Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Trust Issues

Did you notice you were driving past me?
Riding in the back seat when I saw you with her
83 days since ya ended things
But it feels like last week I was wearing your shirt

Trust Issues; Jessica Baio

Chapter 1

Rune Stones

It didn’t take long for him to go to the Dark Lord after he’d compiled everything he remembered from the future. It didn’t matter to him that for all extents and purposes he’d be abandoning everything everyone had told him was his destiny, was his obligation, was his duty. It didn’t matter that to others it may be seen as him betraying his parents and everything they’d stood for because to him?

They’d died for him. They’d died so that he could live. He rather so thought that if they were watching them they wouldn’t forsake the fact that going to the Dark Lord would allow him to continue to do so whereas staying on Dumbledore’s side would inevitably cause his death. Would be actively hoping for it due to the horcrux still housed in his head.

He gathered everything he would need from the Dursley’s which was to say nothing much at all. Undoing the trace on his wand was easy—he’d done that; had the designs to do that in the past but had nothing to do it for. Dulling his intelligence so he could fly under the radar was nothing new. He’d been doing that for years before he’d stepped foot onto Hogwarts grounds. The Dursley’s had punished any hint of him being more than intelligent due to the fact that Dudley wasn’t very smart or at the very least to lazy to be so. The only things he’d been carrying with him was the marauders map, his invisibility cloak, his wand and a few tomes he shrunk as soon as the trace had been cancelled.

After that, it was a matter of getting out of the Dursley’s house undetected. That too was easy. No one was watching the house and Dumbledore wasn’t scheduled for a visit to Slughorn until weeks if not a month away. The Dursley’s let him out of the house more often than they kept him inside as he’d took to wandering and coming back later. Often he’d just sat in the park, gliding back and forth on the rackety swing that creaked with every movement.

No one was watching so he’d left. He knew that the blood wards wouldn’t fall until he considered where the Dark Lord was staying was home. Added to the fact that the blood protections would technically shift to others of his blood—Narcissa for an example due to his blood adoption to Sirius when he was naught but a babe. His mother may have died for him, activating the Evans blood, but James had inadvertently done the same by protecting them both and allowing them time to try and flee. His mother had been a Black and that meant that other blood relatives, not matter how diluted, had the chance to offer him protection like Petunia had failed to do so.

Apparation was hardly a stretch any more. He may not have learned to do it in this time line, had not even thought himself possible of it. But he’d learned in the future, studied the logistics of it and how to do it silently—after all the more powerful the more silent it was and Harry was nothing if not powerful—and so with naught but a sound, he disappeared from Privet Drive Surrey and landed in Wiltshire in a matter of seconds. He approached the black iron gate and let his magic poke at it.

Minutes passed. He took to examining the grounds, slightly in awe over it. Lucius Malfoy may have been arrogant and spoiled but he had everything to be arrogant and spoiled about if he lived in a place like Malfoy Manor. The grounds were utterly spectacular, the gardens that he could just barely see beautiful and the peacocks roaming the grounds magnificent. It was when he was eyeing some rune work on the base of the iron gates that Lucius himself appeared, eyes widening imperceptibly at the sight of him.

The iron gates screeched open, magic guiding them. Harry stepped forward, dipping into a shallow bow. “Greetings, Lord Malfoy. I am here to request to meet with your supreme guest.” Harry pulled himself up, smiling politely at the frozen blonde. Lucius was quick to shake off his surprise and bowed back hesitantly.

“Greetings, Heir Potter.” Harry cleared his throat and let his Lordship rings become visible. Lucius stared at them for a long while, blinking slowly. “Ah, my apologies. Greetings, Lord Potter-Peverell-Gryffindor. A meeting with my guest? I’m afraid we don’t have any guests in Malfoy Manor at the moment.” Lucius’s voice shook a little, a sign of his anxiety. Harry’s smile widened and he tilted his head to the side.

“So the Dark Lord isn’t residing in Malfoy Manor?” Harry asked softly. Lucius froze, eyes narrowing at Harry’s serene face. “No matter. I can always come back later when you get into contact with him. Regardless, I am not here to just talk to the Dark Lord; I also come to talk to Lady Malfoy.” Harry explained. “If I may come into your home that is?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Lucius mumbled, looking dazed. His voice sounded slightly stunned. Harry walked after the blonde pureblood. The stretch of land they covered to make their way to the front doors was silent. Neither of them spoke. The large double doors opened as soon as they were in two feet of them, revealing a pleasantly surprising light hall.

“Your home is lovely, Lord Malfoy.” Harry complicated, looking around with soft eyes. “I can see why Heir Malfoy is always bragging about it.” His eyes went to the portraits lining the walls and he dipped his head in a downwards tilt. The portraits seemed to preen at his attention just like the peacocks lining the grounds. He supposed not many of them were talked to or even acknowledged—Harry doubted that the Death Eaters out of Azkaban would have the mental capacity to take care of themselves let alone paying attention to the portraits that surrounded themselves day to day.

“Thank you.” Lucius said, leading him towards what Harry remembered in his last life was a mixture of a throne room and meeting room. Unsurprisingly, the Manor seemed to get darker the further they went—likely due to all the dark magic being used in these few rooms.

“Ah, I see.” Harry said, looking around. “If I may oppose a few words, Lord Malfoy, I would suggest cleansing this part of the Manor weekly so that dark magic doesn’t seep into the walls. Simply a cleansing rune stone, a bit of your blood, no more than ten drops, and a few words of Latin and the dark magic will be housed in the stone to be released in a way that can help your grounds grow healthier and quickly—particularly herbs and potion ingredients in the gardens.” Harry told the male, noting that Lucius was listening intently to what he was saying as though he’d tried to get rid of the matter before but had failed. 

“Interesting. This cleansing rune stone? Where would I acquire one?”

Harry smiled, holding out a hand and handing the summoned stone into his palm. “Consider it a gesture of good will. We are family after all through Lady Malfoy.” Lucius took it, surprised, sliding it into the pocket of his immaculate robes and tilted his head to the side. He tapped his cane to the door and a hiss came. Lucius tensed once more and then opened the door, gesturing him inside. When he stepped foot into the meeting room, the air was heady and dense with Voldemort’s magic, and he had to squeeze his own warningly when it wanted to come out and wrap around the formers.

“Harry Potter.” Came the hissed words from Voldemort. Harry swept forward, noticing that some of his classmates were frozen, staring at him with panicked eyes. Bellatrix was watching him with manic, insane eyes, held back by Narcissa, who’s gaze flickered between Lucius and himself. Harry dipped into a deep bow, straightening elegantly.

“Greetings, Lord Slytherin, Champion of the Dark.” Harry said, voice light and smooth. No hints that he was feeling any hesitation or nervousness. He wasn’t after all; he and Voldemort had always been connected in a magical way. The only reason Voldemort had hunted Harry so viciously when he was a babe and teenager was due to the fact he was his prophesised down fall. But now Harry was removing himself from the equation, was placing himself in Voldemort’s troupe. The Light’s weapon being used as the Dark’s bridge towards victory.

Voldemort didn’t move, blinking red eyes slowly at him. Judging him. “I am surprised to see you here without protection. One would think you’ve betrayed your dear mentor.” Voldemort drawled softly. Harry merely smiled, saying nothing as Voldemort continued. “Why should I not kill you now? Where you stand?”

“Because I am inadvertently more valuable to you alive than dead. And Dumbledore knows this.” Harry said softly. He took a step forward and then kneeled in front of the Dark Lord. Startled gasps echoed from the Ladies around the room whilst the Lords inhaled sharply at the act of deference. And to them it would be a shock. Those in the graveyard had seen how unwilling he’d been to bow to the Dark Lord, had to be forced, had to be imperioed to obey. And now here he was. Bowing without prompt. Deferring to the Dark Lord without a hint of hesitation nor regret.

He didn’t bow his head. Merely waited as Voldemort reached a pale long finger out and brushed his fringe back. “The symbol of my downfall.” Voldemort hissed, face drawing into a scowl. Harry tilted his head to the side.

“Or your way to victory.” Harry said, smiling. Voldemort’s eyes pressed into his and he said nothing for a long moment. “Use your magic on me. You’ll realise. You’ve always been smart and knowledgeable.” Watching Voldemort parse through the meaning of those words, he waited. Then a tip of that long finger pressed against his scar and that heady magic enveloped him. His eyelashes fluttered in pleasure from the contact. Then it was gone abruptly as it’d pressed in.

🐍My horcrux.🐍 Voldemort hissed, eyes widening slightly. Harry nodded his head and thought about rising but decided against it. This position was hardly hurting him, and he knew to the outside world it’d put him more in their favour as it looked like he was following their Lord. “You knew.” It wasn’t a question, but Harry nodded anyway. “And what is it you want?”

“Simply.” Harry let a smirk, dark and cold, lift his lips. “You.”

The room went silent. Then it roared with voices and exclamations. Loyal Death Eaters spat slurs at him for daring to be so presumptuous. Other were muttering beneath their breaths on reasons Harry could want the Dark Lord. Dumbledore and his Order came up frequently. As the fact that he may be a spy sent to infiltrate their ranks and report back to the elderly manipulative male. Voldemort lifted a hand and silence reigned once more.

“Quiet.” Voldemort hissed softly. His red gaze was focused on Harry, slightly narrowed. “What could you possibly want with me?”

Instead of speaking in English, Harry resorted to Parseltongue, his dark smirk still on his face, hidden to all except the Lord in front of him. 🐍It’s more the matter of what I can give you. I’m not much of a politician. I can give you ideas, the ground works for laws and movements but all the official wording? I’m useless at that. I’m much like Lady Malfoy. A homebody. A housewife—or in my case a househusband. I’d hand my titles to you. Gryffindor. Potter. Peverell.🐍

Voldemort’s eyes went wide, just a fraction. For a moment, he looked well and truly stunned. Harry didn’t hold back the smile then, revelling in the shock of the Dark Lord. He carried on, further driving in the point. 🐍I’m good at taking care of the home. I like it. I’m comfortable with it. I prefer it. I can fight, yes. Do I like it? No. I much prefer to run a home, to organise things; meetings, galas, balls. I’ve been told I’d be the perfect consort to a Lord, several times in fact. But I only want the best. That’s you. I could give you power, I could give you titles lost to time, I could give you heirs, children. I could give you the world. I could give you the token to win the war. All I want is to be your consort—be your side when you change the wizarding world into something better; something great.🐍

Harry tilted his head as soon as he was finished, merely watching the way Voldemort processed this, jaw working and muscle ticking in his gaunt jaw. Crimson eyes roamed over his face, trading between both eyes, flickering towards the Death Eaters and their families sitting in front of them. “Truly?” He breathed softly, sounding hesitant and a mixture of hopeful and questioning. “Is that truly what you want? No tricks, no turn backs, no knives in the back?”

“No tricks. No turn backs. No knives in the back.” Harry agreed. He met Voldemort’s eyes, letting the shields of his Occlumency fall just a tad. The memories of his future was locked up in an impregnable wall of steel and iron and no one would break through it, not even the Dark Lord himself. Not even Severus Snape. Those memories were his and his alone and no one would be able to see them, not if he didn’t want them to. Perhaps in the future … perhaps if he fell in love with the Dark Lord and was loved completely in return … just perhaps.

Voldemort, like usual, was quick on the uptake and within seconds was sliding into his mind. He was far more gentle than he’d ever been before. Memories flashed by him quickly, too quick for him to watch, but slow enough for Voldemort to get the baseline feelings from them. Loneliness, fear and sadness were prevalent. Rage and agony were next. Soft warmth and adoration followed. And then hope and content when seeing the memories that lead Harry to kneeling where he was now—awe and wonder and home when Voldemort’s magic curled delightfully around him.

The Dark Lord slipped out of his mind slowly, lingering. Almost hesitant to leave. Harry smiled as Voldemort tilted his head, jaw working more as he pondered. The silence was tense and wondering. The Death Eaters and their families were holding their breaths, waiting for Voldemort’s decision. The one sided conversation of Parseltongue and English had them moderately unaware of what was occurring between their Lord and their prophesised enemy.

“Rise then, my consort.” Voldemort said, voice ringing throughout the room. Someone gasped. Harry smiled, smug and menacing. It was the smile of someone who’d won. And the Dark Lord seemed to know this for he chuckled as Harry obeyed him, rising slowly. The Dark Lord’s gaze roved over him, examining and picking him apart, looking hungry and approving at the same time. Warmth curled delightfully in his gut and Harry knew that without a doubt that if the Death Eaters had not been in the room, he'd be face down on the floor with Voldemort laying claim to him.

A shudder of pleasure and arousal wracked through him at the picture that followed that particular thought. He was in no way a voyeuristic person; would rather so avoid that in all honesty but there was something heady in the fact that to be shown he was Voldemort’s to his followers was arousing in many ways. Voldemort smirked at him before turning to face the Death Eaters.

“My loyal followers,” Voldemort started, a victorious look on his skeletal face, “rejoice for we have been handed the key to winning the war. Our prophesised enemy is no more. He has decided to bow out of the war and join our side. He is to be my consort; you will refer to him as you do me. Any hints of threats towards him will be taken care of accordingly. His protection is paramount.” Voldemort swept his gaze over them all as if to reaffirm his statement and threat, a loose smirk building on his mouth. Then they were on Harry, blinking slowly at him. “Who would you like to give you a tour?”

“Ah.” Harry said, roving his eyes over the group in front of him. He paused, pondering for a moment. Voldemort was patient as he thought. “Truthfully, Lord and Lady Malfoy. The first thing I want to do as a consort is get rid of this dark magic clinging to the walls.” Voldemort blinked at him, frowning as he looked around like he had truly not noticed the aura clinging to the Manor.

“Why?” Voldemort asked.

Harry turned to Voldemort incredulously. “Really?” Harry was amused; for all the knowledge Voldemort had in his brain, stored like a library inside his mind, he was rather slow on the upkeep when it came to homes and how they were perceived. “Malfoy Manor is a highly perceived pureblood home. It’s noted in many documents in the Ministry. It’s written down well; the coordinates are easily found. More to the point, it has been a focus point of raids since long before I’ve been alive.”

“Hm.” Voldemort said thoughtfully, eyes still roving over the room, looking curious.

“Which means that future raids that haven’t been cleared with the Ministry isn’t unthinkable. Lord Malfoy may be able to hide dark artifacts easily enough but pure dark magic breeding in the walls of his home is a dead give away to what’s been going on inside his Manor. What’s been taking place. And if it’s connected to the fact that this is your meeting place then others will stop at nothing to stake the place, with or without Lord and Lady Malfoy’s consent. They’ll force an attack in the chance that you’re here and if you aren’t, it’ll be brushed under the rug due to the fact that many of the light have not so easily forgiven or forgotten the last war. The Ministry needs to act after last year and raids towards known Death Eaters homes are something the public will be in support of.” Harry spread his hands, gesturing to the room they were in.

“Getting rid of the dark magic cloying to the walls erases that target on Malfoy Manor. It allows everyone to slip away if on the off chance a raid does happen. It stops the chance that one of your major followers goes to Azkaban—and stops the massive planning and actions that go into breaking him out of Azkaban. In addition that dark magic can be used for useful things. Potion ingredients—the magic helps them grow faster and quicker, more potent. Healing potions for after battles that you’re running low on and poisons for taking care of enemies that just won’t die. Or just the gardens of the Manor if plants are stubbornly refusing to grow—it also helps barren areas regain themselves.” Harry explained, turning to face the Dark Lord who was watching him intently.

“You’re knowledgeable about this.” Voldemort murmured, interested. Harry shrugged his shoulders minimally. He faced the walls of Malfoy Manor again, wistfulness in his eyes and face.

“I like reading. I like houses and wards mainly. Say what you want on the Weasley’s, but the eldest boys went into very knowledgeable fields that require years of study and books. William is the goblins highest warder and very good at what he does. He explained a few things and I followed them up with more research and study.” He told the Dark Lord, smiling softly. Voldemort hummed quietly.

“Would you allow us to watch then?” Lord Corvus Lestrange questioned, stepping forth, wrinkled brow furrowing in curiosity. “It would be nice to practice our magic and not be vilified for it when the light side comes knocking unwantedly.” Corvus said, glancing sharply at Voldemort after a moment of silence. Voldemort merely inclined his head, peering at Harry, who looked to Lucius.

“It’s up to Lord Malfoy. He’d have to let his magic out and I’ve heard that some find it an intimate thing to do.” Harry told the rest of the room. Lucius hummed, looking torn before sharing a soft look with his wife. Narcissa merely shook her head, fond smile on her face.

“You have nothing to be fearful about, dear. I’ve told you time and time again that you’re magic is wonderful to behold; if a bit shocking at first to see when you make it visible.” At the questioning looks the others threw her, she looked about to explain but Harry just chuckled, giggling a little to himself.

“I think it’s rather fitting.” Harry said. “To the looker it’s pure white. To the feeler, it’s as dark as they come.” Harry explained. Lucius’s nose scrunched in displeasure at the shocked looks but sighed in agreement. No one seemed surprised that even without Lucius letting his magic out and visible that Harry was able to see and feel it. It was inconceivable to underestimate Harry Potter and no one was willing to do it again after he’d kneeled in front of the Dark Lord and became his consort.

“I do not mind doing it in front of everyone.” Lucius told Harry, who nodded, descending the steps leading up to the throne Voldemort was perched on. As soon as he moved away, the Dark Lord moved forward, leaning closer on his chair as if trying to soak up the warmth of him before he moved away completely. Harry smiled and made his way to Lucius, gesturing him to stand in the middle of the room.

“First of all, the rune stone.” Lucius dug it out of his pocket, holding it aloft in his palm. “Palm up, fingers spread. Let it rest in the middle of your hand. The rune should be facing upwards, not downwards.” Lucius obeyed, frowning softly. “Before we go onto the second part, you have to know that this cleansing is like a ritual but has no mention of sacrifice. No fatigue or tiredness after. No magical strain. But it does require asking for Lady Magic herself. She loves magic of all kinds. Light, grey, dark. Think of it like a transaction; you’ve done this magic and now Lady Magic is rewarding you by turning it into something that can help and heal and grow. The offer must be in Latin as it’s the purest form of lyrical magic.”

“Interesting.” Rabastan whispered, scribbling what he was saying down on a piece of parchment, self-inking quill clutched tightly in his hand.

“The offer is as followed: Domina Magica, relíquias magiae nunc perfectae tibi offero. Te rogo ut id in aliquid vertas quod possim ad ulterius exercitandum uti.” Harry recited, flicking a wrist. Immediately, several dozen copies were sprawled onto several pieces of parchment, being floated over to every Lord or Lady in the place, dropping onto the tables in front of them.

“What does it mean?” Rabastan asked, tongue poking out in concentration as he snagged the parchment from his elder brother. Rodolphus grumbled but allowed his younger brother to take it with an eye roll.

“Lady Magic, I offer you the remnants of magic now finished. I ask you to turn it into something that I can use to practice further.” Harry explained, glancing at the Malfoy Lord to see him mouthing it beneath his breath. Harry summoned one of the parchments in front of Lady Malfoy, getting a raised eyebrow and hidden smile as he floated it in front of Lucius, who blinked at it. “Now that that’s been explained, there’s another requirement. Whilst you need to let your magic out, your magic won’t be absorbed or taken into the rune stone. Mostly, it’s for your wards if you have any. Since this is Lord Malfoy’s home and he is linked into the wards and has control over them—though the control part isn’t necessary—it ensures there’s no negative reaction to pulling out the dark magic.”

Rodolphus frowned. “So anyone keyed into the wards could do this?”

“Yes. Though if you want the dark magic to be completely gone in one try, it’s more helpful to be the person who has the most control over the wards. For Malfoy Manor that would be Lord Malfoy. It’d take him once. Lady Malfoy twice due to the fact that she’d have the second most control over the Manor and then Heir Malfoy three times. It doesn’t matter how much power you have, just how much you take care of your wards and home.” Harry said. “Though what you do need it blood to purify the stone into something that can help, can grow, can use further. Lady Magic can only get you so far. Only ten drops. No more, no less. It’s much like an inheritance test at Gringotts or signing official documents with a blood quill.” Harry said, turning to Lucius.

“If I may?” Lucius nodded and held out his other hand. Harry pulled out a ritual dagger from his pocket and pressed the sharp point into his index finger. He watched the Lord flinch and then once blood was welling up, he guided it over the stone and squeezed. Counting the amount and pulling away when it got to ten, healing it absentmindedly, he glanced up. “Now, release your magic and chant the Latin words please.” Harry stepped back and walked back to Voldemort, seating himself on one of the steps just as Lucius released his magic.

Pure white floated around the room. Harry had been right. The magic was white like the males hair, pure and light. But it felt dark and imposing, almost on par with the Dark Lord’s. It just wasn’t as dark—he wasn’t as powerful, so it wasn’t as thick. Smiling when he saw black tendrils begin to seep from the walls, incredulous eyes darting between them and Harry himself, he leaned back on his hands and simply watched the magic be absorbed into the rune stone.

When it was finished, the room felt lighter, and sunshine got in easier. It was easier to see everyone. The shadows weren’t as large. It looked much like the entrance hall; beautiful and airy. Someone to sit and just be. Harry watched Lucius stare around with wide eyes before he tucked the rune stone into his pocket, looking to a happy Narcissa as she examined the room.

“I had not noticed.” Voldemort murmured quietly. “Just how dark it had become. Now that it is gone, I do notice the difference.” Harry tilted his head back as far as he could, leaning back on his hands and gave an upside down smile.

“Now you know and can correct it in the future.” Harry told the Dark Lord, who merely gazed down at him in contemplation as if thinking something through in his mind. A tilt of his head was the only sign that his reasoning was being put into perspective as Voldemort examined him.

“You’re going to change the world, aren’t you?” The Dark Lord whispered, a small light of wonder sparking in his eyes. Harry did nothing but smile innocently as he turned back to watch the seeping tendrils of magic pulse into the rune stone. A throaty chuckle was the only indication that Voldemort had seen his mischievous gaze.

After all, Harry did plan to change the world—he’d already started. Consider him on the board Dumbledore. And this time Harry planned to win with Voldemort at his side.

Chapter Text

Trust Issues

Previously (Chapter 1: Runes Stones) on Trust Issues

Pure white floated around the room. Harry had been right. The magic was white like the males hair, pure and light. But it felt dark and imposing, almost on par with the Dark Lord’s. It just wasn’t as dark—he wasn’t as powerful, so it wasn’t as thick. Smiling when he saw black tendrils begin to seep from the walls, incredulous eyes darting between them and Harry himself, he leaned back on his hands and simply watched the magic be absorbed into the rune stone.

When it was finished, the room felt lighter, and sunshine got in easier. It was easier to see everyone. The shadows weren’t as large. It looked much like the entrance hall; beautiful and airy. Somewhere to sit and just be. Harry watched Lucius stare around with wide eyes before he tucked the rune stone into his pocket, looking to a happy Narcissa as she examined the room.

“I had not noticed.” Voldemort murmured quietly. “Just how dark it had become. Now that it is gone, I do notice the difference.” Harry tilted his head back as far as he could, leaning back on his hands and gave an upside down smile.

“Now you know and can correct it in the future.” Harry told the Dark Lord, who merely gazed down at him in contemplation as if thinking something through in his mind. A tilt of his head was the only sign that his reasoning was being put into perspective as Voldemort examined him.

“You’re going to change the world, aren’t you?” The Dark Lord whispered, a small light of wonder sparking in his eyes. Harry did nothing but smile innocently as he turned back to watch the seeping tendrils of magic pulse into the rune stone. A throaty chuckle was the only indication that Voldemort had seen his mischievous gaze.

After all, Harry did plan to change the world—he’d already started. Consider him on the board Dumbledore. And this time Harry planned to win with Voldemort at his side.

Chapter 2

Healing Scrolls

Harry swept his eyes over the wizards and witches, old and young alike seated in the room, lips twisted in thought. Who best to go about this situation with? Rabastan seemed like a good fit; there was a Ravenclaw hiding in snakes skin just like he himself was a snake hidden in the lions den. He stood from where he was still seated on the steps leading up to the Dark Lord’s throne and descended them slowly, eyes fixated on the male.

Rabastan was once a handsome pureblood, and he would be again when he properly healed from Azkaban’s cruel regimen. Lucious hair was now brittle and thin, shorn behind his ears and barely a wisp of what once was beautiful curls. His eyes were a dull blue from the fifteen years spent inside the dementor reigned prison. There was life coming back to them despite that. The academic prospects Harry had offered him with the work on the rune stone was helping Rabastan find a purpose once more instead of the continued cycle of healing and fighting and strategies.

Rabastan was a good fighter, Harry knew that well from his first life. He was quick and sharp. Vicious and talented. Some of the spells he’d casted were still unnameable to him and unfound, so much so that Harry had no doubt he was working to become a spell creator later in his life if the Dark Lord had never rose to heights in Britain when he was a young teen.

Watching him write now, not even looking up even though he could probably sense Harry’s gaze on him, had him completely one hundred percent sure that what he was about to do was the right choice. “I want Rabastan.” Harry said to Voldemort. The Dark Lord went still. Rabastan’s head snapped up, eyes widening as he automatically reached for his brother, lips quivering.

“Excuse me?” Corvus asked, voice shaking.

“Oh, not like that.” Harry said, amused. “No, I want him to be my helper. Spells, academics, research. Like I told our Lord, I like research. I’m good at coming up with plans. I just hate the execution and leg work of actually doing them. And I have a feeling that with Rabastan helping, we’ll completely transform the Ministry and Wizardengot into something greater. Out of everyone in this room when we were going through the process of pulling the strands of dark magic from the walls, Rabastan was the only one that sought to ask questions and take the time to fully know the process into how to do so. That’s what I want.”

“Someone who asks questions.” Voldemort murmured, looking interested at Harry’s thought process.

“That and someone not afraid to admit they have no idea what I’m talking about and yet, will go to heights unseen to find out instead of relying on me to be the pages of knowledge to a book they haven’t yet read.” Harry told the Dark Lord, not looking away from the stunned face of Rabastan staring at him in bafflement. Rodolphus was looking between the two of them in hesitation, wariness on his face. “Someone that won’t rely on one text to guide their way but research every possibility. I want a Ravenclaw hidden in Slytherin robes. And I’ve found one.” Harry said, eyes roving over Rabastan slowly, humming softly beneath his breath.

“Very well. You’ll have Rabastan. He shall be taken out of the fights and battles if any come up.” Voldemort nodded his head, watching Harry watch Rabastan.

“I’ll need his healer regime. A list of the potions he’s on. His diet plan.” Harry said, looking to Corvus, who blinked rapidly at him, Adam’s apple trembling as he swallowed heavily. Corvus glanced at the Dark Lord, looking scared and baffled, unsure how to act in front of their once enemy and now consort and second in command. Voldemort cleared his throat, looking a little ashamed now. “Merlin and Morgana, you haven’t got them, have you?”

“No.” Voldemort grumbled. Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to ignore the utter foolishness of the Dark Lord in front of him. Without a second thought, he flicked a wrist, and two scrolls began to unfurl, appearing from nothingness in front of the two Lestrange brothers, ink flowing rapidly in cursive over the expanse of it. He walked around the room, picking out those that’d been in Azkaban, doing the same to them and then summoned the scrolls once they stilled in the air, reading over them slowly.

“Do you at least have a healer here? Someone qualified.” Harry said before Voldemort could open his mouth to answer. The Dark Lord said nothing. Even without looking and knowing that his future bonded’s face was blank, he would be pouting if he could. Voldemort didn’t like being shown up and bested, but Harry was his horcrux and now his consort; his ideas and thoughts would be taken seriously unlike on the light side—on Dumbledore’s side. He’d be listened to here and it was unlike anything had ever felt before. Despite his irritation on the sheer stupidness of not trying to heal the escapees of Azkaban, he was happy and relieved that no one was trying to stop him and more to the point, listening to him properly.

“I went through a little of healers training. Of course, I had to stop because I was pregnant with Draco.” Narcissa said, wetting her lips. “Most of us here work in the Ministry. Others still doing their Masteries or in school.” She told him. Harry’s eyes roved over them, narrowing at some as he tried to parse through who was doing a Mastery and what Mastery they’d be working on.

“Interesting.” Harry whispered. “Alright then. I want my own healer here then. And my own potions master.” Harry said, spinning just slightly to face the Dark Lord, who was frowning at the escapees of Azkaban. In Harry’s opinion, though he knew that no one would agree, the Dark Lord did look a tad guilty. It was no surprise. Voldemort had gotten them out but had no foresight to make sure they recovered from their time in hells halls. It was almost like he’d got the impossible job done simply because it was impossible and then once it was finished, had forgotten about it entirely. With every person who had that mark on their arms, he’d sworn a promise to help them make a better future and yet he’d let them down when it had counted the most just like the Death Eaters when Voldemort had been vanquished that Samhain night. Harry wondered if he was comparing the hypocrisy of what the speech he’d spoken in the graveyard.

“And they’re trusted?” Voldemort asked, tilting his head to the side. Harry shot him a glance.

“I trust them with my life.” Harry said. The Dark Lord hesitated before sighing and nodding. Harry brightened at the perceived acceptance and pulled off his necklace, murmuring something to it, too quiet for the Death Eaters to here and then pressed his thumb to the middle. Whilst that message was working through, he focused his magic on lifting the chairs with the Azkaban escapees together, ignoring the way they yelped and clutched tightly onto their chairs. He placed them next to each other and pressed the back of his hand to their foreheads, holding their hands for a moment to check their temperatures. He didn’t even touch Bellatrix, nose wrinkling a little at the sight of her, steering clear of the witch.

“Low temperatures. Shivers.” Harry muttered to himself, examining the tables. He made a triumphant sound and stole some chocolate, urging them to take a few pieces. “Warmth. Chocolate.” Harry said, flicking an absentminded hand. His patronus curled from inside him, prancing over to the Azkaban escapees, settling down in the middle of them and preening, large antlers moving side to the side at the appreciative noises and eyes that went to it. Rabastan reached for it, eyes widening when his hand didn’t go through it but rather he was able to run his hand down it as though he truly was stroking course fur from a real stag.

Harry sat down on a chair that floated over, crossing a leg over the other as he grasped onto the scrolls detailing everything that was wrong with the Azkaban escapees but didn’t detail what would do to help them recover from their injuries. He kept a watchful eyes on the escapees, noting that colour seemed to have come back to their cheeks and pale faces, pink brimming beneath the apples of their cheeks. Rabastan’s hand was hardly shaking as he stroked Prongs, his eyes brighter than Harry had ever seen before in his last life and he looked content in a way he most likely hadn’t felt in fifteen years.

Lucius jerking like someone had poked him in the back had him moving his gaze from the escapees and the scrolls belonging to them, to the blonde as the former got to his feet. A glance to the Dark Lord and a flick of a hand to dismiss him was the only thing that happened before Lucius was apparating towards where Harry had met him on the ground almost an hour ago now. He went back to reading then, noting that Barty needed something special to be crafted for him due to the imperio being used on him for almost a decade by his own father to keep him from running away, ruffling through the scrolls once more to try and find common ailments. He needed to know what things to buy or be made in bulk.

The Malfoy Lord returning had his gaze lifting to see Charlie Weasley and the twins entering into the room behind the blonde. A faint sneer was on Lucius’s lips though it fell hastily upon meeting Harry’s hard, narrowed gaze. A deferring happened then but Harry’s gaze was already moving on to meeting Charlie’s, floating over the scrolls. Without a word, Charlie took them from the air and seated himself, murmuring quietly to himself as he went over the written injuries.

“Fred, I need your potions mastery for this. A mass batch for these ten escapees and some potions for Barty for the imperio curse if you can find any mention of them.” Harry said, watching the way the twins eyes ran over the ten escapees and Crouch, who was sitting there a little confused, tongue flicking out onto his lips every five minutes in a strange tick Barty seemed to have developed.

“Got it.” Fred walked over to Charlie, pulling out his wand from a green dragonhide holster wrapped around his wrist, flicking a wrist. A muggle whiteboard appeared with the logistics of a prank idea. A camera appeared and Fred took a picture of the formula, wiping it away from the board as soon as the picture was printed and sent back alongst with the camera to their shop. “Names?” Fred asked the escapees, drawing columns alongst the long board. He wrote their names in neat capital blocks, listening to Charlie start to list the potions to be made and used for each of the escapees. “Special potion for Barty, one to do with the imperio curse. Give me some time, Harrikins, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, Freddie.” Harry said, turning to face George now as the other two were absorbed in what they were doing. George narrowed his eyes at the patronus, whipping out a notebook and muggle biro, taking notes. “You’ve probably guessed it, George, but I need ten of those necklaces you made for Sirius, imbued with a patronus charm. I’ll provide the patronus. You provide the necklaces. I want runes on the back of them so they can only be taken off by the wearer. Their magical signature needs to be imbued in them as well.” George glanced up, nodding sharply, face serious and calm as he scribbled.

“I can find a way to incorporate a bracelet with runes, soaked in a potion for Barty to help pull the weeds of the imperio still sticking to him.” George said, glancing to Barty and narrowing blue eyes at the male. “He’ll be more docile after the decade of being put under, more likely to follow orders, no matter who’s asking. You were lucky that as soon as he escaped from Crouch Manor he sought you out,” George said to Voldemort, ignoring the slow narrowing of his crimson eyes, “breaking the charm was the hard put but the recovery is even harder. He would’ve followed anyone if they asked with enough authority. If an auror had spotted him and told him to stand down, he would’ve done it without thought and without a fight.”

“I—I would?” Barty’s voice shook a little. George nodded, not saying anything as he pulled out a chair, sitting himself down and flicking to another page to continue to journal his ideas.

“Bill could work on the runes. He can read Gobbledegook so we can ask if the goblins have got anything. A vow of secrecy of course will be easy to get from him.” George said, tuning out the outside world and speaking quietly as though he wasn’t aware he was voicing out his thoughts, tapping the end of the biro to his lips. A shake of the head and then George was quiet as he wrote.

“I’d suggest no strenuous activities for them for a week after the potions have started. They’ll be nauseous and fatigued when the potions start to make their way through their systems.” Charlie started. Ten of them had been placed on the table and Charlie was clutching the last one in his lap with a white knuckled grip. “We’ll have to wait for some treatments. Broken bones healed wrong from the guards I’d assumed. It’d be better to just vanish them and use some skele-gro to grow them back. I don’t want them negatively interacting with the other potions in their system. Add down some dreamless sleep, half the strength for those with the broken bones, Fred.” Charlie directed the red head, who obeyed, curling cursive written alongst the board. It was practically covered in writing.

“When can you get it done by?” Harry asked softly but his voice still carried, holding weight to it that not many witches and wizards had when speaking. They just weren’t capable of it. George didn’t even look up.

“The necklaces? Two days’ time or maybe three. Early morning delivery. Putting them on before breakfast is a good idea so we’ll drop them off at seven. The shop gets all dolled up at eight and opens at nine. For the bracelet for Barty it varies,” George crossed something off on what he was writing, frowning softly to himself. “Bill would be best for those runes for the bracelet and he’s on a dig in Egypt for the next week and a half. Special occasion—a legendary ward smith came out of retirement for this dig and is taking Bill under his wing. So after two weeks should be an appropriate estimate.” George tapped the end of the biro to his lip and looked up sharply.

“Do not order Barty to do anything in that time. Ask him questions instead, yes or no so the imperio charm that still has its grip on him isn’t being activated. You could quite literally tell him to take out his wand and cast the killing curse on himself and he would do it without thought. That’s how deeply the curse has dug itself into his brain.” George said, not noticing the way Barty went ghostly pale, shaking a little as he clutched onto the arm sides of the ornate chair he was sitting on.

“Tone it down, Gee.” Fred said without looking over. George glanced up and winced at the pallor of Barty’s skin tone. Without a word, he pulled out his wand and floated over a glass of water and some chocolate, muttering a sincere apology that Barty nodded to, still trembling like someone had cast the crucio curse on him several times in a row. Voldemort sat back in his seat heavily when Harry looked towards him, green eyes soft instead of the hard emerald colour they usually were when they had run ins in the past, filled with fire and the urge to live or die fighting.

“Anyways, for Fred, it depends on the mass amount of batches he’ll need to do.” George stood and took a look at the whiteboard, silent as he pondered. Then he marched back to his seat and sat down heavily, gripping the edges of the chair with a white knuckled grip, closing his eyes. “We’ll drop of batches weekly. Fred can get them done in three days’ time. Luckily the shop has a basement for potions abled to be brewed.” The red-head went back to drawing up an appropriate time table of when to take the potions, Charlie and Fred calling out different times and potions to be taken when and where.

Harry noticed the way some of the escapees were flagging in strength, arms shaking and stood. He glanced at Voldemort, who unsurprisingly was watching him intently as he moved. 🐍I shall be back. I’m going to head to the kitchens to make hot chocolate. You have neglected your followers too long. It is not your fault.🐍 He was hasty to say when Voldemort’s face twisted into a scowl, crimson eyes burning like Fiendrye, quick to anger but equally quick to douse especially when it was he himself pointing out the flaws. 🐍You’ve had much to think on and to do. I’d imagine Dumbledore doesn’t give you much time to rest yourself never mind take care of your followers.🐍

The Dark Lord sighed, settling back and nodding his head, blinking his eyes at him leisurely. His long fingers tapped in a rhythm upon the arms of his throne. 🐍Dumbledore isn’t interested in my comforts nor my followers. I doubt he’s interested in his own either. Despite the loathing of having to say, he’s had decades on me and compared to his chessboard of manipulations and lies, his is far grander.🐍

🐍I know.🐍 Harry murmured, brushing his hair back from his forehead when it got in his eyes and prohibited his sight from seeing the male. 🐍But I’m here now. You take care of Dumbledore, and I’ll take care of your followers and you.🐍 Harry said, smiling when Voldemort went completely still, his red eyes widening larger than he’d ever seen them go before. He turned and swept over to Narcissa, dipping into a bow. “Lady Malfoy, would you be so kind as to guide me to the kitchens?”

“It would be my pleasure, Lord Consort.” Narcissa curtseyed and linked an arm with his when he extended it with a raised brow and a polite smile. They swept from the room and down the widened halls towards the back area of the Manor, far away from the front where most of the guests would reside and be seen in. “I must thank you for ridding our home of that dark magic. I was aware it had existed but neither me, my husband nor any of the Dark Lords followers knew how to rid it. Not even the Dark Lord himself and he is knowledgeable in many fields—the biggest being the Dark Arts themselves.” Narcissa opened a door and escorted him down yet another corridor.

There was a normal human sized door right at the end and Harry knew without thought that this was the kitchen. And the doors ranging alongst the Manor were the doors for the house elves rooms. The doors reached mid high of a normal one and each had the perfect cursive sprawl of the house elves names. Small charms were hanging from each.

“It is no problem, Lady Malfoy.” Harry found himself saying as Narcissa opened the door to the kitchen. Inside house elves flittered about, murmuring to each other and floating things over to the tables that were poised perfectly in the place and shape of the table that was likely in the room the residents ate in. The elves fell silent, turning to face them, their bulbous eyes widening as their ears drooped.

“Hello. This is Lord Consort Harry. He is going to use the kitchens for a moment. You don’t need to stop your workings and can carry on like usual. Once he is finished, I’d like Mipsy to guide him back to the meeting room where our esteemed guest and his followers are.” Narcissa explained gently, tone soft and face open. The house elves nodded, smiling at Lady Malfoy as she squeezed Harry’s arm just slightly and slipped silently from the room.

“Here be your space, Lord Consort. Mistress sometimes comes to cook gingerbread. It is cookie Mistress ate when pregnant with Master Draco. Mistress bakes it on Master Draco’s birthday.” The house elf said, leading him over to a waist sized counter for a normal human use. The house elves stations were on the opposite end of the room. “I am Mipsy, Lord Consort. Just ask Mipsy to lead you back to Master Dark Lord and Mipsy will do so.”

“Thank you, Mipsy.” Harry thanked, glancing down at her when there was a squeak ripped from her throat before she disappeared back to her station, cheeks lit up with a blush and ears wiggling with surprise and pleasure. Harry chuckled to himself as he started making eleven hot chocolates for the Azkaban escapees. There was a brief moment when he thought about only making ten and conveniently pretending to forget to make Bellatrix’s but decided against it in the end. Bellatrix was the Dark Lord’s—one of them—best fighters and he wouldn’t be happy if Harry tried to set back her recovery in being able to go out into war.

But there was still a large part of Harry that loathed Bellatrix—more than the Dark Lord himself. Despite the fact that Voldemort had taken his parents, Bellatrix had taken Sirius from him, right in front of his face. His parents he didn’t remember; but he understood. It was war and he was the person that could cause Voldemort’s downfall. There was a calculated reason to take out his parents. But Bellatrix? She’d simply done it because she hated the man. She’d rid him of his second set of parents—done it vindictively just because she could. There was no rhyme nor reason. She just took him away without a second thought. He’d always hate her for that.

Sighing, he pulled out eleven large mugs and filled them with the hot chocolate he’d handmade, swirling whipped cream on the top and charmed not to melt until the drinker wanted them too (wixen kind had some of the strangest spells) and crushed, diced chocolate on the top. He placed them on a large tray and lifted it into his arms after spelling it unweighted. “Mipsy, I’m ready to head back!” He called, watching the house elf emerge from the crowd of house elves, large ears fluttering as she opened the door with her magic and lead him down the twist and turns that Harry paid attention to this time, documenting them down in his brain. The Dark Lord would stay here for at least a year if not longer and he knew he wouldn’t be retuning to Hogwarts this upcoming year, so he’d have to learn how to navigate Malfoy Manor.

“Thank you, Mipsy.” Harry said when they stopped in front of the room. Mipsy squeaked once more and popped away back to the kitchen with a squeaky pop. Laughing quietly, he nudged the door open and walked over to the others, noticing that he patronus had faded since he hadn’t been in the room for a long time. The escapees looked cold and (apart from Bellatrix who looked just as mad as ever) looked downright miserable.  “Here. Homemade hot chocolate. I’ve found that it’s the best way to counteract a build up of being exposed to dementors, so just ask in the future if you want some.” Harry murmured softly, handing the large mugs to each of the escapees, floating the last one over to Bellatrix because he didn’t even want to touch her.

“Thank you, Lord Consort.” Rodolphus said, sipping the hot chocolate greedily. Harry couldn’t help himself, he really couldn’t. He brushed back Rodolphus’s hair and hummed softly, tucking it behind the frozen males ear that tipped red seconds later.

“You’ve had a terrible experience happen to you. Azkaban is a heinous place. The dementors are the foulest creatures on earth.” Harry stroked the brittle hair again to soothe the suddenly pale male at the mention of the dementors. “Like I told our Lord, he can take care of Dumbledore, and I shall take care of him and you all.” Harry’s thumb brushed away the tear that dripped from the corner of Rodolphus’s eye, the male blinking wet eyes at him. Slowly, hesitantly, Rodolphus nodded, and Harry brushed his hair back a final time and retreated back to the Weasley’s. Charlie handed him a stack of papers.

“Potions before breakfast will be good for most. I’ve detailed them down for which to do. Some are better at night before bed. No pepper ups or anything to help with fatigue or nausea. Sadly, they’ll just have to live with it for the first week. Stock up on milk and chocolate. I’d recommend having them drink a hot chocolate after the potions but before they go to sleep.” Charlie instructed. “I’ll be by weekly now that I’ve taken leave from the reserve in Romania to see how they’re doing and to tweak their regimen if it’s not working well with their bodies. Remember, nothing strenuous for the first week. If they’re tired, have them take naps. If they’re nausea when it comes to breakfast, lunch or dinner, half their plate but make sure they eat.” Charlie instructed sternly.

“I’ll make sure.” He said, nodding his head and riffling through the stack of papers as he did so, humming beneath his breath. “Thank you, Charlie, for coming so quickly.”

“No problem, little brother.” Charlie kissed his forehead. “I’m going to get going though before my presence is missed. I’ll pop in around lunch time, an hour after most usually eat, so one or half one at the latest.” The muscled red-head ruffled his head and nodded to Lord Malfoy as his arm was grasped and they apparated beyond the ward line for Charlie to disapparate back to what would likely be a mile out from the Burrow, allowing him to walk back.

“Thanks, Freddie, Georgie.” Harry said as the twins drifted over. Fred had banished the whiteboard to the back room of their shop already and George was clutching tightly onto his notebook, biro firmly situated in his chest pocket of his t-shirt. “I’ll owe you one.”

“Nope.” Fred said, kissing his forehead. “No need. Consider this an exchange for you giving us the Triwizard winnings to start up our shop.” Fred ruffled his hair and linked an arm with Lucius who was waiting patiently to apparate them to beyond the ward line. With a crack, they were gone and within moments the blonde was back alone.

“Remember, no ordering Barty. Questions only.” George said, kissing Harry on the forehead like the two before him had done. Regardless of the warning, Harry smiled. Going without love for so long at his relatives, this still felt like a fever dream. And it was so much better for Fred was still here and George wasn’t weighed down with the absence of his twin, a skeleton walking, looking to a shadow no human could fill though Harry himself had tried in the beginning, hurting the both of them without realising it. “See you later, little brother. Back soon.”

“I know, Georgie. See you in three days. Don’t overexert yourself. Don’t let Fred either. Eat and drink water and sleep.” He said warningly. George laughed as he drifted over to Lucius, linking an arm with him.

“I marauder promise.” The male said. Harry shook his head in fond exasperation, holding the stack of paper tight to his chest as one of his brothers disappeared with a crack, leaving him to head back to their own lives. A soft frown came to his lips as his gaze set sight on some of the symptoms the escapees may exhibit in the first week, though it’d die down later on. A month would be a strong start before certain escapees would get their bones vanished and grown back in as they were still splintered in places. It’d be an easy feat to break them again with a well-aimed stunner.

Lucius apparated back into the room, looking a little winded. Narcissa guided him to a chair and murmured for a house elf, who popped into the room. With a whispered order, the house elf disappeared. Harry glanced up when a pepper up was placed in front of Lucius and a cup of tea to wash it down. Steam blew back the strands over his ears when he swallowed the pepper up. After that, he sipped the tea slowly as Narcissa rose to her feet to approach the Dark Lord and curtsey.

“Whilst you continue the meeting, my Lord, I shall give Lord Consort a tour if you are agreeable to it?” Narcissa questioned, chin tilted down in deference. Harry lifted his gaze to Voldemort, who nodded.

“I am agreeable to that, Narcissa.” He murmured. Narcissa straightened and turned to Harry with a smile. Harry bound the stacks of paper into a book and shrunk it, placing it into his pocket. Then he linked an arm with Narcissa’s pale one as he was lead out of the room and around the Manor. It was equally as grand and beautiful as the small part he’d seen before. He smiled and dipped his head to the portraits he’d passed, watching them once again preen at the attention shown to them.

Fortunately, Narcissa led him to a study she told him was Voldemort’s after the tour was finished for his legs were getting tired from all the standing, kneeling and walking around he had been doing. As an afterthought, he summoned his patronus and instructed it to stay with the escapees after delivering a message to the Dark Lord in Parseltongue. 🐍My patronus will be there for those that’ve escaped Azkaban for the rest of the meeting whilst you talk and confer. I shall be waiting in your study when you’re finished as I’m beginning to grow tired. If you’d like, we can continue talking more after you’re but please don’t rush to finish.🐍

Prongs canted off, Narcissa watching it go as he settled himself into the sofa, flicking a wrist to light up the fireplace. Warmth curled in the air and over his clothes and body. “I shall talk to the house elves about getting you more clothing added to your room. You’ll be next to the Dark Lord, but you don’t need to use it if you’d prefer to room with the Dark Lord.” Narcissa said, curtseying after.

“Thank you, Lady Malfoy.” He murmured, watching her smile and dip her head, exiting to room and letting it shut softly. He stood and walked to one of the shelves, sliding out a book that looked interesting. Within moments, he was sat back down and shoes kicked off, legs folded beneath him as he lounged back. A blanket was over his legs as he read, eyes slightly drooping as tiredness began to convoluted inside him.

Within fifteen minutes he was asleep. And that was how, later, the Dark Lord found him.

Chapter Text

Trust Issues

Previously (Chapter 2: Healing Scrolls) on Trust Issues

Fortunately, Narcissa led him to a study she told him was Voldemort’s after the tour was finished for his legs were getting tired from all the standing, kneeling and walking around he had been doing. As an afterthought, he summoned his patronus and instructed it to stay with the escapees after delivering a message to the Dark Lord in Parseltongue. 🐍My patronus will be there for those that’ve escaped Azkaban for the rest of the meeting whilst you talk and confer. I shall be waiting in your study when you’re finished as I’m beginning to grow tired. If you’d like, we can continue talking more after you’re but please don’t rush to finish.🐍

Prongs canted off, Narcissa watching it go as he settled himself into the sofa, flicking a wrist to light up the fireplace. Warmth curled in the air and over his clothes and body. “I shall talk to the house elves about getting you more clothing added to your room. You’ll be next to the Dark Lord, but you don’t need to use it if you’d prefer to room with the Dark Lord.” Narcissa said, curtseying after.

“Thank you, Lady Malfoy.” He murmured, watching her smile and dip her head, exiting to room and letting it shut softly. He stood and walked to one of the shelves, sliding out a book that looked interesting. Within moments, he was sat back down and shoes kicked off, legs folded beneath him as he lounged back. A blanket was over his legs as he read, eyes slightly drooping as tiredness began to convoluted inside him.

Within fifteen minutes he was asleep. And that was how, later, the Dark Lord found him.

Chapter 3

Slytherin's Study

He came to consciousness warm. That was the first thing he noticed and truthfully, the only thing he noticed. The book in his hands was gone and he had the belated thought that perhaps he had dropped it. Which wasn’t a good start to his relationship with Voldemort. He had no doubt that the Dark Lord was like Granger but much more relaxed about his books. Much more accepting of others wanting knowledge and information. Unlike Granger who hoarded her books like a mother dragon and refused to accept that one book wasn’t an all knowing piece of history. The girl would then get annoyed if others refuted her claim on the correctness of the information and nag and bemoan if everyone around her didn’t study the way she did in the library. That was reason enough not to want to go back to Hogwarts if his other reasons weren’t as sound and concrete—like avoiding Ronald.

Shifting a little and not wanting to open his eyes in fear of that warmth and safety disappearing, he was shocked to find that someone was running their fingers through his hair. Their touch was soft but grounding. Something to hold onto and fight tooth and nail to never lose. Then the magic reaching out for him registered and he stretched into that touch like a wilting flower reaching for sunlight. “Tom?” His voice came out hoarse and groggy, remnants of sleep clinging to his vocal chords. Abruptly, the touch came to a halt and a whine, plaintive and pathetic sounding, escaped his throat.

“I do not like that name.” Voldemort said, voice cold. Without looking, Harry knew that the Dark Lord would have a scowl or sneer twisting his face. Harry wriggled closer to Voldemort and hummed.

“M’kay.” Harry slurred, still wanting that touch and safety of his satisfying sleep and yet not wanting to actually fall into the realm of Morpheus for he wanted to be awake to feel and see the Dark Lord let his guard down and touch him like he really was his consort. Someone to be cherished and taken care of. He’d taken care of everyone, putting them first above everything else, and would do so again for Voldemort and his followers (especially the Azkaban escapees for they needed it more than most) but this here? What Voldemort was offering in that simple touch? Was to cherish and take care of him in return. It was shocking to think that he had now found what he was looking for all his life; what he was looking for when he’d gone for the Weaslette and her family. He’d got that with the elder boys and Arthur, but the bad eggs of the family got too greedy, too glutenous and had taken and taken until he had nothing left to give but his life.

“Okay?” Voldemort inquired, confused now.

Harry nodded, cheek rubbing against fabric. That was when he noticed that he wasn’t on the sofa anymore, or at least Voldemort was and he himself was on the Dark Lord’s lap, still wrapped up in that blanket. Or maybe Voldemort was sitting at his desk and had been working whilst he slept wrapped up in his arms. His cheeks flamed at the thought of what Voldemort’s face would’ve been like when he’d wandered in after the meeting and saw him sleeping. “Okay. You don’t like Tom. I don’t want to call my husband Voldemort. I do like Marvolo though. Very distinguished.” Harry mumbled, rubbing his cheek against cool, soft silk like a cat. If he could purr, he would’ve. He was just so comfortable.

“I do not mind being called Marvolo by you.” Voldemort murmured after a moment of silence. Harry smiled sleepily.

“My Marvolo.” Harry whispered, pulling back a tad to finally open sleep encrusted eyes. The first thing he noticed was the fact that everything around him was blurry and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. After that was the fact that he was in fact sitting on Voldemort’s lap and the Dark Lord was seated on the chair in front of his desk. He squinted for a moment but ultimately gave up trying to see in favour of playing with the collar of Voldemort’s robe, humming softly. “How did the meeting go? Any crucio’s because you really need to stop doing that.” Harry scolded, eyes darting up to see the blurry outline of Voldemort’s head, the glint of red the only distinguishable feature he could see.

“If they fail, they need to be punished for their failure.” Voldemort said, tone icy. Harry snorted, unable to help himself. He shook his head in fond amusement, a smile somehow shaping his lips.

“So do it differently. Itching curses. Something that will make them uncomfortable, not in pain. You need your followers in top shape to go out into society and get what they need to report back to you. Adding the fact that you’re putting more work on your potions master to brew potions that’ll help with the pains of the crucio curse. Or you can simply do it like Hogwarts do it.” Harry tilted his head to the side, seeing a glint of silver on the hem of Voldemort’s sleeves as he reached for something behind the younger. The world came back into focus as the Dark Lord slid his glasses onto his face, and he blinked to battle the sudden dizziness of being able to see whereas before he had to squint. “I have got to get my eyes fixed.”

“Like Hogwarts do it?” Voldemort prompted, ignoring the last bit for Harry had mumbled it to himself beneath his breath. With how close they were, pressed against each other as they were, Harry doubted he had not heard what he’d said but was simply choosing to ignore it.

“Yes,” Harry said, going back to fiddling with Voldemort’s collar, happy the male wasn’t stopping him, “find out what jobs they dislike doing but jobs that need to be done. Say Lord Malfoy hates going out to retrieve someone then when he fails, make him do that instead of something he likes doing like the politics he does day to day. Put someone in his place in doing the politics that hasn’t failed you and reward them whilst making Lord Malfoy do something he dislikes for his failure.” For a single moment it was silent, nothing more than the shift of fabric and then Harry’s gaze darted up when Voldemort started to chuckle. It was smooth and deep. It made Harry feel warm. Made his insides feel gooey and he could feel himself melt further into the Dark Lord.

“That is devious.” Voldemort murmured almost as if to himself. Harry hummed softly, shifting a little as he drew himself up into a better sitting position. His back straightened and he lifted his gaze to meet crimson red. A frown built onto his lips as he examined the Dark Lord. “Why the frown, my soul?” Voldemort inquired. Harry felt himself blush, pink bleeding into his cheeks, warming them to the touch. Long fingers reached out to touch almost reverently, looking fascinated at the colour. It was hardly surprising. The Dark Lord had seen Harry in many different scenarios with various emotions fuelling their battles and actions but this? A flustered Harry he had never seen before and longed to see more of.

“I’m going to enforce another order as your consort.” Harry said, licking suddenly chapped lips. The male in front of him was likely not to react well to what he would say next, but it needed to be done. For his health, for his mind and for his future. It wasn’t that he found Voldemort unattractive in this form, but he’d honestly prefer if his future husband regained his previous looks.

“Oh?” The Dark Lord said, an amused expression building on his face though it faded when Harry next spoke.

“I want you to absorb the rest of your horcruxes immediately.” Harry spoke, not budging even when the fingers gripping his waist grew tight enough to bruise. Even when he’d been eleven, Voldemort had never scared him. Made him nervous? Most definitely. But fear? No; Voldemort had always seemed inevitable. They were tied together in something more magical than any human soul could ever comprehend.

“You—why?” The Dark Lord hissed, eyes lighting up with rage. Harry said nothing for a long moment, examining the male in front of him. He was surprised to find fear in those beautiful eyes that had haunted him for so long, even after the male had been long gone in his first life. He swallowed heavily when he parsed through why his future husband would be feeling such fear. Voldemort had grown up in muggle London during WW2 and the Blitz. He had most likely seen many of his fellow children in Wools Orphanage die from the bombs, nameless and faceless to the outside world. Lost to the war and those tragic deaths receded to nothing but statistics in history. With death around him during the summers, it wasn’t surprising to connect the fact that Voldemort had thought death was nipping at his heels every time he returned to Wools.

The horcruxes ensured that never happened—that the Dark Lord wouldn’t become just another statistic lost in a history book no student would read. “Because of this.” Harry flicked his wrist, focusing for the book he wanted that was hidden in Salazar Slytherin’s chamber, hidden beneath runes and wards that had taken him years to remove even in his early twenties in his first life. He doubted even Voldemort could’ve done what he had done in years when he was fifteen. A pity really. Because if he had then there was no way Voldemort would’ve continued to make horcruxes as Salazar had studied that line of magic almost religiously.

The book appeared, falling into his lap. Voldemort’s gaze snapped to it and widened upon seeing the scribbly scrawl of Parslescript. “Where did you get this?” The Dark Lord breathed, reaching for it, fingers brushing against Harry’s thigh. Harry felt himself flush once more, clearing his throat.

“Salazar Slytherin’s study. This particular journal was hidden beneath many runes and wards that took me months to remove,” in his second life at least, not that he would be mentioning that to Voldemort any time soon. “One thing not detailed in the history books is that the Peverell lines weren’t the only family that had an affinity for necromancy. The line of Slytherin had an affinity for it, though it was particular strong in Salazar. As such, he studied many branches of death magic. One such was horcruxes. Detailed in this journal is everything Salazar was able to discover about the act of making a horcrux and most importantly, the consequences.” Harry ran a finger over the spindly text on the front of the dragon skin cover, sighing softly beneath his breath.

“Consequences?” Voldemort whispered, eyes blinking slowly down at the journal encased in his hands. “Consequences like what?”

“I …” Harry trailed off into silence, swallowing heavily. He knew it would be a blow to the Dark Lord when he heard what he’d been reduced to. Had done to himself to add insult to injury. He felt like he was kicking a downed man. But it had to be said. It had to be talked about otherwise the Dark Lord would continue on as he was and more bloodshed would happen. More of the man’s beautiful mind would further decay. “Magical reduction. Splintering of a magical core. Insanity. Loss of mental capacities. Loss of feelings except rage and anger. Increase in bloodlust.”

“Splintering of a magical core?” Voldemort breathed, horror on his face. “How?”

“When you make a horcrux, you’re removing a piece of your soul. Essentially hacking it off. Your soul with be ragged and torn. And your magical core relies on your soul. It relies on your emotions—that is why accidental magic happens after all. When you remove those emotions bar anger and rage, you’re depleting much of your magic that’s based around it.” Harry explained. Helplessness swept over him in the face of confusion, loss and heartbreak reflected in the males gaze in front of him. It was understandable for Voldemort to be feeling this way. Magic was everything to the Dark Lord.

🐍I have been so foolish.🐍 Voldemort hissed, closing his eyes.

“I understand why you did what you did.” Harry whispered softly, running gentle fingers alongst Voldemort’s jaw bone, keeping his touch feather light.

“I didn’t want to die.” The Dark Lord whispered.

Harry hummed, not speaking for a moment as he recollected his thoughts. His emotions were so out of control upon seeing this side of the Dark Lord. He had thought him incapable of it. Had believed Dumbledore’s foolish beliefs that simply because Voldemort had been born through the use of a love potion that he’d be incapable of that same love, though not as deluded. And in extension, the ability to care at all. Had believed the males observations when teaching a young Tom Marvolo Riddle that was a sociopathic psychopath; using others to further himself. Faced with this man in front of him, it was further proof that Voldemort was just as human as the rest of the world.

Fear had ruled the Dark Lord for so long. Death had haunted and terrified him from a young age and even now he held the remnants of that fear. “I know.” Harry finally said. No pity or sympathy in his voice. He knew it wouldn’t help Voldemort. It was just a plain fact. “But you don’t have to have that fear anymore. With the horcrux inside of me it is not even one percent of your soul. You’d still be immortal but have next to all of your soul regained. Your looks. Your sanity. Everything you lost upon making that first horcrux would be restored.”

“And you?” Voldemort opened his eyes, meeting Harry’s gaze with something unnameable in them. Despite how much he tried, he couldn’t recognise it.

“Well, I’d be immortal too if that’s what you’re worrying about.” Harry said, amused. Voldemort relaxed some, the tenseness to his shoulders reduced. He shifted once more, trying to turn around to see if the Dark Lord had been working on something whilst he had been asleep but being encased in Voldemort’s arms as he was it was difficult to move. “Were you working on something? Actually, scratch that, what is the time?”

“It is almost ten.” Voldemort said. Harry’s eyes went to the glowing text of the time hovering in mid air and it all came rushing back just who his future bonded was. Just how powerful he was. All that beautiful magic coursing through his veins. All that power he held at his fingertips. If he hadn’t had made horcruxes, if he hadn’t had gone down the path he had then Tom Marvolo Riddle as he was when growing up could’ve done amazing things. Could’ve changed the world.

But then, they would’ve never met, that was for certain. This connection binding them together would’ve never come to head and they would’ve never been drawn to each other. Perhaps Harry could’ve been a professional Quidditch player or an Auror. One that headed under Minister Riddle’s tutelage. Merlin and Morgana, just the thought of what Voldemort could’ve done in the wizarding world with his smarts, his looks and his mind. He would have whipped the wizarding world into shape faster than Madam Hooch could’ve spoken the word Quidditch.

That train of thought lead him down the road of Dumbledore. How the old fool had prohibited the Dark Lord from what he had wanted to do the most—teach. How the curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts post had come to pass. How Dumbledore had needlessly put Voldemort down time and time again simply because he had reminded the fool of Grindelwald. An eleven year old boy had reminded him so strongly of a prominent Dark Lord that he had crushed any hopes Voldemort could’ve had of teaching the younger generation. The Headmaster had his own hand in turning the Dark Lord into what he was now. Had more than likely been the catalyst.

After all, why else would there be a book on horcruxes in the restricted section when oh so charming Tom Riddle could worm his way into an professors graces—and most of all Horace Slughorn who practically worshipped the ground Voldemort had walked on in his Hogwarts days? Getting a pass to the restricted section would’ve been an easy thing to do. One smile, one innocent question and a pass would’ve more than likely been signed and pressed into his hands. Why else would Dumbledore have that crack pot Sybill Trelawney have an interview in the Hogs Head? His own brothers pub? Dumbledore was a meticulous manipulator; a grand chest master. And that was what everyone was to him. Pawns and chest pieces. The rest of the society were his puppets, and the world was his board.

He wanted to be the one pulling the strings. But that wouldn’t happen anymore. Harry had cut his own strings and Voldemort’s and the Death Eaters in addition. They were playing their own games now. And Harry was damned if he lost thing game; he’d see Dumbledore go up in flames, even if he had to set himself alight to fan the flames towards the senile fool.

“Oh.” Harry murmured, halting his train of thought. He sniffed once and tucked his head against Voldemort’s shoulder. “Lady Malfoy spoke something to me that had me curious. She said I have a room next to yours? Am I to sleep there or with you?” Harry questioned, genuinely inquisitive. The Dark Lord stilled and when he spoke, his voice sounded hoarser as if the fact that he could have Harry in his bed had hit him.

“It would be up to you. Your comfort is paramount.” Voldemort spoke stiffly. Harry hid a smile in the robes of the Dark Lord. Despite how he had tried to rob himself of emotions, it was clear what Voldemort had preferred. Harry in his bed. In his arms. Humming softly to himself, he slipped his arms around the male in front of him and squeezed gently.

“Thank you.” He said. “But I’d like to sleep in your bed please.” Voldemort relaxed. He was unsurprised to find himself airborne in the next moment. Reflectively, his arms tightened around the Dark Lord’s shoulders, fingers tightening in the fabric of the males robes. He didn’t yelp or gasp in surprise though his gut did swoop momentarily at the abrupt movement. “Oh, you didn’t tell me if you were working on something!”

“You’re correct, I did not.” Voldemort said. Harry waited for a moment as he was carried up the stairs, waving to some amused portraits he passed that then smiled behind their hands. But Voldemort didn’t say anything. For a second he thought that the Dark Lord was ignoring the question. However as soon as the were in what was undoubtedly Voldemort’s room and he was sat on the edge of the bed, the male disappearing to find some sleep wear and aiming several high powered charms to the door, did he speak. “It was paperwork for Gringotts. I realised soon after you had left that I would need a formal identity if I was to go out. I sent a follower to Gringotts with a phial of my blood—only small,” Voldemort said as he saw Harry’s horrified look, “just enough for seven drops as is required for the inheritance test.”

“One of your trusted, yes? One that knew you as you were as a student in Hogwarts?” Harry questioned, tilting his head to the side. Voldemort nodded, flicking his hand. Gasping in surprise, the younger watched as his clothes were pulled off him and the sleep wear wrapped around his body. Without him moving a muscle. Another flick and Harry made a face for his teeth had been cleaned and his mouth was undoubtedly minty fresh.

“Yes, one of those. Corvus Lestrange went himself personally.” Voldemort said, doing the same two charms to his mouth and body. Harry watched in interest as the clothes disappeared and reappeared, looking completely different. It was barely even a second in the change. Just one blink and then the next, his robes were clothes for sleeping. It was incredible. It was magic. It was everything. “If I may?” Voldemort extended a hand and Harry blinked for he had the journal clutched his hands. He couldn’t remember when he had it pressed into them though theorised it was when he was sat down onto the bed.

“How …? Never mind.” Harry shook his head and handed the journal to Voldemort, who placed it onto the side table. The younger turned and crawled to the pillows, climbing under the covers as the Dark Lord distinguished the lights. It took a minute and then there was a body next to his, pulling him close. So close. Impossibly close. He curved into the Dark Lord, breathing slowly. It was when he was flagging, when his eyelids were drooping with fatigue that he dared to whisper. “You’ll think about it? Absorbing the horcruxes?”

Voldemort too was silent for a beat, the strong thump-thump of his heart beneath Harry’s ear a solid sound that soothed Harry like no other. “I won’t think about it. I’ll do it. If the consequences are as dire as you’ve said … I’ve been blind far too long. For too long I’ve lead my followers down a path that will only lead to ruin and death. Far too long …” Voldemort trailed off. A breath, a sigh, weary and exhausted. “I’ve damned myself. But then you came. Perhaps that prophecy was right. You’ll be my downfall. This version of Voldemort will die but a new one will rise. Stronger, saner.”

Harry stroked the silk of Voldemort’s sleep shirt unconsciously, humming low in his throat.

“I’ll make it better.” Voldemort swore like an oath even if not an ounce of magic went into it. But Harry knew. Harry was witness to it. And he knew that the Dark Lord would take it seriously; would reform himself into something better, something greater. A better man, a greater Lord. Someone to follow out of respect instead of fear.

“I know.” Harry whispered.

🐍 I’ll be better, my soul.🐍 And that was just for Harry’s ears. He wasn’t promising something to a crowd to please. He was promising it to Harry, (just Harry, his voice whispered and a tiny boy with a bloody nose and bruised eye huddled in a small cupboard under the stairs healed just that much more), promising it to him and no one else. And laying here with the man, encased in his embrace, that hand in his hair?

Harry James Potter, a lonely boy, an angry teen, a lost man—he believed him.