even to lay eyes on him. And yet, two nights ago, you found yourself in his quarters. And you had the audacity to lie about the reason you were there,” said Voldemort. “Nott, what is it that Winters said to you when you discovered him emerging from the servants’ quarters?”

“He told me that Potter had tried to escape and that if he hadn’t been there, Potter surely would have succeeded,” said Nott, not missing a beat.

“But as I have found out through a reliable source, this did not occur,” said Voldemort. “No. Winters cornered him and assaulted him. Violated what is mine. This. Is. Unacceptable.”

The Death Eaters in the room broke out into whispers again. Draco raised his head to look at Harry. Harry did not want to meet his or anyone else’s eyes. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He could feel his face and neck burning. He wanted nothing better than to sink through the floor… for all of this to be over.

Voldemort ceased his pacing, stopping in front of Winters, his eyes furious, burning through him. The Death Eater visibly shuddered. He knew there was no way out of this.

“Crucio!”

Harry wasn’t sure how long Winters was held under the spell. His body twitched unnaturally and screams of agony ripped their way out of him, hitting Harry like a solid wall. Harry chanced a glance up at Voldemort and saw him smiling maniacly like demon straight out of hell.

“Crucio!”

The screams became impossibly louder, more ragged. Harry could feel himself shaking uncontrollably, unable to block out the torture that was happening in front of him. He couldn’t look, but he imagined blood flowing out of Winters’ mouth, dripping to the floor while he screamed. He imagined the Death Eater choking on his own saliva, fighting for breath, dying slowly… After several minutes, he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Stop it. Stop it! Just kill him and be DONE with it!!” Harry pleaded.

Voldemort ended the spell and Winters lay sobbing on the floor, the fluids in his ruined throat making him gurgle as he struggled to breathe. Harry’s heart was throwing itself against his ribcage. He shouldn’t have done it. Voldemort wanted to enjoy torturing his Death Eater and making an example of him.

Voldemort glared at Harry. 

“Come here, Potter.”

His heart skipped a beat. But slowly, he stepped over Nagini’s coils and approached the Dark Lord.

“Look at me,” said Voldemort. 

He brought his wand closer until it touched Harry’s chin, tilting his head up. Harry flinched at the wand’s proximity, but stared back into Voldemort’s red eyes, his breath hitching. But Voldemort lowered the wand and turned it so the handle was facing Harry.

“You want this to end so soon? Then you do it,” said Voldemort.

“What?!” gasped Harry.

“My Lord, is that wise?” asked Lucius, taking a step forward.

“Enough!” shouted Voldemort. 

Worldlessly, he pointed his wand at Harry’s wrists and cut the ropes that bound him. He pointed it again at his ankle and the metal cuff fell off. Something within Harry surged forward at the absence of his bonds. It was the closest thing to normal that he had felt in a long time.

Harry took the handle of the wand and a familiar feeling of warmth rushed up his arm. He felt… powerful…

No… I can’t do this… I won’t do this…

For a moment it felt like he was alone in the room. There were no Death Eaters, no Voldemort… He glanced around, evaluating the possibilities. He could create a distraction and leave through the door he came in. He could blast out the windows and jump before anyone realized what he’d done. He could kill Nagini-- there had to be a reason why Voldemort always kept her so close… why she seemed to be so attached to Harry when she had the opportunity to be around him, right?-- and then turn the wand on himself. Make Hermione and Ron’s job easier as they finished the hunt. 

His mind raced. 

The world came back into focus. A cool hand touched his, covering the hand that clenched around the yew wand. 

“Let me show you,” said Voldemort.

He pressed closely to Harry’s back and together, they turned to face Winters, still laying, completely shattered, in the middle of the floor. His breathing was erratic and louder than it should be. Voldemort, and by extension, Harry, lowered the wand so it was pointed at Winters’ chest.

“The key is to mean it, Harry,” said Voldemort. “You know the words, you just need the intent.”

“My L-L-Lord…” gasped Winters. “H-have mercy… p-p-please…”

He weakly spat out blood that gathered at his lips. Harry felt something curl in his gut. 

“Think of the harm he did to you, Harry,” whispered Voldemort in his ear. “You could right a severe wrong by ridding the world of him. He doesn’t deserve to live after what he did.”

Harry could feel his arm shake beneath Voldemort’s grasp.

“I-- I don’t know if…” said Harry quietly.

“My Lord, the boy is too weak,” said Rowle. “If it would please you, I would be happy to--”

“No!” shouted Voldemort, gripping Harry’s hand harder. “Harry must be the one to do this. A victim deserves revenge. A rapist does not deserve to walk free.”

I will help you, Harry heard in his head.

His vision blurred and once again, he was transported to another place, another time.

He was sitting in a dusty armchair in a house on a hillside. An old man came in through the door. He wasn’t supposed to be there. No one was supposed to be there. It was just himself and Wormtail and Barty. No one could know that they were here in this house. 

There was a flash of green.

The scene changed and he was in the same house, but in a different room. Two bodies of an older man and woman lay on the floor, their limbs laying at awkward angles. A middle-aged man stood before him, a look of fear painting his otherwise handsome features. Features he was well aware he had inherited. But he couldn’t be allowed to live, not for abandoning her in her time of need. And him, a mere infant. There was a flash of green and what light had danced behind the middle-aged man’s eyes was gone in an instant.

The scene changed and he was in a graveyard, being carried. He saw two boys-- two young men-- standing opposite him, but there was only one who was supposed to be there. The other couldn’t be allowed to leave-- he’d seen too much.

“Kill the spare!” he wheezed, his weakness getting to him.

With his wand, there was a flash of green before either of the boys could react properly. The older boy was dead, leaving the younger alone with a role to fulfill, though he didn’t know it yet. He would soon find out.

The scene changed and he was in a small cottage. Children and families in the village were celebrating Halloween and were dressed in frivolous costumes. No one had looked twice at him, thinking he was getting into the spirit of the holiday.

He was not. He had a job to do. The prophecy could not be fulfilled.

The man of the house had so bravely tried to stand up to him, yelling for his wife to take their child and go. But without a wand, he was helpless to fight back. 

Pity… he could have made an excellent Death Eater had he not been such a fool.

A flash of green and he collapsed on the stairs leading to the upper floor.

The young woman wasn’t much different. She stood between her son and the intruder. She was an excellent witch… for a Muggleborn. What could she have been under the instruction of pureblood mages? Her talent was squandered over a child who would not live to see the morning.

A flash of green.

The child cried in his crib having seen his mother fall. She’d scared him with the sound of her body hitting the floor. No matter, he’d make quick work of the child.

His wand glowed a faint green…

Harry returned to the present, his head swimming. He felt heat flow through the wood of the yew wand and saw the tip begin to glow a deadly green. There was a force that made Harry take a step back and a flash that blinded him for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, Winters was sprawled on the floor, unmoving, his glassy eyes unseeing.

I killed him, thought Harry, panic rising in his gut.

We killed him, came the reply in his head.

Then the wand was yanked out of his hand. Harry’s whole body trembled and he pulled away from Voldemort. Before he could react, bile rose in his throat and spilled onto the scuffed wood floor. Recovering, his eyes flicked up and briefly met the man’s red ones again. What was that look he was wearing?

Concern? It wasn’t bitterness or resentment… Yes… what else would it be besides worry? Harry didn’t know what to do about a concerned Voldemort.

The Dark Lord regained his composure again, stowing his wand back in his sleeve once again. He turned to face the remaining Death Eaters.

“Let this death be a warning to you all: Lord Voldemort is not to be tested,” said Voldemort. “Dolohov, Rowle… dispose of the body. This meeting is adjourned.”

“My Lord, I would be happy to return the boy to--” started Nott.

“No. Harry Potter will remain here a while longer,” said Voldemort. “You are dismissed with the others.”

Rowle and Dolohov came forward and hovered the body out of the room and out of sight. Harry idly wondered if Malfoy Manor had their own cemetery where family and the occasional non-Malfoy would be buried. The Death Eaters in the room paused before Voldemort briefly and bowed on their way out of the room.

They were alone.

There was silence between them that seemed to stretch on for hours. The longer they stood like this, the more Harry’s panic churned in his stomach and squeezed his lungs. Tears filled his eyes and streamed down his cheeks as all that had just happened sunk in. One sob escaped him followed by another. Harry sat on the ground.

“We need to talk,” said Voldemort.

“No shit,” said Harry. “Why did you make me do that?”

“I explained to you at the time-- a victim deserves their revenge,” said Voldemort.

“I didn’t want revenge!” said Harry. “I certainly didn’t want to be the one to… murder him.”

“He didn’t deserve to live, Harry,” said Voldemort.

“Maybe, but I’m not a killer,” said Harry. “Not by choice.”

“But isn’t it better that he’s gone?” asked Voldemort.

“He-- I…” Harry breathed out harshly. “I’m… glad he’s gone…”

“See now? That wasn’t so hard to admit,” said Voldemort. “But now… that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Then what did you want to talk about?” asked Harry.

“My time away was a moderate success. I did manage to find some possible answers to our… little problem…” said Voldemort.

“I thought it came with nothing but frustration and gaps in knowledge,” said Harry.

“What… makes you say that?” asked Voldemort.

“Our connection works both ways, remember?” said Harry.

Voldemort paused. 

“You… you didn’t know?” asked Harry. “I thought you--”

“I thought it was only the memories,” he said. “You were already seeing more than I wanted you to see. How could I have overlooked this?”

“Just add it to the list of things that need to be researched,” said Harry.

“Actually, Potter, I would like to conduct a series of experiments on top of continuing to research written records. Something is bound to work to remove the horcrux from your person and return it to me or another object of my choosing. But… one can only do so much reading,” said Voldemort.

“What would these experiments look like?” asked Harry.

“I think it’s best I keep that to myself. You may not like some of the methods,” said Voldemort. 

Harry didn’t like the sound of that. There seemed to be a pattern of this happening more and more lately…

“Um… do I have a choice in any of this?” asked Harry.

“Not when you house a fragment of my soul,” said Voldemort.

Harry sighed.

“I thought not…”

“We’ll begin tomorrow.”

“Yeah, alright.”

“I’ll return you to your room. You should not be bothered by anyone for the rest of the day. A house elf will bring you food at the proper times,” said Voldemort.

Without another word, Voldemort took Harry’s arm and without warning, they apparated out of the hall and into Harry’s quarters.

“May I see Draco?” asked Harry, once he’d gotten his feet under him.

“What for?” asked Voldemort.

“I don’t want to be alone,” said Harry simply.

“I suppose a short visit can be allowed,” said Voldemort.

“Thank you,” said Harry quietly.

“Until next time, Harry,” said Voldemort. He turned to walk out of the tiny room. 

“Wait,” said Harry.

“What is it now?” asked Voldemort, slightly exasperated.

“It’s just… why are you doing all of this? Winters… Draco… all of it? The Voldemort I know from weeks ago wouldn’t bother with any of this,” said Harry.

“Do you wish that I had locked you away for the rest of your life?”

“NO!” said Harry quickly. “No… but… I don’t totally understand…”

“I suggest you stop questioning each nicety I afford you and find some gratitude,” said Voldemort. “I am a merciful Lord when I want to be.”

Not knowing what else to say, Harry nodded, swallowing the remaining words that wanted to come out. 

Voldemort walked out, closing and locking the door behind him. It was then that Harry felt a heaviness appear on his ankle. He could feel his magic being contained by the cuff once again.

***

“We missed our opportunity,” said Draco, walking out of the passage and into the forest.

“What do you mean? We were supposed to do this today!” said Ron.

“I know that, Weasley. I’m very aware of the plan. But we can’t do that anymore,” said Draco.

“Why not?” asked Hermione, standing to join the conversation. 

“The Dark Lord returned earlier than even he anticipated. Something happened and he was rightfully furious. I think we need to lay low… maybe even wait until he is away from the manor again,” said Draco.

“No. We can’t do that,” said Ron instantly.

“I agree. Who knows what could happen to Harry in that time,” said Hermione. “Unless… you know that You-Know-Who will be leaving again soon?”

“I don’t know of any specific plans, but… he can’t stay here forever, right?” said Draco.

Hermione and Ron threw glances at each other.

“What’s really going on, Malfoy? I don’t understand how anything could go so unpredictably off track, even from You-Know-Who’s perspective, where now the entire plan has to change,” said Hermione.

“You don’t want to know, okay? Just trust me,” said Draco.

“Actually, we do,” said Ron.

Draco sighed. 

“Alright, don’t say I didn’t warn you…”

Draco recounted the last Death Eater meeting where Winters was tortured and killed in front of everyone. He described what little he knew of what happened to Harry and the condition he was left in when Draco had left the room with the other Death Eaters.

“I haven’t seen or heard from him since. Contact was already severely restricted on Potter. But I’ll do what I can to speak to him,” said Draco.

“I can’t believe it… any of it…” said Hermione incredulously. “I can’t imagine where Harry’s head is at the moment…”

“Is he sleeping?” asked Ron. 

“How should I know, Weasel?”

“Well… even at school, he hardly slept. After something like that, I can only imagine…”

“I’ll ask him,” said Draco. 

“Could you bring him a message?” asked Hermione. 

“I won’t bring anything inside that you write down, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s too risky. Our plan could be exposed before we ever start,” said Draco.

“I understand,” said Hermione. “Just… tell him that we love him. We’re trying our best.”

Draco nodded. Easy enough to commit to memory.

“Oh, one more thing… the enchantments? They’ve been updated for Potter’s magic,” said Draco. “No one has mentioned anything about a change, so I can only assume that my work has gone undetected. Perhaps the Dark Lord’s return came at a good time after all, if everyone was thoroughly distracted.”

Ron and Hermione stared at the ground, lost in thought.

“I’ll see if I can check on him tonight,” said Draco. “If it’s not explicitly permitted, there are ways for me to sneak in.”

***

Harry lay on his bed facing the desk on the opposite wall. It was dark outside. He was exhausted. But his whole body was shaking so badly that sleep evaded him. Not that he anticipated he would be sleeping much at all that night. Already, his mind replayed the afternoon with the Death Eaters and watching someone be tortured. It didn’t matter that Winters was an awful man who deserved whatever came to him. Seeing his blood on the floor, his body spasming out of control, his cracked voice begging for mercy… it all echoed back at him and all Harry could hear in time with the beating of his heart was your fault, your fault, your fault…

He’d been through a lot in his life. He’d seen plenty of things that no seventeen-year-old should ever have to see. It came with the territory of being Harry Potter. It came with the territory of growing up during a war. But how much more would he have to endure? How much longer would this have to be what his life looked like? Is this how he would spend the rest of his days? Followed by death, no matter which side of the war he was witnessing?

It all came down to what happened to this horcrux he unwittingly was housing. As much as he didn’t want to think about what Voldemort meant by “experiments,” he also couldn’t help but hope that something would work. He did wonder what he would be like without this extra part of him. Er, of Voldemort. Whoever… it was all too complicated to consider.

There was a knock on his door followed by the click of a lock. Harry closed his eyes against the hammering in his chest. Part of him worried his whole body would just vibrate right off the bed and onto the floor.

“Potter? What’s happening?”

“D-Draco…” stammered Harry. He hated how much effort it was taking him to get the words out, but he didn’t know how to fix it.

He felt the bed dip slightly at his feet.

“Draco, I c-can’t… s-s-stop…” said Harry as best he could through the shaking.

“Here,” said Draco.

When Harry opened his eyes he realized Draco was offering his arm. He took it and sat up, but the shaking didn’t subside.

“Are you cold?” asked Draco.

“No… n-not cold…”

“Can you tell me?”

“Draco…”

Tears fell from the young man’s eyes and his breathing was shaky. The blonde boy hesitated. He could tell that Harry was fighting something and was losing. But it was familiar. Draco remembered nights during sixth year when everything became too much and he couldn’t wrench his mind out of their tight spiral. He may not have had someone to lean on during those times… not really… but he knew what he wanted in those moments.

He helped Harry lay back down on the bed. Then, Draco moved himself backwards and lay down behind Harry. 

“Trust me, Potter…” Draco murmured. With that, he wrapped his arms around Harry and held him tightly, careful not to squeeze so hard that he couldn’t breathe. “Try and slow down your breathing… breathe like me…”

Draco exaggerated his own breathing, knowing Harry could feel how his body was moving. Gradually, he could feel Harry’s breathing slow down, matching his own. The shakes calmed and Harry stilled. Draco didn’t let go.

“Thank you… I’m sorry…” breathed Harry.

“Don’t be… we’ve all been there…” muttered Draco. “Merlin knows…”

“Even you?” asked Harry.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Draco.

“It was during sixth year, wasn’t it?” asked Harry, ignoring him. 

“Potter, you’re awfully dense sometimes, you know that?” said Draco. “Take a hint: I’m not talking about those things with you.”

“But why not talk about it?” asked Harry, now sitting up. He was drenched in sweat. He must have recently realized this because he wiped a sleeve across his forehead, mussing his hair more than usual. “Clearly it’s affected you more than you care to admit.”

Draco didn’t say anything. 

“He asks a lot of everyone, whether they’re in his service or not,” commented Harry. “He’s asked a lot of you from the very beginning.”

“My parents couldn’t protect me forever. I’m to carry on the Malfoy legacy,” said Draco. “Follow in my father’s footsteps.”

“He didn’t ask your father to kill one of the most powerful wizards of our time at age sixteen,” Harry pointed out. “That’s not a normal thing to ask of a teenager who recently received the Dark Mark.”

“Shut up, Potter,” snapped Draco. “You don’t know a damn thing about my life, so stop pretending like you do.”

“Sorry…” said Harry. “I’m just trying to say that I know what that weight feels like. There’s times where it feels like too much. Like it would be nice if it all just… ended one day.”

Draco’s lips tightened to a thin line.

“I don’t mean to assume anything,” said Harry. “But I also know that calming techniques like what you used on me don’t come naturally to anyone… that’s learned.”

Draco held his gaze, his eyes narrowing. 

“You know what else is learned?” asked Harry.

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me any way,” said Draco.

“Ideology. Hate,” said Harry.

“What are you trying to say?” asked Draco.

“I’m saying that I think we both have a choice,” said Harry. He bit his lip, like he was holding something back. “I… think that means we’ve both got more choice in things than we think. We don’t have to go along with everything we were taught when we were kids.”

“Yeah, alright,” huffed Draco. It was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “When did you get to be so wise, Potter?”

“Are you complimenting me, Malfoy?” asked Harry, a smirk crossing his lips.

“So what if I am?” said Draco, raising an eyebrow.

The two sat side by side on Harry’s bed, arms touching, eyes staring at their feet. The room was quiet.

“Thanks for coming to find me,” said Harry. “Does… he know that you’re here?”

“Yeah, he said you requested I come,” said Draco.

“Oh.”

“Why did you want me to come here?”

“Voldemort isn’t exactly the comforting type and there isn’t a Death Eater I trust,” said Harry bluntly.

“I’m a Death Eater,” Draco pointed out.

“Mmm… I have my doubts,” said Harry. “In any case, you let me talk, even a little bit. I feel a little less… crazy? Isolated? Something like that. I feel a little more human. That’s worth a lot.”

Draco nodded, still not taking his eyes off his polished shoes or Harry’s socks.

“They didn’t give you shoes?” asked Draco.

“No… I… don’t think they wanted me to try anything… I don’t know…” said Harry. “I don’t think I would resort to anything like that though.”

“You’ve never thought about it?” asked Draco. “Not that you should.”

“I’ve definitely thought about it. On the days when it seems like things couldn’t possibly get any worse. I have to stop and give myself reasons to keep going,” said Harry.

“Like what?”

“Like… Ron and Hermione. And the Weasleys,” said Harry. “They’re the only family I’ve got. I can’t let them down. I can’t let them live in a world that would rather they disappear.”

“You know, they love you. They’re trying their best,” said Draco.

“What do you mean?” asked Harry, looking at Draco for the first time in minutes.

“I can’t say anymore,” said Draco. He stood up, straightening his clothes.

“Why not?” asked Harry, standing up and facing him. 

“I have to go,” said Draco.

“No, please! You’re not saying something,” said Harry, reaching for Draco’s wrist.

“Unhand me, Potter,” said Draco. “Don’t make me hex you.”

“Why do you have to be like this?!” demanded Harry in frustration. “We had a nice moment and then you revert to being a prat!”

“I don’t owe you anything, Potter,” said Draco. 

“Don’t be such a git, Draco!”

Draco walked out of Harry’s door and was about to close it when Harry caught the wood of the door, pulled it open, and attempted to follow Draco down the hall.

Draco turned abruptly on his heel, swiftly aimed his wand, and shouted, “Flipendo!” sending Harry flying back into his quarters, hitting the opposite wall. 

“What the fuck Malfoy?!” shouted Harry, rubbing the back of his head where it had hit the wall.

“Stay in there or there will be greater consequences to face. You’re lucky it was just a knockback jinx this time,” said Draco. 

He swung the door shut, muttered a quick Colloportus and walked back down the hallway, leaving Harry to wallow in his thoughts once more.