A Certain Mood

by Rabenschnabel

Summary:

The moment the Goblet of Fire spat Harry's name out, it was second year all over again. Shunned by most of Hogwarts and made out to be an attention-seeking liar, he feels more isolated than ever.

In the vacuum void of the heart-wrenching realisation that he'll never fit in, his new defense professor and that man's mysterious mentor manage to fill a hole in Harry's soul he hadn't known existed. And just like that, he finds himself... slipping.

Notes:

Welcome to what started as my feel good fic that I wrote when I just wanted to write and not think much. At first, it wasn't even meant for publication but once I was like 12k words in I thought aw hell, why not?
So I went over it, polished things a little and here we are!

It became much larger and more intricate over time, so I hope you enjoy the ride. Buckle up, there's feelings ahead <3

Chapter 1

Notes:

After a 3 year hiatus, this fic is officially finished as of July 31st, 2025.

Happy reading <3

The view from the Astronomy Tower was breathtaking at night. Hogwarts' vast grounds stretched in every direction and the still Black Lake looked like a reflection of the night sky.

Harry watched the treetops of the Forbidden Forest waft gently in the midnight breeze and pulled his coat tighter around himself

He felt silly, sitting up here all alone, but who was there left to spend time with? Well, there was Hermione of course, but she would never sneak out of the dorms with him just to 'get away from it all'. 

Ever since his name had been spat out by the goblet, life had taken a turn for the worse. It was second year all over again, except this time he had even less people on his side. 

Sighing, he sat down with his back to the balustrade and drew up his knees. Slowly, his head sagged forward, and he pressed his eyes into his knees until he only saw white-hot dots of light pulsating behind his eyelids. He was only fourteen—how was he supposed to survive this tournament? The other champions looked so big, so strong, so… capable. Even for his own age, he was rather short, and despite being the fabled Boy-Who-Lived, he was mediocre at magic at best. 

Futilely, he wished that none of this had happened. That he could have just dropped out of the tournament. That maybe, just this once, it could have happened to someone else. Anyone else, really.

He was all too soon roused from his self-pity by the sound of squeaking door hinges. Cursing himself for putting his invisibility cloak in his satchel because he had wanted to feel the breeze on his face, Harry started rummaging for it. 

That would be grand, wouldn't it? Being found by someone like Snape and losing Gryffindor so many house points that he'd be even more of a pariah? He could see it now and couldn't hold back a little chuckle. 

When he saw who stepped through the door, though, Harry realised his efforts had been in vain anyway. It was Moody who could probably look through his cloak with that eye of his. 

"Hullo, professor," Harry greeted simply and got off the ground.

"Not gonna jump off the tower on us, are you, Potter?" 

"What? I... No, of course not, professor," Harry stuttered. "Sorry for making you come up here." 

"What else are you doing here, then? Just enjoying the view?" Moody's voice was cutting in its acerbity and Harry shivered because getting caught outside after curfew was the last thing he needed. "Or is there a lady friend hiding somewhere?" 

"No ladies here," Harry told the man in as self-deprecating a manner as he could manage. "No one wants to be my friend anyway except for Hermione, and she's, well, more like an older sister, really." 

"What? No one but her on your side anymore? And here I thought you were the Light's golden boy," Moody growled. The man conjured a bench and patted the empty seat next to him. 

"I never was," Harry replied and reluctantly took the proffered seat. "Look, it's not like I'm not happy to finally have an adult listen to me, but… You're a friend of Dumbledore's, and I'm kind of cross with him at the moment. I don't really feel like talking much." 

He felt Moody regarding him intently and wondered whether that had been the wrong thing to say. 

"I'm not close to Dumbledore," the man finally told him. "Not for quite some time now. I came here to see for myself how bad the new generation of students is going to be at defending themselves. After only two months I am already ready to throw in the towel with how behind everyone is. None of these students will last ten seconds in a battle against a real dark wizard."

"So it wasn't a favour to Dumbledore that made you come here?"

Harry felt conflicted. He held the headmaster responsible for somehow having failed to keep him out of the tournament and for abandoning him and his worries afterwards. It had been two weeks and he hadn't gotten so much as a "By the way, Harry, I hope you'll be fine in the tournament seeing as you're so much younger than all the other willing contestants. Jolly good, carry on!" 

"Definitely not," Moody gritted out. "So tell me—How is it that the Boy-Who-Lived isn't the most popular boy in all of Hogwarts?" 

Harry shrugged, and he felt another shiver of unease run down his spine. Moody got his wand out and Harry heard him cast a charm he didn't know. Instantly, he felt a lot warmer and was immensely grateful for it even though the sort of chill he'd experienced hadn't been because of the temperature. 

"It must have been second year," he mused. "Everyone thought I was the Heir of Slytherin back then and I guess some of them still do? Look, I don't know. I just came here when I was eleven, knowing nothing about the wizarding world and over three years later, I still feel like I make one mistake after the other. I'm just… average. Mediocre. They all expected someone special, someone brilliant, but most of the time I can't even keep up with Hermione."

He didn't know what compelled him to spill his heart to Moody, of all people, but then again... he'd always had special relationships with his Defense professors—both good and bad.

"The heir of Slytherin? Why should it be you, of all people?" Moody was searching his face intently and the man's magical eye whirred around wildly in its socket. "What did you do?" 

"I… accidentally outed myself as a parselmouth," Harry admitted. "I didn't know it was a bad thing, or a connection to Voldemort or anything. I only found out when I was ten years old and spoke to a snake in a zoo. I didn't even think about it again until a conjured snake almost attacked Justin Finch-Fletchley during the Duelling Club in second year, but I just stepped in to save him without thinking."

"You're a what now? That's… entirely unexpected if I may say so." Moody grimaced and drew one of his hands down his scarred face. "Why is that not common knowledge?" 

"I guess Dumbledore tried to keep the whole Chamber of Secrets thing under wraps," Harry theorised but no sooner had he uttered those words, did Moody suddenly grab his shoulders. 

"The Chamber? What else has Dumbledore kept from the ministry? You need to tell me everything, Harry!" 

It would only be later that Harry noticed how Moody had switched to his first name. For now, Harry wriggled free from the man's grasp because he didn't particularly enjoy being touched. Thinking about what to tell the man, he gathered his memories and wondered whether he truly wanted to share them with someone.

"I'd… really like to tell someone," Harry slowly realised. "It's kinda… sad to realise that no one ever really asked me about all the things that happened to me ever since I came into the wizarding world. Not even Professor Lupin, and he was my parents' friend. Allegedly." 

"Surely Dumbledore keeps tabs on you? As the Headmaster of this school, he's your magical guardian, after all—what with your godfather Sirius Black being a wanted criminal and all." 

Harry laughed hollowly. "Why am I not surprised? He hasn't even told me about that… Then again, he never tells me anything and in a couple weeks none of it matters anyway because I'll probably die somehow in the tournament's first task." 

He felt his eyes prickle with tears and cursed under his breath. What would Moody think if he saw him as pathetic as this? He would think him a coward, a wanna-be. An impostor, even, like all the others. 

Instead, Moody threw a heavy arm around his shoulders and pulled him into his side. 

"Don't worry, lad," the man shushed him. "There's still some fire left in these old bones. Damn all the rules about favouritism and all that nonsense—I'm only here for a year, anyway. After that, the supposed curse will get me and Albus doesn't have anyone else for the position. Do you care about winning? About possibly losing points once it's found out you have the help of a teacher?"

Harry immediately shook his head. "No, I only want to survive this bloody tournament. Then I want to finish school in peace and get a nice, quiet job somewhere where I don't have to ever see anyone I don't want to ever again. Preferably in, I don't know, Australia or something." 

Moody made a weird huffing sound that Harry soon identified as a laugh. 

"Then I will make sure to help you survive that bloody tournament," Moody promised. "Albus may think you will survive by sheer dumb luck but I won't take any chances. You're way too valuable."

"Because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived?" 

"No," Moody muttered darkly, pressing him closer to his side. "I only ask one thing in return. I want you to tell me about your past school years, your life before Hogwarts... Whatever comes to your mind, really. I don't think you've had many people simply listen before, have you?" 

Harry's mood darkened even further at that. 

"Well, I do, er, did have my friends. But, well, they're kids just like me," he shrugged. "I mean, Hermione has lots of good advice but she never just listens. She always tries to fix everything. And Ron is, well, Ron gets jealous really easily. He can't imagine how I could possibly not want to have fame and fortune." 

Moody didn't answer at first and seemed to wait for something. Finally, the man spoke.

"Wait, that's all? Two friends?" 

"I'm friendly with the Quidditch team," Harry added indignantly. "And some other people in my year. Hagrid, of course. And, well. Professor Lupin, I suppose? But he hasn't contacted me since last year, so I guess not. There's someone else who's on my side but I'm not at liberty to talk." 

Fortunately, Moody didn't pry. 

"That's still so few people," Moody commented without malice. "You're the saviour of the wizarding world, you're the heir and only living descendant to an old and filthy rich family, how are there not more people fawning over you?" 

"I don't know," Harry admitted, voice thick. "I really don't. Look, this is… this is really hard to talk about. Can we please not?" 

Moody merely grumbled something unintelligible and pulled him further into his side. The thick leather coat that had to be from Moody's time as an auror had been cool at first but it had warmed considerably against Harry's skin. 

"This world has done a right number on you, lad," Moody finally said. "And don't take this the wrong way, I didn't look any further, but how is it that the clothes you wear under your school uniform are so terribly big and old?" 

Harry shrunk in on himself. He wanted to escape from Moody's grasp but the man held him firm until he stopped squirming against the hold. Could he really tell him? No one else had ever done anything for him when he'd told them. Not even Sirius had been able to keep his promise though that had been through no fault of his own, really. 

"I live with my… relatives outside of school." 

"But... No. Wait. You said that you didn't know about magic until you were eleven years old, didn't you? This can't be right! Tell me, lad." 

"They're my… mother's relatives," Harry whispered and he felt shame wash over him. "Her sister, and her husband and son. They're not. I mean. To them, magic is…" 

He stopped there when he noticed his eyes were filling up with tears again and felt even more pathetic than before. 

"They don't like it?" Moody asked.

"No, they really, really don't," Harry coughed and tried valiantly to stem the flow of tears. "I'm, they. They beat me. They starve me and lock me in my room and before my letter came, I didn't even have a room. They kept me in the cupboard under the stairs and I always had to hide when guests were over and no one was supposed to know I was there because I'm a freak."

He was bawling now after the flow of words had subsided and sobbed into his hands. Moody had gone rigid against him. Even the man's magical eye had stopped whirring around. Great. His display of how hurt and weak and broken he was had been too much even for an auror. 

Harry made to pull away and even managed to wiggle out of Moody's hold. He'd gotten as far as getting up before the auror was standing, too, and pulled him into a warm embrace. Even though Moody looked terrifying, he smelled nice—freshly washed with a hint of sandalwood, somehow? 

Gosh, but it was nice to be held like this. He'd never been hugged by an adult before Sirius and even their hug had been so very brief. Well, Hagrid had hugged him, too, but it didn't count as comfort if it almost broke your ribs. This was different. The arms encircling him promised protection and comfort and Harry shamelessly grabbed the fabric of Moody's robe and cried his heart out. 

"And the clothes are your cousin's old, dirty cast-offs? They've been abusing you ever since you came there as a young toddler? And they send you back to these animals every. single. summer?"

Harry answered every question with a frantic nod. 

"Dumbledore says there are blood protections there from my mum," he pressed out.

"Dumbledore can go eat a big bag of dicks," Moody growled and Harry felt himself chuckle despite the tears. "Look, lad, Harry. With your history, I understand why you wouldn't trust an adult promising you things, but hear me out. If, after the year is out, you want to come with me, I will take you with me." 

Harry stopped the last soft sobs clawing up his throat abruptly and looked up at Moody with wide, wet eyes. "What?" 

"I don't have much and I don't know if you still want to at the end of the year, but… if you do want to, I'll take you with me," he repeated and Harry wondered why the man expected he wouldn't?

"But Dumbledore–" 

"Can eat a bag of dicks. I told you. He might be the most powerful wizard around but I have a couple aces up my sleeve, too. If you want to come, he won't be able to stop me." 

"I'm, I, I do want to come with you," Harry quickly assured him. "But why? Why me?" 

"I believe we've been over the reasons," Moody told him, adjusting Harry's rumpled clothing. "I could make a fine wizard out of you. Get you up to date on etiquette and your place in the world. Merlin knows Albus never did his dues." 

Harry was speechless. Moody was mad, of course, at least everyone said he was, but this was the most kindness Harry had been shown in months, and his stomach was doing happy little flips. Maybe, this time, he really didn't have to return to the Dursleys? 

"Thank you, Professor," he said earnestly and fought against his emotional exhaustion to show the man a genuine smile. "I'll try not to disappoint you." 

"Oh, you won't," Moody shrugged.

Harry realised the man must have seen terrible things as an auror and he'd probably had to deal with lots of cases of child abuse, too. Huh. It was weird to think about the Dursleys' treatment of him as abuse, but it must have been, right? Moody was basically the magical version of the police, or had been, and he had said so. 

 

-o-

 

Chapter 2

The next morning, after way too little sleep, Harry slunk out before his dorm mates had even woken up. Despite his protest, Moody had escorted him back to his common room last night and Harry still felt all warm at the memory of someone caring enough to make sure that he wouldn't get caught alone after curfew by another teacher. 

Now all he had to do was wait. He knew Hermione was always one of the first to get up, usually making time for a little study session even before breakfast. True to form she came down not much later than him.

She was apparently surprised to see him and came over to him straight away.

"Am I rubbing off on you this much, Harry?" Her tone was slightly teasing but her smile was real and warm. 

"Maybe," Harry agreed and then lowered his voice to a whisper. "I have something important to tell you." 

Hermione expression became cautious. "You look… wound up, Harry. Is it something bad?" 

"On the contrary," he replied as he started to move towards the back of the portrait. "Come on, I need to tell you so much!" 

He didn't need to tell her twice. They'd soon located a disused classroom and Hermione erected a privacy spell. Harry wondered where he ought to start and soon decided on the reason why he'd gone to the Astronomy Tower and winged it from there. 

After he was done telling her about the conversation with Moody, Hermione was thoughtful. 

"That is very generous of Professor Moody," she finally said after thinking about it for a bit. "I'm sure that, as you said, his job as an auror has left more than physical marks on him."

Suddenly, her eyes started filling with tears.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Harry felt at a loss and hesitantly went over to give her a hug. He supposed that's what friends did: hug them when the other one was sad.

"Look at me, crying," she sniffled. "I should be consoling you!"

Oh! Well, yeah. He'd never really told either of his friends exactly how he'd been treated at the Dursleys, had he? They knew about the locks during the summer after first year, of course, and that his relatives weren't his biggest fans, but apart from that? He felt even worse now. 

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I should have noticed," Hermione said with a shaky voice after she'd stopped crying. "After all, I'm one of your best friends. I'm ever so happy that Professor Moody has decided to be there for you, maybe he can even help you with S-Snuffles." 

Harry's heart jumped at that—maybe he could! 

"I just wonder," Hermione continued, "why Headmaster Dumbledore keeps sending you back there. Yes, the blood protections, but still! There are many old family manors with wards that are almost as old as Hogwarts'. I bet there would have been loads of families who'd have loved to have taken you in." 

"It's no use crying about it," Harry reminded her because he didn't want to consider this right now. Maybe ever. "What's done is done. At least this time I might have a real home." 

"If, and I mean only if, it doesn't work out for some reason, I will ask my parents if you can stay with me, alright?" Her gaze was steely and Harry was glad she was on his side. "Headmaster Dumbledore might think he's doing the right thing but he looks so much at the bigger picture that he sometimes forgets the little things. I'm afraid I've realised that now." 

-o-

Even though they'd both gotten up really early they were still plenty late for breakfast due to talking for so long. Harry chanced a glance up at the head table as they sat down and found Moody already looking at him. The man winked with his real eye and Harry allowed himself a small, secret grin. 

He already couldn't wait for the day to be over, knowing that he had 'detention' with Moody for being out after curfew after lessons were done. It was barely two weeks until the first task and his newly-appointed favourite professor wanted to drum as many spells into him as possible until then. 

In the end, the day passed rather quickly. Harry had asked Hermione if she wanted to come but she had declined. She was glad he was in capable hands and wanted to spend some more time in the library, she'd told him. He knew that she wanted to keep up her straight O's in every subject. She'd even promised to share anything useful she found with him immediately and, in turn, he'd promised to keep her up to date on his progress as well.

He could find his way to the Defense classroom blindly after spending so much time with Lupin there last year and paused in the middle of the corridor when he felt another stab of hurt. He'd written his former professor a letter via Hedwig once he'd arrived at the Weasleys' home last summer but Hedwig had returned without an answer. 

Shaking his head to get rid of the memories, Harry stepped inside the classroom. Steeling himself, he crossed through it and went up the stairs to knock at the office door. Immediately, he heard a barked "Come in!" and opened the door tentatively. 

It looked so different from when Lupin had been here and he felt very strange about it all. Moody must have felt his trepidation because he showed him around the room, pointing out foe glasses and other contraptions Harry had never heard of. They quite reminded him of the whirring and whizzing little apparatuses in Dumbledore's office but he supposed the professor wouldn't want to hear about that. 

He sat on an offered chair across from Moody and crossed his arms because he didn't know where to put his hands. It was so strange, this. 

"So you haven't changed your mind?"

Harry looked at Moody with wide eyes. "About wanting you to help me? No, of course not! I'm doomed without some help."

"Good," Moody thundered and pushed a plate of biscuits at him. "Eat this, lad, you're skin and bones. Starting at dinner tonight, you'll eat some more, you hear me? And choose something healthy. You're a teenaged boy—if there's one thing you need, it's calories. You might even grow a few inches." 

Harry ducked his head. "You've noticed?" 

"Of course I've noticed," Moody told him and gestured at his eye. "Even when I'm not looking, I'm looking. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" 

Harry winced and grabbed a biscuit. 

"Alright, sir," he agreed. "I'll try to eat better. It's really hard for me to eat much but I'll try. I'll get Hermione to help me with healthier options, too." 

"To survive the tournament, you need to be in good shape," Moody reminded him again. "Tip top shape, even. Can't have you keeling over while facing a dragon, can we?" 

Harry laughed at that image but Moody wasn't laughing with him. Slowly, realisation dawned on him and he shook his head. 

"You're joking. Right? Please tell me you're joking…" 

"Afraid not, lad. They organised dragons for the first task. They'll be here shortly." 

Harry's world seemed to do a backflip all of a sudden and he found himself lying on his back. Did he trip? Wait, while sitting? Surely not. Then, he remembered. 

Dragons!

He pushed himself up into a sitting position and was surprised to find the ground giving way under his hand. Looking down, he saw a mattress between himself and the floor and looked up at Moody. 

"Thanks. I don't always faint like that," he promised, blushing. 

Moody regarded him with something akin to pity, helped him up with surprising strength and vanished the mattress with a flick of his wand. 

"Don't worry, lad," the man consoled him. "Many an adult wizard would lose his bearings when faced with a dragon all on his own." 

Harry felt himself pale even further and he quickly sat down again. 

"You really need to eat more," Moody stressed. "Tomorrow evening, I would like you to bring your friend if she finds the time. I think I'm going to need some support with this." 

Harry nodded. Despite everything, he felt a pleased smile creep onto his face. He felt reminded of Mrs. Weasley always urging him to eat a little more and tried with all his might not to immediately think of Ron, too. 

"What's wrong?" Moody cocked his head at him. "You're thinking of something bad, aren't you? Look, we'll find a way for you to face that dragon and escape mostly unharmed." 

"That's not it," Harry admitted. "It's Ron, I'm… we've been through so much together and for him to abandon me like this? He knows I didn't put my name in the Goblet. He knows I hate all the fame and the whispers and all that stuff. I'm just so very disappointed and, well, hurt, I guess? I feel like he's shown his true colours. He won't even talk to me."

Moody nodded thoughtfully. 

"I find it very telling that your other friend stayed by your side, Harry," Moody told him. "For now, you should focus exclusively on those who are loyal to you. Deal with the others once you have time again– even if that is only after the tournament. Let them dig their own graves."

He was right, wasn't he? Harry was going to face a dragon in less than two weeks time and he didn't have time for Ron's pettiness now. Resolve found, he looked back at Moody. 

"You're right, I need to focus on the task." 

"That's what I want to hear, lad," Moody praised him. "Now, as for the task…" 

They spent the rest of the time until dinner assessing what useful spells Harry knew and Moody was satisfied. Not wowed, but also not disappointed. Harry supposed that at the end of this year, he might have an even bigger repertoire yet and to be honest—he couldn't wait. 

He was reminded of first-year Harry who had been so looking forward to learning magic. And yet, ever since he'd become friends with Ron, which had basically been all his time at Hogwarts, he'd become a slob in all things school. He was only really good at Defense and that was because it came to him naturally. He would never be a Hermione but he supposed he might invest a little more time and diligence into his studies from now on. 

When he shared his insight with Hermione at dinner she gifted him with a grin so wide he could see her molars. 

"Oh Harry, that's brilliant," she gushed. "I knew you had it in you, I'm so glad you're finally seeing reason. Of course I'll come with you tomorrow afternoon, but you have to hold me back or I'll give Professor Moody a hug because he did in one day what I couldn't do in over three years!" 

Harry sheepishly ducked his head and watched how Hermione sought out Moody's gaze only to give the man a thumbs-up and another brilliant smile. To his surprise, Moody actually smiled his fearsome smile back and returned the gesture. 

Well, stranger things had happened. Harry continued dutifully spooning steamed vegetables in his mouth like Hermione was doing. 

-o-

The next afternoon, on their way to Moody's quarters, Harry and Hermione came upon a group of other students. They were shoving a blonde girl around and Harry watched her colourful satchel slip from her shoulder and fall to the ground with a thud. One of the bullies was starting to make a grab for it. 

Before Harry knew what he was doing, he'd used a new spell they'd learned, Accio, to summon the satchel to him. 

"Leave her alone," he demanded. "You're five to one, have you no shame?" 

That's when he noticed that all the students were wearing Ravenclaw colours and frowned. He'd have expected this from the Slytherins but the eagles? 

The students whispered amongst themselves but when they saw Hermione standing slightly behind Harry, now also drawing her wand, they quickly dispersed. Figures, Harry chuckled to himself. He wouldn't want to be on the wrong end of a wand from Hermione either. 

His friend was already on her way to the girl, checking her over. 

"You're not hurt, are you? I'm Hermione, by the way, and this is Harry." 

"Oh I'm fine," the girl said in a calm voice. "They were going to leave eventually, you know? They always do." 

"Always," Harry repeated. "Meaning that happens regularly?" 

The girl nodded, her too big eyes searching his face. "You really should get those glasses looked at, Harry Potter," she commented. "They're not the right prescription for you. You're squinting. I'm Luna, by the way. Luna Lovegood. Thank you for helping me." 

"Oh, I probably will. Thanks, Luna," Harry grinned. 

"Uhm, Luna, why aren't you wearing any shoes?" Hermione sounded worried and Harry looked down at Luna's feet clad in nothing but rainbow-coloured socks. 

"Oh, the nargles must have taken them. Haven't seen them since I arrived here. That happens every year so I'm mostly not bothered anymore," the girl shrugged. 

"We're on our way to Professor Moody," Harry told her. "He conjured me a mattress yesterday when I, uh, fell. Maybe he can make a pair of shoes for you?" 

"Oh that would be lovely," Luna agreed, clapping her hands excitedly. 

-o-

Moody looked slightly confused when Harry brought not only Hermione with him but Luna as well. 

"Sorry for springing this on you, sir," Harry apologised, "but we found Luna here being bullied on our way to you and she didn't even have shoes because they took them!" 

Harry felt terrible about this. He hated it with a passion when people were being bullied.

Meanwhile, Moody tsked as he looked dowm at Luna's feet. The girl was rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet and wriggled her toes, seemingly oblivious to the cold stone floor.

"The nargles took them," Luna argued. "They're mean little things."

Sighing, Moody conjured a pair of simple black boots on the ground in front of Luna and the girl hopped delightedly.

"Thank you," she beamed, stepping into the shoes and lacing them up. "And they fit so well." 

When she righted herself again, she seemed to see Moody for the first time and frowned. Harry followed her gaze and saw Moody return the girl's gaze with trepidation. 

"Everything alright, Ms. Lovegood?" 

"I was just admiring your wrackspurts," the girl stated. "There are lots of them but I've never seen them so orderly before. It's strange that I haven't noticed earlier." 

Moody seemed at a loss for words, so Harry stepped forward.

"Do you have your homework with you, Luna? Maybe you can work on it in the Defense classroom while Hermione and I talk to Professor Moody. Afterwards, you could come to dinner with us?" 

"Oh, I'd like that very much," Luna enthusiastically replied. "I've never eaten dinner with anyone before here at Hogwarts!" 

Harry felt a pang in his chest upon that declaration and watched the small girl skipping down the stairs to sit in one of the chairs at the back of the class and pull out parchment and ink. 

"Well that was heartbreaking," Moody commented dryly. "She can come here with you whenever she feels like it, I suppose. Anyway, Ms. Granger, I'm glad you could make it. I want to talk to you about your friend here."

Moody conjured another chair and the two teens sat down when the professor invited them to do so.

"Of course, Professor," Hermione nodded eagerly. "Do you need me to research anything?" 

"Not exactly, no," Moody replied. "Nothing too time-consuming. You're a health-conscious young lady, aren't you? Eat your fill, eat your greens—that sort of thing. What I'd like you to do is keep an eye on Mr. Potter here and make sure he does the same. He needs to gain some weight and he needs some vitamins and nutrients. Lots more than he's been getting."

Hermione's brown eyes grew wide and she smiled more wickedly than Harry had thought her capable. 

"Finally," the girl sighed dramatically. "I've been telling him that for years and now he's finally going to listen! Thank you, Professor Moody! And Harry, next Hogsmeade weekend, we're getting you new glasses, or even better: an eye healing appointment! And new clothes! And–" 

"Woah, 'Mione, calm down," Harry stopped her. "Where is this coming from, all of a sudden?" 

"I'd guess Ms. Granger has had these issues near and dear to her heart for quite some time," Moody guessed and Hermione nodded vehemently.

"I don't have enough money for all these things with me, though," Harry admitted with a slight frown. 

"You can just write a check," Moody harrumphed. "You're Harry Potter, every shopkeeper worth his salt knows that your family is filthy rich." 

"It's decided then!" Hermione was all giddy. "I've been looking forward to this for so long." 

"You and I will get along wonderfully," Moody told her and the both of them shared what Harry could only describe as shit-eating grins. 

Moody had him practice spells again until dinner and Hermione, who knew him way better, gave him some pointers for his casting that helped tremendously. He was sure by Moody's calculating gaze that the man was watching their exchanges intently and cataloguing them for the future. 

When it was almost time to leave for dinner, Luna came up the stairs again and watched them for a while. As they were packing up, the small girl asked a question. 

"What is the first task about? Do you know?" 

"Dragons," Harry told her and tried to sound braver than he felt. "But please don't go spreading that around." 

"Mhh," Luna agreed absent-mindedly. "Say, Harry Potter, have you thought about simply talking to the dragons?" 

"What?" Harry simply looked at Luna for a moment as he considered her suggestion. Then, the sickle fell. "You think–?" 

Oh, wouldn't that be cosmic irony? Him being a bloody parselmouth and it potentially saving his life? 

"Dragons are not snakes," Moody reminded them. "There's so little knowledge about the Art that we should never rely on that. Especially since you have no way of testing it beforehand." 

"You should try it once at the beginning," Hermione suggested. "So it's Plan A but we'll have lots of contingency plans. Good thinking, Luna!"

The girl looked immensely pleased with herself and Harry wondered why a sweet girl like her should be so disliked by her own house. Well, thinking about it—he secretly considered himself a rather nice and sweet boy, too, and yet the student body hated him once again; this time for taking away the spotlight from Cedric. 

They'd have to stick together then. A band of outcasts! 

With a grin, he joined Luna and Hermione on the way to dinner. To his surprise, instead of using the professors' entrance, Moody accompanied them as well. 

"No use hiding my involvement, lad," the man told him with a shrug when he saw Harry's puzzled look. "Dumbledore will know already that I'm helping you and the rest of the student body will catch on as well. These things have a habit of getting out so it's best to face them head-on." 

Harry thanked him profusely for his support and followed Hermione to the Gryffindor table. Apparently, Luna was joining them there, too and she looked very happy to eat in company. 

As Moody was limping up to the head table, Harry could see many dark gazes looking back and forth between the two of them. 

"Oi, Potter, getting special treatment again!?" It was an older Hufflepuff who'd called out to him over the aisle separating their tables. 

Harry saw Cedric trying to shush what must have been a year mate of his but the other boy didn't stop glaring at him. 

"I told you guys, I never wanted to be in the bloody tournament," he spoke to the suddenly quiet Great Hall. "I don't care if I get points taken away for getting help—all I want to do is survive!" 

With that, he shovelled vegetables, potatoes and a lean cut of meat onto his plate. Instead of pumpkin juice, he chose water like Hermione did. He refused to care about what his fellow students thought about the exchange with the Hufflepuff student as he started to dig in. 

To draw his attention off of the stares, or maybe just because she felt like it, Luna began telling him a story about her last summer which she had spent chasing Quaffling Batarams—a magical variant of the armadillo which, when curled up, resembled a quaffle. She was very adamant that when Quidditch had first been invented, the Quaffling Batarams had been used as Quaffles which was where they'd originally gotten their name from. Apparently, she hadn't managed to spot one. 

Harry was unsure what to make of this information but was too glad about the distraction to care. 

 

 

Notes:

Throwback to the beginning of Attack on Titan when Eren thinks the bullies run away because he threatens them when it's actually Mikasa running towards them with murder in her eyes.

I do love vicious Hermione :D

Chapter 3

Harry had Defense the next day right after lunch and stayed behind afterwards. While waiting for everyone to leave, he played idly with the strap of his satchel. When the other kids had left, Moody shut the door with a flick of his wand. 

"What is it, lad? You haven't exactly been paying attention during class. What's wrong?" 

"It's the Hedmaster, Professor," Harry told him reluctantly. "Professor McGonagall told me after Transfiguration that Dumbledore wants to meet me at 4 pm today, so I can't come to our, uh, detention." 

"Is that so? Any idea what it's about?" 

"You helping me, I guess? Maybe he will ask me to stop accepting help from you?" 

"And what will you do if he does?" 

"I… will say yes and continue coming here anyway?" 

"Nice try," Moody replied with a bark of laughter. "However, how about I come with and tell him about that nice big bag of dicks I've been saving especially for him?" 

Harry couldn't stop the silly giggle from escaping his mouth and he felt the tight knots his stomach was in slowly loosening. 

"You would do that?" 

"That and more," Moody promised darkly. "Alright, any other classes left for you? No? Good, me neither. Just stay here, we'll study a little and then we'll go up there and raise a big stink." 

Harry nodded vigorously and got out the notebook Moody had asked him to start for their revisions. 

-o-

Dumbledore's office was exactly like Harry remembered it. Full of books and little whirring apparatuses and, of course, the man himself. 

The headmaster raised a white bushy eyebrow when he saw Moody enter behind Harry and elegantly got up from behind his desk. 

"Alastor, do you really think Harry needs protection from the student body on his way to my office? Tensions are running high, of course, but this is overdoing it a tad, don't you think?" 

"I didn't come to protect him from the student body," Moody replied easily. 

"Oh, so you just met on the way by chance?" The old man seemed mollified. "Well, why don't you wait outside for a moment and after my business with Harry is done, I will make time for you also." 

"Please, Albus, you know exactly why I'm here." 

"Very well, if you want to be like that," Dumbledore sighed. "Harry my boy, do you know why I asked you to come here?" 

Not entirely happy to be addressed, Harry made a show of thinking hard. Moody had told him on the way not to look into Dumbledore's eyes because, apparently, he could read your mind if you did? He had been less than pleased upon finding out about that. 

"I'm not sure but I think it's about the tournament," Harry said to the window behind Dumbledore's back. "I hope you only want to wish me good luck but I'm afraid you want me to stop getting tutoring from Professor Moody." 

"Think of everything you've accomplished already, Harry," Dumbledore implored. "The spirit of Voldemort, the basilisk, a werewolf and an army of dementors—if anyone is able to do well in the tournament, it's you!" 

"Excuse me?" Moody's voice was dangerously low. "A basilisk? The spirit of Voldemort? Why did the DMLE never hear about any of that?" 

Since the first task was so close, Harry hadn't actually been able to hold up his end of the bargain and tell Moody about everything that had happened to him so far, he realised. He winced a little and was glad that the man's ire wasn't directed at him. 

"Now, Alastor, those were school matters, and in the school they should stay." 

"Yeah, no, I don't think so. Harry, we're going. We have a lot to talk about."

Harry looked at Moody with big eyes. Surely he was joking? Dumbledore hadn't dismissed them yet! But by then, Moody had already turned around and was stomping down the stairs in a huff. 

"Sorry, Headmaster. Good evening, Headmaster," Harry mumbled without looking at the man and chased after Moody. 

The auror was already limping down the corridor, grumbling to himself.

"I don't know whether that was very brave or very foolish," Harry told him seriously. "Either way, I'm glad you're sticking up for me. It's a... a nice change." 

"We're eating dinner in my quarters, today. I will have you give me a brief overview over your first three years here." 

"Alright," Harry agreed. "But please remember– you might leave at the end of the year, but I'll be stuck here for three more afterwards. Please don't antagonise Dumbledore too much." 

"Laddie, I know no one told you about your options before, so hear me out," Moody countered and led Harry up the stairs towards his office. "You don't need to be here. You can always continue your education at Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, any of the American schools except the all-girl one, or you can even be tutored at home and just take your O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s at the ministry. Stop worrying about Dumbledore."

Stunned, Harry looked at him. "I have options?" 

His voice was frail. Had someone told him about that in his second year, he would have jumped at the chance to escape to somewhere else. Anywhere else! 

Moody deposited him in the chair he already almost considered his and had a house elf bring him a big mug of hot chocolate. 

"Drink that, lad, and when you feel like it, start telling me about your first three years." 

Moody started a fire in his fireplace that warmed Harry where he was cowering in his chair. While he nipped at his hot chocolate - why had Lupin never contacted him before or after third year, damn it? - Moody went to sit behind his desk and started marking essays. 

Harry didn't know how much time had passed until he found his voice. 

"In first year, Dumbledore hid the Philosopher's Stone here in school, guarded by a cerberus, a devil's snare and some other traps and challenges. Me, Ron and Hermione passed them all at the end of the year to stop Snape but it was actually Quirrell. Turned out, he was possessed by the spirit of Voldemort…"

-o-

Once he'd started, the words just came pouring out. He talked about seeing his parents in the mirror, about meeting Dumbledore there, Norbert, his experience in the Forbidden Forest—everything. He was surprised by how many close encounters and dangerous challenges he'd endured in just his first year alone. 

While he was talking, Moody had come around his desk to sit down in the other armchair. The man wasn't looking at him, at least not directly, which Harry was immensely thankful for. He didn't like being looked at much, especially when he was talking. 

When he was done with first year it had taken way longer than either of them had anticipated and he felt strangely numb. 

"Not much help from your professors, was there?" 

Harry mutely shook his head. 

"Shame. Minerva shouldn't have brushed you off like that and don't even get me started on that traitor Snape letting out his frustrations on a boy whose only fault is looking a little too much like his father." 

Harry shrugged because he didn't know what to say to that. It was the first time an adult had acknowledged Snape's behaviour towards him as wrong. 

"Snape can read your thoughts too, just like Dumbledore," Moody warned him. "All this time, he knew exactly that you're just a normal boy who isn't nearly as arrogant as his father and he used the fact that you're mellow and have no one to stick up for you to satiate some twisted desire to best his former nemesis. Despicable." 

Despite himself, Harry felt his eyes start to prickle. Surely he wouldn't cry again? He tried to take deep, measured breaths and concentrated on the flames dancing in the fireplace. 

"You've got me in your corner now, lad. At least as long as you want me." 

Harry looked over at Moody because the auror's voice sounded thick and kind of sad? He was taking a swig from his flask, as he so often did, and didn't return Harry's look. 

"I want you in my corner," Harry clarified. "That won't change." 

Moody snorted but nodded, hauling him up and guiding him towards the desk. A house elf brought them a supper consisting of a steamy stew with lots of veggies and buttered rolls and Harry was surprised to find that he was starving. 

-o-

When the morning of the first task dawned, Harry woke up with one goal and one goal only: survive. 

Together with Hermione, he'd spent the evening before in a disused classroom to charm his robes to be more fire-resistant so they wouldn't immediately go up in flame if he was hit. When he shrugged them on after he was done in the bathroom, he was greeted by Hermione down in the common room. 

They went to breakfast together and met up with Luna on the Grand Staircase. A couple of contingency plans they'd devised had actually come from her and Harry was immensely glad to have stumbled upon the small girl by chance. 

Luna, for her part, was now even more carefree than before. Moody had gifted her with a lock for her trunk that would keep out anyone who shouldn't stick their fingers in her things. In her first week of using it, three Ravenclaw girls had been hospitalised with boils all over their body and swollen, purple tongues that made it almost impossible to breathe. 

After that, there had been no more attempts to take the girl's property. Harry snorted when he remembered how Luna had thanked Professor Moody: the man was now a dubiously proud owner of his very own string of used quill nubs which was, apparently, a great way of warding your written correspondence against Wrackspurt influence.

The Great Hall was still empty this early in the morning and Harry loaded his plate almost defiantly with porridge and pieces of fruit and ate until there was no space left in his belly. 

When he was done, the Hall had filled some more so he just kept on talking about his plans with Hermione and Luna. Soon enough Dumbledore and Moody descended from the head table and made their way for Cedric and Harry, respectively. 

The boys followed them out and into the antechamber Harry could remember from before the Sorting in his first year. 

"Your new glasses suit you, Harry," Cedric told him. The boy sounded nervous and Harry was relieved to engage in mindless chatter for a while. 

"Thanks, I thought I should try out something new," Harry answered. "Round and small was all my father but I never knew him– these ones are all Harry. I might even get my eyes corrected next year." 

The new frames were big and rectangular and he liked the way they made his face look more delicate in comparison. 

"It's a good change, even more so if it gives you confidence."

He hadn't told Moody, but he'd felt compelled to tell Cedric about the dragons. After all, Karkaroff and Maxime were definitely the type to tell their champions all they could. Since finding out Harry really didn't want to be there and that he was genuinely afraid for his life, Cedric had been loads nicer to him and had even tried to get the student body to stop wearing those ridiculous pins. 

Harry noticed that Dumbledore's expression had become pained once the two champions had started talking about Harry choosing to look like his own person and he was internally cheering. His opinion of the headmaster who hadn't added enough precautions to keep him out of the bloody tournament wasn't the best at the moment after all. 

He sidled up closer to Moody when the two other champions arrived with their headmaster and headmistress and listened with trepidation as hundreds of pairs of feet passed the room they waited in. 

"You gonna be alright, Potter?" 

It was always Potter when they weren't alone in Moody's office. 

"I really don't know," Harry admitted. "I'm hoping for the best." 

Moody grunted and clasped an arm around his shoulder as they made their way towards the Forbidden Forest. Harry was happy for the contact that grounded him while his nerves were busy tingling all over his body. 

At least the porridge was a comforting heavy weight in his belly. He swore to himself to eat more before Quidditch games should he still be alive to take part in them next year. 

Karkaroff and Maxime were both busy whispering to their students as they walked; only Cedric and Dumbledore were silently shuffling along next to each other. Harry tucked himself a little more firmly into Moody's side and thanked his lucky stars he wasn't in this alone.

-o-

Harry was third to face his dragon. Lady Fate was firmly in his camp today because it had been Krum who'd drawn the fearsome Hungarian Horntail. For a second there, he'd been completely sure that would have been his.

As it were, he was set to face the Chinese Fireball. He'd read extensively about dragons during the last week and his heart started hammering in his chest when he remembered that Fireballs had very long bodies and extremely short legs: the most snake-like of all the dragons here. 

Maybe, just maybe, Plan A could work. And if not, he still had Contingency Plans B to G. 

The judges and Moody left them alone in the tent and the champions each kept to themselves. Harry went through all his plans again and saw from the corner of his eye how Cedric was silently moving his lips and practicing wand movements. 

Shortly afterwards, Cedric was the first to leave with muttered good lucks from his fellow contestants. Harry could hardly differentiate between the roars of the crowd and the dragon and was starting to feel a little sick.

In that moment, a little blue butterfly came flying into the open tent and sat down on his knee. Harry, Fleur and Krum eyed it curiously. When he looked towards the entrance, he saw Luna waiting some ten yards away. She grinned at him, gave him a thumbs-up and skipped away towards the arena. 

When she was gone, the butterfly flew up and exploded into a shower of red and gold sparks. Harry felt his heart lift. He didn't have many friends left, never really had many to begin with, but he was going to keep the ones he did have safe and happy. 

And he was going to survive. 

He wished Fleur good luck when she was called and started doing some simple stretching exercises Moody had shown him. If Plan A failed, he'd have to be quick on his feet, and slipping because his muscles were stiff was a no-go. 

Finally, his name was called. He thanked Krum for wishing him good luck and then strode into the arena where the Chinese Fireball was waiting for him.

The roar of the crowd was deafening and Harry found himself annoyed. The situation was volatile enough as it was and they were screaming like a herd of hippogriffs! 

Irritated, he initiated phase one of Plan A. Focusing on the feel of his magic, he started waving his wand in an intricate manner as he chanted a long incantation in Latin that Moody had taught him in two evenings' time. He managed to erect a privacy charm that enclosed almost all of the rocky terrain he and the dragon were standing in. 

Harry exhaled a great big breath when the noise from the crowd and Bagman's annoying commentary died down instantly and all he could hear was the dragon snorting and sniffing the air with its tongue in a promisingly snake-like manner. 

Next, he pointed his wand at his throat and called out: "Sonorus!" 

He concentrated on the dragon's long, snake-like body and its tongue flicking out from time to time. When he felt ready, he opened his mouth again and hissed. 

"Greetingss, dragon!" 

The dragon's head shot up and its reptilian eyes instantly focused on Harry. 

"Sserpent-child," the dragon questioned in a heavy rumble that made Harry's heart miss a beat. 

It was hard to understand the Fireball, like listening to someone talk English with an accent that was so heavy that the words spoken became a caricature, but he could understand it! 

He drew his wand up again which made the dragon crouch into a wary position. Instead of advancing, though, Harry conjured an image of a Chinese Fireball egg up into the air. 

"Your egg," he hissed, deciding to keep it as simple as possible. 

The dragon was eyeing the conjured image with a shrewd look before looking back to him. He saw that as his cue to go on. Raising his wand again, he looked at the huge nest the dragon was protecting and conjured another egg image into the sky– this one was golden. 

"Wrong egg." 

For a terrifying moment, the dragon simply stared at the images and Harry was already dreading having to start Plan B. Then, slowly, the dragon turned its head towards its nest and stuck its snout into it. 

A screech bubbled forth from the creature's throat and Harry watched with wide eyes as the dragon breathed a mushroom-shaped cloud of flame towards the dragon handlers waiting behind a barrier. There was a magical field that absorbed the fire but the dragon's attention was already back with its eggs. 

"Wrong, wrong, baby, wrong," he heard the creature hissing. 

He watched as the dragon gingerly rolled its real eggs towards one side of the nest, sniffed the golden one one last time and then gave it a great, resounding whack with its tail. 

The egg went sailing in a big arc towards Harry's right and he immediately started running to catch it since he had no idea how fragile it might be. Maybe it was important for being able to do the next task! Hermione had found out that they had often used the retrieval of important artefacts for the first task in earlier tournaments. 

The good news was that he (barely) managed to catch the egg before it landed on the ground. The bad news, however, was that he had had to leap. In the process, the surprisingly heavy egg landed in his outstretched hands only about an inch from the ground and crushed the bones in both of them upon impact with the rough stone. 

Harry grunted against the pain and felt tears starting to well up. His ribs were also sore from the fall and his knees were sure to be bloodied. 

Getting up regardless, he knelt next to the egg and made to grab it with his elbows, trying very hard not to look at his mangled hands and fingers in the process. Somehow, he managed to wrangle it up and pressed it to his chest with his forearms. 

Glancing back at the dragon, still watching him but making no move to close in on him, Harry turned towards the exit of the arena and started limping. With his concentration shot to shreds the privacy charm failed and the crowd was once again howling and snarling like a great beast.

He hated it. How had he ever liked that when he played Quidditch? 

After what felt like an eternity, he crossed the exit line and the dragon handlers swarmed the arena. Poor dragon. But at least it would soon be home in the enclosure now that the first task was almost done. 

He almost cried when he saw Moody, Hermione and Luna waiting there for him. Luna took the egg when he handed it to her and Hermione and Moody each slipped under one of his arms and half-carried him to the infirmary tent. 

Cedric and Fleur were already there and were both being seen to by Madam Pomfrey. 

"Of all the great beasts—dragons! What will they use next, nundus?" 

The medi-witch was furious and had his companions hustle him into a bed. After a quick scan, she tutted over him and started healing his knees and ribs immediately. 

"The knees were only badly scraped and two rips were partially fractured," she told him and sighed. "The hands are a lost cause, though. The bones are splintered and all over the place. I'm afraid I'll have to vanish them, and then you need to spend another night with your friend Skele-Gro." 

"Another night?" Moody looked at Harry dubiously. "What do they do with you here, lad?" 

Harry merely shrugged and watched impassively as Madam Pomfrey vanished the bones in his hands and fingers. Thankfully, the pain mostly stopped with that. 

"I'll only give you the potion once all this is done, dear," she told him and patted his arm. "Together with a nice dreamless sleep potion. No need to have you experience that while you're getting your points." 

"Thanks," Harry replied, looking down at his floppy hands. 

"You were very brave," Luna whispered from where she was still cradling the egg against her chest. It looked almost comically large in the slight girl's grasp.

"I'm so glad Plan A worked, in a way," Hermione gushed. "The implications of Dragons understanding Parseltongue! Everyone was wondering what you were doing, you know? But word soon spread when someone figured it out, so you'll probably have to deal with the press again tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow," Moody echoed, putting a big hand on Harry's shoulder. "But today is for rest. You did good, lad. Lean back now." 

Harry gladly leaned back into the soft pillows and realised that he was still alive. One down, two to go. He closed his eyes and merely concentrated on breathing for a while. Moody had shown him this rudimentary meditation technique and he used it to drown out the sounds of Krum facing the Horntail that came floating over towards the makeshift infirmary. 

A commotion outside the tent had his eyes fly open again after a short while. Moody and Luna were still sitting on a bench at his bedside but Hermione was blocking the entrance of the tent. 

"Absolutely not," he heard her say in a clipped tone. 

"Don't be like that, Hermione, let me through!" 

Ron. Bugger. 

"He's hurt, leave him alone!" 

"Come on, it was mental what he pulled back there. No way did he want to do the bloody tournament voluntarily!" 

"Realised that now, have you?" Hermione's voice was still dangerously low. "He's resting and he's in good hands. When he's better, you guys can talk. But for now, leave us alone." 

"It's us now, is it? What, the Prophet was right about you two?"

Ron's voice was agitated now. He looked over Hermione's shoulder and saw with a grin that Harry was awake and watching them. The boy carelessly shoved past Hermione and quickly jogged in their direction. Harry flinched back in distaste and worry. 

"Oi mate, that was–" 

He didn't get any further than that. Quick as a whip, Moody had drawn his wand and cast an overpowered "Depulso!" towards Ron. The boy flew back roughly ten feet, past Hermione who'd stumbled to the ground after he'd shoved her and out the open flap of the tent. 

He landed with a thud on the soft ground outside and made a weak groaning sound. 

"No means no, boy," Moody growled after him. "Consent—always an issue with teenage boys." 

Luna and Hermione giggled but Harry felt slightly sick as he watched Dean and Seamus help Ron to his feet. 

"I fear life in the dorm will be even less harmonious from now on," Harry sighed. "But he was being a right prat. Thank you, professor."

"My pleasure," the man grinned toothily. 

When he was on your side, Moody's effect on people was quite a boon, Harry realised. Once word got out just how far the man was willing to go to protect him, the tripping jinxes directed his way might actually stop. 

Before too long, Krum had returned unharmed and the champions were led before the judges. Luna and Hermione had taken the time to stuff Harry's hands into the pockets of his robes so they wouldn't flop about as much and he was very grateful for it. 

All four of the champions had managed to retrieve the egg but everyone but Krum had gotten injured in the process. Krum's dragon, on the other hand, had apparently trampled a couple of its own eggs because of a vicious curse he had used. 

All in all, the scores were about even. There were 50 possible points between the five judges, and Fleur took the lead with 41 of them since she was only minimally hurt and no eggs had been squashed. Krum was second with 38 points because so many eggs being broken was a right shame and everyone knew it. Cedric and Harry who'd both been hurt pretty badly went home with 33 points each. 

Harry still felt pretty sore and was glad to have company on the long trek up to the castle. Hermione was carrying the egg now and Luna had her arms looped around one of his to steady him should he stumble. Madam Pomfrey had offered to float him up to the castle on a stretcher but he had felt like this was out of the question. 

He needed the exertion. He was alive, he'd survived the dragon. He'd spoken to it!

Maybe, just maybe, he really would make it out of the tournament alive. 

A small smile fought its way onto his face and stayed there right until he fell into a dreamless sleep after taking both his potions. 

 

 

 

Chapter 4

Notes:

In this chapter, we have a gaggle of dorks doing dorky things. Thank you for your attention.

When Harry woke up again in the infirmary, he had no idea how much time had passed. There was light streaming in through the windows and Harry reached for his new glasses which should be somewhere on his nightstand. Someone handed them to him and Luna came into focus when he put them on. 

"Welcome back, Harry," she smiled. "It's Friday, the day after the task. Your hands are perfect again! Madam Pomfrey came by earlier to check one last time. 

"Great," Harry croaked and immediately reached for a glass of water on his nightstand. "Ugh, better. What time is it? Shouldn't you be in class?" 

"Free period," Luna answered with a wink. "It's shortly before lunch. Professor Moody had a free first period and Hermione a free second period. It all worked out perfectly and now it's my turn." 

"What, I've always had someone sitting here?" 

"Yep," Luna replied, popping the 'p'. "You also have lots of cards and gifts." 

"Fair-weather friends," Harry found himself grumbling as he eyed the small mountain of gifts with distaste. "I couldn't walk through the halls without being shoved or hexed for three bloody weeks and now I'm suddenly the golden boy again? I'm in last place, they should all be mad." 

"Maybe it's from the other schools' students," Luna shrugged. "Their way of thanking you for making it easy for their champions." 

Harry snorted at that. 

"As if," he muttered fondly. "Exactly how far away is lunch? I'm starving!" 

"Oh, it'll start any minute now. Professor Moody wanted to eat something and then relieve me of Potter duty. His words."

"Then we'd better get to the Great Hall soon to spare him the journey. No, wait, am I even allowed to leave? Having Madam Pomfrey float me back here during lunch would be a bit too much for the remnants of my pride." 

"You may leave," Luna said and helped him to his feet.

Harry took a moment to steady himself after he'd sat up and was relieved to find that he felt fine. Plucking the cards out among the sweets lest they should be by someone who actually cared, he left the rest behind. Maybe Madam Pomfrey would be able to give it to some sweet sick first year who'd never wronged Harry before. 

"I just realised, Luna," Harry hissed and stopped in his tracks shortly before they arrived at their destination, "I don't even want to go into the Great Hall. They'll all stare at me! I don't want that right now. Bugger, I should have brought along some of the sweets!" 

"We could go down to the kitchens," Luna suggested. "I eat there sometimes. The house elves are always very nice, even if they're controlled by the Rakatonian Rumdungers. They give me pudding even when it's not on the menu that day." 

"The what now?" 

"Pudding? Sweet dessert made from milk and sugar and–" 

"No, I, Luna, gah, I know what pudding is. What are the Racketing whatevers?" 

"Rakatonian Rumdungers, but don't worry. I have my knitted sock with me at all times. Keeps them in check." 

She showed Harry a garishly pink knitted sock that looked wonky enough to be handmade. 

"Oh, right. Well. I always have socks with me too, so we should be fine." 

But when they turned to go down to the dungeon level at the foot of the Grand Staircase, Moody stepped out of a passage near them. 

"Not hungry then?" 

"Gah! Very, uh, very much so, actually," Harry replied after he got over his surprise, looking about himself. There were only a few students milling around but they kept glancing at him. "Just… not in the mood for the stares."

His expression must have been miserable enough for Moody to take pity on him. 

"Come on then, we'll eat in my office," the man offered. "What about you?" 

Luna hummed in thought but shook her head. "I should go check on Hermione, her wrackspurts need calming. She'll be glad to know Harry is awake. Thanks for the offer!" 

Without waiting for a reply, Luna skipped off humming a joyful tune. 

"What a weird little creature," Moody muttered, sounding quite unlike himself. "Well, nothing for it. Come on then, Potter, you know the way by now." 

-o-

The office was warm when they entered and Harry let himself sink into the chair opposite Moody's desk. 

"You can't always hide, you know? I won't let you eat dinner in here, too." 

"I'm just glad for the reprieve, professor," Harry sighed, taking care to look Moody in the eye. "Thank you for helping me with the first task; I really, really appreciate it. I hope you're not facing backlash because of it?" 

"Don't worry about me, Harry," Moody grumbled. "Those stuck-up so-called professors wouldn't recognise a student in need if he bled out all over them." 

"Glad about the Defense curse then?" Harry started digging into the plate a house elf had brought upon Moody's request. 

"A year of this is enough for me," Moody huffed in that rough laugh of his that Harry had quickly begun to associate with comfort. "I've still got more essays to read through than I care to even think about. This school needs more teachers. Don't know what Albus is thinking." 

Harry let Moody grumble in peace and watched the man pull a stack of essays towards him. As he was eating, Moody half-heartedly scrawled notes in the margins. 

"I have lots of essays to do this weekend," Harry offered when he was done. "Maybe I could do them here? If it doesn't bother you, that is. Might be nicer to work when there's someone else there? And I have terrible handwriting. I can probably help you when you can't decipher something!" 

Moody looked at him with a shrewd expression. 

"You don't need to sell yourself like that, Harry," the man told him. "There are people who will want to spend time with you simply in exchange for your presence—because they like it, and because that alone is enough for them. And yes, I would enjoy your presence while I slowly lose my mind reading the 6th year Gryffindor's essays."

Wow. Was that a thing he did? It probably was. Harry felt like an idiot and finished his meal in silence. He had never been happier about having a free afternoon to himself than right now. There was a lot of thinking to be done. 

When lunch period was almost over, Moody shooed him out of his office because he still had one period with his N.E.W.T. students left. Harry planned to use that time to gather his books and writing equipment and maybe put on some of the new clothes Hermione and Luna had gently bullied him into buying during the Hogsmeade weekend. 

He had to admit... It had been worth it for the new, comfortable underwear alone.

-o-

The common room was still pretty empty and Harry slunk up to the dorms immediately. 

No one was there yet, so he quickly opened his trunk to select some clothes to wear. It was a weird, happy feeling to be greeted by pretty fabrics and stylish cuts and not by Uncle Vernon's old socks and Dudley's grey hand-me-downs. 

Selecting a pair of dark trousers, a warm green jumper and a grey overrobe, Harry felt like a proper wizard. No wonder people like Malfoy had self-confidence to spare if it felt this good to wear well-tailored pretty clothes. 

The moment he was admiring himself in the mirror was, of course, the moment Ron, Dean and Seamus came into the dorm, laughing about something or other. 

"Oh look," Ron hissed with an unflattering expression when he saw him. "Seems like we're rid of Harry Potter and have a new transfer student. Must be one of Malfoy's cousins from the look of it." 

Seamus readily chuckled at that but Dean merely sighed. He'd always been a decent one, Dean. 

"Let him be," Dean said to Ron, shaking his head. "He's under enough pressure as it is. He doesn't need to be challenged in his own sleeping quarters." 

At that moment, Neville entered the dorm, too. He must have heard Dean's appeal because he was nodding. 

"I propose to declare our dorm room neutral ground," the boy suggested. "No arguments, no mean comments; Just a place for sleeping and talking civilly. All in favour raise your hand." 

Dean and Neville immediately raised their hand and Harry followed suit. Seamus rolled his eyes but put his hands up, too, when Dean elbowed him in the side.

"Fine," Ron sighed, rolling his eyes as well. "No fighting in the dorm, get it. Probably better that way, too." 

-o-

So it was with a lighter heart that Harry knocked on Moody's office door after the man's lesson was over. 

Moody eyed him up and down when he opened the door and gave him a crooked smile. 

"So there is a real young man under there and not just three house-elves standing on each other's shoulders pretending to be the Boy-Who-Lived." 

Harry pushed past the man with a blush. "It's not my fault my relatives suck," he mumbled petulantly and felt silly while doing so. "And no one told me I could pay with a signature…" 

"It was a compliment, lad," Moody mollified him, "not an attack." 

"Sorry for snapping at you," Harry sighed. "I just had a confrontation of sorts in my dorm but we've agreed on a truce for now. Ron said, uh, he said I look like Draco Malfoy's cousin in these clothes." 

"He's a Weasley," Moody shrugged. "The nicest clothes he's ever possessed are the ones worn by only four brothers before him instead of five. You said yourself he's a jealous little bugger, didn't you? Well, there you are!"

"I guess," Harry acceded, feeling his shoulders droop a little. "You know, I'm a little afraid he's been keeping people away from me these past three years with his jealousy. He only ever wanted to hang out alone with me and I feel like not only did I miss out on more friendships, but also that the ship has now sailed because people have made their opinions about me."

"Nothing for it, lad. You either look elsewhere for friends or you keep wallowing in self-pity." 

"Or maybe I'll just stick with what I have," Harry grumbled as he took out his books and parchment. 

Moody let out one of his guffawing laughs and clapped him carefully on the back. 

"You do that, lad," he agreed and took his seat behind his desk. 

They spent the time until dinner in companionable silence, even if Harry silently mulled over lost opportunities and two-faced friends more than he wrote his essays.

-o-

"Dancing!" 

"What of it, lad?" 

"I have to dance! Dance! Me! Open the bloody ball with the other champions, no less!" 

"The Yule Ball, yes, I had rather hoped they wouldn't have one with this tournament." Moody made a face. "No quiet time for us teachers to enjoy anything, you see? Not if we don't want a horde of babies crawling around here in 9 months time." 

"Oh," Harry said, rather unintelligently. "That… wouldn't be good. Would rather get in the way of O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, babies, yeah? I'm not planning on doing any of that."

"So who are you taking? Ms. Granger or your delightful little blonde elf friend?" 

"The elf," Harry grinned, then faltered. "That is, at least I'm planning on it. I haven't asked yet and Hermione has already told me that she's going with Krum of all people! Apparently, under his gruff exterior, he's a right scholar at heart and they've been studying together."

"He can't be lazy if he's been chosen," Moody shrugged. 

"I've been chosen," Harry argued. "And before the tournament, I was very lazy with studying." 

"Well, do you know how you were chosen anyway if not for your extraordinary scholarly prowess?" 

That surprised the boy and he thought about it for a while.

"I… don't actually know. I have no idea how the goblet of fire works. Maybe I just assumed that someone put my name in and I was chosen as Hogwarts' second contestant? But that can't be right, the goblet would choose only one student per school and even if Hogwarts had two, it would have been another older student, wouldn't it?"

Moody merely looked at him with an impervious expression, urging him to go on by staying quiet. 

"Not Hogwarts then," Harry concluded. This whole deduction thing was getting easier the more time he spent in his new mentor's presence. "So I'm champion of… another school? But then someone must have charmed the goblet!" 

"Very good," Moody praised. "That's what Dumbledore thinks, too. We talked about it afterwards." 

"What!" Harry surged out of his chair in disbelief and anger. "He could have said something! The very next day at breakfast, he could have told everyone that I didn't do it myself! I could never have done such magic upon such an ancient artifact… He, he really doesn't care about me at all, does he? Only about the bloody Boy-Who-Lived."

Defeated, he slumped back into his chair and buried his face in his hands. 

"I'm so stupid, stupid, stupid," he chanted, pulling at his hair as he did so. 

No sooner had he started chanting than he heard Moody laboriously getting up from his chair and limping over, only to pull him effortlessly up by his elbows and crush him into another hug. 

"There, there," Moody grumbled. "I know it's hard to find out your heroes might not be the Stalwart Protectors of all Things Good you thought they were, but I've always considered such things a challenge." 

"I've had enough of challenges for a lifetime," Harry mumbled when Moody let him go again. 

"You and I may not think too highly of Divination, lad, but you can't deny that you're marked by Lady Fate herself. There's only one way forward for you: preparation, preparation, preparation and CONSTANT VIGILANCE." 

Harry didn't even wince, this time, and Moody grinned broadly at him. Must have passed some kind of test, then. 

"Go find your little elf friend and ask her to the Ball, Harry. She'll cheer you up in no time, I'm sure of it." 

-o-

With Yule now only two weeks away, the atmosphere in the castle was beginning to get festive. Harry knew that Hogwarts had probably never been so full during a break before now and hoped desperately that it wouldn't be again for quite some time. 

He found Luna with the help of the map. She was sitting in an alcove in a 4th floor corridor, busy drawing something in a notebook. Since he didn't want to startle her, he called out to the girl and she smiled happily when he walked up to her. 

"Hello Harry Potter, how nice of you to visit," she greeted him amicably and patted the cushion in front of her. 

Harry sat down opposite her and leaned back against the stone wall of the alcove behind him. Either Luna had brought along the comfortable cushions they were sitting on, or she'd conjured them. Conjuring was pretty advanced magic, but in the short time he'd known her, Harry had found out that Luna knew her way around with a wand. 

"The view is nice," Harry told her approvingly, looking out of the window that reached as high as the top of the alcove. "I can see why you enjoy sitting here. But doesn't it get cold after a while?" 

"I'm not bothered much by the cold," Luna shrugged easily and leaned back over her notebook. 

"Actually, Luna, there was something I've been wanting to ask you," Harry said with a strangely heavy tongue.

"You look nervous," Luna realised worriedly. "Did someone hex you? I can set some Nargles on their stuff if you want. I might have caught some under a shoe back in the dorm but I daren't look in case they run away." 

"What... No, nothing like that, don't worry. It's just, er, me being worried about what I'm going to ask you. So you know there's a Yule Ball this holiday, yes?" 

"Only everyone has been talking about it," Luna replied with an exasperated smile. "I'm a third year, though, you'll have to tell me all about it the next day." 

"That's just the thing," Harry said and steeled his nerves. "I was wondering whether, maybe, you would consider coming along as my date? Only as friends, if that's alright, but I'd love to go with you nonetheless!" 

Luna looked at him with her mouth frozen into a ridiculous 'O' expression but Harry didn't feel like laughing. 

"You don't have to, of course," he quickly added, chagrined. 

"Oh, but I'd so love to come as your friend date, Harry. Really, I would! It's just, no one has ever asked me along to anything of the sort." 

Luna climbed out of the alcove, walked over to his side and pulled him into a sideways hug that he returned with a big smile. Maybe the ball wouldn't turn out to be quite the disaster he'd thought it would be. 

-o-

It would turn out to be an utter disaster. After having stepped on Hermione's toes for the fourth time, Harry excused himself and stepped off the dance floor where their fellow Gryffindors were awkwardly shuffling around with members of the opposite sex. 

"I'll have to give Luna steel-capped boots, Hermione," he whined as the girl followed. "And to think that I'll have to open the ball and have everyone watch me? It's a disaster!" 

"Quit being melodramatic," Hermione admonished him and added in a quieter voice: "I'll have to open the dance just as much as you! I need all the practice I can get and the other boys aren't exactly lining up to dance with me so you will get your head out of your bum and dance with me, Harry Potter."

Not about to face the fury of a witch scorned by an unwilling dance partner, Harry grit his teeth and soldiered on. 

"This might be exactly the opposite of what you need, Harry, but…" Hermione took a deep breath and continued. "This dance floor is now a Quidditch pitch. I am your broom. The snitch is always on the other end of the dance floor and you can only cross it by following the right steps, aka doing the right flying maneuvers. Please don't make me repeat that." 

Harry's eyes widened. He could do complicated flying maneuvers—what was so different and difficult about doing some measly steps? On the ground, no less. Ha! 

With renewed confidence and a will to learn, Harry started leading Hermione across the dance floor. Suddenly, Fred and Angelina became an enemy Bludger trying to strike at his head and he swerved his broom/Hermione to get out of the way only for Dean and Parvati to turn into the enemy Seeker trying to overtake them to reach the Snitch first! 

It wasn't perfect, not by a long shot, but they actually moved and he hardly stepped on Hermione's toes, now that they actually had somewhere to go instead of shuffling around in one place. 

"You're such a jock," Hermione joked afterwards and Harry only laughed along with her, way too relieved to be affronted. 

-o-

"How far along are you with the Golden Egg?" 

It was the middle of December now and Moody and Harry still met on the weekends to do their work together. The more vigorous training regimen would restart closer to the second task which was scheduled for February 24th.

"Well, I did try to open it," Harry defended himself immediately. "There was this horrid screeching sound so I closed it again. Everyone in the boys' dorms was very cross with me after that." 

"I see," Moody replied with a dark chuckle. "What else are you going to try?" 

"I'm not sure, really. I was thinking of asking Professor Sprout for a pair of the ear protectors we used for cultivating Mandrakes but ever since my name came out of the Goblet, well… Cedric is one of her 'Puffs." 

"What would you do with the ear protectors? Look at the egg in peace?" 

"Yeah, I was planning on taking it somewhere remote or erecting a privacy spell and just look at it. It looked empty but I was stressed, then, and maybe there's something hidden." 

"Not a bad idea, lad, not bad at all. Unfortunately, that's not the solution. If you can give me two more good ideas, I'll give you a clue for the actual solution." 

"Right," Harry agreed with a grin, thinking. "Another idea I had was to heat it up really hot? I mean, it's what you do with eggs, it sounds like a tea kettle and they hid it with dragon eggs which are notoriously kept very warm."

Moody's eyebrows crept up his forehead. "Also wrong, but no less impressive. One more good idea, lad, what have you got?" 

"That's it for now. My next step, if both of these failed, would have been asking Hermione or Luna for ideas. Oh, but I could try to think like Hermione or Luna, I suppose! Hermione would tell me to look up magical eggs in a book or, magical… tongues! Wait! Wait, what if it's actually a language! I mean, Parseltongue sounds weird to everyone but me, well, and Voldemort of course, so maybe there are other languages like that?"

"Ha, I knew you had it in you!" Moody growled in triumph. "You're very close, so here's my hint: water." 

"Just water?" Upon Moody's nod, Harry thought about what languages could only be heard in water. "Well, it would have to be here at Hogwarts, so there's the Black Lake, of course. In the lake, we have… the Giant Squid, grindylows, lots and lots of fish and—bugger. The merpeople." 

Moody nodded sagely, a big grin on his face. "The merpeople. Everything else, we'll deal with once you've heard what the egg has to say. You'll need to listen to it underwater as you've understood by now and students only have showers. There is the Prefect's bathroom but with everyone staying here over the holidays because of the ball, you'd have to go in the middle of the night which is risky."

Harry nodded along, tight-lipped. He trusted Moody a lot by now but he didn't want him to know about the Map or his Cloak yet. 

"I have an offer," Moody began haltingly and his tongue slipped out again nervously, "but if you think it's… weird, just say no. Every teacher has a private bathroom and we actually do have tubs. So if you want to avoid having to break into the Prefect's bathroom, I would allow you to use the tub in my personal bathroom during the break." 

"Oh sure, that would be brilliant," Harry answered easily. "Less rule-breaking means fewer detentions with Snape. I'm all for that!" 

"He does like putting his big nose where it doesn't belong, doesn't he?" Moody sighed and leaned back in his chair. "We'll take care of his attitude towards you sometime next year." 

Harry nodded enthusiastically and spent the next couple minutes imagining Moody scolding a contrite and fearful Snape. Not likely but nevertheless incredibly amusing.

Chapter 5

Notes:

It's Christmas in Hogwarts and Harry gets one present more than he expected <3

Harry spent Christmas Eve with Moody and Luna. 

They'd invited Hermione but she'd begged off, citing prior appointments. When Harry had asked about Krum's involvement in those, the girl had blushed furiously and batted at his arm. Since he was no Ron, Harry merely congratulated her on being close to the stoic Bulgarian, wished her luck and urged her to be safe while out and about. Apparently, that had been enough to warrant a big hug he'd gladly accepted. 

With how many hugs he'd been getting lately, even if only by the same people, Harry felt he had started getting quite proficient at them and didn't dread them as much. In fact, he was looking forward to them. 

When the three of them were on their third round of Exploding Snap - Moody was surprisingly good at the game - a sharp knock rattled the door. Harry prayed to whoever was listening that it wasn't a distraught Hermione looking for comfort. 

"Come in," Moody drawled and Harry instantly relaxed. 

His professor didn't sound worried and he must have been able to see who it was through the door.

"Alastor," Professor McGonagall greeted upon entering. "Mr. Potter, Ms. Lovegood. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" 

Harry realised they must look somewhat silly– him and Luna sprawled on big fluffy cushions Moody had conjured for them and the man himself sitting cross-legged on an even bigger one. And with his artificial leg taken off and leaning next to him, no less! (Moody had shared that it started to chafe after a while and the two students were quick to assure him that they didn't mind either way.) 

"Not at all, Minerva," Moody replied with a toothy smile. "Would you care to join us? I'm teaching these two young'uns how to play like proper wizards and witches." 

"No, thank, you, Alastor," Professor McGonagall declined with a smile that seemed rather strained. "I merely came to inform you that Professor Dumbledore has requested your presence to go over the security details for tomorrow evening once again." 

"And you're his owl? I've gone over the security with him more times than I care to even think about. If he wants me to walk him through it again, and on Christmas Eve to boot, I shall be here, in my quarters, doing revelry with some of my favourite students. He knows where to find me."

"About that, Alastor," McGonagall started awkwardly, with a Look, capital L, towards Harry and Luna, "we try to be as unbiased here at Hogwarts as possible. No favouritism, no special treatment and-" 

"Kindly take this sentiment to the dungeons, Minerva," Moody practically hissed. "I bet your resident Potions Master might benefit from the lecture. As it stands, I'm paying attention to two brilliant students who have thus far been neglected by Hogwarts staff and will continue to do so for the rest of the school year. Merry Christmas!" 

McGonagall blustered for a moment and Harry was sure she was about to retort something. But then, her gaze fell on him and Luna who were watching the exchange anxiously and her expression became pained.

"I shall inform the headmaster of your decision, Alastor. A Merry Christmas to you three."

When she had left, the three were quick to agree that it wouldn't take Dumbledore long to come a-knocking next. It was Luna who won the betting pool of three chocolate frogs when a booming knock sounded on the door during their next round. 

After Moody had bid him enter, the old man let his gaze wander over the scene, raising an eyebrow at Luna who was triumphantly holding her bounty of chocolate frogs to her chest. 

"Alastor, Minerva has informed me that you were indisposed to go over the security details," he started, his eyes resting on the deck of cards. "And now I see you are merely playing games with underage students?" 

Harry thought it was a testament to Moody's restraint that he only shrugged. 

"If you tell me where in my contract it says that I'm required to follow your every whim and fancy, on Christmas Eve, I may add, I will gladly do my duty," the man growled in a tone that was as saccharine as it was lethal. 

"I had thought that with your background, you of all people should be happy to be once again assured that no ill will befall us tomorrow." 

"I am already sure of that, seeing as I've devised all the plans myself, headmaster. If that is all? I am most definitely winning this round - again - and I'd hate to lose my flow." 

"Harry my boy," Dumbledore said then, turning to him next. "Wouldn't you rather spend the evening among people your own age? It saddens me to see that you and Mr. Weasley have parted ways." 

"I'm the happiest I've ever been right now," Harry replied and felt his heart soar when he realised it was true. "I don't have many people left because of the whole tournament business but I've found my solace in quality over quantity." 

Dumbledore looked very sad when he had finished but Harry couldn't find it in himself to care. He idly wondered who Dumbledore spent Christmas Eve with. Snape, maybe?

"As you wish," Dumbledore sighed with the kind of weariness only the very old could possess. "A Merry Christmas to you, Harry. Ms. Lovegood, Alastor." 

When the old man shut the door with a noise that was a little louder than it ought to have been, Harry felt quite like it was a metaphor for a door falling shut in his relationship with Dumbledore. He hardened his heart against the regret and longing that threatened to creep up on him and took a long sip from his hot cocoa to soothe his nerves. 

It wasn't his fault Dumbledore had never really taken an interest in him. If even his old friends like Moody thought he was in the wrong then there must be something to it, right? After all, all Harry had ever wished for was a family and he didn't see Dumbledore providing or even facilitating that anytime soon. 

As his attention reverted back to Moody's office, he became aware that Luna and the professor were waiting for him. 

"Sorry," he mumbled bashfully. "I was lost in thought there for a moment." 

"We're just glad to have you back, Harry," Luna smiled serenely, gently patting the back of his hand.

Moody, meanwhile, was looking at him with one of those strangely calculating looks he sometimes wore before giving him a big grin that stretched the unsightly scars on his face. 

"You're a good lad," the auror told him. "You'll be fine, I'll make sure of it." 

Harry found that he believed him without reservation and allowed himself to hope. 

-o-

The next morning, he was surprised to awake to the sight of a humble pile of presents on his bed. Having access to as much money as he wanted since figuring out how to pay by cheque, Harry immediately wondered what his friends thought of the gifts he'd bought them via owl-order and in Hogsmeade. 

Hermione had gifted him with a bracelet, of all things. Her card told him that the oiled, shining piece of wood in the middle of it was functioning as a runestone and that she'd carved it herself to protect him from those who'd do him harm. Self-consciously, she'd added that he could of course also wear it around his ankle so no one would see. 

Next was Luna's. The first part was a picture she'd drawn herself in a frame with a blue butterfly sitting on it that would fly around if you looked at it for too long. The picture showed a watercolour rendition of a stag, a rabbit, a coyote and an otter. The stag was either his father or his patronus but he didn't know who or what the other animals were supposed to represent. He'd have to ask her.

The second part was an absurd pair of glasses with huge frames decorated with glitter and other unspeakable things. There was no card, so he really didn't know what to make of that but he simply added it to the list of questions. 

There was also one from Sirius who was still relaxing and healing somewhere warm and dementor-free on offshore Black money. Fortunately, his godfather was content with having Moody help him and provided support and advice from whatever tropical paradise he had travelled to. When he unwrapped the present, Harry couldn't hide a grin. Sirius had gotten him a new satchel lined with mokeskin—ridiculously expensive but he had lamented in a letter to his godfather how his bag seemed to grow ever fuller with books and other equipment with every passing school year. 

There were three left now and none of them looked like a patented Weasley sweater so Mr. and Mrs. Weasley must have followed in Ron's footsteps. Harry felt guilt and a sense of longing lodged behind his throat but forced himself to swallow it down. There was nothing for it if they were so quick to cast him away. 

Hagrid's present was the tiny figure of the Chinese Fireball he'd drawn out of the bag during the First Task and Harry giggled with delight. He hadn't known what had happened to it and watched in awe as the tiny dragon curled up in his hand and fell asleep.

The second to last one was from Moody. Harry hadn't been sure he'd get one from the auror but immediately felt silly. Of course Moody would have gotten him something! It was still hard to acknowledge that he had an adult firmly rooting for him but he vowed to get used to it to show Moody that he appreciated it.

Like any good auror would, Moody had gifted him with a proper wand holster and he immediately put it on under his (new, silk) pyjamas. With a flick of his wrist, his wand shot out and landed on his mattress. Cursing under his breath, Harry put it back into the holster and tried again. On the fourth try, he got it for the first time and after ten further attempts he got it every second time. 

Satisfied with his progress, Harry inspected the last present. He had no idea who it could be from. Maybe Hermione's parents had gotten him something? A late sign of life from Professor Lupin? 

With curiosity thrumming in his veins, Harry tore through the expensive-looking silver wrapping paper and was confronted with a non-descript cardboard box. When he opened it, he could only make out a mass of black fabric and carefully lifted whatever it was out of the box. 

It turned out to be a robe made of what Harry had learned to identify as Acromantula Silk. He wondered who would send him clothes of all things when he suddenly realised that there were tiny markings in silver thread all over the black fabric. 

Upon closer inspection, he realised they were runes! He hadn't the faintest idea what they meant or how they worked but he'd watched Hermione draw enough runic arrays to identify them as such. 

His fingers caressed the rich fabric and the dainty silver thread and wondered who would gift him something so exquisite. Was it Dumbledore again? An offering of friendship? He looked into the box for a clue and, indeed, there was an envelope of creamy, thick paper addressed to him waiting at the bottom. 

Dear Harry, 

You shall learn my identity soon enough—patience.

For now, I will have you wear this for the Third Task so you may be protected until we meet. 

I am looking forward to properly making your acquaintance. 

Merry Christmas, 

A Friend

It certainly wasn't the headmaster's loopy handwriting. A friend? He supposed he could always use more of those, especially when they were in the habit of handing out extremely useful presents. He'd let Hermione and probably also Moody take a look at the robes later; maybe they'd be able to tell him more about what the runes actually did. 

But for now, Harry was puzzling over the handwriting. There was an itch at the back of his head telling him he'd seen it before, but the more he thought about it, the more the memory slipped away, so he let it go. If the card was true, he'd know soon enough. Maybe his friend wanted to reveal themselves after the third task? 

He took some time to fill his new mokeskin bag with his presents and all the essentials like the Map and his cloak, some writing equipment and other odds and ends and made his way to the Common Room after he'd gotten washed and dressed. 

It was already later than when he normally went down and there was an excited hustle and bustle going on. Harry realised that it had indeed gotten rather late, yesterday. Still, drinking tea and hot cocoa and eating an ungodly amount of sweets with Luna and Moody had been a perfect excuse for a late night. 

He surveyed the room in search for Hermione but couldn't find her so he decided to go eat some breakfast. 

The Great Hall was probably the fullest he'd ever seen it during the Winter break and because he couldn't see Hermione's wild hair here either, he made for the Ravenclaw table where he'd spotted Luna munching on some vanilla pudding with strawberries. 

"Morning, Luna. Sleep well?" 

"Yes, thank you, Harry," she answered. "It was nice of Professor Moody to see me back to Ravenclaw Tower. He was a Hufflepuff, did you know that? He has some trophies in the trophy room of the school but he knew his way to the tower really well. He must have had many Ravenclaw friends back then." 

"Well, he is rather smart," Harry shrugged, tucking in hungrily. "Luna, I know it's a little late, but what colour is your dress for tonight?" 

"Oh, how nice of you to ask," Luna asked, her perpetually surprised look strangely apt this time. "It's a lovely silver fabric that sparkles in all the colours of the rainbow when the lights hit it. My daddy gave it to me. He was very sure someone would ask me to the ball and I don't question him on these things." 

"I was asking because someone gave me these robes for christmas that are actually meant for the third task but I like them better than the festive ones Mrs. Weasley got me without my input." 

"Someone? Meaning you don't know who?" 

"No idea. They said they were a friend, and that I would find out soon enough."

"Then you should wear them," Luna said with a huge smile. "There'll be lots of photographers, yes? Maybe the someone will see their present on the front page of the Prophet and be happy?" 

Harry grimaced. "You think I'll make the front page again?" 

"Oh certainly, Harry. The Prophet loves to hate you, after all." 

"Huh, yeah. Haha, I guess they do." 

-o-

His new robes fit surprisingly well. They were just a smidge too long and his shoulders were a little less broad than the robes were tailored for but he guessed (hoped) he'd grow into them. He'd already started gaining weight and a little mass, and he didn't feel like, well, like three house elves posing as the Boy-Who-Lived anymore. 

Taller than he usually was thanks to a new pair of dragonhide boots he'd gotten in Hogsmeade that had a little more heel than strictly necessary, he felt confident to open the ball. If only the hair would—no. The hair would stay like that. No way would he get up half an hour earlier every day. He didn't want to know what he could look like if he made the effort. 

With the runic threads of his new robes shimmering in the light, the polished boots and his stylish glasses Harry decisively nodded at his own reflection. Let the Prophet say about him what they would, at least he looked the part of a Champion now.

The last accessories he put on were Hermione's bracelet which he snaked around his ankle and the wand holster that went around his right arm. 

A little earlier so he could find out where the champions were supposed to meet, Harry made his way towards the Great Hall. He soon located Luna, and her dress looked every bit as sparkly and rainbow-y as she'd promised. It was a bit much, certainly, but he found himself grinning. 

"You look amazing," he told her. "I like the hair, especially. It suits you, done up like this." 

"I'm sorry, mysterious stranger," Luna said with a small smile and turned away from him. "I'm waiting for my friend date Harry Potter who is very nice just like you but certainly not as polished as you are." 

"In his absence, may I escort you to the ball?" He held out his hand and after some consideration, she took it. 

"He can't fault me for abandoning him for someone looking like you, I guess." 

They both giggled and made their way through the slowly gathering crowds, looking for McGonagall or any of the other champions. After they'd met up with Cedric and Cho, they were soon joined by Fleur and her date, Ravenclaw Quidditch captain Roger Davies. 

"Looks like all the champions so far know the value of House Ravenclaw," Cedric grinned and the nervous tension abated a little. 

"I wonder if Krum also asked a Ravenclaw, but I haven't heard any of the girls gush about it," Cho smiled and clung to Cedric's arm. 

"He asked a Gryffindor, actually," Harry told them. "And there they are!" 

Like him, Hermione had undergone quite the transformation. She looked stunning with her wild hair slicked and tamed into a beautiful plait that hung over her shoulder. 

"Is that Hermione?" Cho looked incredulous but soon, a grin spread over her face. "Well, she should have been a Ravenclaw by all accounts, so I'm declaring this a win for the ravens anyway."

While the other students were let into the Great Hall, the champions and their dates waited with McGonagall. 

When Harry finally walked into the packed hall with Luna at his side, he forced his nerves down. Luna was the broom. This was the Quidditch Pitch. The Snitch was way over there and both Cedric and Krum were also Seekers so he couldn't let his guard down.

"We got this, Harry," Luna calmed him and patted his shoulder where her hand rested. "I'll be the best broom." 

Harry frowned. He'd been pretty sure he hadn't shared Hermione's advice with anyone but before he could ask, the music started and they were off. 

Dancing with Luna was easier than dancing with Hermione. Luna followed his direction more and seemed to sway as one with the music where Hermione had been as rigid as him, focusing intently on the steps and resisting him when she wanted to move in another direction as him. 

He could even let his gaze sway over the crowd and the other champions and felt ten different kinds of relieved when he realised that he wasn't making an ass of himself after all. 

When the rest of the student body was allowed on the dance floor after the first dance, Harry and Luna made their way to the sidelines. 

"I'm so glad this is over," Harry grinned. "I didn't step on your feet once! This is brilliant!"

"You were a good flyer," Luna agreed distractedly. 

Harry joined her in letting his gaze wander over the crowds. He felt the slightest bit vindicated when he spotted Ron - sans date - across the hall in the garish maroon dressrobes Mrs. Weasley had procured for him. That only went to show that it didn't pay to be a prat. 

At least that's what he told himself until a head of blonde hair and a dreadful dark ponytail swept past them, circling on the dance floor. Malfoy and Parkinson, never tiring of trying to get a rise out of him when given the slightest chance. He was sure they were going to get their comeuppance one of those days. Maybe he'd be the one to hand it to them. 

"You're thinking too much, Harry," Luna said and he sighed. "Let's eat something." 

When Dumbledore, Karkaroff and Maxime seated themselves on the raised dais in front, the champions and their dates followed suit. Luck (or maybe Hermione's stubbornness) had it that Luna and him ended up on the left side with Hermione and Krum instead of one of the other couples.

"You are Hermione's friend, yes?" Krum eyed him and for a moment Harry thought this was going to be a jealousy thing. "You must call me Viktor, then. She talks about you a lot." 

"Oh, yes, sure, if you will do me the honour of calling me Harry," he quickly replied and shook the boy's (man's?) hand. "I don't believe you've met each other, but this is my good friend Luna Lovegood. She's a Ravenclaw."

The two shook hands and Krum, Viktor!, cocked his head to the side. 

"I think this means nothing to you Hogwarts students but there are no Wrackspurts around your head, Luna," Viktor said. 

Hermione looked scandalised, Luna looked delighted and Harry shook so hard with silent laughter that he actually started tearing up. 

What followed during dinner was a short summary of Durmstrang's curriculum. It included an overview of Magical Cryptozoology which, apparently, was an elective from year three onwards. 

Harry watched Hermione drink her butterbeer a little faster than usual and found himself snickering when Luna and Viktor started swapping theories and stories of sightings over dessert. 

 

 

 

 

Notes:

Viktor Krum is a BIG ASS NERD and no one can convince me otherwise.

Chapter 6

It was cold outside and the snow made delightful little crunching sounds under their boots. Harry had fled from the Great Hall with Luna after one too many girls had started trying to squeeze herself in between them and ask him for a dance. 

"I don't understand why they're all suddenly throwing themselves at me," Harry lamented to a humming Luna. "Do they really want to be on the front page that much?" 

"Oh!" With that, Luna was off. She procured a glass jar from practically nowhere, whipped it around in the air a couple of times and did a little happy dance once she'd screwed the lid back on. "Look!" 

"A… beetle?" 

"Look at the markings," Luna told him in an ominous voice. 

"They look very, I don't know, unusual? What am I looking at?" 

"It might be… a Rakatonian Rumdunger! Do you have your socks with you?" 

"Yee-es. Why are you looking at me like that? Do you actually want me to check? Alright, alright. Yes, I do, in fact, still have my socks on."

"Good, hold this," Luna commanded and pushed the glass jar into Harry's hands. 

She fished the hideous pink sock out of some hidden compartment in her dress, took a deep breath, unscrewed the lid, threw the sock in and screwed it back on. 

"Is it still there? I'm so excited, I can't look!"

"Yes, it's, it's still there. I'm… sorry?" 

Luna exhaled a big breath she'd been holding and deflated a little. 

"Well it was a long shot anyway," she shrugged, defeated. "Better let that beetle fly again." 

While Harry was debating whether to just let the beetle fly or humour Luna a little more, there were uneven steps from behind them which had Harry turn around immediately. In one hand, he still held the glass jar, but the other was clutching his wand, freshly sprung from its holster. 

"I see you like your Christmas present," Moody grinned at him, pulling him into a one-armed hug. "But what are you two doing out here among the bushes? Patrolling or gallivanting?" 

"Neither," Luna told him disappointedly and pointed to the glass jar. "Harry didn't like the girls eyeing him like a piece of meat so we went out here to get some fresh air. I thought I saw a Rakatonian Rumdunger but the sock didn't bother it so it's probably just an ordinary beetle."

Moody had stopped laughing about Luna's theories after two days of getting to know her and silently reached for the glass jar. His eyes widened a little when he saw the beetle and Harry wondered what it was he'd seen. 

"This might be a Rakatonian Rumdunger after all, Luna," he said with a gleeful expression. "Some have grown immune against the socks so I'd have to do further tests to be sure. Do you mind if I borrow the jar and the beetle?" 

"Oh, go ahead," Luna urged him on, delighted once more. "I didn't know you were a Magical Cryptozoologist, Professor Moody." 

"Look, why don't you call me Alastor when we're amongst ourselves, Luna? And what did you think of this and the other hunting accessories I got you?" 

Harry frowned when he realised that Moody was changing the subject but he didn't want to spoil Luna's excitement. 

"They're ever so practical," Luna told Moody solemnly. "Maybe I will return with some special specimens to Daddy this year." 

"Oh that reminds me, Luna," Harry said. "I liked the picture and the glasses very much, but I have a couple questions if you don't mind? What… exactly do the glasses do, for one?" 

"You'll like them," Luna promised. "Alastor helped me with them– they're charmed like a light version of his funny eye and can help you see through traps and doors and stuff like that. But don't you do anything naughty with them, Harry Potter." 

"Wicked! Wouldn't dream of it, Luna. Next, about the picture… the stag is my patronus, I guess? But what about the others? An otter, a rabbit and a… coyote, was it? Who do they represent?" 

"I dreamed about them," Luna smiled. "They were all having fun together and the rabbit told me that they should always be friends so I immortalised them." 

"Maybe the rabbit is your patronus," Harry theorised. "What's your patronus, professor?" 

"It's Alastor, lad," Moody, Alastor, reminded him. "And it's a honey badger. Good patronus for a Hufflepuff, if I may say so myself." 

Alastor sounded a little unsure but maybe that was because he wasn't part of the picture after all. 

"Don't be sad, Alastor," Luna consoled him and patted his arm. "Maybe you'll be in my next dream." 

Alastor huffed a laugh and nodded. He turned to Harry and made as if to say something but nothing came out. Both of the man's eyes were fixated on him as he looked Harry up and down from head to toe. 

"You didn't get these robes in Hogsmeade, Harry," Alastor said with a warning note in his voice. 

"Uh, no, you're right," he grinned. "They're a Christmas present from… a… friend…? Why are you looking at me like that?" 

"A friend? What kind of friend? Tell me!" 

"Look, I don't know who it is. What's wrong?" 

"You're wearing heavily warded rune-embroidered robes sent to you by a secret admirer whose identity you don't know and you ask me what's wrong?"

"That is very advanced magic, Harry," Luna told him, leaning forward to touch the silver thread. "These must have cost a fortune, so your new friend must be very rich." 

"Or someone well-bred enough to have access to copious heirlooms," Alastor pressed out through gritted teeth. "Next time, before putting on potentially dangerous gifts by people unknown, you will come see me. Have I made myself clear?" 

"Crystal," Harry replied with his head hanging. 

"Now look, lad, I'm not trying to spoil your fun here but anyone could have sent them, and with a nasty curse to boot. A Dark Wizard, for example!"

Harry didn't like the thought of that much and he nodded again. 

"There was a note, too. Look," Harry suddenly remembered. He put his whole arm into his new bag and handed Alastor the creamy parchment he'd received together with the robes. "I feel like I know that handwriting;  Have you maybe seen it before?" 

Alastor paled so much that his skin was the same colour as his scars. Even his magical eye stopped whirring around. 

"Do you want me to get you a drink from your flask, Alastor? You look a little peaky," Luna asked and cocked her head. 

She made to reach for the pocket where the man kept his flask but he gently caught her hand and shook his head. 

"No, that's quite alright, Luna," he refused with a soft voice. "May I have this note for a while, Harry? I'm afraid there's a compulsion charm on this paper but I'd have to check to know for sure." 

"I, er, sure. Yeah, why not." Harry kept himself from frowning. This was getting really weird. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to worry you like that. I just liked the robes so much, you know?" 

"Ah, lad, youth is folly. I wasn't born an experienced wizard. No one was. But I'll help you become one." 

"Did you have help becoming one, too?" 

"Yes, Harry. Yes, I did," Alastor said with a fond smile. "One of the greatest wizards there is. He's quite reclusive nowadays, but maybe I will take you to meet him one of those days. If you want me to, that is." 

Harry nodded eagerly. 

"Alas, I shall have to continue my rounds. Preventing the Yule babies and all that. Be good." 

Harry and Luna watched Alastor limp towards the carriages and hedges. 

"You know, if they didn't want students alone and unsupervised out here, I do wonder why they supplied the carriages for the ball," Harry mused. 

Luna put a finger to her chin in thought. "Maybe it's to keep people like Snape and Filch busy so they don't ruin the ball with their scowling because nobody loves them?" 

Harry was dumbfounded and started giggling. Luna's deadpan delivery only made the viciousness behind it even more hilarious. 

"Never change, Luna Lovegood, never change," he wheezed and led her over to the hedges and the tiny little fairies hiding therein. 

While Luna observed and studied them, Harry watched the other students who were milling around outside. There was Malfoy with Parkinson, discreetly trying to climb into a carriage shielded by Crabbe and Goyle. No sooner had the door closed behind them did a spell from somewhere render the walls of the carriage invisible. Parkinson's startled shriek and Malfoy's cursing improved Harry's mood tremendously. 

He caught Alastor's eye and allowed himself a grin before looking away so Malfoy wouldn't take his anger out on him.

Harry let himself mindlessly follow Luna around while she tittered on about this and that as she scanned all the hedges and the surrounding grounds for some of her strange creatures. It wasn't until they turned a corner that Harry rose from his daydreams when they heard a pair of voices angrily whispering. 

Not wanting to be noticed because one of them definitely belonged to Snape, Harry pulled Luna into a shadowed alcove with him and put a finger over his lips. They silently listened to Snape and Karkaroff, the other participant, and heard about the Dark Mark, well, darkening.

Harry frowned. Coupled with his dreams and his scar hurting from time to time, he didn't like the direction this year was taking. Not at all. 

They stayed in that alcove until they were well and truly certain the two (former?) death eaters were gone and only then made their way back to the castle in somber silence. 

"I don't like this very much, Harry," Luna sighed. "Do you think it's true?" 

"I'm not sure," Harry replied with a frown. "I don't know who to ask, though. I mean, Moody, uh, Alastor is retired and who else is there? I can't ask Dumbledore. He'll just placate me and tell me to focus on the tournament. If that! He's as cross with me as I am with him and the press… Yeah, no way."

"I could ask daddy, I suppose," Luna proposed. "He is a journalist, too, after all. I'll send him a letter over the break. Maybe he's heard something while researching." 

"I'll take what I can get," Harry said with a smile. "Thanks, Luna. By the way, I can't really feel my toes anymore. Wanna head back inside?" 

"Oh, certainly. My cheeks are numb!" 

-o-

They didn't stay long in the Great Hall afterwards. There was no sign of Hermione and Viktor and the Weird Sisters were being awfully loud, so they warmed up a little with some heated punch and left. 

Harry escorted Luna back to her common room and made his way to his own afterwards. While he was walking along a deserted corridor, he turned around when he heard movement behind him. He frowned when there was nothing there and had his wand in his hand in a second. 

The corridor certainly looked empty but maybe someone was following him under a disillusionment spell? He was prepared to fire a broad finite spell Moody had taught him when a curse thrown from behind him yet again cut through his thoughts. 

For a strange moment, he felt like he was moving on his own as he turned around and cast a protego to shield himself. The spell had been red. A stunner? 

He looked towards his attackers. From nowhere, a group of about half a dozen students, still wearing their festive robes, had assembled in front of him. They all appeared to be his age or older judging by their size but without their house colours and in the dim light of the torches he couldn't really make out their identities. 

"Tarantallegra!" Another curse flew at him and Harry erected another shield. 

"What kind of cowards are you?" He felt anger rising inside of him. "What are you trying to accomplish here? Go away to your common rooms and leave me in peace, you halfwits!" 

"We want justice for Cedric," one of them said and stepped forward. "You took what was meant for him and now you're in the spotlight once more. Don't you have enough fame already, Potter?"

Harry frowned when he identified Zacharias Smith of Hufflepuff. His classmate! 

"This again? You know full well I never wanted any of this to begin with, I've only said so a thousand times already. And me and Cedric are fine with each other, he doesn't need a horde of white knights defending him." 

"That's only because he's too bloody noble for his own good," an older student growled at him and Harry remembered the one Hufflepuff student accusing him of favouritism when he'd walked into the Great Hall with Moody. 

Was this a group of Hufflepuffs out for blood? Just his luck, of course. 

"Just, just go home, badgers," Harry sighed. "I mean, you're the good guys. Don't stoop to this level. Just don't." 

That seemed to enrage the group even more and suddenly, there were spells flying at him from each of the boys.

He rolled to the side and threw up a desperate shield. After he'd managed to shoot up to his feet again immediately, he weighed his options as he started running. No way was he able to take on so many students on his own. The party was still going strong, so he only had to return to the busier corridors and there would surely be one or two possible allies around? 

When he rounded a corner, he was confronted with Ernie MacMillan who turned around with an open mouth when Harry came running. Ernie seemed about as thrilled to see him as Harry was to be confronted with yet another Puff. 

Oh wait. No. Was the other boy standing watch?

"You're dead to me, MacMillan," Harry spat at him and Ernie took a step to the side with wide eyes. 

Unfortunately, their encounter had been long enough for the others to catch up. Smith fired a stunner at him that Harry wasn't quick enough to shield from. 

But instead of dropping and darkness, there was only a quick burst of light as the stunner collided with his new robes. 

"Thank you, mysterious stranger," Harry whispered while all the boys stared at him with disbelieving eyes. "Armaturae oppugno!" 

Moody had shown him this for if he was ever in an honest-to-god bind in the corridors of Hogwarts and if seven to one wasn't a bind, he didn't know what was! 

With metallic groans and rusty screeching sounds the suits of armour along the corridor came to life, brandished their halberds, and started advancing on his attackers with heavy steps. Harry didn't want to stick around for this, so he ran in the opposite direction. 

But because this was his life and he just couldn't catch a break, who else would be patrolling the corridor he entered but one of his least favourite professors: Severus Snape.

He skidded to a halt and bit his tongue to keep the curse word that wanted to burst forth from escaping. 

"Mr. Potter," Snape's cold voice echoed through the corridor, "is there a particular reason why you're running through the corridors past midnight? And am I right to assume that the infernal clangour I'm investigating also originates with you?" 

Moody, no, Alastor, Alastor, had drilled into him how to deal with Snape. No weakness. No eye contact. No rising to the bait. 

"I'm sorry, Professor," he said tonelessly. "On my way to the common room I've been waylaid by a group of older Hufflepuff students wanting revenge for taking the spotlight from Cedric. I animated the suits of armour to protect me and ran." 

He didn't know what Snape's expression looked like and didn't dare check. 

"This is no route you take to get to the Gryffindor common rooms from the Great Hall, Mr. Potter." 

"Yes, you're right, sir. I escorted my date, Luna Lovegood, back to Ravenclaw tower first as is customary." 

He kept staring straight ahead, face void of expression and hoped that someone, anyone, would come to his rescue. To his great relief, someone did. Professor Flitwick rounded a corner from another direction and came straight for them. 

"Mr. Potter, are you alright? I came across a group of Hufflepuff students chased by our suits of armour and they said you sent them after them?" 

The diminutive professor was slightly out of breath and panted a little after he was done saying his piece. 

"I did, Professor Flitwick," Harry answered, relieved, and looked at the small man. "They cornered me and threw curses at me and because there were so many, I used armaturae oppugno to animate the suits of armour. Professor Moody taught me the 'oppugno offense as defense' tactic for situations just like this." 

"A group of Hufflepuffs attacking people?" Professor Flitwick looked scandalised. "Well, I never! But brilliant Charms work, Mr. Potter, simply brilliant. Just like your dear mother! She once sent all the castles' suits of armour after your father and his friends. Took a whole day to rearrange everything but it was ever so much fun, of course, haha!"

Harry caught Snape smiling at that from the corner of his eyes and fought hard to keep the incredulity from his face. 

Drawn in by the ruckus, some other students on their way back to the Gryffindor or Ravenclaw towers came to check what was going on. Harry saw Ron among them and watched the boy roll his eyes when he saw who the attention was focusing on. 

He refused to feel hurt and merely watched impassively as Professor Flitwick shooed the students towards their respective common rooms. Snape and him were still standing together in sullen silence when Flitwick rejoined them. 

"Mr. Potter, I propose you return to your dorm room and get some sleep," Professor Flitwick said with a smile. "I trust you'll be able to quickly identify your attackers?" 

"I don't know all of them," he shrugged. "Two were Zacharias Smith and Ernie MacMillan but Ernie was only the lookout. The others were older, and there were five attackers in total. Justin definitely wasn't among them. Justin Finch-Fletchley, I mean. I think I'd be able to identify the others in, well, a line-up of sorts?"

"Oh, don't you worry Mr. Potter," Professor Flitwick assured him, "we'll get the identities of the others out of Mr. Smith and Mr. Macmillan. Say, Severus, how would you feel about a half dozen little helpers for cleaning your cauldrons, sorting through potions supplies etcetera etcetera for a couple weeks?" 

Harry watched Flitwick and Snape leave towards a staircase that led to the dungeon level and couldn't quite contain his relieved grin. If Flitwick hadn't been there, this might have ended a lot differently! As it were, he was pretty proud of himself for his handling of Snape. 

But he was really tired now so he went off to bed as fast as possible. Thanking his mysterious friend again in his thoughts, he carefully folded the robes and put them in his trunk. 

 

 

Chapter 7

Notes:

It gets a li'l cozy in this chapter so I thought I should finally share my fancast for Moody with you guys because film!Moody? Naaah.

It's Iain Glen, who played Jorah Mormont in GoT, just with a chunk of nose and an eye missing and a bunch of scars everywhere. His pic on the GoT fandom wiki with the blue coat is very Moody!

There had been no further attacks on Harry's person. Rumours of him simply absorbing spells as if he had magic-resistant hide spread around the school like wildfire and by dinner the next day, one of the leading theories was that he had been turned into a werewolf. 

Nevermind that werewolves were only magic-resistant when turned. 

Now, two days after the ball and even though it was bright daylight outside, Harry was walking the halls hidden under his invisibility cloak. He even had the map out underneath it to be absolutely sure that he wouldn't encounter anyone. The hateful glances had been bad enough, but the fearful ones? Again, a hurtful reminder of second year. 

When he had reached the small corridor leading towards the DADA classroom, he made sure Alastor was still in his office and that no one else was around. Stowing cloak and map away into his new pouch, he strode quickly towards the classroom and slipped inside. 

Once up the staircase at the back of it, he knocked politely on the door to the man's quarters. There was no response. Harry frowned and knocked again; a bit harder this time. Still nothing. 

"Professor Moody?" His voice was uncertain. Was the man asleep? "Alastor?" 

There was a bit of a ruckus coming from inside but no one answered or opened the door. Harry decided to come back later. After all, they hadn't set a date for his little stint in Alastor's tub. Maybe the man was busy. 

But just when he reached the door of the classroom again, it opened and Alastor was standing in front of him. Harry gaped at him.

The map had been wrong! The map had never been wrong! Could the map even be wrong!? 

"-you hear me? What's wrong, Harry? Another silly gaggle of Hufflepuffs after you? Want me to give them the old auror treatment?" 

"I'm, I, no, that–" Quick. Quick. "I just felt… really nauseous all of a sudden. Vertigo and everything? I might not have eaten enough?" 

Alastor frowned at him and shooed him back up the stairs.

"What have I taught you about proper nutrition, lad? Bah, but I can almost understand it, what with the whole werewolf rumour. In bad taste, all of it."

"Yeah, and then when I was knocking here there was a noise in your office and I was afraid I was disturbing you."

This time, it was Alastor whose stare turned vacant. "Noise, yeah? Must be one of the Darker creatures I keep locked up for the N.E.W.T. classes, I'll, uh, deal with it. Just wait here a moment, don't want you attacked or anything." 

Harry was all too glad to have a moment to center himself but he didn't dare get the map out in case Alastor was watching him. It was a strangely discomforting thought to even consider that the map could be wrong. Then again, if he'd learned anything by now, it was that people were fallible, so why not the Marauders? Especially since at least two of them didn't much care for him though they ought to, in all honesty. 

Swearing under his breath because no way was he gonna go down that road today, Harry banished the map from his mind completely and waited for Alastor to open the door. 

When he did, he asked Harry inside and had him sit down in front of the fire where a plate of sandwiches was waiting for him. Since Harry had actually eschewed most meals in favour of hiding out under his cloak and getting food from Dobby occasionally, he realised that he was actually really hungry. 

"That picture of you and Luna dancing in yesterday's Prophet was nice," Alastor told him and put a sandwich in his hand.

"Luna doesn't much like the Prophet but she actually cut it out, cast a stasis spell on it so it stays moving and put it into a memory notebook she has." Harry grinned and ate a big bite of his watercress sandwich. "It's nice to still have some friends." 

"You need to tell me about the werewolf thing," Alastor prompted. "How did that even happen?" 

"The, uh, rune-embroidered robes I was sent? When I was jumped by those Hufflepuffs, a spell I wasn't quick enough to shield from got absorbed by them. It was just a stunner but it was nevertheless nothing I've ever seen before. Not that I've seen much at all in my life."

The last part was only mumbled into his sandwich and when he looked at Alastor, there was a shadow of… something flickering over the man's face. Alastor must have noticed him seeing it because he cleared his throat and left to rummage around his desk for a moment. 

"I analysed that note you gave me," Alastor said. "Was indeed a compulsion charm on it. I've also found out who it's from. Remember when I told you about me having had a mentor as well? He's reclusive but he can still be reached by Owl nowadays. I, uh, told him about you actually and it seems like he's taken it upon himself to try and protect you in his own way."

"But that's brilliant!" Harry was ecstatic. "If he taught you all you know then he must be really smart. And if he's on my side and wants to help me, that might be a real advantage if he has access to artifacts like the robe. Can i write him a thank you letter?" 

"You… could," Alastor replied very slowly. "I'd need to send it though since not all owls can find him." 

"I'll write a letter to him and give it to you, then," Harry decided. "Oh, I almost forgot! I didn't actually come here to ask about the note or scrounge for food. I wanted to use that tub of yours and find out about the egg. If now's not a good time because of the creatures you keep or anything, I can come back whenever." 

"Ah, the egg," Alastor nodded. "Only a little less than two months to go. You can use the bathroom today if you want. I'll even, here, let me just, take the eye off so you don't feel watched." 

Harry watched Alastor wrestle the leather straps from his head and was cautious not to stare at the empty eye socket. 

"You wouldn't need people to be naked to see them naked though, would you?" He eyed the… eye warily. "How does it even work? Can you just choose how many layers you want to X-ray?" 

"What on earth is an X-ray?"

"Oh, right. Uh, it's a muggle thing. They have machines that can make your skeleton visible in a picture to know where and how your bones are broken after an accident or something." 

"Hm, I see. I think I've heard about that. No diagnosis spells or Skele-Gro for muggles after all. The eye works however you want in its limitations. It's magic." 

Harry snorted. "If I tried explaining how something worked by saying it's magic you'd accuse me of being a poor excuse of a budding scholar." 

"It's really hard to explain," Alastor grumbled and pushed the eye at him. "Here, you try, just close the straps loosely behind your head and hold it in front of one of your eyes." 

Intrigued, Harry did just that. As soon as the straps were fastened, a veritable flood of pictures and impressions washed over him and made him dizzy. He felt the eye whizzing around and he saw through the wall behind Alastor, back into the corridor, looked into the bathrooms and there was indeed a tub, how nice, and he could see all the way outside towards the Forbidden Forest and even up to the Astronomy Tower where a couple was snogging and just after he got violently ill and wanted to say goodbye to his sandwich again, it was suddenly all over.

Alastor was standing beside him, eye dangling from his hand. "I relieved you of this," he explained and patted Harry's head a little with his free hand. "It gets incredibly overwhelming the first time you put it on. Take a couple deep breaths, drink some water." 

Harry leaned into Alastor and willed the vertigo in his head to go away. 

"How do you handle all those impressions all day long? It's way too much. It's even worse than when I'm flying really fast during Quidditch!" 

He felt Alastor tensing when he first leaned against him but soon enough, the hand still on his head started petting his hair again very carefully and Harry hummed a little. 

"You get used to it," Alastor explained. "The advantages outweigh the disadvantages by far. Though I must confess—getting rid of the blasted leg and the eye is the highlight of every evening for me." 

"Have you thought about using a normal eye prosthetic for, well, Sundays and stuff? When you don't need Constant Vigilance?" 

"Wouldn't do my nickname justice if I did that, now, would I," Alastor laughed and Harry was happy, like every time he was able to make the gruff man laugh. "Off to the tub with you now. There's towels in the little dresser to the left, just help yourself." 

Harry hummed again and forced himself away from the easy warmth Alastor's side provided. The hand on his head fell away when he got up and he sheepishly made his way over to the bathroom. 

"Thanks, Alastor. I mean it." 

Before the man could reply he entered a small hallway that lead to Moody's private quarters and held the doors leading to the separate toilet and bathroom. He'd used the toilet here before, of course, but he'd never been inside the bathroom proper. 

Harry quickly ducked inside. It was small but not unreasonably so. There was a washbasin with a mirrored cabinet over it, aforementioned dresser and a decent-sized tub. Over the tub, there was a frosted glass window letting in natural light even though by rights, there should be the toilet behind the wall. Harry supposed it was a magical window of some sort. 

He didn't remember ever being in a tub but he knew the theory of course. Fiddling a little with the faucets, he started undressing while the water rushed in. He prepared two towels for later and got the egg out of his pouch. For about five seconds he considered looking at the map again but shook his head. Not going down that road today, he reminded himself. 

"Right." 

Harry looked into the swirling mass of water rising slowly towards him, topped with lovely colourful bubbles stemming from a bath additive Alastor had kept on the edge of the tub. He definitely remembered smelling faint traces of it on Alastor and grinned because very soon he was going to be all warm and enveloped in nice smells. 

Carefully, he lowered a foot into the tub and was happy to realise that the temperature was neither too hot nor too cold. He slowly sank into the water and settled himself down. 

An involuntary puff of air escaped him in some semblance of a sigh. He'd never experienced anything like this! The water was warm all around him and his body felt strangely weightless. His movements when he tried to wave his arms underwater were at the same time easier and harder. Harry decided he quite liked the feeling and leaned back. 

After indulging for a couple minutes, he reached over the edge of the tub and pulled the egg inside with him. He let himself glide lower until only his nose and upwards was peeking out. Then, he drew in a huge breath and let his head sink under the water. With a twisting motion, he opened the egg and an altogether unworldly sound seemed to engulf him. 

Strange, melodious voices sang around him and he thought that, if he hadn't been confined to the tub, he'd have tried following them. Harry listened until he was sure that he knew the song by heart and went through it in his head. 

'Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you're searching, ponder this:

We've taken what you'll sorely miss,

An hour long you'll have to look,

And to recover what we took.

But past an hour - the prospect's black

Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.'

What he'd sorely miss—Dumbledore knew about his cloak, of course, but he wouldn't dare… would he? Would the twins tell the headmaster or the teachers about the map if asked? His heart stuttered. Ron! 

-o-

Harry came rushing out of the bathroom not five minutes later wearing only his trousers and a T-shirt with his hair still dripping wet. 

"Alastor, I need to stash some things with you!" 

With a somewhat dubious expression, Alastor looked up from correcting essays and went to fasten his magical eye again. 

"I didn't take you to be the type to have contraband, Harry," he drawled with a half-smile. "And above all, why now?" 

"It's not contraband," Harry explained quickly while he fished out both the map and the cloak. "I have magical artifacts that are very, very dear to me and they'll steal something from me for the second task. If I fail, I won't get them back and I can't risk that." 

Moody's eye grew wide when Harry dumped the cloak on his desk but his brows drew together when Harry dropped the map on top of it. 

"The cloak I understand," Alastor started. "I'm not exactly fond of those things - too many bad memories from, uh, before the eye, you see - but what's the parchment about?" 

Harry watched him intently for a moment and thought long and hard about whether to share this. Alastor returned his look evenly and with nothing but curiosity. 

"You don't need to tell me," Alastor finally said after the silence had stretched on for a while, only momentarily broken by droplets of water falling from Harry's hair and onto the ground with a splash. "I'll keep it safe for you either way." 

He made to take the items and stash them somewhere but Harry caught the man's arm and got his wand out of his robes. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." 

Before their eyes, the blank parchment started filling with the lines and dots Harry had become so intimately acquainted with for the last year and he started watching Alastor instead. At first, the man looked confused but the more the corridors and rooms took shape, the wider his good eye became until it looked almost as big the magical one. 

Finally, when the moving dots with names attached to them appeared, Alastor cursed and closed the parchment again. 

"How do you end it?" 

"You tap it with your wand and say 'Mischief managed!'," Harry explained and demonstrated in one. 

"This could be very, very dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands," Alastor whispered, his voice kind of hollow. "Who knows about it?" 

"Of those who wouldn't blap come hell or high water there's Hermione and the twins, Fred and George I mean, and I recently told Luna." Harry took a deep breath. "Then there's Ron. He also knows about the cloak, as well as Hermione, the twins again and… Dumbledore." 

"Figured as much. Look at me, Harry and listen well. You lost the map. You were very sure it was in your old satchel but when you went to repack everything in your new bag, it was gone and you haven't seen it since. You last remember consciously seeing it shortly before the start of the winter break. You left the cloak at your relatives' house, stored under those loose floorboards you told me about because you wanted a very quiet year without being tempted into rule breaking. Got everything?"

"Yes, yes I did," Harry agreed, amazed by how quick Alastor had been with making up a cover story. "Thank you, Alastor. I really mean it. I couldn't bear losing them." 

He grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill lying on the man's desk and quickly wrote down the song. 

"Here, that's what the egg said. Or, well, sung, really." 

"I'm afraid even I don't know the specifics of the second task," Alastor shrugged. "Ever since you and I became, ha, friends I suppose, Dumbledore has kept me well away from any and all tournament business. I only knew as much about the egg as I did because it had to be enchanted before the first task. So we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way."

"Think?" 

"Think," Alastor agreed and eyed him. "It is December, you know? You ought to dry yourself off properly, young man, or you'll catch a cold." 

Alastor raised his wand and hit Harry with a drying spell before he could go to grab another towel. Immediately, Harry could feel his untameable hair becoming even poofier than it normally was and he squawked indignantly.

-o-

Snuggled up in a warm blanket that smelled like his new favourite teacher in front of the fireplace, Harry put his mind to the task. 

"They'll try and take something. Now that I've hidden the cloak and the map with you, it'll probably be my Firebolt. I'll have one hour to get it back and after that it's over and I'll have failed the second task - presumably - and they'll keep it." Harry sighed. "Would be a right shame, I got it from someone very important to me."

"Where do you think they'll take it?" 

"It's the merpeople singing the song so it'll probably be around the lake? Maybe we'll have to transfigure a boat?" 

"You sure?" 

"Well, surely they wouldn't–" Harry stopped himself. "Oh no. Oh bloody hell. Oh no. Nononono. You think it's in the lake?"

Harry paled when he realised that it had to be. The merpeople wouldn't leave the lake for that and why go through all the trouble of having a song in Mermish if you didn't hide the champions' treasures in their village? 

Wide-eyed and with a sudden onset of cold sweat on his face Harry turned to Alastor and the man got up immediately upon seeing his expression. 

"What's wrong, lad? Don't you worry, we'll find a way for you to survive this, too. Even if jumping into the lake in the middle of bloody February is the height of stupidity if you ask me, but we'll make it work somehow." 

Harry looked up at Alastor when the man stopped in front of his armchair and felt himself start to shiver. 

"I can't swim," he said tonelessly. "Sitting in your tub just now was the first time I've ever been engulfed in water in my life. I'll drown without even starting to dive and if I find a way to stay underwater for so long in the first place I won't be able to move because I don't know how to swim."

And he'd been so proud of doing his best and surviving the first task so well! Harry buried his face in his hands and groaned as if in pain.

"I'm so gonna die." He shook his head and pressed his palms harder into his eyes. "I don't want this, Alastor, I can't do this." 

In response, Moody got him to stand up and pulled him into one of those nice warm hugs. Harry pressed himself into the auror's chest and tried to get his breathing back under control. A big hand carded lazily through the messy hair on the back of his head and he tried concentrating on how nice it felt in order to slow his panicked heart. 

"You're gonna have a heart attack before you're thirty if you keep this up," Alastor said and Harry could feel the bass of the man's voice vibrating in his chest. "I told you we'll make this work somehow, and we will. Anything's possible with magic if you know where to look for the proper spells or what have you." 

Alastor made to pull away but Harry decided to be selfish for once and clung tighter to him. The hand in his hair stilled and Harry decided not to push his luck after all. But when he made to pull away instead, Alastor kept him close by exerting a little pressure with his hand. 

"Standing still isn't very comfortable with the leg," the man explained, turned them around a little and unceremoniously sat down in the armchair. 

Harry was pulled down alongside him and found himself in his mentor's lap, legs dangling off to one side. Before he could feel self-conscious, Alastor had pulled him close again and Harry rested one hand over the man's heart. It was odd, to feel another person's heartbeat like that, and Harry blushed.

He'd heard the girls titter and giggle about some of the upperclassmen of course and had heard the boys share whispered stories about a girl they fancied and how they felt when looking at her. He knew about crushes, too, and he also knew about people like him—those who'd come from loveless environments, who clung to those who'd shown them kindness. 

Hermione had given him a short book about this a couple months ago, actually and it was good to be aware, but still. Alastor had been nothing but kind to him so it was only natural to want to be close to someone like this. 

Also, he felt safe with him like he never had with anyone before and didn't the book say that people in positions of authority were always especially appealing because of the power they had? 

So yeah. Harry probably had a little crush on his mentor. 

"Do you think this is appropriate?" His words were mumbled and almost unintelligible, muttered into Alastor's shirt as they were. 

"I'm not sure," Alastor answered cautiously. "My intention at the moment is to give you some much-needed comfort. I don't think you've been held like this in ages." 

"I certainly can't remember it," Harry shrugged and couldn't hold back a little yawn. "Suppose my mum and dad used to cuddle me when I was a baby but, well." 

Alastor sighed wearily and pulled him in closer. Harry's head was comfortably nestled beneath the man's chin and he curled himself up a little more to comfortably tuck his feet under the armrest of the armchair.

"If I like it, and you like it, and neither of us thinks it's inappropriate, I'd like to stay like this for a while," Harry admitted and Alastor merely hummed affirmatively in response. "What do you suppose we should do about the second task? Can I forfeit by just jumping into the lake for a second or two, pretending to drown and getting myself saved?" 

Alastor chuckled drily and Harry felt him shake his head. A warm hand found its way to the back of his head again and when it started scratching at the skin there, Harry got goosebumps. 

"I'm afraid willful forfeiture will be covered by that ridiculous contract. There's only one thing we can do: teach you to swim." 

"In the lake?" 

"Well, we'll start with warming charms. And we'll get you cold-resistant clothes. I think the muggles have some materials that are perfect for diving in cold temperatures. You should ask your friend Hermione for help." 

"Oh, I will! I'll have her ask her parents to send her a thick wetsuit in my size! They really like her so I don't think they'd refuse." 

"Of course they like her," Alastor said. "That's the way family is supposed to be. Though my old man wasn't one of the most involved to be honest." 

"Is that why you became an auror? To help people when they don't have help from those they should get help from?" 

Alastor was quiet for a long while and Harry felt his eyes growing heavier and heavier. He yawned again and rubbed at his eyes. He felt more than he saw that Alastor pulled a blanket over them and relaxed fully into the warm sensation. 

"I guess you could say that I was striving for a better world," Alastor whispered with a strangely emotional voice but Harry was almost gone and merely shuffled a little closer in response. "Sleep well, young Harry." 

 

Chapter 8

When Harry woke up, he was in a bed. He knew it wasn't his bed because the linen in front of his face wasn't the right colour and it smelled differently than his did.

Groggily, he sat up in the semi-darkness and blindly felt around for his glasses. All he found was his wand next to his pillow and he used that to accio them to him. Next, he cast a weak lumos and looked around. 

Alastor's auror coat hung over the back of a chair next to the curtained window and a couple bips and bops were strewn about. Some clothing, a pair of slippers, that kind of thing. A quick tempus charm revealed that the time for dinner had already passed. 

Harry realised he'd slept the day away in Alastor's quarters. Didn't he fall asleep on the armchair, specifically on–? He valiantly fought the blush creeping up his neck but ultimately lost and felt it heatedly claim his cheeks. 

He vaguely remembered a sort of carrying sensation and there was a faint vision in his head of someone lowering him into bed but he'd never seen that blonde man before in his life. It had been dark in any case so he probably hadn't seen anything. 

Harry noticed there was a dressing gown lying next to him on the bed and he slipped it on since he was getting cold in just his T-shirt and trousers before pattering down the corridor to Alastor's office. 

"Good morning, Snow White," Alastor greeted him jovially.

The man was sitting in one of the armchairs with a book in his lap and his prosthetic leg leaning against the outer side of it. It looked cozy, and judging by the lack of parchment in the designated 'yet to be marked' area on Alastor's desk, he'd spent his time productively. Well, that made one of them.

"I'm sorry for just falling asleep on you like that," Harry apologised kind of awkwardly. "I, uh, didn't get much sleep the last couple nights because I was so nervous about everything. Getting jumped, the werewolf thing… I'm just waiting for it to break in the Prophet, actually. The ball coverage was too favourable for me and the other champions." 

"You shouldn't worry so much, Harry." Alastor chiding was gentle, but Harry wasn't sure whether he meant the embarrassment or the press. "I took care of some things. Skeeter won't be as big of a problem as she used to be." 

"Did you send her a letter?" 

"Something like that."

Harry decided it was in his best interest not to pry further into auror business at this point in time and to simply accept that a good thing was happening for once. 

 "You, uh, said you're going to teach me the warming charm and how to swim. Can we even do that in two months?" 

"As you've seen earlier when you came in here, I've already finished correcting essays. For the rest of the holidays, you, Harry, are going to be living, breathing and drinking water until you grow gills and webbed feet." 

"Oh goody." Harry groaned and pulled the dressing robe tighter around himself. "I hope you'll help me with the warming charms until Hermione can contact her parents." 

Alastor merely snorted. "We'll have a late dinner in my bedroom, I've spent enough time at this bloody desk for one day." 

Harry followed Alastor back into the private room after the man had strapped his leg back on and smiled as he watched him use his wand to put everything that was lying around into his wardrobe. 

"Didn't particularly expect visitors in this area today," the man grumbled. "Or, well, any day really." 

Alastor conjured a low table and two cushions and sat down on one where he unbuckled the leg again as soon as he was seated. 

"Is it giving you trouble?" Harry sat down opposite him and looked at the stump concealed in a tight elastic cover. 

"There are bad days and then there are worse days." Alastor shrugged. "It's one of the latter ones today." 

"Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"Not being grossed out by the bloody stump is more than enough." 

When Alastor snapped his fingers, a rice dish Harry had never seen appeared before them. He tucked in greedily and only remembered his manners sometime around the halfway mark. Frowning, Harry took his elbows off the table and cleared his throat. 

"Sorry, table manners, I know." He drew in a deep breath and tried to find the words that had been ghosting through his head since he woke up. "I'm… I've never wanted to be at Hogwarts less than in this moment, you know? I feel like I have to hide all the time and even going to eat in the Great Hall is stressful. I'm, that is, I was wondering if… right. You said I had options. That I could go elsewhere. I love this place, I really do, but lately, I don't like it very much."

"You want me to take you with me." 

It was a statement, not a question and Harry found himself nodding quickly. 

"Yes, I do. I'm, I don't want to assume anything but if money's a problem of any kind, well, I have more than enough of that. I could pay room and board, maybe? If you have a spare room? Or I'd try to get my own place close by somehow. Or maybe farther away but with a Floo?"

Alastor chuckled and looked at him with a fond expression. 

"My offer still stands. No, look at me, properly. Like that, yes." Harry intently watched Alastor draw in a big breath and let it out slowly, as if he was steeling himself for something. "If, at the end of the school year, you still want to come with me, I will take you with me–no matter who might try to object or stop you. Do you understand?" 

Harry nodded. 

"No, I need to hear it. Do you completely understand what I've just told you?" 

Frowning a little, Harry repeated the words in his head. "You'll take me with you if I want you to. No one will be able to stop you, or us, if I've made that decision. Like that?" 

"Exactly. Don't forget that." 

Harry grinned contentedly and started eating again– this time with a little less starving animal and a little more well-mannered young man. 

"I had a dream, I think," Harry said between bites. "I dreamed that someone carried me over to the bed but he didn't look like you at all."

"Oh," Alastor said lamely and gestured with his spoon. "What did he look like? Your father?" 

"No, he was, uh, blonde." 

"Is that so… Maybe it was Snow White's prince." 

Harry chuckled at that. "He was handsome enough to be a prince in any case." 

Instead of chuckling along with his silly quip, Alastor choked on his spoonful of fried rice and started coughing. Harry hurriedly rounded the table and patted him on the back until he could breathe properly again. 

"Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to make you choke!"

"Wasn't your fault, Harry," Alastor pressed out and drank a quick sip from his flask. "I just, uh, wasn't expecting that. Like blonde princes then, do you?" 

Harry blushed a little. "Not ones like Malfoy," he quickly clarified. "I don't much care about whether it's a prince or a princess, I think. I'd mostly expect them to be nice to me, stand by me and believe me when I tell them something. Maybe like spending time with me, too?" 

"That's literally the bare minimum you should expect in a partner," Alastor commented drily as he pushed his now empty plate into the middle of the table.

"Kind and loyal," Harry repeated. "That's all I ask for." 

-o-

Being in the tub had been nice. Relaxing, even. But the Black Lake, while also water, was nothing like being in a tub. Harry fought against shivering yet again from the cold water biting through the fabric of his new, top-of-the-line wetsuit and concentrated on even strokes. 

He'd felt exceptionally silly, practicing breast strokes out on the shores of the lake but he was glad now that he'd done the exercises without making much of a fuss. 

Alastor was next to him in one of the boats the first years used every year to cross the lake. 

"That's it, don't forget to breathe from time to time!"

Harry forced his head far above the water again and breathed in greedily. He grabbed hold of the side of the boat and held on for dear life. 

"I'm getting better," he grinned, flushed from the cold and shivering. "That was, what? 30 yards? And I didn't need to stop once to reorient myself." 

"It's good progress for less than a week," Alastor agreed. "A lot better than I'd have expected. At that rate, we'll get you ready in no time. You really are a jock." 

"It's nice, being good at something." He paddled idly with his feet. With the new fins, he actually propelled the boat sideways a little. "Even if it's sports rather than magic." 

"You're decent enough at magic by now, Harry, stop beating yourself down. But enough practice for today," Alastor decided. "We need to get you warmed up and put some food in your belly. Last task for today is to paddle the boat back to the shore." 

"But we're in the middle of the lake!" Harry was whining, he knew he was, but he was so tired. This was the fourth day he'd spent in the lake, the first one with a wetsuit and swimming freely next to the boat, and his muscles were screaming at him. 

"Think a grindylow is going to care whether you're too tired to fight it, lad? Get to it, chop chop." 

With a groan, Harry got to paddling with his sore legs. It took them ten minutes to reach the shore and by that time he was absolutely knackered. When the boat ran aground, he simply stayed where he was, lying half-submerged in water. 

"Up you go, Harry." Alastor turned him around with a foot so he was lying on his back and reached out with a hand. "Come on, up to the castle." 

Harry grabbed the warm hand with what he was sure was the last of his strength and felt himself pulled upwards. Now that he wasn't flat on the ground anymore, he started shivering relentlessly when the wind hit him full force. He could see several groups of students pointing at him and laughing behind their hands and sullenly started his march up to the castle. 

"Enough doggy paddling for a day, Potter?" Gosh, he'd recognise that arrogant, posh voice anywhere. "Getting put back into the kennel by your handler?" 

"Very funny, Mr. Malfoy," Alastor drawled while Harry simply kept walking. "I thought your little stint as a ferret would have sufficed to teach you some manners? Want me to send back a tail or something to your daddy dearest? You know I would." 

Harry looked back over his shoulder and watched Malfoy's face grow even paler while the flush of his cheeks grew redder. Only Crabbe and Goyle were with him and Merlin knew those two weren't any help against a wizard of Alastor's caliber. 

"Father wasn't amused by that, by the way," Malfoy sneered. 

"Oh really? Why, that traitor father of yours can count himself lucky I know how to behave myself in polite company." Before Malfoy could retort anything, Alastor had his wand out and pointed at him. "Petrificus totalus!" 

Somehow, the spell hit both Malfoy and his two cronies and they all fell down flat onto their faces into the snow. 

"Let's see how many friends you actually have, Mr. Malfoy." Alastor smiled deviously and turned to catch up with Harry. 

"You're gonna leave them there like that?" 

"Gotta get my star pupil back inside before he freezes to death, don't I?" Alastor grinned toothily at him. "Dreadful business, how they tried pushing you back into the water. Glad I could step in in time." 

Harry snorted. No teacher had ever bent the rules for him like that. Hell, no one had ever stood up for him like this except maybe Hermione. 

"It's a shame Viktor didn't want a wetsuit too," Harry mused. "Hermione said he wants to do it without help, so he actually comes out to the lake every morning as well and swims around. He's probably a lot better with warming charms than me. Maybe he can even cast them wordlessly. Can you do that? Cast it wordlessly?" 

Alastor brandished his wand and sent an especially powerful, silent warming charm his way and Harry enjoyed feeling like he wasn't freezing to death for a while. 

"I take it that's a yes, then. How many spells can you do silently? I bet you can do loads! Ten? More than ten? Dozens!?" 

A wordless, wandless stinging hex struck him in the butt and he squawked indignantly. 

"Less talking, more walking. We're still out in the cold." 

Harry grumbled but started walking faster while the fins in his hands swung from left to right. In the distance, Malfoy and his cronies got smaller and smaller. 

-o-

When classes started again on January 3rd, a Wednesday, Harry felt like he'd fallen into a parallel universe. He'd spent practically all of his break either holed up in Alastor's office or out by the lake and had only returned to the Common Room and his dorm for sleeping. 

Sometimes, Luna had stayed with them; she'd drawn something in her notebooks, worked on her essays or just hummed contentedly as she read a book while Harry tried his hardest to make progress with a wordless warming spell.

He felt like he was merely drifting through the motions during class–sure, he was doing his best work yet, intellectually speaking, but he felt entirely disconnected from his peers. 

When Friday rolled around, he'd even started yearning for the bloody lake again. Especially now, waiting in front of the Potions classroom. He'd started partnering with Hermione after the first task and was standing close to her now, a little ways away from the others. 

As they took their seats near the front of the classroom, Harry kept his gaze level and looked at the blackboard with a neutral expression. He knew it vexed Snape to no end that he wasn't rising to the bait at all anymore and felt a warm blanket of pride wrap around his shoulders. 

Like always, the instructions appeared on the blackboard and Harry and Hermione started gathering their things from out of their potion kits. Working with Hermione, Harry had learned to wait until the biggest swarm of people had left the narrow supply closet. 

This week, it was Hermione's turn to get the non-standard ingredients and Harry got a fire going under their cauldron. 

That's when he realised he felt watched. He pretended to look for Hermione but analysed the room while turning. Malfoy was watching him in what he must have considered to be a stealthy approach. For someone who'd spent all day with a paranoid auror for two weeks, it was easy to spot. 

"We need to be exceptionally careful today," Harry said meaningfully when Hermione came back. "This potion is very volatile." 

"Oh, I see," Hermione nodded and surreptitiously got out her wand. "Protego globellum." 

The incantation was merely whispered, but Harry could tell it had worked by the way the air shimmered and danced around them. Alastor had taught Harry the globe shield encompassing its caster during the break and he'd immediately gone on to show Hermione who'd been delighted. 

Since she was still the better caster by far, they'd agreed on this being their go-to approach for potion defense. 

Harry took on more of an active role while brewing since Hermione had to expend no small amount of concentration to maintain the spell, but she corrected him whenever necessary. 

It didn't take long for the shield to ripple with an impact. A magical mungo bean flicked against it and was propelled back from whence it came. Harry watched it land in the cauldron belonging to either Nott or Zabini and he grimaced when the potion immediately started emitting putrid, dark smoke. Thick green liquid splashed upwards and struck Zabini, who'd been leaning over the cauldron, in the face and torso. 

Just as Zabini started screaming, Snape arrived at the front, vanished the potion and eyed the boy distastefully. 

"Off to the infirmary with you, Mr. Zabini. Ms. Moon, you'll go with him, Ms. Bulstrode can be trusted to be alone with a potion." He waited with a frightful glower until the two had left. "Mr. Nott, this is not like you. The magical mungo beans are added at the very end, not tossed in randomly like this." 

"It wasn't our fault, professor," Nott answered with a frown of his own. "Someone just can't control themselves." 

Harry sighed very, very softly and saw Hermione stiffen beside him, too, but Nott's frosty glare was directed in the opposite direction. 

"Draco doesn't know when to mind his own business," he said in a cold voice as he faced the other boy. "Is that your thanks for me saving you and your friends from an undignified death via hypothermia, Draco?" 

"It came from Potter's direction." Draco immediately went on the offensive and got up. "I saw it come flying from over there!" 

"That's because you threw it there, and after almost four years of constant childish antagonising, Potter and Granger learned their lesson and employ a bloody globe shield!" 

It was the most Harry had ever heard Nott say in one sitting in the last four years and he was pleasantly surprised that it was basically in his defense. 

This situation as a whole was, of course, unheard of. Slytherin against Slytherin, and in Snape's class to boot! Harry saw Snape look towards them from the corner of his eye but kept his head down and continued chopping up the ginger roots. 

He felt Hermione stiffen again when Snape walked towards them and reached out with one hand, index finger outstretched. When it collided with their shield, he jumped a little. 

"Who taught you how to cast a globe shield?" His voice was quiet and cold as always. 

"I looked for ways to protect ourselves, professor," Hermione explained. "You saw how Zabini looked– that would have been Harry or me if we hadn't been prepared. I found this spell in a book and we actually practised it by throwing potion ingredients at each other." 

Harry dared look and saw Snape lift up an eyebrow. When the man's gaze threatened to sweep over to him, Harry looked down again instantly and started measuring his cut ginger root with red ears. 

"You should cut them a little finer, Mr. Potter," Snape said flatly and turned back to the Slytherin side. "Mr. Malfoy, you are excused from this lesson. Mr. Nott, you will share Miss Parkinson's cauldron until the end of the lesson and gain a mark for both you and Mr. Zabini." 

At first, it seemed like Malfoy wanted to protest, but then he started throwing his things carelessly into his bag and stomped out of the classroom with a lot less dignity than he normally did. 

In the end, Harry and Hermione got an O for their potion and Harry had gotten his first ever proper critique from Snape regarding his potion brewing techniques. 

He was rather waiting for a pig to fly past a window next or something like that. 

"Can I join you and Professor Moody today, Harry?" Hermione asked after the lesson was over. "Viktor and Luna are meeting at the edge of the Forbidden Forest to look for… something called radonian rumdrucker? I've finished all my essays and I wanted to thank Professor Moody for the spell again." 

"Sure, I'd like that," Harry grinned. "About Viktor and Luna… you're not jealous, are you?" 

"Ohh, no, don't worry," Hermione waved his worries aside. "I'm not the type to get jealous that easily. They even invited me along, but… well, crouching in the snowy undergrowth for hours on end? I'd rather read one of the books on my to read list." 

"Oh, I don't think I told you yet—when we're among friends, Luna and me call Professor Moody Alastor now," Harry explained and heaved a big sigh before looking Hermione in the eye. "With the way things are, chances are I'm going away from Hogwarts after this year and if it all works out, Alastor will probably tutor me." 

"I might go to Beauxbatons," Hermione rushed out breathlessly in response and Harry could only stare at her. "I'm fluent in French and Viktor is in his last school year in Durmstrang. He doesn't like magical Britain much and there's no place for muggleborn in the Eastern European countries, so we kind of agreed to emigrate to France after this year? He wants to become a spell crafter, can you imagine? He's really good at Arithmancy and he's sending out applications to every spell crafter in France! He's already passable in French but I'm giving him lessons which is why he isn't getting much better with English because all our time is spent speaking French and oh Harry I'm going to miss you so much!"

Hermione started sobbing violently and flung her arms around Harry's neck. He had to use all his strength to keep her from crashing them to the ground and scanned the area around them—they were alone. 

"Oh ʼMione, how long have you been bottling this up? It's fine, we'll be fine, maybe I can finally send you letters and have them actually get through for once?" He hugged her back fiercely. "And there's always International Portkeys. They're supposed to be terrible but I'd take one every month if it meant I got to spend some time with you." 

That only made Hermione sob harder so he patted her back in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "Come on, let's get you somewhere where there's tea." 

It was a struggle to get her to Alastor's office and she instantly collapsed into one of the armchairs and continued sobbing. 

"What's wrong with her? You had Potions, didn't you? Did something bad happen?" 

"No, nothing like that," Harry reassured him and sat on one of the armrests to continue stroking Hermione's back. "We've just realised we might not see each other all that much in the future." 

Upon hearing that, Hermione's wails got louder again and Alastor went to a cabinet, got out a little flask and put it into her hands. "Drink that, lass, bottoms up, quick now." 

Hermione obeyed with a little fussing and instantly became calmer afterwards. She accepted a conjured handkerchief and noisily blew her nose. 

"Now, from the beginning, Harry. What's going on?" 

Harry quickly relayed their experience in Potions and the gist of their conversation on the way to him and Alastor nodded slowly. 

"Yes, I see." He laboriously sat down on the other armchair. "I'll be frank with you here, lass: it's all a part of growing up. You're a mature young lady but knowing something and experiencing something can be completely different. It is, for example, the reason why everyone needs to make their own bad decisions. Simply being told about them won't be enough."

Hermione nodded shakily. "Yes, I know, thank you very much, professor. I'm so glad Harry finally has someone on his side who isn't a wanted fugitive." 

Alastor looked at Harry with a frown but then his eyebrows rose up in recognition. "Of course—you're in contact with Black. That's who you aren't at liberty to talk about, it all makes sense now." 

"Oh no, Harry, I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered. "I know I wasn't supposed to tell anyone and now an auror knows!" 

Harry was just starting to get worried when Alastor waved his hand lazily through the air. "I'm an ex-auror, and I never believed Black was a death eater, or betrayed his friends. He was headstrong and a brat but a traitor he was not. I trust he's somewhere safe?" 

"He told me he's safe and well-fed and that no one can find him," Harry said with a small smile. "Before you agreed to help me he wanted to come here to be close to me during the tournament. I'm just glad you were there for me, Alastor. Who knows where he might have ended up." 

"Always happy to keep innocent men out of Azkaban, me," Alastor told him with a toothy grin. "Now, what do you think about some more silent casting, Harry? Maybe your friend can give you a couple pointers from a learner's perspective again." 

Even though it was her first lesson in wordless casting, Hermione had the warming charm down pat by the time dinner rolled around. Alastor looked mightily impressed but when he saw Harry's crestfallen expression, he pulled him into a hug. 

"Now don't go comparing yourself to what is easily the most powerful witch I have ever encountered, Harry," Alastor cautioned him. "Down that road lies only bitterness and we don't want bitterness. Come on, Hermione, explain your thought processes to him." 

-o-

Hermione spent their way to dinner, their time during dinner and, in fact, the walk back from dinner sharing her exact thought processes with Harry. She would have probably still been talking his ear off if they hadn't met Viktor who'd been looking for her. Harry liked her, he really did, but he thought his ears must have started to bleed sometime between the main course and dessert. 

He needed to not hear about her thought processes ever again. 

Thus, when he saw Luna waiting for him in front of the Defense classroom, Harry quickly whipped out his wand, levelled it at the shivering girl and concentrated hard on the feel of his magic thrumming under his skin. He heard Luna gasp and could practically watch her frozen hair thaw and curl a little at the ends. 

She beamed at him. 

"That was brilliant! Was this the first time you did it?" 

"I was very frustrated just now," Harry explained lamely and let himself be pulled along by Luna. 

"We have to tell Alastor, come on!" 

Judging by the smug grin Alastor wore when Harry shared his tale of woe, he was reasonably sure that this outcome had been what the man had planned for all along when he'd taught Hermione how to do silent casting. 

But for now, wrapped up in a celebratory hug between Alastor and Luna, Harry decided that this was the kind of manipulation he could live with. 

-o-

That evening, sitting cross-legged on his bed with the curtains drawn, Harry held a letter in his hands. Alastor had given it to him shortly before he'd left. 

He'd written a heartfelt thank you letter to Alastor's old mentor during the break to thank the mysterious recluse for such a thoughtful gift and had also shared how it'd saved his hide the night of the Yule ball. 

Being quite more nervous than he'd anticipated, he fumbled a little with the ornate wax seal while opening the envelope. It was the same creamy parchment again as last time and Harry eagerly unfolded the letter. 

Dear Harry, 

I was surprised about your thank you letter, but pleasantly so. 

Seeing you on the front page of the Prophet while exhibiting my gift to you to the world was a rare treat for one living as solitary as I. 

Since you've asked– it's not so much a family heirloom rather than something that is of great personal value to me. When I was a little older than you are now, these were my duelling robes gifted to me by a benefactor who could see my potential. 

I must admit: when my erstwhile pupil first told me about having taken you on as a pupil of his own, I was cautious with regards to your position in our world. 

However, he assures me you are a studious young man who is a far cry from being a spoiled little lordling as so many of your classmates seem to be. Thus, I gave him my blessing to continue your association. 

In time, should you decide to leave the manipulations of Albus Dumbledore and the prejudice and bigotry running rampant in Hogwarts behind after all and join my pupil, you and I shall meet as well. 

Until then I remain as but a

Friend

Harry grinned like a loon. Alastor's mysterious mentor wanted to meet him! He carefully refolded the letter and put it back in its envelope before putting it into his pouch that stayed next to his pillow. 

That night, sleep came easy and his dreams were silly, playful little things for once that had him rest with a smile on his face. 

Chapter 9

Notes:

Adventure! Adventure! Thrill! Adventure!

(also, there's a time jump. We let off in very early January last time and are now in the middle of February for those of you who think it's important to know the dates, like me :D)

When the second task was less than a week away Harry was, once again, about to go change into his wetsuit in Alastor's bathroom. It was a Saturday and they were planning on going swimming—well, he was going to go swimming. Harry was already on his way towards the bathroom when Alastor stopped him. 

"We'll do it a little differently, this time," the man told him with a sly grin. "You've been asking me how swimming and using a warming charm is going to help when you've got to get to the bottom of the lake. Since you've been a good lad, waiting patiently when I told you to wait, I'll tell you now. Or, well, show you." 

Alastor dropped a slimy, stringy green mess into Harry's hand. Harry inspected it dubiously. 

"You know that I have no idea what this is," Harry drawled, a habit he'd picked up from Alastor. "Do I need to… eat it?" 

"This is gillyweed and you do indeed need to eat it," Alastor explained. "When you do, it will—not now, you brat!" 

Harry grinned and put the gillyweed down. "Oh lighten up, Alastor, I was merely having you on. It probably enables me to breathe underwater, yeah? So only eat it when close to water or you'll have to put me in the tub." 

"You're insufferable, Harry," Alastor huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Getting way too cheeky with your elders lately." 

Harry only laughed in response and left to go change into his wetsuit. "Can I try it today? Or do you only have enough for the task itself?"

"Remember when I told you to trust me and sign a receipt for something benefitting you at the beginning of the year? That's what this was about. Gillyweed is frightfully expensive, so we only have two doses. One for today, one for the task." 

"Is the price why I've been practising with a wetsuit and everything, or did you want me to gain stamina?" 

"You're not going to become magically good at swimming and navigating in water just because you eat a magical plant that gives you gills and webbed feet," Alastor reprimanded him, "just like putting on the eye alone did not make a master spy out of you." 

"That's a good metaphor," Harry agreed and eyed the gillyweed again. "Let's do this!" 

-o-

Swimming was fun like this. Harry effortlessly dove through the water and managed to navigate around rocks and seaweed jutting out from the steep slope of the banks of the lake. 

Breathing with gills felt like second nature and his webbed hands and feet propelled him through the murky water with ease. He was glad he'd spent so much time practising swimming since his arms and legs were now muscular enough to actually move him through the pressure crowding in from all sides. All in all, he was very thankful for the way Alastor had prepared him. 

If he'd known that gillyweed existed, he probably wouldn't have been quite as motivated to get fit. Spontaneously, he decided to emerge from the water and looked for the shadow of Alastor's boat up above. 

He saw it floating quite a ways away and Harry was surprised by the distance he'd crossed. He swam over as quick as he could and threw his hair back when he surfaced. 

Alastor cursed and drew back when he saw Harry. 

"You gave me a heart attack, you silly jock," the man growled at him. "Do you have any idea how long you've been down there? You know the eye doesn't work well in water!" 

Harry wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he was fine and had just been having a little too much fun. But with a start, he realised that he was making no sound and frowned. He also wasn't getting any air, or water, and it felt like drowning but in air? His body screamed at him to dive back under so he did. He drew in big lungfuls of water until his heart rate had slowed down again. 

When he resurfaced, he leaned on the side of the boat, took Alastor's hand into his and squeezed it with a bright grin. His other hand gave a thumbs up and before the man could reply anything Harry was off again. 

He didn't know how much time he spent diving and frolicking in the water but he felt almost as free as he did when he was on a broom. Finally, after having explored the shallower regions of what felt like half the lake and fleeing from grindylows and watching schools of fish, Harry started having problems breathing so he quickly returned to the surface. 

Alastor's boat wasn't far off and Harry swam over to him. 

"That was brilliant," Harry declared and felt like his face might split open with the intensity of his enthusiasm. "You should have seen me swim away from the grindylows, and one time I think I saw the Giant Squid in the distance but I didn't investigate and I only needed the warming charm a couple of times because the gillyweed also helps against the cold and—"

Harry interrupted himself when he realised that he was actually starting to freeze now, and with a vengeance to boot. Alastor eyed him with an unimpressed expression. 

"Your lips are blue, Harry," he declared dryly and used a levitation charm to get him in the boat. "Stay down so you don't catch a cold from the draft." 

"What draf—woah!" 

Alastor used a strong wind charm to propel the boat towards the shore and Harry stayed down obediently. After they'd run ashore, they climbed out and Alastor conjured a thick fluffy dressing gown that he put around Harry's shoulders before wrapping his arm around him and leading him up to the school. 

-o-

The eve before the second task, a Thursday, Harry was a bundle of nerves. He was pacing in Alastor's office, up and down, up and down, while his mentor was the very epitome of calm. The man was reading a book by the fireplace while Harry wondered when they'd be coming for his Firebolt, waiting in the dorm; he'd dutifully put it on his bed so they wouldn't search his things. 

A sudden knock on the door had them both startle in equal measure. 

"It's Krum," Alastor said warily and Harry went to open the door since Alastor had gotten rid of the leg again for the evening.

"Viktor," Harry greeted but the Bulgarian immediately walked past him.

"Hermione, verr is she? Is she here? Have you seen her?" He walked into the middle of the room and quickly scanned it. His accent was thicker than usual today, probably due to his agitation. 

"She isn't here, lad," Alastor told him with a frown. "Were you supposed to meet somewhere? Did she not turn up?" 

Viktor shook his head. His expression was stoic but his eyes were darting around frantically. "Dis is not like her," he muttered. 

"It's strange, you know?" Harry put on his thinking face. "I didn't see Hermione at dinner either and I was wondering whether she was with you. Come to think of it… I didn't see Luna, either!" 

Harry suddenly felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. He shared a disbelieving look with Alastor who looked equally as spooked while Viktor looked confused between the two. 

"Vat? Vat is it?" 

"They wouldn't," Harry tried to reassure himself. "Would they?" 

Alastor sighed deeply and put his book away. "I regret storing your map out of school bounds, Harry." He turned to Viktor. "You solved the egg puzzle, yes? Good. Remember how it said 'we've taken what you'll sorely miss'? It's not a what, it's a who." 

Hearing it stated so bluntly let all the colour drain out of Harry's face and Viktor himself looked rather peaky.

"You," Viktor said, pointing at Harry. "you vill vork together wiv me. I have stopped caring about vinning the tournament in this moment. Vat is your strategy? I saw you practice swimming but no bubble head charm." 

"I'll use gillyweed," Harry told him. "Gives me gills and webbed hands and feet. What about you?" 

"I'll transform my head into that of a shark," Viktor said, control over his pronunciation returning now that they were making plans. "Self-Transformation is taught to the upper levels in Durmstrang so I'm confident. Take a knife with you—we are not taking prisoners." 

Harry looked over to Alastor who looked like the cat that got the cream. "Your chances of survival have just increased tenfold, lad," he told Harry. "Come here, you two, we're going to talk strategy." 

-o-

While he was waiting at the shore of the Black Lake, Harry felt his heart pound in his throat. He listened with only one ear as Bagman explained the rules to the audience and watched Fleur and Cedric realise just what, or rather who, was waiting for them down there. 

Harry whispered to them that they were sure that Luna and Hermione were their hostages which made Cedric pale and whisper Cho's name. 

"But I didn't talk to Roger much after ze ball," Fleur explained hurriedly. "Did zey really put him down zere if all your dates are down zere? Who is down zere for me? Is it one of my friends?" 

Cedric, meanwhile, looked kind of green. "The bottom of the lake?" His voice sounded frail and Harry almost felt a pang of pity.

Instead, he felt relieved about being prepared and locked eyes with Alastor. He was wearing a knife that the man had given him strapped around his thigh—a great, big, serrated one that looked downright cruel. Since he could cast the warming charm wordlessly, he would use it on Viktor and himself periodically. Most important of all, the gillyweed in his left hand was his ticket to survival and Viktor was going to watch his back. 

This time, it was him who pulled Alastor into a crushing hug and the man returned it just as fiercely. 

"I'll be watching you as well as I can," he whispered into Harry's ear. "No heroics down there, and stay with Viktor. Follow his lead. I'll be waiting here for you and the minute I spot trouble, I'll accio all of you out of there if it's the last thing I do." 

Harry nodded because he didn't trust his voice enough to speak. He went back to Viktor who'd just now gotten rid of Karkaroff. He remembered his new friend sharing with them how he hated Karkaroff for trying to use Viktor's fame as a Quidditch player to raise his own standing and felt bad for Viktor. They really were peas in a pod.

They stood next to each other during the countdown and the second the signal sounded, Harry started munching on the gillyweed while running into the frigid water. He was dimly aware of Viktor running next to him with his head already transformed and they dove under as one.

Immediately, Harry drew in a lungful of water and started swimming. He exchanged only one quick nod with Viktor and let his friend take the lead. 

Even without webbed hands or feet, the pace Viktor set was grueling and Harry followed as fast as he could. As planned, they followed the downward slope of the ground towards the bottom of the lake, low enough that the sea grass was threatening to tickle their bellies. 

Harry, who was wearing Hermione's christmas present around his ankle, felt the rune bracelet heat up against his skin after they'd been silently swimming for a couple of minutes and instinctively pulled his knife out. When a pale hand with frightful claws attached to it suddenly tried to make a grab for Viktor's leg Harry tried calling out and slashed blindly at it. A misty cloud of what he hoped wasn't blood but what else could it be, really, filled his vision (and his lungs) and Viktor stopped, startled. 

He took in the scene behind him and nodded solemnly in thanks. They quickly continued on their way, ever down, but a bit further away from the sea grass. When Harry felt like they'd been at it for hours, the slope evened out and became a vast, terrible wasteland of dancing patches of sea grass populated with crabs and fish and the odd shadow flitting about here and there. 

Viktor got out his wand, focused, and Harry watched it spin in his hand and point to a direction in front of them. Harry cast another warming charm on both of them because even with the gillyweed it was frightfully cold all the way down and they continued on towards the direction the wand had pointed to. 

Viktor corrected their direction twice more and pretty soon, they came upon what Harry would call primitive stone buildings of a sort. There were pale, long faces looking at them out of caricatures of windows and doors but he paid no heed to them. 

In the equivalent of a village square, merpeople with spears in their hands and frowns on their faces were watching their approach warily. In their midst, four silent, unmoving figures were gently bobbing up and down. 

Harry kind of expected the merpeople to attack but it seemed they were content to watch them. It was indeed Hermione and Luna among the hostages, their faces deathly pale, and Harry felt a shudder come over him. The other two hostages were Cho Chang and a small girl that had the same hair and facial structure as Fleur—a younger sister? 

Alastor had cautioned him to not use a warming charm on them lest they should be charmed to wake up when getting warmer. So he cast one last warming charm on Viktor and himself and they used the knives they had brought with them to cut their hostages free of their ropes.

Luna felt incredibly cold in his arms and Harry watched as Viktor stroked Hermione's no doubt equally as frigid cheek with a pained expression. They nodded at each other again after catching what amounted to their breaths for a second or two and simply started ascending vertically. 

They'd theorised yesterday that this was the way they would meet the least amount of nasty surprises. Harry also supposed that, if he were a nasty surprise himself, he wouldn't want to attack himself and Viktor because the look on Viktor's shark-face was as murderous as the one on Harry's own felt. 

He spared a half-thought for Cho and what he supposed was Fleur's sister and wondered what would happen if they weren't rescued in time. Would the merpeople just carry them back to the surface? Or would they really not come back like the song suggested? Now that he had Luna safely in his arms, he dared think about consequences like that, and the prospect was making his stomach churn. 

While he was following Viktor, lost in thought and just paddling upwards as fast as he could, he suddenly became aware of something heading right for them. Harry reached out and tugged at Viktor's foot. 

Viktor stopped and looked around wildly. When he saw the shadow heading towards them, he pushed Hermione into Harry's arms and brandished his wand in one hand and his knife in the other. (Later on, Harry would realise that it was this one moment of single-minded machismo and manliness that made him realise he'd quite prefer a prince to a princess.) 

When the shadow drew nearer, Viktor relaxed and Harry peeked around him to see Cedric swimming towards them. He looked terrible—there was a bubblehead charm around his head but Cedric's lips were blue and he was shivering in a long-sleeve shirt and a pair of light trousers. 

Harry gave Hermione back to Viktor and sent a warming charm Cedric's way. The boy peaked up immediately and gave him a shaky nod in thanks. Harry pointed straight down and loosened the straps holding his knife to his thigh. He gave it to Cedric whose eyes grew wide behind the translucent bubble. 

Harry watched him strap it around his own thigh, cast another warming charm on the other boy and watched him dive further down with a renewed air of determination. Viktor and him shared a short look of pity for Cedric and continued their journey upwards.

After some more time had passed, Harry could see the light rippling through the surface and made to breach only to realise that the gillyweed hadn't stopped working yet. He caught up with Viktor and pointed to his gills and then his left wrist. 

Viktor frowned for a moment but then his eyes widened in understanding. When they were just under the surface, Harry gave Luna over to Viktor and watched him broach the surface with them. Immediately, the girls started thrashing around and Harry had no choice but to emerge too and hold onto Luna again. 

She started screaming at the top of her lungs and fought against his hold on her. Viktor was having the same problem with Hermione who was clinging to him and pushing him away in equal measure while shivering violently. 

Harry looked around helplessly but they were still in the very middle of the lake. There was a boat in the distance that was closing in on them, and Harry hoped to all heavens above that it was Alastor or someone else capable. 

Before too long, he had to dive under again to breathe and wondered how long it would take for the gillyweed to stop working. He tried casting a warming charm on Luna but she was still protesting and kicking him in the chest and leg and hammering on his chest with her little fists. 

Finally, a red light had her go slack in his arms again and he looked over to Viktor who was holding onto a stunned Hermione. 

"I had to, or they would have pulled us both down," Viktor explained and Harry nodded before diving down again so he could breathe underwater while trying to simultaneously hold Luna over the water. 

It felt like an eternity before the boat reached them and Harry thanked all the stars the Blacks were named after that it was indeed Alastor in it. 

Luna was lifted from his arms and pulled into the boat. Hermione followed suit and Alastor started immediately charming them with warming charms and some spells Harry remembered Madam Pomfrey using on him before. There was no space left in the boat and with Alastor busy, Harry and Viktor started paddling the boat towards the shore. 

Halfway there, the gillyweed stopped working and Harry felt the cold return to settle in his bones. 

"Can't believe how badly this is organised," he heard Alastor grumble from the boat. "Couple minutes longer and who knows what would have happened to them." 

Harry's heart started hammering harder in his chest and he quickened his desperate paddling. With him and Viktor paddling in unison, they'd reached the lakeshore in no time and were welcomed with thunderous applause they couldn't care less for. 

They helped Alastor carefully lift the girls out of the boat and put them on a hastily conjured thick blanket each. 

When the five judges started approaching, Harry could see Alastor's frown deepen, but the man stayed occupied with Hermione and Luna. Harry and Viktor were standing beside them and were relieved when Madam Pomfrey came bustling over. She even passed the judges in her hurry. She was clutching a healer's pouch and started asking Alastor technical questions Harry didn't feel lucid enough to understand. 

To his surprise, she put thick, pre-warmed blankets around his and Viktor's shoulders, too, and he realised with a start that he was shivering violently. Viktor wasn't faring much better and even his lips were deep blue. The journey up from the bottom of the lake without warming charms had taken its toll on them and the desperate struggle to keep their friends above the water had apparently used up the last of their resources. 

Finally, Madam Pomfrey seemed pleased with the state of the girls and came over to the boys. The judges, who had so far kept their distance, began to come closer but Madam Pomfrey stopped short when she saw them. 

"You will get the other hostages out now, Headmaster Dumbledore," Madam Pomfrey demanded. "These two girls are showing severe signs of hypothermia! You assured me they were well taken care of! Get Miss Chang and Miss Delacour out!" 

"Cedric was looking miserable when we met him," Harry said quickly and Madam Pomfrey's eyes zeroed in on him. "I hit him with a couple warming charms and gave him my knife but I don't know if he was able to reach the bottom." 

His voice sounded muffled and frosty, like someone who was speaking from beneath a mound of snow; the sensation of not feeling one's own lips was one he definitely wasn't used to. 

Dumbledore started to say something but was interrupted by the arrival of a tall, beautiful woman with long, flowing hair. 

"I couldn't 'elp but over'ear that zere are technical problems," she snapped with a cold voice. "My daughters are both down zere and you assured me zat Gabrielle would be fine. You will get zem out now, Mister Dumblydoor, or my husband, the French minister for magic, will officially declare a state of war on magical Britain." 

Harry didn't know whether that was an empty threat, but it looked like Dumbledore didn't want to take any chances. He quite looked like he'd bitten into a lemon instead of a lemon drop as he held his peculiar wand aloft. 

"Accio Cedric Diggory, Accio Cho Chang, Accio Fleur Delacour, Accio Gabrielle Delacour." 

For a while, nothing happened, but then four bodies surged out of the water with a great splash. There was no screaming and as far as Harry could see, none of them were moving. He looked towards Dumbledore who was sporting a sheen of sweat on his brow from the magical exertion. He swore he could detect a hint of worry on the old man's face. 

But before he could see the four up close, he found himself put on a stretcher and was on his way towards the castle. There were three more stretchers floating beside him and he could see Alastor and Snape, of all people, walk beside them with their wands drawn. 

He allowed himself to finally drift off and welcomed the treacherous warmth of unconsciousness with relief. 

Notes:

Also, ALSO!

Guess what happens next chapter?

Chapter 10

Waking up was hard. In fact, it felt like the hardest thing Harry had ever had to do in his life.

The light was dimmed enough that it didn't hurt when he tried opening his eyes for the first time. He still had to blink several times before his vision cleared enough to actually see something, but when he did, he became aware that he was, once again, in the hospital wing. He blindly reached for his glasses next to his pillow and put them on. 

There was an armchair next to his bed that looked like the ones in Alastor's office and Harry felt a pang of longing. It was currently unoccupied, so he looked around some more. No privacy curtains were drawn at the moment so he could see that three other beds were occupied, all of them with one or more people holding vigil around them.

He tried sitting up but found he was too wrapped up in blankets to move much. His efforts seemed to be noticed, though, and very soon Madam Pomfrey came bustling over. 

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, I'm glad you woke up," the matron cooed and started casting diagnostic spells on him before she continued. "I sent dear Alastor to get some food in himself but he should be back soon. He was so distraught, poor thing, but his quick actions may have saved Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood." 

"Me?" His voice felt croaky and hurt and Harry had to cough a little. 

"You suffered from moderate hypothermia," she explained. "You're still, technically speaking, suffering from it but you're getting better. Hypothermia is a tricky thing even for magical healing. You can't just instantly heat a liver or an intestine back up to working temperature. And try doing that with a finger, ha! All the little capillaries would explode."

Harry nodded shakily and let himself be helped up into a sitting position by Madam Pomfrey. From that vantage point, Harry could make out Hermione and Viktor in beds on the other side of the infirmary and Luna on his side of the room. 

"Where's the others? Cedric and Cho? Fleur and her little sister?" 

"They're in St. Mungo's," Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Like I said, hypothermia can be volatile, and with how long they were down there, and woefully underprepared at that… well. It's lucky you made it out so quickly with your friends. Who knows how long it would have taken those judges to go looking for their wayward champions otherwise."

Harry nodded and looked towards the other beds again. His friends were still sleeping but the adults sitting around their beds looked up at him when they noticed he was awake.

Hermione's parents were sitting close to each other and waved at him with strained smiles. He waved back before quickly putting his arm back under his blankets. The man sitting next to Viktor's bed looked like an older version of Harry's friend and only looked up long enough to give him a grim nod. 

Luna's visitor had the same blonde hair as her and was so engrossed in his book that he didn't seem to notice Harry's gaze. Harry realised with quiet delight that the man was reading his book just as upside-down as Luna was always reading hers. 

He let Madam Pomfrey give him a controlled dose of Pepper-Up Potion and coughed when steam came out of his ears. Leaning back against the cushions, he allowed the matron to refresh the long-time diagnosis charm and waited for Alastor to return. 

It didn't take him long, maybe five minutes, and Harry found his face threatening to split open with the intensity of his joy at seeing his mentor. Judging by the way the man's good eye widened, and how his uneven gait quickened, the sentiment was very much returned. 

Instead of pulling him into their customary hug, though, Alastor merely fidgeted with his hands and sat down with an awkward: "Don't want to hurt you, lad." 

"How are Viktor and the girls?" Harry looked back towards the other occupied beds a little distance away. "Are they going to recover soon?" 

"Let's talk about them later," Alastor suggested. "How about you? I'm sorry I dealt with the girls first, but I knew you would have wanted me to. You were still shivering—always a good sign with hypothermia. It's when they stop shivering that you need to start worrying." 

"I feel… sluggish," Harry told him after a quick think. "Waking up was like pulling myself through toffee with my arms and legs bound. Every movement is really exhausting. Is that going away soon?" 

"Not soon soon, but soon enough. We'll get you up and moving again in no time," Alastor reassured him. "Is there anything I can get you? Some tea? Soup? I'll get you soup." 

Madam Pomfrey must have been listening because she came towards them again after checking on the other patients. 

"No, Alastor, you stay here. I'll bring Mr. Potter a nice chicken noodle soup shortly. You just make sure he eats it all, but slowly." 

"Alright, I can do that," Alastor confirmed. "I've had plenty of experience getting food into that boy." 

"At least someone finally cares," Madam Pomfrey tutted and walked away towards her office. 

Harry blushed, like he always did when confronted with the realisation that he'd been dealt a shitty hand. That was when a big, warm hand engulfed his own beneath the blankets, and he allowed himself a small smile. Not anymore, Fate. 

-o-

Harry only stayed in the hospital wing until the next morning, a Saturday. Viktor was also released that same morning—the two of them had been in impeccable physical condition after months of rigorous training, after all, but the girls were supposed to stay until the following Monday, in time for class if possible. 

Viktor immediately migrated to Hermione's bedside after his release and Harry and Alastor spent time at both Luna's and Hermione's bedside. 

Luna's father, Xenophilius, was as ethereal and whimsical as his daughter was. But where she was eternal kindness and sunshine, he exuded a sort of righteous fury when they introduced themselves. He soon shared his woes with them after thanking them for making this his daughter's best year at Hogwarts yet. 

"They didn't even ask me whether they were allowed to put her into the lake," Xenophilius told them and shook his head. "I would have refused, of course, and I don't know why she accepted. I do hope she wakes up soon. And may Merlin have mercy on them if I find out she didn't consent and was taken anyways!"

"The Charms work must have been inadequate," Alastor theorised. "Not necessarily the technical part of it, but obviously someone didn't think this through. Who knows how long they'd been down there. Maybe the caster charmed them for an hour, hour and a half if generous, when it should have been way longer when taking transportation and the introduction of the second task into account."

"Whatever it is, I shall investigate and have the next edition of the Quibbler purely devoted to them failing all our children." Xenophilius' eyes were hard. "I've always been a defendant of Dumbledore's but I am disappointed in him for this. This should never have happened." 

Harry and Alastor only nodded and held vigil next to Luna's bed. 

When the Prophet came, Harry was almost mad it wasn't him on the front page because the alternative was so much worse. 

#TRAGEDY AT TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT#

Daughters of French Minister for Magic in St. Mungo's

The picture showed Fleur and her sister Gabrielle, both lying on the ground, unconscious, in front of the five judges who were looking shocked. 

The beautiful girls' long blonde hair was interwoven so much it was impossible to tell where Fleur's hair ended and Gabrielle's began. It looked like it could fit right in with the Renaissance paintings Harry had seen on a field trip during muggle primary school. 

Alastor read the article quickly and told them about this incident facilitating tension between British and French diplomats. Seemed like Mrs. Delacour had stayed true to her word after all. Dumbledore had gotten them out but they weren't in good condition. 

There was only a short mention of him and Viktor saving their hostages well within the time limit and the four of them still suffering from hypothermia. 

Unfortunately, Alastor didn't know much about the other four either (and didn't particularly seem to care much) so Harry resigned himself to waiting for official news. Shortly before lunch, Xenophilius shooed them out of the hospital wing. Apparently, he was quite the accomplished wizard and promised to send them a Patronus message should Luna or Hermione wake up. 

They went to Alastor's rooms, and walked very slowly. Harry still felt sore and so incredibly slow that he was amazed that they managed to get there at all. 

He wanted to immediately collapse into his armchair, but Alastor had him shamble further into his quarters until he was sitting on the man's bed. 

"Madam Pomfrey told you to take it very easy until your body has healed. You will rest here, and only return to your dorm once it's time for sleeping." 

Harry nodded dutifully and let himself flop back onto the mattress. "No protest from me, Alastor. I've never been happier about not having to move." 

"You can sleep all you want after lunch, lad," Alastor reminded him. "Up with you, I've even had your house elf friend prepare treacle tart for dessert." 

-o-

When it was time to return to his dorm, Harry heaved a heavy sigh. 

"I don't want to go back there," he complained. "I mean, I know I can't stay here, don't get me wrong, I just, well, wanted to have a bit of a whinge." 

"I do wish you could stay here, Harry, but we're toeing the line of inappropriateness as is." Harry watched the man fight internally with some sentiment or other. "You can return here tomorrow morning? But do sleep in, maybe use that privacy spell I showed you around your bed so you won't be disturbed. I'd even be happy to receive you by lunch if you manage to sleep that long." 

"Thanks, Alastor," Harry replied simply. "I'm really glad I got off relatively lightly with the second task. I couldn't have done that without you." 

He stepped forward, legs still somewhat shaky, and hugged Alastor around the neck. With a small, weary sigh the man returned the intimate hug and wrapped one arm around Harry's waist while using the other to cradle the back of his head. 

"I'll need to talk to you about something tomorrow," Alastor softly said into his hair. "But it's important, so I need you to be more rested than you are now." 

"Alright," Harry replied equally as softly. "You're not leaving me here, are you?" 

"No, never," Alastor promised. "I told you, I wouldn't. I'll get you back to your Common Room—I don't want you alone in the corridors at night." 

"That reminds me, can I maybe have my map and my cloak back tomorrow?" 

"Yes, you may." Alastor hesitated. "It's part of why I need to talk to you, actually." 

"I've missed them but I still wish it had been a what instead of a who. I hope Cedric and the others will be fine." 

-o-

For once Harry's dreams were dreamless without the help of a dreamless sleep potion. The exhaustion he felt sat deep down inside his bones and had still not lifted entirely. 

Still, on Sunday morning he awoke more well-rested than he'd anticipated and was greeted with hazy sunlight filtering in when he lifted the privacy spell and opened his curtains. 

There was still snoring coming from the other beds and a quick tempus revealed it was not much later than 7 am. Harry snorted. Old habits died hard: he'd gotten up early ever since living with the Dursleys, and Alastor had also stressed the importance of an early start of the day. (The only thing those two entities had in common now that he thought about it.) 

Harry knocked on Alastor's living quarters not a half hour later, properly groomed once more, and waited patiently for his mentor to open the door. When he did, the man looked still half-asleep and Harry felt his bad conscience knock at the back of his neck. 

"Oh no, you didn't get much sleep either the last couple of days, did you? I'm so sorry! I'll come back later." 

Alastor only shook his head and opened the door wide enough for him to enter. "Maybe it's better that I'm tired. Makes it easier to talk." 

"You have me a bit worried, Alastor," Harry admitted and followed the man through to his bedroom where they sat next to each other on the bed. "I didn't do anything wrong, did I?" 

"No, you didn't," Alastor sighed wearily. "But I did." 

Surely he didn't mean—Harry's heart started hammering in his chest. 

"If it's, uh," Harry started, unsure. "If it has to do with, ah, feelings? Inappropriateness? Then I think I might have done something wrong, too." 

He didn't dare look at Alastor and instead trained his gaze on the wall opposite him, face burning so hard he must have looked like the world's biggest tomato. 

"That's a part of the, well, problem at hand," Alastor admitted, and when Harry dared glance at him from the corner of his eyes, he could see that Alastor was blushing, too, which threw his numerous scars in sharp relief. "I need to tell you a story now. Not a fairytale or anything, but a real one, about the last Wizarding War. And… I will need your wand. Will you put both mine and yours over by the window?" 

Harry was starting to get proper worried now but the pleading in Alastor's gaze he'd never seen there before made him nod instantly. 

When he sat back down on the bed, Alastor removed the leg and the eye and drew his remaining leg up to sit on the mattress so he could lean against the footboard. Harry sat down opposite him and leaned against the headboard. He rested his socked feet on either side of Alastor's good leg. 

"I'll start with a story about two of the judges in the tournament," Alastor declared after thinking for some time. "Bartemius Crouch Snr. and Igor Karkaroff. One the former head of the DMLE and the other a former Death Eater. Strange, how Fate throws two erstwhile enemies together like this, isn't it? You may wonder how a former Death Eater like Karkaroff landed the position of headmaster of one of the biggest magical schools in Europe, and honestly? I can't tell you. 

He's a coward, a traitor and a mediocre wizard at best. Want to know how he got free even though he was caught with a Dark Mark and didn't have enough money like Lucius Malfoy and his ilk to buy his freedom? He named as many names as he could manage of his fellow Death Eaters, thus ensuring his own survival and freedom. 

He didn't know many names, mind you. He wasn't part of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle, and the Death Eaters mostly operated in autonomous cells during the war to protect the identities of their brothers and sisters. The war was over, though, and Karkaroff had become privy to more than he should have become privy to.

Most of the names he knew were known already, but there was one trump card he had. One Death Eater who no one knew, no one even suspected. Bartemius Crouch Snr.'s own and only son, named after the father who spent more time in the ministry than other department heads combined: Bartemius Crouch Jr."

"Was his son a proper Death Eater, then? I've never heard about that!" 

"Oh, young Barty was a proper Death Eater alright, Dark Mark and everything. He was young, only 19 at the time, and present at Karkaroff's trial where his father was presiding. He was apprehended immediately afterwards and thrown into a holding cell. Karkaroff had accused him of taking part in the torture of aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom, your classmate Neville's parents, which turned them into shells due to prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse."

"Is that why… Neville was raised by his gran?" Harry's hands flew to his mouth. "Poor Neville! Does he visit them? Oh, it must be so terrible to have parents but have them be incapacitated like that… Did Mr. Crouch's son do that to them?" 

"No, he didn't," Alastor recounted. "You have heard of Bellatrix Lestrange née Black, Sirius' cousin? It was her and her alone, with her whipped husband and his equally as whipped brother standing watch. Well guess what? A house elf watched them and they were apprehended a while later when they got careless. 

But since he was desperate, Karkaroff used what information he had to paint a picture of the head of the DMLE's own son torturing aurors into insanity and the public lapped it up. The Prophet was little more than a witch hunt registry after the war and Crouch Snr. decided to try and save face. You see, he had been relentless during the war. He authorised the usage of the three Unforgivables by aurors against suspected Death Eaters. 

And his own son, the enemy amongst them! Imagine! He had ambitions to become minister for magic, Crouch Snr., but that revelation threw quite the wrench into his plans. To save his reputation, Crouch Snr. preceded his own son's trial and threw him into Azkaban for life on the word of a traitor. No veritaserum, a strong truth potion, nor asking that house elf witness whether Jnr. had been there in the first place with the Lestranges."

"Sirius didn't even have a trial, you know?" Harry felt a pang of sympathy. "The time after the war must have been terrible. I think it's unfair that people like Lucius Malfoy are free to walk even though they did the same things others did. I was thinking of becoming an auror like my dad and you this year, but lately I've been thinking I might become a law wizard? I have loads of money, so I could take on cases where the defendant doesn't have enough money to afford a lawyer and make sure that they are treated fairly and justly."

"Even if they are a Death Eater?" 

"Especially then!" Harry felt his passion for that idea surge. "The law, at least in the Muggle world, has to treat everyone equally. I think I want to make sure that the Wizarding World has to follow that rule, too." 

He watched Alastor bury his face in his hands. 

"Merlin, lad, where were you and your ideas 12 years ago? No wait, rotting at your relatives' house already, of course." Alastor chuckled without joy.

"But why tell me about Mr. Crouch, Alastor? And why now? I thought you, we, well. I know about people like me," he started anew. "I grew up in an abusive household, so my ideas about love and family are all wrong—it's in this book Hermione had me read. She insisted I do in case I start dating so I know what to look out for." 

He would have kept rambling, but Alastor's good foot tapped his legs and he stopped in favour of looking at his mentor. 

"Barty Jr.s journey didn't end in Azkaban, Harry."

The way he said it had Harry's heart actually stutter in his chest. His voice was still deep but it sounded off, somehow. Foreign. But still familiar. 

"Where is he now?" Harry's own voice sounded foreign in his ears, too. All soft and vulnerable, scared. 

"I think you already know," Alastor whispered, "but let's follow his journey anyway. He was thrown into Azkaban by his father, and here's the best part, you know his cell neighbour: none other than your godfather, Sirius Black. They kept each other company and traded what stories they could remember—you should ask him about it sometime. 

Then, after a few months had passed with Jr. steadily growing weaker, visitors arrive. Now, having visitors in Azkaban is practically unheard of, yet there they are. A witch and a wizard, dressed all prim and proper, stalking down the dirty, freezing corridors of Azkaban. You see, there's one person we haven't talked about yet. Jr.'s mother, who loved him fiercely and never forgave his father for throwing their only child into Azkaban. 

They switched. Dementors are blind, and they never saw the deception. Even then, both mother and son drank Polyjuice Potion and the mother died in her son's stead. She was ill, you see, a bloodborne curse plaguing the women of the Greengrass line."

"Daphne Greengrass from Slytherin," Harry whispered. "My classmate… does she have it?" 

"You can't test for it," Alastor shrugged. "It starts manifesting in early adulthood, before their thirtieth year, and they never live long past forty if it does." 

"But that's terrible," Harry realised. "Daphne was never overtly mean to me… I hope she doesn't get it." 

"Me too," Alastor agreed. "She was Mrs. Crouch's niece, you know?"

"So Barty Jr.s… cousin?" 

"Yes… But we digress. I'm afraid our ending is a little anticlimactic. When Crouch Snr. arrived home with his son, he put him under the Imperius curse, bound him to the family's house elf, and had him lead a lonely, miserable existence for eleven years, hidden under an invisibility cloak all day and all night, constantly anxious his dirty little secret might be found out."

"Sounds like my life at the Dursleys," Harry shared with a weak little chuckle. "That must have been hell on earth…" 

"Oh, believe me, it was," Alastor agreed, face closed off and eyes downcast. 

Harry drew in a shaky breath, because if there had been any doubt as to the identity of the man sitting in front of him, it evaporated this exact instant. 

He was sitting opposite a convicted Death Eater. The man he had spent half a year getting close to and confiding in, who had spent it helping him and caring for him in turn, was a convicted Death Eater. 

He felt like he should start hyperventilating and making a run for his wand right about now, but... it seemed silly, with Alastor sitting there like a lamb being led to slaughter. 

"So you, uh, your actual name is Barty?" The question sounded lame even to his own ears and Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. "What… what else was a lie?" 

"Nothing," Alastor (?) was quick to assure him. "I genuinely cared about you ever since our talk on the Astronomy Tower and, and nothing I told you about taking you with me was a lie." 

"If I still wanted to at the end of the year," Harry remembered. "You knew you'd have to tell me eventually, of course." 

"I can hardly keep drinking Polyjuice Potion for the rest of my life," AlastorBarty said and took his flask out of his breast pocket. He jiggled it so its contents splashed around, then threw it over to him. 

Harry caught it effortlessly and screwed the top off to take a sniff. It smelled like nothing much, not disgusting like drinking the Goyle version had been in second year. 

"When are you going to change back?" 

"Any minute now," Alastor replied and crossed his arms self-consciously in front of his chest. Already, Harry could see the man's grey hair receding and turning a dirty blonde not unlike Luna's. 

His scars vanished, his nose grew back and became finer, his eyebrows turned paler and then a second eye grew back into the empty eye socket, a deep cornflower blue like its twin. 

Alastor's whole body became a little thinner, a little shorter and he grunted in pain when the stump on his thigh started growing into a knee, a calf and finally a foot, all in the span of seconds. 

Soon enough, a young-ish man was sitting opposite Harry, his eyes clouded with worry and his arms still crossed. 

It was weird. It was the weirdest feeling Harry had ever experienced. Too many mixed emotions were warring in his mind, and quite suddenly, his chest constricted so much that he felt like he did back in the lake, breathless and weightless, floating. 

There was no air coming into his lungs, no matter how hard he tried, and he felt himself clawing at his own throat. He urged it to draw in some much-needed air but it wasn't cooperating at all and his vision was going blurry now and—

Suddenly, an insistent press of glass was on his lips and a voice commanded him to drink, so Harry did. He felt a sense of calm wash over him. Immediately, his lungs filled back with air and he sobbed in relief. 

There were arms around his shaking shoulders and Harry let them comfort him. He pressed his face into the chest in front of him, even if it belonged to a Death Eater. A mentor. A friend. He felt like his life was falling apart and held on to the one man who'd been his rock for the past six months. 

The man who'd been supposed to be his future.

Where would this revelation leave them? The uncertainty had Harry sob even harder, and he hated it. He hated Alastor Moody and Barty Crouch Jr., too, and yet... he never wanted to let go. 

Notes:

Barty's and Luna's mums being Greengrasses is my own headcanon. Both Astoria and Barty's mum die early from ~mysterious causes/bloodborne diseases~ which made my brain go brrrrr.

Chapter 11

Harry had no idea how long he'd spent sobbing into Barty Crouch Jr.'s chest: a man he didn't know who was his best friend. 

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, Harry's sobs turned into weak little hiccups and he sat up from where they'd lain entangled on Alastor's bed. Barty's bed. This was going to be so confusing. 

Barty stayed in a half-lying position, propped up by the pillows, and let Harry's inquisitive gaze wash over him. He even let Harry touch his nose - whole, perfect, no big chunk missing - and watched impassively as Harry gently prodded at the formerly missing right leg. 

"Does it hurt a lot when it grows back?" 

"Hurts worse when it disappears into my thigh," Barty said in a small voice, refusing to meet his gaze. "I'm, I, I don't know what to even say to you, Harry. I've been dreading this moment ever since I got to know you properly. I told myself there was time, that I could always tell you later, and I clung to that like a lifeline. I wasn't supposed to start liking you, and you weren't supposed to start liking me. I was old and gnarled and rough, I played my part properly, and you looked past all that and cared for me as much as I started caring for you and– and now everything is a mess. I wasn't even supposed to tell you my real identity and who knows what will happen when he finds out, but I couldn't. I just couldn't watch you fall in love with an act, even if it is the end of me."

Harry blushed furiously and felt his eyes go wide. 

"You knew?" 

"Of course I knew," Barty groaned, his slender fingers combing viciously through his blonde hair. "I'm, I, I mean, I was jealous. Of him, of myself and it's the strangest feeling, I swear to Merlin. I couldn't, Harry, I needed to tell you, no matter the outcome." 

"I… appreciate that," Harry found himself say. "So you're what, 32 now?" 

Barty nodded warily. "Yeah, I'll, uh, turn 33 in August. Look, don't get me wrong, Harry, but, all in all, you're taking this a lot better than I'd even dared hope for. I'll be blunt here. I'm a Death Eater, here's my Dark Mark, I served Lord Voldemort and I spent time in Azkaban for it." 

"I do have many questions," Harry defended his strange calmness weakly. "For example… did you kill anybody?" 

"Yes." 

"In battle or innocents?" 

"In battles. I killed three aurors in two battles. I mostly did research and the war ended not too long after I became a Death Eater so I never saw much… action, if you want to call it that." 

"How are you such a powerful wizard if you've spent so much time as a prisoner?" Harry cursed himself for not knowing what to ask. If he'd been Hermione, he'd know all the right questions for sure! 

"I spent all my time in the family library," Barty told him. "The Crouches are no Noble Family, but they are old and the library was huge. My… so-called father bought me books, too, when I was good. I learned a lot during that time and I think it kept me sane. I don't know how Sirius did it– all that time in Azkaban and judging by what you told me, he's surprisingly fine? Maybe his innocence really did save him…"

"Speaking of the Crouches, why is your father still free? Using the Imperious Curse is against the law, isn't it? Yet he was there on Friday… shouldn't he be on trial now?" 

"He's the one under the Imperious now, and, well, no one knows about him using the Imperious curse on me," Barty reminded him. 

"Wait, you mentioned a house elf… Winky!? I met her at the Quidditch World Championship and Mr. Crouch released her because she didn't do her job properly and, and for casting a Dark Mark but house elves can't use wands." He was off the bed in an instant, pointing a finger at Barty. "You! It was you! You stole my wand and cast the Dark Mark in the sky! You were there, that evening!" 

"A rare treat," Barty said in that same toneless voice he'd been using. "Winky persuaded my father to allow me to watch the World Cup because I'd been behaving and because my mother had wished for me to be free once more… He was livid when we returned home. That night, he used the Cruciatus curse on me for the first time. I have never felt more powerless in my life… being under the Cruciatus while simultaneously under the Imperious is the worst thing you can imagine. Not even Lord Voldemort stooped so low. You can't scream, you can't move, you can only feel the pain bite into your nerves and– fuck."

Harry saw Barty begin to shake and watched with trepidation how the grown man in front of him started crying into his hands all of a sudden. He was unsure what to do. This was a Death Eater. Who'd stolen his wand and cast the Dark Mark into the sky. Who'd lied to him for months. 

And who was now crying because he was sorry for lying to him and because he'd been tortured by a relative who'd felt disgusted by his very existence (and didn't that one hit close to home?)

Who had been there for him when no one else was. 

Who had been a friend. Who had promised to take him away even though he knew– right. 

Harry went back to the bed, crawled over to Barty and gently pried his hands from his face. The man's dark blue eyes were red, his face splotchy and Harry still wasn't used to the sight of it. He greedily drank in the new features and watched Barty's pupils nervously flit around, all while still heaving with broken little sobs he very obviously felt terribly ashamed of. 

So Harry did what AlastorBarty had done for him countless times by now. He threw caution to the wind and climbed into Barty's lap, straddling his thighs and pulling the man's upper body forward until his head was tucked under Harry's chin. 

"Shh," he cooed, "shhh, I know, it's a terrible situation. I'm not leaving, okay? I'm staying right here until we've talked about all of this, yeah? You weren't yourself, maybe, but you were there for me, anyway, and… and we'll cross all the other bridges when we come to them, right?"

In lieu of a response, Barty clung to Harry's back and sobbed into his chest, shaking with the power of it wracking through his body. 

"You've been bottling everything up for so many years, Barty," Harry told him, testing the new name on his tongue cautiously. "Barty… Barty. You weren't much older than I am now when you were put into Azkaban. We both had our own private hells, didn't we?" 

"I hate my name so much," Barty whispered into his chest and Harry cradled the back of the man's head like he often did for him. "But when you use it, it's almost okay." 

"I'll make you like it, Barty," Harry promised. "I think it suits you." 

"You're entirely too good for this world," Barty complained without heat and his hands were slowly stroking up and down Harry's back. "You say you'll make me like it… in the future, you mean? You don't plan on turning me in?" 

"You thought I was going to turn you in and told me anyway?" 

"I had hoped you'd grant me a head start," Barty shrugged, leaning back to look into Harry's face. "You perfect little thing, you. It didn't even cross your mind to betray me." 

Barty had stopped crying now, opting instead to watch Harry with a wondrous expression on his boyish face. One of Barty's hands was hovering awkwardly next to his face and Harry quickly pressed his cheek into it before he could chicken out. 

"You're my friend," Harry reiterated and felt Barty's hand tremble on his cheek. "D-death Eater or not. You've been nothing but kind to me." 

His eyes fluttered shut when Barty's thumb started gently stroking his cheek, wiping the traces of tears from earlier away. 

"Look at us, crying our eyes out like a couple of fools," Barty chuckled weakly, resting his forehead against Harry's. "I need to thank you for not freaking out on me too bad. For being the way you are. Kind. Loyal. Brave. Such a Gryffindor…" 

"What were you?" 

"A Ravenclaw, like Luna," Barty said. "Little Luna… She'd just been born when I was incarcerated. Her mother was also a Greengrass, the youngest sister. My mother Guinevere was the eldest daughter. Daphne's father, Gawain, is my uncle, he was the second youngest but the heir because he's a boy. Luna's mother Pandora was the youngest, my aunt."

"So Luna is your cousin, too?" 

Barty nodded shakily. "I haven't let myself think about that properly. I had to be Moody, I couldn't let myself slip. Dumbledore has been suspicious enough of me as it is, for being so close to you. Thankfully, he believed me when I told him that I chose to be your mentor to prepare you to face Lord Voldemort and we left it at that." Barty rested their foreheads together again. "You should eat something– we should eat something. Growing an eye and a leg every day costs my body a lot of energy. I can hardly keep up with all the calories I need."

Harry decided Barty was rather thin.

"I think it suits you," he told him. "And it was you, wasn't it? Carrying me to bed after I fell asleep on you?" 

"You called me a prince," Barty whispered. "I've never been called a prince before in my life. I'm just– me. Average. A quick mind, an old name and that's it." 

"For me, you're a prince," Harry repeated. "I wouldn't have made it this far without you, and I resent your former girlfriends for not realising your status as a prince."

Barty spluttered. "I've never had a girlfriend!" 

"Boyfriends then." 

"Never had one of those, either," Barty said, blushing furiously. "I wasn't, I mean, there was no time and, and no one who–" 

Harry's eyes grew wide. "No way! Does that mean you're a–" 

"We haven't had breakfast," Barty interrupted him and wiggled out from under his legs. "We really should eat something. Now. Right now. Stuffing our faces with food and no talking whatsoever." 

He snapped his fingers and a veritable buffet of a breakfast appeared on the low table in the middle of the room. Harry decided to humour him. Wasn't his business anyway whether his oldnew friend was a virgin or not. It wasn't like he himself had any experience. Hell, he hadn't even kissed anyone. 

"Have you ever kissed anyone?" The question was out of his mouth before his mind had quite caught up and he saw Barty freeze. 

"No," the man answered, cautious. "I was… very studious when I was younger, not unlike Hermione is now. 12 O.W.L.s, 7 N.E.W.T.s… all to make my old man proud. I had no time for, well, dalliances. Why do you ask, Harry?" 

His name out of Barty's mouth sounded so different than when Alastor had said it. It was no less nice, to have it spoken with so much care, as if it was a fragile thing that needed to be protected and cherished.

"Would you like to? Kiss anyone, I mean?" 

Barty's eyes flickered down towards Harry's mouth, then up again, and he watched the man swallow audibly. 

"Don't, Harry," Barty cautioned. "Don't, don't tempt me. You are too young– I may be a Death Eater but I'm not a monster. While our age difference is a lot smaller than it was yesterday, and it feels very weird to say that, I'm still, what, eighteen years older than you? You're not even fifteen yet!"

"I read a book about this," Harry argued. "There's always been cases of big age differences between Wizarding couples to keep the bloodlines alive. The official age of consent in wizarding society is 14 years old and I'll be properly of age in a little more than two years!"

"You read a book about this?" 

Harry blushed. "Well it's not like I necessarily planned on acting on any of it," he bristled. "But I liked Alastor, too, when, uh, when you were him, and I just… wanted to check, I guess." 

"Oh Merlin, you had a proper crush on Alastor Moody, didn't you," Barty realised. "He was missing a nose, an eye, a leg, scars all over. I sometimes frightened myself when I looked into the mirror, Harry!" 

"I didn't care about any of that," Harry said forcefully and watched Barty actually take a step back. "I cared about him being nice to me, you being nice to me. You were kind, and loyal, and you stood by me. You believed what I told you and you promised to give me a home when you realised how bad I have it at my relatives' house. You like spending time with me, I like spending time with you– should I go on?"

Gathering up all his Gryffindor courage, Harry stepped close to Barty once again, slowly raising his arms and settling them around the man's neck in an echo of their tender embrace from yesterday. Barty swallowed, hesitated, but put his arms around Harry's waist after all. 

"Harry," he breathed, looking down at him with fire burning in his eyes. "Harry… you… please don't do anything you'll regret." 

"I won't," Harry promised and stood on his tiptoes to press his lips gently against Barty's. 

Barty whimpered a little when their mouths met and pressed back against his lips before they parted again. 

"You kissed me," Barty whispered, one hand touching his own lips disbelievingly. 

"Yeah," Harry agreed, grinning like a loon and itching to do it again. 

"You actually kissed me!" 

Barty grabbed a gentle hold of the sides of Harry's face and kissed him deeply, purposefully and Harry felt his stomach fluttering– was that those butterflies people kept going on about? 

"You don't realise how long I've been wanting to do this," Barty told him reverently and Harry opened his eyes again. "I've been keeping myself from doing this for months, ever since, ha, late december I guess. You were so achingly beautiful when you fell asleep in my lap, I thought I'd have to drop dead on the spot. And then you called me your prince, and you did it again earlier and now I kissed you with my own lips."

Harry thought his chest might burst with the intensity of what he was feeling. 

"I like your lips," he told Barty with what felt like the world's most stupidest grin but Barty actually blushed at the praise and hid his face in Harry's neck. 

"You don't understand what you're doing to me," Barty told him with a groan, "but I can't help but feel like a dirty old man, holding you like this." 

"Nineteen to like thirty hardly count in your case, so you're really only about twenty." 

"I'm afraid it doesn't work like that," Barty laughed, standing up straight again. 

Gosh, but he was so tall. Not frighteningly tall, like Sirius was, but proper tall nonetheless. He was a little shorter than Alastor, of course, but his lankier frame sure made him seem taller. Harry thought he didn't mind being so much shorter seeing as he could tuck himself delightfully snugly into Barty's side. 

"Breakfast," Barty reminded him, holding him close and stroking the back of his head in the way he knew Harry liked so much. 

"We really ought to, now," Harry agreed and stepped back. 

Barty looked happy and flushed with a dopey grin on his oval face. Harry decided that it was a look that suited him and vowed to put it there as often as he could. 

Harry sort of flopped down onto his cushion and watched Barty do the same. Without hesitation, he got up again and pulled his cushion around the table to sit next to Barty. He sat so close that their thighs touched and felt Barty nudge him with a shoulder. 

"Stop being cute," Barty accused him. "Remember, I'm a big scary Death Eater and I could eat you up any time."

"Right now you're a big scary Death Eater who should eat up his breakfast," Harry deadpanned and Barty gasped in mock-indignation. 

"Somebody has been entirely too lenient with you," Barty snarked and stuffed a buttered roll in his face. 

"Probably you," Harry snarked back and spooned porridge into his mouth.

-o-

When they were done eating breakfast, Barty simply flopped onto his back. "It's so nice to be myself," he sighed. "Moody's body is falling apart, I don't know how he copes. It's constant pain day in, day out."

"Why impersonate him anyway? And where is he? You didn't kill him, did you?" 

"He's alive," Barty reassured him. "He's currently sleeping in his own trunk, right over there in the office." 

Harry felt really sick all of a sudden. "What! The poor man!" 

"Oh, don't worry about him. I gave him Draught of Living Death, puts the body into a kind of stasis. When he wakes up, it'll feel like no time passed at all. I made him comfortable, too, in a bed and all. Merlin knows he could need the rest in his retirement. I have a house elf, Winky actually, take care of him."

"It's still against the law," Harry countered weakly. 

"I'm a fugitive on the run even though no one knows I'm still alive. Your godfather is a fugitive on the run, too. You killed a man in your first year here, which is also technically speaking against the law. It's all a matter of perspective, really." 

Harry nodded slowly, considering. "I can't really fault that logic and I'm not inclined to try. Will you give him the antidote and release him afterwards?" Barty nodded. "Good. But… release him after what ? Why are you here? Merlin knows I'm glad about it, but… why? Did you want to get close to your father during the tournament?" 

"Fuck," Barty cursed, heartfelt. "I really, uh, I knew I'd need to tell you eventually. I sincerely hope you won't regret kissing me because I think it would actually break my heart." 

"No pressure, huh?" Harry wondered what could be so bad that it would make him stop liking the man who'd been so kind to him. "Tell me." 

Barty was up and moving again in a flash, pacing up and down. 

"Please don't freak out," he said after a while of furious thinking. "It will sound really, really bad at first but I promise it'll all make sense." 

"Oh no, it's about him," Harry realised in a split-second of clairvoyance and his scar flashed in brief pain as his heart rate accelerated. "It's Voldemort, you still serve him." 

"The wizard I told you about? Who taught me all I knew and who sent you those robes?" Barty swallowed audibly in the silence that stretched between them. "That's, uh, him, actually." 

The compulsion charm that had been put on the letters he'd received from his mysterious friend lifted with this revelation and Harry remembered where he'd seen the handwriting before. The diary. Second year. It all made sense now. 

"You're here because you need something," Harry deduced, eyes wide. "You… you want to bring him back! That's why I've been having these dreams! Why do you want to bring him back!? You're nice and kind and wonderful and Voldemort is anything but!" 

He jumped up from the cushion he'd been lounging on, furtively glancing to where their wands rested. 

"Oh but Harry, he isn't!" Barty was pleading now, tugging at his hair again. "History is written by the winners– of course he killed people, I killed people, hell, you killed people. You saw him in the diary, didn't you? He was charming, nice, he was just a normal boy like you. He was still charming when he was older, why do you think people, wealthy Purebloods at that, flocked to his banner? He promised change and progress while still staying true to the roots of Magical Britain and his followers wanted it desperately."

"He wanted to kill all the muggleborn," Harry protested, not quite believing the direction this day had taken. "What about that? He would kill Hermione!" 

"It was never about killing muggleborn, Harry, Lord Voldemort himself is a Halfblood like you!" 

That had whatever retort Harry wanted to dish out get stuck in his throat. 

"He's a Halfblood?" he asked tonelessly. 

"His real name's Tom Marvolo Riddle, you remember? He was… named after his father, Thomas Riddle, a muggle." Harry thought his eyes couldn't get any wider than they were right now. "Have you met or read about any other Riddles while in the wizarding world?" 

"I thought it was like with Hitler," Harry awkwardly explained. "After the Second World War, most people called Hitler changed their last names and I thought they'd done the same in the magical world with Riddle, I guess?" 

Barty shook his head with the ghost of a fond expression on his face. "Not quite, no. His mother was a poor but pureblooded witch who fell in love with a muggle and was consequently cast out by her family. She gave birth on the steps of an orphanage and died from complications afterwards. Her last wish was to have him named after his father and maternal grandfather. Riddle is a muggle name."

"But he… was a Slytherin, right? And he grew up in an orphanage? So he didn't even know that he had magic until his letter arrived and while he was in Slytherin, he thought he was a muggleborn…" 

"Yes… it wasn't easy, at first. He went to Hogwarts during the Second World War to top it all off. Remember how you told me that you asked Dumbledore to stay here during the summer before? Yeah. My master did, too. Wool's Orphanage was located right in London and that son of a hag Albus bloody Dumbledore sent him back there each summer during the Blitzkrieg."

"Oh no," Harry whispered and imagined a boy about his age with dark locks and wide eyes clinging to a wand he wasn't allowed to use while all around him, walls shook and the ground trembled. 

"That fear… left a mark on him," Barty explained, voice hesitant. "Lord Voldemort is not only an anagram but also a, well, an admission of sorts. It translates as flight from death."

"He's that terrified of dying? That's so sad," Harry whispered and couldn't believe it was Voldemort they were talking about. "And yet he killed so many people… did he really think that was somehow going to save him?" 

Barty shrugged. "I'm not sure. I know much about him because he liked me and shared things with me but I don't know all his secrets or motivations. He came and saved me from my father last year, you know? Once he found out I'm still alive, that is. He's temporarily living in a small golem body until we can, I mean, until we have all we need to bring him back."

Harry was surprised by how calm he was when he started his next line of questioning. "He killed my parents, Barty, and he tried to kill me. I thought you liked me? How can you like me if you also like the man who tried to kill me?" 

"Ah, another Pandora's box we haven't opened yet," Barty nodded with a pained grin. 

What followed was an explanation about the prophecy that had been given about him and Voldemort to Dumbledore and how it had reached the Dark Lord via one Severus Snape. 

Harry balled his hands into fists. 

"So Voldemort came after my family because he was afraid of dying by my hands, as foretold in that prophecy?" A shaky nod from Barty. "And Snape told him of the prophecy… If Dumbledore knew it, why didn't he tell my parents?" 

"They went into hiding at his behest but I don't think he told them about there being a prophecy. I mean, he hasn't even told you about it yet, has he?" 

Harry felt his gaze darken. "No, he hasn't. I wonder what else he hasn't told me." 

"I'm, I'd understand if you need time alone to process all this. I think I've covered the most important points. If you want, I can leave you alone here and I'll go into the office. Just, if you do decide to reveal my real identity, please consider that head start, yeah?" 

"I'm not going to rat you out," Harry reassured him with a tired smile and his heart gave a tug at the relief he saw in Barty's face. "And… I don't think I want to be alone right now. I still feel kinda sluggish and sore from Friday, so maybe I can just lay down a little and you keep me company?" 

-o-

In the end, Harry ended up lying on the bed on his side, face to the wall, while Barty leaned against the headboard behind him and lazily carded a hand through Harry's hair. 

"It's strange," Harry whispered into the silence between them and Barty's hand stilled momentarily. "Not that. I mean, how calm I am. It's not just the fatigue talking, you know? I really am… very calm about this, now that I've had a little time to process it." He paused. "Everything's changed between us, but on the other hand, it's still the same? I mean, you're still the same person I fe– the same person I got to know so well."

He blushed because wow, it was way too early for what he'd almost said just now. Hermione had told him that it'd taken her and Viktor more than two months after their first kiss to actually say the L-word. 

"I'm relieved and confused," Barty confided in him. "I… didn't imagine this day would go like this. At all. I've got everything packed and ready, actually. See that broom next to the window? I was gonna make my escape with that." 

"You fly?" Harry was sitting in no time. "You said you loved Quidditch! Did you play? What was your position?" 

"I was a Chaser in my fourth year," Barty told him, confused. "Not the worst one, but I had to resign in fifth year because of all the classes I was taking. I haven't flown much since my school days, obviously, but… we can fly together some time, if you want." 

"I'd love that! We could maybe fly over the mountains some day and–"

Harry didn't get further than that because a shining, golden goose came waddling through the closed door and both he and Barty went running for their wands on the windowsill before they'd even processed what was happening. 

"Madam Pomfrey has woken up Hermione and Luna, Professor Moody," Xenophilius' disembodied voice informed them and they both heaved a sigh of relief. 

"That was… yeah. You know, the more time I spend as Moody, the more I can sympathise with the constant vigilance thing," Barty complained.

"You'll have to change back," Harry realised. "I was just getting used to, well, you." 

"From now on, I can be myself whenever we're alone," Barty promised, grabbing both their wands and handing Harry his back. 

"Are you actually casting with Moody's wand? I thought only the wand's chosen wizard could work powerful magic with it." 

"You only have to want it enough," Barty shrugged. "I was not only like Hermione with regards to taking all those classes, you know? I also learned spells as quick as her, had enough raw power to cast even advanced magic… I do miss my own wand, though. It's been broken, of course. Maybe I'll get a new one that's just for me again, one of those days."

"I'd like that a lot," Harry pondered. "I'll help you if I can. The real Alastor Moody is going to want his own wand back eventually. I just hope he won't be too mad." 

"Well, I talked to him quite a lot in the beginning. He's pretty mad, actually… but he'll come out stronger. He's tough!" 

"It's gonna be so weird, seeing him," Harry mused. "I mean, he'll look like you looked? That's going to take some time to get used to. I bet he's gonna hate me so much if he finds out I knew your identity."

Harry stilled immediately when a terrible thought struck him and Barty looked at him with a worried expression. 

"What? What is it?" 

"They're all gonna hate me so much when they find out I, that I'm… knowingly hiding a death eater." 

Instead of paling too much upon this revelation, Barty's worried expression changed to one of pity. 

"Luna wouldn't," Barty told him. "Hermione wouldn't either if you explained everything to her. Sirius doesn't have anyone left in this world but you. Who else matters?" 

That somehow felt like a terrible blow and Harry shrugged uneasily against the bottomless pit opening up in his stomach. 

"Wow, I… I guess you're right," he admitted in a whisper. "No one else cares…" 

"I care," Barty promised and held out his hand. 

Harry nodded shakily and took the proffered hand with clammy, shaking fingers. "Yeah, I, I know. Thanks, Barty…" He swallowed hard and tried to put on a brave face. "Let's go visit the girls." 

What a strange world where a death eater was the only one standing between the Boy-Who-Lived and a bottomless pit of despair. 

 

Chapter 12

Luna and Hermione were both sitting in their beds unaided when Harry and Barty, again disguised as Alastor, entered the hospital wing. 

After hugging both girls fiercely, Harry offered a manly handshake to Viktor who pushed his hand away and pulled him into a strong embrace. 

"We are brothers now," Viktor told him with a solemn expression and a hand clasped on his shoulder. "Bonds forged in battle are not easily broken." 

"I… uh, appreciate that," Harry replied with a choked up voice and left Viktor and Hermione to catch up. 

"I'm glad you saved us, Harry Potter," Luna said with a gentle smile. "It was terribly cold down there." 

"Why did you guys even agree?" Harry sat down next to Xenophilius and watched Barty take the seat on the other side of Luna's bed. 

"I'd like to know that, too," Xenophilius said with a dangerous voice. "Don't misunderstand me, precious Luna, I'm not blaming you. I want to know how they coerced you. You are smarter than this." 

Luna fiddled with the hem of her blanket and refused to meet their eyes. 

"If anyone threatened you," Barty said, voice stern but empathetic, "I can go with you to the DMLE to make a statement." 

"Nobody threatened me," she shrugged, voice small and shoulders hunched. "Alastor, they said… they said that since Hermione was Viktor's hostage, I was the only other candidate for Harry apart from you. I couldn't let them take you to the bottom of the Lake."

"That is coercion," Xenophilius thundered and Hermione, Viktor and her parents looked over to them in shock. 

"Be at peace, Xenophilius," Barty shushed the eccentric man. "Luna, I wouldn't have gone willingly. You shouldn't have let them—no. No victim blaming. They shouldn't have done that."

"I was afraid they might take little Dobby next if both you and I said no," Luna admitted, her big blue eyes glassy with the threat of tears. 

It was this moment, so reminiscent of seeing Barty crying earlier, that made Harry realise that both Luna and Barty in his own body had the exact same eye colour. He saw Daphne in them, too, and had to force himself to swallow. A Greengrass trait then? 

"I won't stand for this," Xenophilius seethed. "The champions being in danger is one thing—apart from young Harry here, they all volunteered. But minors being put in mortal danger is another matter entirely. I shall interview all the champions and hostages who are willing and run a huge exposé in the next Quibbler!"

"You go, daddy," Luna agreed with a wobbly smile and noisily blew her nose in a handkerchief. 

"And I'll have Bagman's and Crouch's heads, too," Xenophilius vowed. "This tournament should have stayed safely contained within the coffers of history. And hopefully, after yet another debacle, it will stay there indefinitely." 

Harry stayed with Luna and Hermione until dinner which the two were sadly unable to attend. Madam Pomfrey promised to release them in time for class the next morning, so Harry made his way towards the Great Hall with only Barty at his side. 

"Nervous to face the masses again, Harry?" Barty's voice was a little more like his own when he spoke softly like this and Harry wondered how on earth the man could make his voice sound like Moody's in the first place. "Want to go eat in my office?" 

"Sooner or later, I'll have to face them," Harry sighed and tried to steel himself. "I'll just have to be a brave little lion." 

Barty snorted and nodded. "Alright, you do that."

The entry hall was largely empty since most students were already eating and Harry's stomach made a weird somersault when he imagined how many pairs of eyes were going to swivel into his direction very soon. 

Just as Barty and him were about to enter, a hand landed on Harry's shoulder and when he turned, Viktor was there. 

"I eat with you today, friend," Viktor told him with a wink and Harry felt incredibly relieved. 

"That would actually be the best, Viktor, thank you!" 

They said goodbye to Barty and made their way over to the end of the Gryffindor table where only some third and second years were sitting. Harry ducked his head as he was eating and happily listened to Viktor telling him about how cold Durmstrang was and how glad he was that spring was nearing now for his friends back home. 

-o-

The next week passed in a blur. Thanks to all the homework he'd postponed in favour of training to survive the second task, Harry spent most of his time in the library to catch up. 

That was also exactly where Friday afternoon found him, hunched over his Transfiguration book in deep concentration. 

"You know, Harry, I think Daddy is going to pull me from school," Luna suddenly told him out of the blue. 

"What? What? No! What?!" 

"Shhhh," came Madam Pince's insistent shushing from three rows of bookshelves down. Harry ducked his head and decided to whisper.

"Luna, what? Are you sure? How can you be sure? Did he say that?"

So far, Luna had been working on her Potions homework but Harry saw now that half the parchment was filled with scribbled stars and fireworks. 

"He said we'd have to think of the future," she shared with a far-away look on her face. "He talked to Alastor and was told about the other students being mean to me. He wasn't happy…" 

"Oh Luna," Harry groaned. "He didn't know?" 

Luna shrugged and rubbed at her eyes with her dainty wrist. "I didn't want to burden him, you know? Ever since mummy… well. You know. It's been hard for him, Harry Potter. He loved her very much." 

"As did you," Harry replied with a sigh and started gathering his stuff. "Come on, I still have some sweets left over from Christmas. I'll share them with you." 

On their way to the tower, Luna had her arm looped in his and leaned her head on his shoulder. 

"You know, I've had the most peculiar dream while I was unconscious," she whispered so softly that Harry almost couldn't hear her. "I dreamed there was this long, thin hand reaching for you. It was very pale. At first, I thought it was a dementor what with your reaction to them, but I don't think it was."

Harry swallowed and wondered, not for the first time, just how far Luna's gift went. 

"Well that's not unsettling at all," he quipped and was relieved to hear her laugh.

"It's probably nothing but I thought I'd tell you anyway," she said. 

-o-

That evening, Barty wasn't at dinner. They hadn't had much time for each other during the week, both busy with catching up with their actual work now that the task was over, so Harry decided to go visit him. 

Alas, there was no reaction when he knocked and even after he'd waited and knocked some more, no one opened. Harry surreptitiously checked the map but Barty wasn't in his quarters. There was only Alastor Moody, still hidden in the secret compartment of his own trunk. 

Harry sighed and sat down on the steps leading to the office but try as he might, he couldn't find Barty anywhere on the map. Harry was almost inclined to worry but told himself that Barty was a big bad death eater who was probably able to care for himself, thank you very much. 

Not for the first time that week, he shuddered when he thought about how people might react if they found out that Harry was friendly with an active death eater. And not just friendly—head over heels! Absolutely smitten! 

His face felt very hot and Harry quickly buried it in his hands. He was even worse than Lavender or Parvati when they had a crush on one of the older students. He told himself to get a grip and stuffed the map back into his satchel after deactivating it. 

Barty probably had some important things to do like procure more potion ingredients or prepare something for their training for the third task. 

But for all he told himself not to worry, that night sleep came as hard to Harry as it used to back when he still had no one in his corner. He kept tossing and turning until he finally fell into a restless sleep sometime after midnight. 

Unfortunately, even that brief respite brought him no true rest since he quickly found himself looking down at someone who was shivering in front of him. 

"It's an easy enough question, Barty," Harry's voice told the kneeling man coldly. "I understood your reasoning to keep the boy close and to make sure that he performed well, but what I've seen in your mind…" 

"I can explain, my lord," Barty replied but his voice was shaking. "I didn't mean to get as close to him as I did but… he's so different from what we expected. You saw him in my memories, you know what I mean, my lord! He's just… a normal kid. Clever and brave and everything, yes, but also painfully normal." 

"He's the enemy, Barty, even if you like him," Harry's voice hissed, unyielding. "Would you want him to give his blood to me willingly and risk the ritual? Your feelings have clouded your vision, Barty, and I am sorely disappointed in you and your conduct." 

Barty shrunk in on himself and there were tears in his eyes now. "Master, I–" 

"I freed you from your father's prison and this is how you thank me? By falling in love with my nemesis? Don't protest, Barty, I have seen your heart and I know it to be true."

Voldemort, for who else could it be, Harry knew, twirled his wand between his little golem fingers and finally pointed it at Barty. Harry wanted to stop him but no matter how much he tried, the hand holding the wand wouldn't budge. 

"I give you one chance to denounce him, Barty, for you have heretofore been ever loyal to me," Harry's voice granted and Barty swallowed. 

"I can't my lord, but… I have another idea for the ritual," Barty rushed out and the wand moved to point towards the ceiling. 

"You do? Why, pray tell, enlighten me." 

"We don't use Harry for the ritual. Instead, we work with him to bring us someone else..." 

Harry woke up with a start and screamed. His scar burned like fire and no matter how hard he pressed his palm on it, the pain still persisted in splitting his head apart. 

He'd had a dream and Barty had been there, and judging by the pain in his scar, Voldemort must have been there, too! What if he'd hurt Barty for being close to him? If he could only remember properly—

When no further recollection came to him, Harry cancelled the protective, noise-cancelling spell around his bed and went to take a shower to hopefully clear his head. 

-o-

Barty stayed away all day Saturday (Harry checked his map every couple hours) and hadn't arrived back in time for dinner either. 

Harry sat with Luna and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. For some reason, none of the Durmstrang students were at dinner either and Hermione was a mess of frazzled nerves. 

"Do you think something happened to Viktor? Or the ship? What if the ship got a hole in its hull and now it's at the bottom of the lake!?" 

"Viktor would have the best chance of surviving out of all of them, Mione," Harry shrugged. "He's got experience with that, after all." 

Hermione didn't look mollified in the slightest, but before she could say anything, the doors to the Great Hall opened and the Durmstrang students entered. Viktor was there, too, and Hermione sighed in relief. 

Instead of sitting down to eat, they walked up to the head table as one group until they'd reached the stairs. From there on, Viktor alone ascended and spoke to Dumbledore in a soft voice. 

The old wizard nodded gravely and gave instructions to Professors McGonagall and Snape who promptly left the hall through the staff entrance. 

"I bet it's Karkaroff," Hermione whispered to him and Luna. "Normally, they all enter together. Viktor told me Karkaroff spends most of every weekend drinking in Hogsmeade, so maybe he didn't return." 

Harry thought that that sounded exactly like what might have happened, only that it might not be Karkaroff's own fault. He was immensely thankful that Barty wasn't the only one missing from the head table. Flitwick, Madam Maxime, Sinistra and Vector were all not in attendance either so his empty seat didn't stick out. 

He couldn't be sure, of course, but there was a little voice in his head that told him he was right in his deductions. 

-o-

The next morning, Barty was there at breakfast. It was all Harry could do to not rush towards the head table. The man didn't look up from his plate but his magical eye immediately fixated on Harry and whirred around like an excited puppy. 

Harry grinned, ducked his head and followed Hermione to the Gryffindor table. From what he could tell at a distance, Barty looked tired. If his dream had been true, the man must have been with Voldemort the past couple days and wasn't that a weird thought to wrap his head around?

Since he'd managed to finish most of his overdue homework with Hermione's help yesterday, he planned on spending the day with Barty. Maybe take a walk around the lake or get that flying done they'd talked about. Just get to know him some more, free of his Moody prison. 

While congratulating himself for that terrible pun, Harry was surprised when an unfamiliar tawny owl landed next to his bowl of porridge with a smallish package tied to its leg. Remembering his lessons, Harry used what detection spells he could do and relieved the owl of its burden when all of them came back clear. 

He fed the bird some bacon and started unwrapping the package. Maybe Barty had sent it? Or Sirius?

When Harry had unwrapped the paper, he was left with a wooden box with holes drilled into it. A sense of dread washed over him and he looked up at Hermione. 

"Did you… order anything, Harry?" she asked cautiously and pulled out her wand when Harry numbly shook his head.

She nodded at him and he counted to three before throwing back the lid of the box. There, on the ground of the otherwise empty box, lay Scabbers. Pettigrew. The rat seemed to be unconscious and a hot rush of emotions rolled over Harry when he realised what he had to do.

There was a ringing in his ears and he was distantly aware of Hermione saying something but all he could do was stare at the miserable rat who'd cost him his parents. 

All around them, students got to their feet. They must have sensed something was wrong and when Harry could finally tear his eyes away from the rat, he saw Ron being restrained by Dean and Seamus. 

"—kill that bloody rat for deceiving me for three damned years!" 

"Mr Weasley!" McGonagall thundered and started to come towards their table. "I will not have you speak like that in the Great Hall! 10 points from Gryffindor." 

And then, at exactly this moment, Harry knew he had to be quick. If he went to Dumbledore with the package, the old wizard would tell him about the power of forgiveness. If he went to the aurors, bureaucracy would take ages to achieve anything. Who knew what else could go wrong? Maybe the rat would escape again! 

No, he would have to do this himself. People needed to see him. 

He grabbed the dreaded rat and started running. Ducking under McGonagall's outstretched arm, he climbed the stairs to the head table two at a time and faced his fellow students with a racing heart and not enough air in his lungs. 

On instinct, he dumped the rat on the ground in front of him which already had some of the girls screaming. Next, he raised his wand, pointed it at the rat and screamed with the pent-up fury of thirteen years: "HOMORPHUS!" 

The rat turned into a human in front of over a thousand pairs of eyes and Harry had never felt so validated in his life than when all the students immediately started pointing. 

"I'll kill him!" Harry heard Ron shout and looked over toward the Gryffindor table. "Blasted Pettigrew! I'll make him suffer for deceiving my family, let me at him!" 

"Pettigrew? Peter Pettigrew?" another older student asked. 

"So he really was an animagus like Potter said!?" 

"Wait, does that mean Black is innocent after all?"

"Someone needs to get the aurors!"

They were all shouting over each other now, and when Harry looked over at the staff table, he saw Snape glare at him and glared right back.

"You knew it, and you saw him! You could have cleared it up but you didn't!" Harry accused him with unrestrained anger in his voice. Next, he turned toward Dumbledore. "I would like to call the aurors, Headmaster Dumbledore." 

With the attention of every student and professor in the whole school on him, Dumbledore could do little but nod. 

"They will be called, Mr Potter," he assured him. "Until then, I will take Mr Pettigrew with me to–" 

"Oh I don't think so, Albus," Harry heard Barty say from behind him. "This is now an official auror investigation and moving this man could be construed as obstruction of justice. I'll watch over him until my old colleagues arrive. Ask them to send capable men and women, and make sure they bring anti-animagus cuffs." 

Harry was almost sure that Dumbledore would object, but he simply nodded again and let himself be led away by Snape instead. 

Meanwhile, McGonagall cleared the hall off all students except Hermione, Luna and Viktor who wouldn't budge and instead ran toward him. Hermione almost bowled him over with the force of her hug and Harry held onto her with everything he had.

She let go of him only to grab his shoulders and stare into his eyes. "Do you realise what this means, Harry? Sirius will finally be exonerated! There's no way anyone can stop that now!" 

Harry had refused to entertain that thought until Hermione had voiced it, but now that it was there, it took root somewhere deep inside his heart and made his whole body tingle with happiness. 

"Sirius will be free," he whispered and couldn't believe his own voice.

He looked at Barty whose good eye winked at him. Had that been why he'd been gone for so long? Had he managed to persuade Voldemort to give up Pettigrew in order to… to what? 

Harry blushed. Was this a favour? 

-o-

Lunch had already passed by the time the aurors had left Hogwarts. Harry felt tired and wrung out like one of his old cleaning rags at the Dursley's place. A hot spike of warmth passed through him at the thought that he would never have to return to them ever again. 

"You alright there, Harry?" Barty asked with Moody's voice and nudged his shoulder. 

Since Harry was an orphan, Barty had been with him when he'd given his statement to the aurors. Apparently, Barty had been very conscientious in his preparations and even knew the aurors by name. They had even promised to work on the case as diligently and quickly as possible! 

"Just a bit overwhelmed, I guess. Can we go to your office to talk? I have a lot on my mind." 

Barty's expression softened. "Sure," he replied and laboriously got out of the uncomfortable wooden chair he'd been sitting on for over an hour. 

The aurors had commandeered a couple unused classrooms on the third floor to interview Ron, Hermione, Harry and some teachers and everyone had sat in the same chairs the students always used. 

Harry half hoped enduring the straight-backed, ancient chairs for a while would make the teachers consider making some adjustments in the future. 

The walk to the Defense classroom wasn't long and once the door to Barty's office had closed behind them, Harry finally felt like he could breathe again. 

It was strange to be alone once more with his mentor. 

"How long until…" Harry started awkwardly amd gestured roughly towards the flask hidden in Barty's left breast pocket. 

"Any time now, I've been playing it close today." 

"Missed me, huh?" Harry grinned and was surprised to see a blush rise on the man's cheeks. "Oh, you really did!" 

"Of course I really did, you brat," Barty groused, voice already back to his own. "Here, hold this please." 

Harry accepted the magical eye just as Barty began to change back into himself and hurried to get the leg off in time. Finally healthy and whole again, the man crossed the distance between them and pulled Harry into a big hug. 

"Glad I'm back," Barty mumbled into his hair and embraced him even tighter. "As you can tell by the newest development, things have been rather hectic for me." 

"You could have told me you were leaving," Harry told him and leaned back to look at Barty with a cross expression he'd learned from Hermione. 

"I'm sorry, I really am, but since I didn't have your fancy map anymore I didn't know where you were and… I had to leave in a bit of a hurry."

"Did he torture you?" 

"What? Why would he—no, why would you— " Barty took a long look at him and frowned. "You told me about that dream you had… Did you have another one?" 

Harry nodded haltingly. "Yeah, I saw you with him but I don't remember any details. I only know that he was… Well, it wasn't proper anger, it was more… disappointment?" 

"He… he could tell something was up when I didn't give him updates during the last week so he, uh, took it upon himself to call me to him." Barty walked over towards the armchairs and sat down in his. "He looked into my mind and, well…" 

"He wasn't pleased that I kissed you." 

"It was more along the lines of not being pleased I kissed you back," Barty shrugged and caught Harry around the waist when he walked to get to his own armchair. 

Sitting sideways on Barty's lap, Harry grinned despite the day he'd had and rested his head on Barty's shoulder. He could have sworn he heard the man sigh and noticed how Barty's hold on him tightened.

"Is he… jealous?" Harry asked cautiously and Barty spluttered. 

"No, he's, wow, he's not the type to get jealous over, uh, personal relationships, I should think," Barty explained and laughed nervously. "It was quite hard to convince him that you being on our side is as much in his favour as it is in your favour." 

"Is that why it took you so long?" 

"Part of it, yes. I also persuaded him that sending you a token of his good will would do wonders for your opinion of him." Barty ran his hand through his hair before putting it back on Harry's waist. "Of course once he'd been assured of the good merit of that idea, nothing but the best would do." 

Harry leaned back and looked at Barty with an unimpressed expression. "So he sent me Wormtail?" Harry asked with disgust. 

Barty fondly rolled his eyes and pushed Harry's head back onto his shoulder. "No, you brat. He sent you the means to exonerate your godfather." 

"Oh," Harry realised, eyes wide. "Of course he thought of that. That's… actually really nice of him? Wow."

Harry took a moment to digest that it had been Voldemort's intention from the start to help him prove Sirius' innocence. Meanwhile, Barty began to card his hand through the hair at the nape of Harry's neck and he practically melted into the touch. 

"But he was really weak when I saw him… how is he going to take care of himself?" 

"Your bleeding heart will be the end of you one day, Harry Potter," Barty teased. "Don't worry, my Lord is well taken care of by one who once deserted him." 

"Karkaroff," Harry whispered. "So it was you after all who took him from Hogsmeade when he was drunk!"

"Mmmh, looks like my lessons in deductive reasoning have not been in vain. It's Karkaroff, yeah. I hope your friend Viktor won't miss him?" 

"Oh, definitely not," Harry snorted. "Viktor hates him for being so nice to him for being famous while treating the others like crap." 

"Yeah, sounds just like him. He had to be… persuaded a little, of course," Barty explained. "My master's magic isn't yet strong enough to hold an Imperius course for an indefinite amount of time so I was the one to cast it. I'll have to return there from time to time to recast it." 

"Could you give him a message from me?"

Barty didn't provide an answer immediately and Harry was too content to listen to the man's heartbeat to pester him for one. 

Finally, Barty prodded at him until Harry sat up and looked him in the eye. Harry couldn't make out his expression and frowned. "Are you alright?" 

"There is…" Barty cleared his throat and started again. "He told me to, uhm, extend an invitation. There is a Hogsmeade weekend coming up in March and… he thinks it's high time you two had a conversation where you didn't try to kill each other." 

"He wants to meet me?" Harry asked and felt his heart speed up. "Voldemort wants to talk to me?" 

"He trusts my judgment," Barty explained, "and he's… intrigued. Much rides on this, Harry. He's my Lord and I can't and won't defy him but I also can't imagine not seeing you again, or worse: only seeing you as an enemy." 

Harry understood the veiled revelation. If Voldemort and him were to remain enemies, Barty and Harry would not be… whatever it was they currently were anymore. 

Without wasting much more thought on the matter, Harry nodded eagerly. 

"Yeah sure, I'll go meet him!" 

Barty looked at him as if he'd sprouted a second head. "Harry, that's not a decision you should take lightly!" 

"Well, what do you expect me to say," Harry replied, slightly confused. "I obviously hate the idea of not seeing you again, and you will be there to look out for me, right?" 

"You're such a bloody Gryffindor!" Barty threw his arms in the air but grinned nevertheless. "Alright. We'll go meet him together."

"Together," Harry repeated and put his head back on Barty's shoulder. "I can't wait!" 

"Well I could," Barty sighed and held him close again. 

Harry burrowed closer to him and wondered what being face to face with Voldemort would be like. 

"Can you tell me a story? How about your first time meeting him?" 

"Oh? Yeah, sure, I suppose…" Barty was quiet for a moment as he collected his thoughts. "Right... so, as you know by now, my father and myself had a rather strained relationship. Back then, it was mostly borne of a demanding father not happy with the son he was dealt instead of outright hatred like it is now. Anyways. I was still in school, and to, well, rebel I guess, I had taken to stealing reports from my father's desk during breaks and sending them to my master over the course of the school year. So one day, it was this windy day during winter break—"

Harry relaxed while listening to Barty's story and marvelled at how this year had turned out for him. If he was being honest with himself, he couldn't wait for March!

Chapter 13

A few days after Peter Pettigrew had been apprehended by the aurors, another big news story broke.

Cedric and Cho were to return to school that week but Fleur and her sister Gabrielle would be staying in France until the next task of the tournament. Apparently, Veela being of a fire alignment meant that the wet cold of the lake had weakened them greatly and the Scottish weather was deemed too risky for their continued recovery. 

The next day, without so much as a by your leave, the whole Beauxbatons contingent had left and the Ravenclaw table looked strangely empty when Harry went to sit with Luna at breakfast. 

"So much for intercultural ties, hm?" Harry asked with a wry grin. 

"Hm? What do you mean?" Luna looked up at him with her wide eyes and cocked her head. 

"The Beauxbatons students… They left because of Fleur and Gabrielle staying home in France." 

Luna frowned and looked down the table. "Oh really? I hadn't noticed." She looked back down at her book and continued plucking some grapes to nibble on. 

Harry smiled fondly and started putting some toast on his plate. While doing so, he surreptitiously glanced up at the head table and blushed a little when his eyes met Barty's. He couldn't wait for the Hogsmeade weekend. 

"Don't you think Alastor's a little old, Harry?" Luna asked while still reading. "Not that I'd mind, of course, I only want you to be happy after all, but I did wonder."

With a startled squeak, Harry looked around them but they were sitting isolated near to the head of the Ravenclaw table. Luna was mostly up early and her housemates made a wide berth around her for some reason. 

"What are you talking about," he hissed, very softly. "What's he too old for?" 

"You, of course," Luna answered, more quiet this time. "Don't get me wrong, mummy and daddy also had an age gap of fifteen years, but you're at least forty years apart? Fifty?" 

"Luna!" Harry whispered, scandalised, before he realised that she wasn't that far off the mark from her point of view and oh bother. 

He chanced another glance up at the head table. Barty was looking away from them, busy talking to Professor Vector to his right, but the magical eye was watching him. 

"He's just my mentor," he finally told her and tried not to hunch in on himself too much.

"If you ever need to talk, you can come to me, Harry Potter," she simply replied with an encouraging smile. "Also, you have Herbology out in the greenhouses now, and it's getting late."

"Shoot," Harry cursed and grabbed his bag and another piece of toast. "See you later, Luna!" 

He left the castle in a hurry and was surprised to find that the grounds were awash in sunlight before him. It was getting warmer again and spring seemed to finally thaw the permafrost Hogwarts found itself in every winter. 

At least it had been his first winter with proper, warm clothing, Harry supposed while he made his way towards the greenhouses. Up ahead, he saw Malfoy's blonde head, flanked as always by Crabbe and Goyle who seemed to grow bigger and burlier by the month. 

Strangely, alone as he was now, Harry wasn't even afraid of Malfoy and his cronies anymore. He wondered how the other boy would react, knowing Harry was to meet his father's old leader not as an enemy but as… an acquaintance? 

That thought put a smile on his face for the rest of the morning. 

-o-

At the start of the next week, Cedric and Cho entered the Great Hall together to an almost tumultuous applause from the other students. A chorus of "Cedric, Cedric, Cedric!" followed them until they sat at their respective tables and were swarmed by their friends. 

By how uncomfortable Cedric and Cho had looked, Harry guessed that this grand entrance hadn't exactly been their idea. 

After breakfast, on the way to Transfiguration, somebody called his name and Harry turned around with his wand already in his hand. 

Turned out it was just Cedric. 

"Harry," the other boy greeted, "it's so good to see that you and your friends are well. I wanted to thank you personally for helping me down in the lake." 

"Oh," Harry replied lamely. "Anyone would have done that."

Cedric shook his head. "No, Harry, it's a competition. What you did was the epitome of fairness, and that last warming charm while I was going down might have just saved my life. So thank you!" 

Before Harry had quite registered what was about to happen, Cedric had pulled him into a tight embrace that Harry returned almost automatically. He was really getting the hang of this lately! 

"Don't worry about what the other students are saying about you, Harry," Cedric said and held him an arm's length away by his shoulders. "I know you're a good guy, and they'll know too, in time. I know you never wanted any of this." 

"I really didn't," Harry replied because he didn't know what else to say. "I'm glad Professor Moody took pity on me last November." 

"Me too. If he hadn't, maybe all of us would still be lying at the bottom of the lake," Cedric laughed wrily. "I should send him a gift basket or something. 'To the only sensible adult in this whole castle. Thank you, Cedric Diggory.'" 

"You're an adult too," Harry reminded him with a smile and Cedric laughed in that very handsome way he had. 

Gods, Harry realised, he was so incredibly gay. 

Suddenly, Cedric stopped laughing and looked at Harry with a contemplative expression. "I just realised, Harry… They told us that only wizards and witches of age are allowed to take part in the tournament but when your name was called out, you still had to participate." 

"Are you suggesting…" Harry stopped that sentence there and looked at Cedric with wide eyes.

"I know that you live with your muggle relatives," Cedric told him, solemnly. "It might be in your best interest to look into the specifics of the contract binding us to the tournament. Maybe you're in luck and are actually considered legally of age now?" 

Harry could only stare in response. Being of age would immediately take care of roughly 99% of his problems relating to the summer; even if Sirius' exoneration was going to take longer than until the beginning of summer. 

He could just go wherever he wanted, unhindered by well-meaning old meddlers—live in the Leaky Cauldron like in the summer before third year. Or maybe… a pale, freckled face with blue eyes and blonde hair swam into his view and he felt his stomach fluttering. 

"That… is actually the best idea I've heard in a very long while," Harry grinned before paling when he remembered where he'd been headed. "But I have Transfiguration now and I need to be going!" 

"Dang, I have Potions!" Cedric realised equally as flustered and they parted ways by running into opposite directions. 

-o-

That afternoon, some time after classes were over, Harry knocked on the door to the Defense office excitedly. When the door opened, he immediately slipped through the crack and threw his arms around Barty's neck. 

Barty, who was still wearing Moody's face, seemed a little overwhelmed by the enthusiasm but returned the hug nonetheless. 

"What brought this on?" he asked, laughing. "I'll need to stay in this body for now, by the way. There might be other students coming by later and changing back twice a day needlessly is too much for my poor body." 

"Doesn't matter to me," Harry shrugged. "I like you no matter your form. But listen! I just talked to Cedric and he reminded me that the tournament is only for wizards of age! He said I might be able to be legally declared as 'of age' thanks to having to compete despite not being of age."

Barty regarded him with a surprised look on his face before he slowly nodded. "Yes, yes. That… that could very well be your legal ticket out of the Dursleys' place. I mean, we would have taken you regardless, had you asked, but I'm wanted for enough things as is, I suppose." 

"Not all of them true," Harry reminded him and felt a surge of warmth rush through him when he realised once more that he'd have been safe in any case. 

"But enough of them true that I wouldn't stand a chance. When they get me, it's a straight, one-way ticket to a Dementor's Kiss for me." 

"I wouldn't let them do that," Harry promised. "And Voldemort wouldn't either." 

"I sure hope it's in either your hands or his," Barty replied with a shudder. "I don't think my mind could cope with being imprisoned once more, and waiting for a Kiss no less! Anyway, I'll get a copy of the contract and we'll take it with us next weekend. My legal knowledge isn't the best and my master might be able to find us a loophole."

"Strange how you might have done me a favour by entering me into the tournament," Harry mused. "Oh by the way, should I bring anything? Like, a gift? He gave me the robes and the traitor… What would you even give a Dark Lord?" 

Barty regarded Harry with a speculative glance. 

"Well, as you know from your visions, he doesn't exactly… have much in the ways of worldly possessions at the moment. I suppose anything given with no ulterior motive would be received favourably."

Harry nodded and thought about what to get for his (former?) nemesis when a thought struck him. "Wait, I would have an ulterior motive. I'd want him to ideally not kill me. Maybe even kinda like me? I mean, we took everything from each other… a bouquet of flowers would hardly cut it, would it?" 

"You're overthinking this, Harry." Barty told him and pulled him back into an embrace. "We have a deal, him and me. He won't hurt you while you're under my protection. He needs me, he knows that. 

Maybe, hm, get him some new robes. Proper good ones, so he has something to wear after his resurrection. We're a little short on cash since all we got is my teacher's salary as Moody. At least the bastard is paranoid enough not to have a Gringotts vault so I get paid cash."

"Oh! We could do that before we leave for wherever we'll meet him. There's a tailor in Hogsmeade where I got all my new clothes." Harry happily thought about how nice it was to own fitting clothes that also looked good on him and was already planning his outfit for next Saturday. "Oh, do you have clothes? Other than Moody's, I mean. If there's something there that might fit your actual body, we could get that too!" 

Harry didn't quite understand why Barty suddenly clung even tighter to him. It took him a moment to remember that, just like him, Barty probably hadn't had well-fitting clothes for well over a decade. Not to mention those rags prisoners were forced to wear in Azkaban! 

"And once we're done and Voldemort gets you exonerated, or at least glamoured enough so that no one knows your real identity, I'll buy you a whole wardrobe full of all the clothes you like! Did the Potters have houses? I bet they did. I bet I can access them if the whole of age thing works out!"

Harry was almost vibrating with excitement and started pacing around the office. 

"We could live there! You and me, I mean. You don't really have anywhere else to go, do you? You could teach me there and after I've passed my O.W.L.s and my N.E.W.T.s, we'll just keep living there. What do you want to do for work? You could just stay home, of course, apparently I'm loaded so you'd–" Harry's rambling was interrupted when Barty put a finger on his lips. With a shy grin, Harry hunched in on himself. "Sorry." 

Barty simply shook his head. "No, don't be sorry."

When Harry looked closely, he could see that Barty was smiling. It was a fond yet impish little grin of a smile that looked strangely out of place on Moody's face now that he'd seen it on Barty's. 

"You're an impossible boy, Harry Potter, and you're everything I never thought you'd be. I'd expected to hate your very existence, and yet here I am, leading the golden boy astray… the chosen one… leading him right into the viper's nest."

Barty was slowly advancing toward him with a glint of something in his eyes and Harry played the game with a grin by retreating until his back hit the wall. Moody's towering form with Barty's wry grin did something to Harry and his arms snaked around the man's neck almost of their own accord. 

The office suddenly felt really small and confined when Barty's arm rested next to Harry's head on the wall. The man's other hand came to rest on Harry's hip with firm yet gentle pressure and Harry's breath hitched. 

"The viper's nest, huh? You're forgetting that I can talk to snakes," Harry whispered because anything louder seemed obscene in close quarters such as this. 

"How could I," Barty groaned, voice entirely his own, and let his forehead rest against Harry's. "It's as if Fate herself has plucked you from the stream of history. A proper young hero, and yet here you are… wilfully fraternising with the enemy." 

"You're not my enemy," Harry replied boldly and cocked his head to the side. "You're way too nice to be an enemy." 

"Guilty as charged, I suppose," Barty sighed, mouth now very close to Harry's ear. 

With a grin, Harry reached out a hand to put it on Barty's cheek. But before he could even touch skin, the man's magical eye started whirring and the other went wide. 

"Don't make a sound," Barty hissed at him, drew the invisibility cloak from Harry's satchel and pulled it over the boy's head in one fluid motion. 

Barty, meanwhile, flew back towards his desk and shuffled some papers around. 

That's when the office door blew open and Albus Dumbledore, followed by Severus Snape, came rushing into the room. 

Barty was immediately back in Moody mode and leveled his wand at the two professors. 

"You have half a minute to explain your conduct," he threatened with anger boiling in his voice. "You're lucky I could see your approach or I'd have cursed you into the next school year!" 

"Nevermind that now, Alastor," Dumbledore implored, busy waving the notion away with a gesture. "It's time for our petty tiff to end. I understand you are not alright with my conduct towards young Harry, but let's put those matters aside. We need your insight now." 

"Is that so," Barty growled and crossed his arms after putting his wand away. "Well, colour me intrigued, Albus. What's this about? And what does he have to do with it?" 

Harry watched Snape sneer and withstood the urge to kick the man's shin. 

"Severus is here because it concerns him as much as anyone, if not more," Dumbledore said gravely. "Show him your arm, Severus." 

Snape looked like he wanted to refuse but ultimately complied by pulling up his left sleeve and exposing the skull and snake of the Dark Mark. It looked... angry and inflamed. The skin around it was red and served as a stark contrast to the darkening tattoo. 

"He's gaining strength," Dumbledore explained. "We think Karkaroff's disappearance and poor Peter's resurgence are connected to this." 

"They're both traitors," Barty growled. "Why should He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named hold his counsel with them? He abhorred liars and oathbreakers." 

Here, he pointedly looked at Snape who huffed and looked away before rolling his sleeve back down.

"He doesn't have much support left," Dumbledore explained. "All his most loyal are either in Azkaban or died in Azkaban and those on the outside in powerful positions are too comfortable to go find him. No, I fear if anyone were to help him, it would have to be those who've fallen from grace in one way or another."

"That actually makes sense," Barty admitted and Harry agreed. He didn't like Dumbledore much at the moment, but his insights were not wrong. "But then why send Pettigrew here? As I understand, his memory has been wiped of the past year?"

"Maybe poor Peter made a mistake," Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "Tom has ever been so mercurial." 

Harry felt his blood boil. Poor Peter? That man was the reason his parents were dead and Dumbledore knew it. An icy fist clamped around his heart. 

"Be that as it may, Albus," Barty replied evenly, and Harry was once again amazed at Barty's acting. "What do you want me to do about it? Go to the DMLE and interrogate the rat myself?" 

"No," Dumbledore said and shook his head. "I want you to impress upon young Harry that he's not safe anywhere but here in Hogwarts and under his relatives' care. He's shown desire to leave Privet Drive and the blood wards behind in the past, and he's getting to the age where I fear his desires could lead to actions. He's left of his own volition before, and if Tom is gathering strength and followers, I can't leave things up to chance this summer. Will you do that for me? You care for the boy, surely you understand his safety is important?"

"Oh, I understand quite well." Barty crossed his arms. "I just don't know whether you truly have the boy's best interest at heart. Yet in this instance I will admit you're right: I care for him, and I promise that I'll do my utmost to make sure he's safe from anyone who would do him harm." 

"That's not quite the promise I'd hoped for but I'll take it," Dumbledore said with that weary look he sometimes had. "I should have told young Harry some things sooner… Maybe it's not too late yet to mend some bridges." 

"Surely you don't mean the, you know," Snape interrupted, face carefully blank. "We had a deal, Albus." 

"Don't worry, Severus my boy," Dumbledore soothed. "I won't tell him of your part in it." 

Harry glared at the two of them. So much for telling him things. Carefully picked out things, more like. 

He wanted them to leave, and he wanted them to leave now. They'd broken a moment between him and Barty, a very nice moment; the memory still made Harry's skin prickle. 

"Why are you actually here, Albus," Barty asked flatly. "You stormed in here as if a bunch of death eaters were after your lemon drops. The Mark has been darkening all year, I heard your lapdog," here, he nodded towards Snape, "whine about it at the Yule Ball." 

"I had hoped to find Harry here," Dumbledore said slowly, as if weighing his words carefully. "Ronald Weasley has told me Harry hardly is in his common room anymore and I was worried about him. I thought he might have been here." 

"He's in the library quite often as well," Barty answered, face carefully guarded. "He doesn't spend all his free time here, if that's what you're suggesting. He's friends with Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood, for example, and is often found in their company." 

"Yes, I quite agree," Dumbledore said absent-mindedly and Harry decided instead to watch Snape who was scanning the office very stealthily. 

With a sinking heart, Harry realised that both armchairs had blankets piled on them. Barty and him had spent the evening before just talking about their lives, both snuggled up in blankets and eating cookies. There were two dishes, too. Harry had almost missed curfew. 

Maybe Ron had snitched about that, too. Or maybe Neville? Might have been anyone still left in the common room at that point, now that he thought about it. 

"Very well, we shall look for Harry elsewhere. We'll try the library like you suggested." 

The two took their leave and Harry slipped through the crack of the door before it could close completely. He followed the two outside on his tiptoes and broke into a run as soon as they were out of sight. 

With a beating heart, he used all the knowledge of the castle he'd acquired during his time in Hogwarts to arrive at the library before them. To his absolute relief, Luna was in their spot in the very back and he threw off the cloak. 

"Luna, I need a favour," he whispered urgently. "I've been here with you since classes ended, alright?" 

"Yeah, alright," Luna agreed easily and smiled at him. "Here, you can help me with Charms." 

"Oh, I had problems with that particular charm, too. Wait, what you actually have to do is–" 

"Mr Potter," Snape's voice cut right through his explanation. "What are you doing here?" 

"Hello Professor Snape," Luna greeted with a warm smile. "Harry is helping me with Charms." 

"Is that so," Snape hissed; his eyes were boring into the side of Harry's face. 

"Yes, professor," Harry answered but refused to meet the man's eyes. "We've been here since classes ended."

Snape looked from Harry's valiant attempt at cool aloofness to Luna's bright smile, shook his head in a rare display of exasperation and left. 

"Thanks Luna," Harry whispered and started helping her in earnest now. 

-o-

That evening, about half an hour before curfew, Harry slipped into Barty's office with the special unlocking spell the man had taught him and found him, still as Moody, sitting behind his desk. 

"That was quick thinking of you today, Harry," Barty said. "They may know we're close, but the minute they start to suspect we're too close… damn, we need to think of an alibi for you for next weekend."

Harry took off the invisibility cloak. 

"How long until your potion wears off? I want to cuddle and—" He stopped there and his eyes grew wide when he thought of a plan. 

"What? What's wrong?" Barty was up and by his side in a heartbeat. "Are you alright?" 

"I had an idea," Harry said slowly and felt a little bad when he saw Barty's shoulders sag in relief. "How much Polyjuice do you have left?" 

"Lots, ever since you let me use your money to buy ingredients. Why, what are you—oooh. Luna." 

"Luna," Harry nodded with a conspiratorial grin. 

-o-

That weekend, Harry Potter spent the Hogsmeade trip with a pouch full of coins and bought sweets, quills and drawing equipment, all while asking people whether they, too, liked the Quidditch a lot. Typical Harry things. 

Lots of people did like the Quidditch, chuckled when they answered him, and asked whether he was feeling quite alright. 

Under his invisibility cloak, the real Harry wondered whether all this had been such a good idea after all. Then again, the expectations of the student body towards him were low at best so a few new quirks might actually work in his favour. 

He was holding the bundle of new robes they'd already bought to his chest and followed Barty along the winding paths of Hogsmeade. They were supposed to pass the Shrieking Shack and Apparate out from there. 

Fortunately, no students were mingling this far out at this ungodly hour and Harry held on to Barty's arm when it was offered to him. 

A short, nausea-inducing Apparition later, and Harry wobbled and clung to Barty's arm with two hands to keep from falling. 

"This was literally the worst," he mumbled and pressed his forehead into the man's shoulder. "Even worse than taking the Portkey last summer." 

"What, this was your first Apparition?" Barty grinned at him as Harry took off the cloak. "And to think I've been told my Apparitions are comfortable, comparatively speaking." 

"Oh god," Harry muttered and stuffed the cloak into his bag while they started walking towards the big house he remembered from his dream. "Why did you get robes this large by the way? I couldn't ask while in Hogsmeade but I was wondering." 

"Mmh," Barty replied, brows furrowed in thought. "That's right, you wouldn't know, would you? You only met my master when you were a baby, when he possessed someone else and when he was a boy not much older than you. He's really, really tall. Taller even than Dumbledore or your godfather." 

The thought of anyone being even taller than Dumbledore or Sirius was a weird one, but what stuck out the most to Harry in Barty's reply was that the young Tom Riddle he'd met through the diary had been, at most, two years older than him. The other boy had seemed so much older than Harry. So much… harder, somehow. 

He remembered what Barty had told him of Voldemort's early years and felt empathy well up inside him. They hadn't been that different, once upon a time. 

By then, they'd passed the gate surrounding the property and Harry tried not to think of the old groundskeeper he'd watched die here what felt like a lifetime ago. 

Before Barty could reach out to open the grand if shabby door, it was opened from the inside. Karkaroff awaited them, face suspiciously blank of emotion. 

"Do they all look like this?" Harry asked. "When they're under the Imperius, I mean?" 

"Oh Merlin, no," Barty was quick to reassure him. "I commanded this piece of filth to be as unobstructive and pleasant as possible. In his case, that equals bland obedience. My master wouldn't be able to stomach more from him than simple yes and no's." 

"I see," Harry replied while they followed Karkaroff up the stairs. 

The closer they came to the floor where Voldemort was waiting for them, the more Harry felt the hair at the back of his neck stand up. He was briefly seized by a burst of panic and felt the desire to run and go back to Hogwarts and hide behind its thick walls before realising… that there was no future for him there. 

Barty must have sensed something because before Harry knew it, a hand was holding onto his and squeezed. 

"You gonna be alright?" 

Harry looked up. He hadn't even noticed Barty turning back into himself. Had he been spaced out for this long? 

"I think I'm scared," Harry whispered. 

He killed your parents, a little voice in his head hissed at him. And now you're meeting him while holding hands with his most loyal follower. 

"Well, he is the most powerful wizard in the world," Barty said with a faraway expression. "Ah, well, at the moment he isn't. But he will be again, in time. Come, let's not keep him waiting. He'd never admit it but he's been waiting for this moment, too."

Harry could only nod in response and let himself be pulled along. He'd survived so much already, and Barty would never betray him, so he knew nothing bad would happen to him. And yet… 

When Barty opened the door, the first thing Harry saw was a fire burning brightly in the fireplace. An armchair was placed before it, sideways to the door, and all Harry could see of Voldemort was a tiny, bony hand on the armrest.

Barty squeezed his hand one last time before quickly crossing the room and kneeling very close in front of the chair. 

Harry watched in fascination as the tiny hand reached out and came to rest on Barty's head. 

"So you have returned as you promised." Voldemort's thin, high voice was gentle. 

"I always keep my promises, master," Barty replied and ducked his head with a small smile. 

It was a surprisingly tender moment and Harry almost felt like he was intruding on something. He wondered what Dumbledore would say if he could see Voldemort like this. 

"Come here, Harry Potter, that I may look upon you with my own eyes." 

Though he flinched, Harry refused to feel afraid and gathered all his Gryffindor courage to walk up to the chair. 

Voldemort's frail little body was nothing much to look at, just like he remembered, but it looked less like a nightmare vision and more like a sick toddler when not viewed through nightmare goggles. 

The only outstanding feature were the piercing, intelligent red eyes boring into his.

"I'm not afraid," Harry retorted almost petulantly while clutching the new robes to his chest like a lifeline. 

To his surprise, Voldemort didn't start cursing or laughing at him. The man's tiny body just held out his hand, as if wanting him to shake it. 

"Come, Harry Potter. I won't ask a third time."

And Harry went. 

Chapter 14

Notes:

The one in which a harvest is collected that has been grown from dark seeds.

After he'd taken three big steps to reach the armchair, Harry looked at Barty who returned his gaze nervously. Harry swallowed audibly before taking Voldemort's small hand in his. 

There was no pain. 

"Seems your mother's protection has failed to identify me as a threat, Harry. Voldemort sounded amused. "I suppose I really have grown fond of the idea of us being more than enemies." 

Harry took a cautious step back and watched Barty sway a little before the man rested his forehead against Voldemort's armchair. 

"Are… are you alright, Barty?" he asked, unsure. 

"He's merely relieved," Voldemort told him and carded his hand lazily through Barty's hair. "This impending meeting of ours has been stressing him greatly. I do believe a huge burden has just fallen off of dear Barty. Is it not so?" 

Barty merely grunted his approval but didn't raise his head again.

Harry didn't know what to say to that and shuffled awkwardly for a moment. 

"I, uh, brought you a present," he finally said.

He unrolled the robes he'd been holding onto and held them up to show Voldemort. When he raised his arms as high as they could go and the hems still almost touched the ground, it frustrated him greatly. 

"Robes?" Voldemort's voice sounded amused once more and suddenly, the robes started floating on their own towards the armchair. "This is good quality. We don't have the funds for this, Barty." 

"It's my present," Harry clarified. "I got them for you, with my own money. As thanks for… for providing me with the means to get my godfather exonerated. And for saving Barty from his dad." 

"Interesting." Voldemort sounded intrigued and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "How very interesting indeed. Come here, Harry, that we may speak together. I have a great many things to talk about with you." 

Harry, who was already standing rather close to the armchair, took another step and felt weird when he towered over both Voldemort and Barty. He made to sit on the ground, but it was Voldemort he was faced with, and surely Harry Potter couldn't kneel on the ground in front of the weakened husk of Lord Voldemort? 

Harry contemplated his options and finally decided to sit next to Barty, cross-legged. In a last show of defiance, he crossed his arms and refused to meet Voldemort's eyes. 

"You are a lot less abrasive than last we met," Voldemort said and Harry looked up in surprise. 

"Well, you're not trying to kill me right now." 

Voldemort returned his gaze evenly, steadily, and Harry felt as if his soul was laid bare before the man's red, reptilian eyes. Barty had shown him what it felt like to have your mind read with legilimency, and this wasn't it. It was just a frightening degree of intelligence directed solely at him, much like when Hermione used to look right through his feeble excuses when it came to schoolwork in his first three years. 

"If you remember: when first we met, I offered you a place at my side, Harry," Voldemort reminded him and Harry felt his blood run cold. "You called me a liar then." 

Harry's mouth was suddenly very dry because when he thought back to Quirrell and the mirror of Erised, there was… indeed a distant memory of Voldemort offering him a place by his side. He'd considered it merely a ploy to get the stone back then, but maybe… maybe… it had been something more? 

Harry knew then what path he was currently on and what he had to ask to continue walking it. He'd never been one for pandering to expectations of the masses anyway, had he? 

"So… are you offering again?" 

Voldemort looked at him with a satisfied twist to his mouth and Barty raised his head to stare at Harry in disbelief.

"Harry, do you realise what you're asking?" Barty's voice was shaky but his expression was, above all, hopeful. If anything, it only served to strengthen Harry's resolve. 

"I do, and I mean it," Harry answered. "There's… nothing for me in Hogwarts anymore. Not the way it is now, at least. I've learned more about magic and Wizarding society during the past half year than in all the years before, Barty, and it's all thanks to you. If… if this is the path you choose, it's the path I choose, too."

Harry's heart was beating wildly in his chest and he was relieved to see Barty conjure up a wobbly smile in response to his declaration. 

"You see now, master?" There was a fragile sort of enthusiasm evident in Barty's almost shaking frame. "Everything I said is true." 

"And to think I'd almost called you a liar," Voldemort replied fondly. The emotion looked foreign on the small, severe face. "Never again shall I commit such an egregious error." 

Barty beamed up at Voldemort and grabbed one of Harry's hands within both of his before raising it to his mouth and kissing the back of it. 

"Thank you, Harry," Barty said solemnly and Harry blushed a deep crimson. No one had ever kissed his hand before. 

"You're welcome," he mumbled even though he felt self-conscious about Barty being so appreciative and grinning at him as if he'd never been happier. "Why don't you go and put on your new robes too? I want to see you in them." 

"That's a splendid idea, Harry," Barty agreed easily, squeezed his hand again and bowed quickly to Voldemort before bouncing out of the room. 

It was at roughly this moment that Harry realised that Barty's departure meant that he was alone with his old nemesis. Once again, a quiet sense of dread washed over him but he refused to give in and looked up instead. 

As he'd expected, Voldemort was watching him intently. "My servant is most smitten with you, Harry," the man mused, not unkindly. "Even after the rat and I had saved him, the enthusiasm I'd known him for was… muted. Azkaban and those long years as his hated father's puppet had broken something deep inside him. And yet, I daresay you have managed to put Humpty Dumpty together again." 

Harry's brows drew up at the old muggle nursery rhyme. "Barty helped me as much as I have helped him," he answered instead of mentioning the rhyme. "I didn't even realise he'd been quite that sad in the beginning if I'm being honest… I'm glad we found each other when we did." 

"Quite." Voldemort leaned his head back into the cushions he was propped up against and closed his eyes. "And yes, I am indeed offering once more, Harry. I'm glad you see the truth in my words now… Alas, I grow weary easily in this form and require rest. Tell me of the occasion my gift to you managed to save you from a mob of badgers. Barty told me but I'd like to hear the story from your own mouth." 

"Oh, sure," Harry nodded. It was weird to see the nightmare figure he'd spent four years more or less afraid of so… weak? Human?

The small golem body looked almost peaceful, relaxed as he was, and Harry felt his last desire to be combatant melt away. 

When Barty came back a few minutes later, all soft and glowing in light blue robes, Harry was still telling his story with the fire warmly crackling at his back. Barty just sat down on the floor next to him and listened as well. It was… cozy, almost. 

When Harry had finished after his run-in with Snape, Voldemort's face turned into a bit of a sneer. 

"Yes, Barty has told me much about Severus'... conduct towards the students in his care."

Harry frowned. "No offense, but why would you care?"

Voldemort was quiet for a while and Harry wondered whether he was going to get an answer at all, or if the man had fallen asleep. Finally, the golem's mouth opened and shared another thing they had in common. 

"Hogwarts is the first home I've ever had, Harry, and I care for her deeply. Once I'm back in power, I'd aspire for her to return to her former glory and produce masters and mistresses of their crafts." Voldemort looked down at Barty. "It's part of why I've told Barty here to do his best as a teacher. You see… Severus, while a great potioneer, is no teacher. He lacks the desire to, hm, socialise, if you will." 

Harry remembered a young Tom Riddle panicking when Hogwarts was about to be closed, and he knew he'd have felt much the same way should he have had to return to the hated Dursleys. He still couldn't believe he'd never have to see them again in his life. 

"Snape's the worst," Harry said after he'd let the silence drag on for too long. "I hate him. Every time I have Potions, it's a study in misery! I wish he'd just disappear from my life and I doubt anyone would miss him if he did, apart from maybe Dumbledore." 

"Ah, yes. Dumbledore. Barty has told me in a letter that the old fool has been steadily growing more suspicious of your… relationship to my servant. How tiresome that Severus should aid him so." 

"We've been taking measures to conceal our, uh, closeness, master," Barty interjected quietly. "They know Harry considers Moody his mentor and, well, a parent stand-in but there's nothing they can do about that." 

"They don't expect you to take him from the school once the tournament is over and won't be taking countermeasures?" Voldemort's eyes narrowed when Harry and Barty grinned at each other. "You have a plan then. Tell me." 

Barty told Voldemort about Cedric's idea and Harry was relieved to see a smug smile settle on the man's features the further Barty explained. 

"And here's the contract," Barty finally said and produced a copy from a bag he'd been carrying. "We thought you might look through it during the next weeks and get back to us if you find something we can use? We, uh, tried reading it ourselves but…" 

"I know: you're a scholar, not a law wizard," Voldemort replied fondly and Harry sensed the two men must have had that discussion in the past. How odd to think of Voldemort as having people he liked in his life. 

"So, uh, how did you two meet anyway," Harry asked. "Barty must have been really young when he became a death eater, and he came from a Light family. How did that work?" 

"Mhh, what a delightful question. Well, I certainly don't see the harm in sharing it," Voldemort mused. "You see, we'd been receiving secret Auror reports from an unknown source for months during the war , and all of them turned out to be perfectly legitimate. They used to come with anonymous Post Office owls but one day, the money we sent to the informant from time to time as thanks was enough to procure an owl of their own." 

"I wanted to be found," Barty shrugged and took over the storytelling. "I wouldn't have gotten careless like that if I didn't. So one evening during my winter break of my last Hogwarts year, while I'm sitting all cozy in my room, studying, my owl I'd sent with reports stolen from my… father returns. There were three Death Eaters following her as I'd later find out and they broke through my window and tried to kidnap me."

"And they did," Voldemort added, "but not before you sent Rodolphus to our infirmary with reversed knees and broke Evan's nose." 

"They had it coming," Barty shrugged. "Anyway, the remaining death eater, Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus' brother, stunned me and I woke up in this grand throne room where they pulled a sack from my head. The first thing I saw was Lord Voldemort, in all his glory, staring down at me from his magnificent throne." 

Barty's expression was enraptured, his arms splayed wide, and Harry shot a considering glance towards the present-day Voldemort. Tom Riddle had been a very handsome boy, much like Cedric, but with more of an edge to him, and Harry wondered how Lord Voldemort had looked in his prime. 

"And then you just… became a death eater as well?" he asked and Barty snapped out of his memories. 

"I did," he replied and pulled up his sleeve.

The Dark Mark looked darker now than ever before Harry had seen it. Maybe it was the proximity to its Lord and master? 

"We'd been in contact before," Voldemort explained further. "My side didn't only send money to our informant, I also used to write letters to him. Nothing strategic, just… small talk, innocuous things, but then highly theoretical scholarly discussions, too, when we realised we had those interests in common. Imagine my surprise when my servants bring back little more than a milk-faced boy."

"I was no boy, I'd turned 15 months before!" Barty gasped incredulously. 

"You were little more than a boy," Voldemort reiterated. "And at first, I didn't even want to give you my mark. Yet, you begged for it so sweetly… how could I have refused?" 

Barty blushed and looked down. He stroked the Dark Mark with a tender caress and Harry felt… what? Jealousy? Strangely enough, it wasn't the closeness between Voldemort and Barty that made him feel that way but rather the closeness between master and servant. 

He wondered what it was like to belong somewhere, even if it was a group of, well, terrorists? Slowly, he understood more about why so many people had joined Lord Voldemort back then. Even in this form, he was charismatic and intelligent, and Harry supposed that, coupled with Tom Riddle's handsomeness, it was easy to see how people had flocked to his banner. 

"When are you going to be resurrected fully, and is there anything I can do to help?" Harry asked and flinched when both Voldemort and Barty flung their heads around to stare at him. "Only if, if… if you want my help, that is." 

He remembered, then. Somehow even worse than Harry Hunting, there had been a game called No Harrys Allowed where Dudley and his gang, or sometimes even most of his classmates, used to play in an area with scribbled pieces of paper pinned to proclaim that no Harrys were allowed beyond this line. 

Vaguely, he wondered why this was the story of his life and why it still managed to hurt him so. And then, a strange yet powerful desire came over him. 

"If I were to ask you whether I could have the Dark Mark, too–" 

"Harry," Barty gasped, "no, you're way too young!" 

"Hush, Barty, let the boy speak." Voldemort's tone was firm, but not harsh. 

With his voice shaking, Harry continued. "If I were to ask for the Dark Mark, would you give it to me?" 

Those red eyes searched him as if they hadn't truly seen him before, and there was an assessing glint in them. 

"It's a variant of a slave bond of old, Harry Potter," Voldemort finally explained. "Once it's done, there's no way to remove it short of removing the whole limb. And even then, the master's magic remains within the servant forevermore. There's few Gryffindors in my service for a reason, boy. They are—you are—bad at kneeling." 

"I could have gone to Slytherin instead," Harry exclaimedb he changed the way he sat so he was on his knees instead. "The hat told me I could have been great in Slytherin, but by then I'd already… already…" 

"I remember, you were quite the hatstall… if only I'd known then of your potential, my approach to you would have been so very, very different," Voldemort admitted and his stare was so intense now that Harry had to look down with his cheeks burning red. 

"Master," Barty interrupted then, voice shaking. "Will you really… I mean, will he have…" 

Voldemort hummed in thought and was quiet for a while. When Harry was just about to look up again, a hand moved on top of his head and Voldemort's gaze was indecipherable when Harry met it. 

"I have changed many plans because of your conduct this year, Harry Potter, and now I shall change one more." The hand stayed a steady, grounding presence on Harry's head but Voldemort's gaze travelled over to Barty. 

"We will expedite our plans, Barty. Harry will help you in securing our last ingredient, and for this act of service, he will receive my mark as payment once I have been resurrected fully." Voldemort looked between them. "Is this acceptable?" 

Harry nodded enthusiastically and after a brief pause, Barty nodded as well. 

"How can I help?" Harry asked, suddenly uncertain. "I'm not terribly good at magic yet to be honest. What kind of ingredient do you need? If it's expensive, I could buy it for you, of course." 

Voldemort considered him once more for a long moment and Harry felt terribly naked under such intense scrutiny. "It's blood," the man finally said, and Harry's eyes grew wide. "The ritual set to restore me calls for the blood of an enemy, forcibly taken." 

Harry's own blood ran cold at that admission and he knew, he knew with utmost certainty, that it would have been his blood they would have used if he hadn't become friends with Barty. The hand still on his head tightened in his hair and he looked back up. When had he even lowered his gaze? 

"Your blood is no longer required, nor would it work," Voldemort told him in a firm yet gentle voice. "And it's just as well, that way. The ritual specifies that one shall be brought back to the time when one became the enemy of the one whose blood one uses. I had thought I wanted to go back to the height of my power but… when I tried to kill you, I no longer was myself anymore, so lost was I in… well. In any case, I shall use Albus Dumbledore's blood and come back younger than I was. It will be most interesting to see when he and I have first considered each other enemies."

Dumbledore then. Strangely, Harry couldn't find it in himself to care, so he didn't comment on Voldemort's choice because he wouldn't have known what to say. 

"And the other ingredients?" 

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, lying just outside, in the graveyard you passed when you arrived here. That is used to provide the skeletal structure," Voldemort explained further. "And lastly… flesh of the servant, willingly given." 

Alarmed, Harry immediately looked over to Barty who returned his gaze steadily. 

"My master will give me magic to replace what I've lost," Barty assured him. "I don't mind giving part of myself, Harry. In fact, I'm honoured!" 

"You're a much better choice than Wormtail was," Voldemort agreed. "The flesh of the servant is partly responsible for the magical prowess of the one being resurrected, for any great Lord is only as strong as the servants who follow him. You are one of my strongest, and much stronger than Wormtail. You will do me proud, boy."

Harry watched Barty duck his head and blush, babbling excitedly about what wonderful, grand things they'd be doing after Voldemort's resurrection. He wondered, not for the first time, what exactly their relationship was. It seemed almost too tender, at times, to merely be that of master and servant. He was no expert in the matter, of course, but they struck him as father and son, oddly enough. 

"How are we going to get Dumbledore's blood?" he asked when Barty was quiet again. "I think he'd be highly suspicious if we just asked, right? And I think he'd notice if we just, well, took it by force? He's not really a big fan of either Moody or me right now." 

"I have a plan of course," Voldemort told him with that smug smile he pulled off without it being overly patronising. "It will require acting and stealth on both of your parts, but I think you will prevail. Here is how this will go." 

-o-

It was weird to return to Hogwarts after what had basically amounted to a war council with Lord Voldemort. The man's plan was just mad enough to work and Harry already felt excited when he thought about it. 

Falling into step beside Barty on the other hand was easy and Harry couldn't wait for a time when he would be able to walk with the man freely, away from Polyjuice Potion and invisibility cloaks. 

Thankfully, the students made enough of a berth around Moody that Harry was in no danger of being stumbled over or bumped into, and he enjoyed simply watching the other kids without being stared at. 

Still, he was glad to be rid of the invisibility cloak once they'd reached the safety of Barty's heavily warded office. 

To his surprise, Barty immediately went over towards his armchair, slumped down on it, and began taking the leg off. "I'm so very done for today, Harry. That was… I'm just so glad everything went well. You can't possibly believe the relief I'm feeling right now. Please keep an eye on your map, I'm no use for the rest of the day, I'm afraid." 

With a grin, Harry got out the Marauder's Map and activated it. There was no one on their way to them, and he giggled giddily. He'd met with Lord Voldemort, or what earthly form remained of him, and nothing had happened. The earth hadn't stopped spinning, the skies hadn't darkened and the sun was still shining. 

Everything was still the same, just not the new conviction that had taken root inside him. Harry Potter, future death eater. Would all the other death eaters be as awful as Snape and Lucius Malfoy? But then, there were apparently death eaters like Barty who were nice and kind, and he guessed there had to be more like that. 

Voldemort, after all, hadn't been as awful as he'd expected either. In fact, he'd been quite charming, actually, if you looked past the golem form he was trapped in. 

"Has he always been this charismatic when he's not entirely desperate?" Harry asked, wistfully, and sat down in his armchair. 

Barty, who'd been relaxing with his eyes closed, cracked one eye open and looked at him. "Yes. Yes, he's always been that charismatic when he wants to be. Make no mistake, he's very good at instrumentalising that charisma to get what he wants."

"And today, he wanted me to join him?" 

"Desperately so, though he'd never admit it." Barty's grin was impish and his eyes shone. "Don't ever tell him I told you." 

"Don't worry, I won't," Harry promised as he inched closer toward Barty's chair.

"Oh come here, you menace." Barty sighed and pulled at Harry's wrist until he almost fell onto Barty's lap. "You were so brilliant today! I half expected you to be combatant for the hell of it, but you were so reasonable and mature. My master was most pleased with your conduct, I could tell." 

"Really? I mostly felt out of my depth and like he was five steps ahead of me at every point." Since he was feeling giddy and comfortable, Harry shifted around until he was straddling Barty's thighs. "And you, you were so at home around him. I had no idea he could be so… normal?"

"Lord Voldemort is a very dangerous man, Harry, please don't forget that." Here, Barty's hands came up to cradle Harry's face. His thumbs gently massaged over Harry's forehead. "And please do sleep over your decision with the mark. You heard him, it's so very permanent, and you're so… so very young."

Barty lowered his hands again and he had a very pained expression on his face. Harry supposed he was warring with his conscience again. 

"You're allowed to kiss me," he told him and put his hands on Barty's shoulders. "No one will know!" 

"I'll know," Barty groaned, but still his hands came up to cup Harry's jaw once more and pull.  

Kissing like this was nice, and Harry sighed even as he felt himself become pliant and tingly all over. He put his arms around Barty's neck and pressed himself close.

Barty shuddered against him, and when they parted for air, both panting, Barty's eyes were dark and hungry. "You impossible boy," he groaned and leaned his head back against his armchair. "If you had any idea what you're doing to me…" 

Instead of answering, Harry merely snuggled close once more. "It's not like it's not mutual, you know," he mumbled into Barty's neck and grinned when another shiver ran through the body under him. 

-o-

The next weekend, they decided to execute their plans.

Voldemort's plans. 

Funny how that worked. 

"And you're absolutely sure Dumbledore will fall for this?" Harry was Not Convinced and had his arms crossed. "I mean, he doesn't like me very much at the moment." 

"Oh Harry, the problem is that he doesn't really like anyone except maybe that phoenix of his," Barty explained. "He doesn't empathise with people. They're only as dear to him as the socio-political power their support allows him to wield. I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't even capable of feeling friendship and, and love or anything." 

"That's weird," Harry mused, surprised, "because it's almost exactly what he told me about Voldemort." 

"It's Lord Voldemort. And how dare he!" Barty looked up from where he was packing some equipment into Moody's big coat, just in case. "My master has been nicer and more caring to me than any adult in Hogwarts ever was. Old goat better watch his tone around me. Pah!"

Barty continued packing even as he was grumbling and Harry took a moment to internalise this new information. Were the tables turned? 

At least he knew that Barty wasn't lying. He genuinely liked Lord Voldemort on a personal level, and he wasn't acting, but maybe Voldemort had been leading Barty on? But then, he would have been leading Harry on, too, during their meeting, and it had certainly felt like the man had been really invested in him and in cultivating a relationship with him that went beyond, well, fated arch nemesis. 

Shrugging, Harry closed his eyes to recount the plan once more in his head. They had some blood to procure after all, and not many chances to do so. 

About half an hour later, Barty, disguised as Moody once more, was frantically knocking on the door of Dumbledore's office hidden behind the gargoyle. 

"Albus, open this damn thing up! If you have any love left for our old friendship, you will open this door right about fucking now!" 

Harry, who was hanging limply over Barty's shoulder, grinned despite his role because technically, he'd heard a professor swear. 

He couldn't see, but he heard the gargoyle stepping away and Barty ran up the stairs with Moody's artificial leg creaking and thonking horribly on every step. 

The door to the headmaster's office flew open before they'd even reached it and Harry soon found himself dropped unceremoniously into an armchair.

"Harry? What's the matter here, Alastor? Why does he look like this?" 

"Boy had a vision," Barty grumbled in Alastor's voice. "We had tea in my office like every Sunday afternoon where he just tells me about his week, and when he told me about those strange dreams he had last night he… he suddenly had a vision, Albus! He, he said something about someone approaching who's fated to vanquish the Dark Lord? Born to those who've thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies—Albus, did the boy make a prophecy about himself?"

Harry wanted badly to see Dumbledore's expression but Barty had promised to show him later in a pensieve so he stuck to his role and merely groaned slightly. 

"What!" Dumbledore finally said, "he said what?! Alastor, you must tell me everything! Did he say more than this?" 

"He collapsed quickly afterwards," Barty replied, frantic, "and in the dream he told me about, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was in full power and hearing that very same prophecy from a masked Death Eater. What does it all mean, Albus? Do you know anything about this?" 

"No, I… I have no idea about any of this!" Harry heard steps coming over towards him and forced himself to relax and not tense up. "Harry, my boy, it's Albus Dumbledore. Can you hear me?" 

Harry let his eyes flutter open slowly and stared at Dumbledore's forehead. No eye-contact. None at all. Barty and Voldemort both had stressed this greatly. 

"Headmaster," Harry mumbled. "I saw Voldemort… he's still, he's still out there… he's so weak, so very weak, but he's no longer alone and he knows where I am and…"

"Hush, Harry, calm down. We'll take care of this. I'll just get Professor Snape here and we'll–"

"NO!" Harry screamed, beforetensing and jumping out from his armchair. "Not Snape, not Snape! Don't get Snape, no, not him, not he who, not…" 

He was held back by Barty and buried his face in the man's chest. Since Barty was standing with his back to Dumbledore per the plan, Harry surreptitiously downed a tear potion and immediately started sobbing his heart out. 

"Not Snape?" Dumbledore came around Harry and put a hand on his shoulder. "He who what, Harry? What did you see?"

"I saw Snape with Voldemort, headmaster," Harry forced out through the sobs. "I can't trust him, he told him, he, he told him who, how, he…" 

The potion, and maybe some of his own emotions, overmanned him again, and Harry turned back to cling to Barty. 

"Be reasonable, Albus," Barty growled. "Get back here and away from the Floo! The boy needs help, not his worst enemy!" 

"Professor Snape is not Harry's enemy!" Dumbledore shot back and Barty growled something under his breath even as the Floo flared up and Snape stepped through after a hushed conversation with Dumbledore. 

Barty maneuvered them so he was once again between Harry and the others. "Do you ever bloody listen, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore? I came here so you'd help me protect my charge against whatever is attacking his mind, not to torment him further by confronting him with thrice-turned Death Eaters!" 

"Don't talk to Severus like that, he's a trusted ally and a dear friend!" 

And then, they were all shouting over each other until Harry held his hands over his ears and started screaming as loud as he could. 

"Harry," Dumbledore started once they'd all quieted down but Harry merely shook his head. 

"No, no, no, tell him to go away! I don't want him here, make him go away!" 

"Mr Potter," Snape sneered, "of all the insufferable episodes you've inflicted upon us in the past, this one surely is–" 

"Sectumsempra!" 

Harry shouted the spell in Parseltongue in the blink of an eye at Snape and, as expected, Dumbledore stepped in the way, even without knowing what was coming. None of the adults had even had their wands in their hands. 

"Albus!" Snape and Barty shouted and rushed towards the old man who'd fallen and was quickly losing so much blood that a puddle was forming around him. 

"Headmaster…" Harry forced himself to whisper, "what did I… what did I do!?" 

"Potter," Snape barked, "what spell did you hiss at him? TELL ME!" 

"S-sectumsempra," Harry whispered. "It was in my dreams, and it was… yours and… I don't know what I… I'm so sorry!" 

"Of all the curses…" Snape mumbled with an expression as stricken as he'd ever seen the man, but immediately started healing Dumbledore with the appropriate counterspell. "Get me a blood-replenishing potion, Moody." 

Harry watched Barty run towards a cabinet in Dumbledore's office and hurry back with a vial of a potion that was as red as the blood on the floor and Dumbledore and—Jackpot—Barty's clothes. 

"Take that boy away from here," Snape forced out through gritted teeth. "I'll be busy for a while. You'd best watch out he doesn't try to kill anyone else, Moody. I'm afraid not everyone might be as forgiving as me and the headmaster." 

"That's because few people are, apparently, as guilty as you are," Barty growled back. "Make no mistake, I'm getting to the bottom of this, Severus Snape." 

Barty bodily grabbed Harry around the waist and marched him out of the office. Once outside the gargoyle, they threw the cloak over themselves and ran back to the Defense classroom as quickly as possible. 

Once inside the office, Harry pulled a vial out of his bag and held it so that Barty could spell the blood out of his clothes with a cleaning charm and into the vial. Next, the man put a high-level stasis charm on both vial and blood and sank onto the floor with a breathless giggle. 

"We did it, we actually did it!" 

"I almost killed him," Harry realised and his stomach started churning. He put the vial on the desk and sank to his knees. "I knew what the spell was gonna do, and I still used it. I'm… if Snape hadn't been there…" 

"But he was," Barty was quick to reassure him. "It was all part of the plan, and by the Gods, Harry, you played your part so wonderfully!" 

Barty came crawling over towards him, grabbed his face and gave him a big kiss. Moody's face was full of stubble and it scratched a little but Harry didn't even mind. 

"I did? I've never really acted before." 

"You were beautiful, so incredibly, incredibly good," Barty gushed, even as he started turning back into himself once he'd gotten rid of the eye and the leg. "We would have never managed this without you… you really are something special, Harry James Potter." 

And then Barty kissed him again, giddy as all hell, and Harry kissed him back fiercely and wrapped his arms around the man's shoulders to pull him closer. 

"Next weekend, Harry," Barty promised with a glint in his eye. "Next weekend, we're getting him back!" 

"Next weekend," Harry echoed and tried not to let the churning in his stomach overpower him. "Next weekend, the rest of our lives will begin." 

"And Snape will suffer for his part in all this," Barty promised darkly. 

"I'll accept nothing less. The prophecy, I... I almost wish Dumbledore hadn't stepped in," Harry growled. 

"That's my boy," Barty grinned. "My impossible, wonderful boy." 

Then they were kissing again and all the doubts Harry might have had seemed to fly out of the window like so much smoke. 

Chapter 15

Harry was sitting all alone on the Astronomy Tower once more. He hadn't done that since that fateful day back in November when he'd gotten to know Barty under the guise of Alastor Moody. 

This time, it was bright daylight instead of the middle of the night, and everything on the grounds was slowly beginning to bloom. It looked pretty and calming, and that was exactly what Harry needed at that moment. 

Since it was already Thursday, it was just two more days until Barty and him were going to resurrect Lord Voldemort. 

That sentence never failed to make Harry's stomach churn. Maybe he should—

A hand fell on his shoulder and Harry jumped. 

He turned around with a wild look in his eyes to see… 

"Luna!" Harry exclaimed, "you almost gave me a heart attack!" 

"You are very tense, Harry James Potter," Luna replied, carefree as ever, and smiled serenely at him. "Why is that?" 

"I'm not tense," Harry mumbled and turned around to look back down at the grounds. 

Some students were milling around outside in groups, now that lessons were over for the day. Harry remembered the times he'd spent walking just like them with Ron and Hermione and heaved a big sigh. 

He hadn't spoken to Ron in weeks even though they shared the same dorm. As for the other boys… he'd never really been close with Dean and Seamus and his conscience was telling him he couldn't possibly strike up a friendship with Neville.

Harry held no illusions that Barty's survival was going to come out sooner or later. Just like his own allegiances, he supposed. He'd decided he wouldn't want Neville to deal with the emotional fallout of one of his few friends being… close to his parents' alleged torturer. Though Barty had said it hadn't been him, of course, and Harry had believed him but… Neville probably wouldn't. 

"I can hear you overthinking things from here," Luna told him and Harry flinched again. He'd already forgotten that she was here. 

"Sorry, Luna, there's a lot on my mind right now," he explained. 

"Anything you want to share?" She sat down next to him and got out a book. "I'll stay with you and if you want to talk, you just talk." 

"Alright," Harry replied uneasily. He could feel himself almost choke up. 

They continued sitting there for almost an hour, with Luna reading her book on Runes and Harry staring into the distance. Finally, Harry felt like it might actually be a good idea to get some of his thoughts out. 

"If you… if you want to do a thing that some people might not like, even some people you might have called friends in the past… does it make you a bad person to follow through with the thing?" 

"I think it depends on what your intentions are," Luna shrugged, closing her book. "Do you want to do the thing to hurt other people?" 

"No," Harry mumbled, "not at all, actually. But… people might get hurt regardless, and by doing the thing I'm tacitly accepting the fact that bad stuff might happen." 

"I see." Luna turned her head and focused her too-big eyes on him. "Then I guess the question is: would you be able to live with yourself if you went through with it? Because I don't think you're a bad person, Harry Potter, and if you could live with yourself, it can't be that bad." 

Harry thought about that statement and shivered. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and scooted over to sit closer to Luna. 

"The thing is, I would be able to live with myself and I think that is confirmation enough that I'm… not entirely a good person anymore." He put his face in his hands and shook his head. "And then there's the fact that, even if I decided not to go through with it, it would still happen—unless I ratted out one of the only people to ever give a rat's ass about me which would condemn them to… a fate worse than death." 

"This is about Alastor, isn't it?" 

Harry sighed. "I made it too easy, didn't I?" 

"I read reports from the Wizarding War. Alastor Moody is right-handed but our Alastor… he isn't." 

Harry's head shot up and he stared at Luna. "But he casts spells with his right hand!" 

"It's not just that," Luna replied. "There are so few left-handed wizards and witches, you see? I'm left-handed myself, and he does some of the more inconspicuous things with his left hand. Buttering his bread rolls in the mornings, the way he holds his cards when we play games… then there's the way he looks at you when he thinks no one's looking." 

Harry refused to think about the fact that Daphne Greengrass in his year was left-handed as well and that it was, apparently, a Greengrass trait. By Merlin, Luna and Barty were cousins, he realised once more. 

"But you're looking?" he finally managed to reply to Luna's earlier observations. 

"I'm very good at not being noticed." 

Harry snickered a little at that and leaned his head back against the stone behind them. "I suppose you are. What else have you seen?" 

"Professor Dumbledore hasn't been at meals this week. The first meal he wasn't there, you kept glancing up at the head table and then ducking your head when either Snape or Alastor looked at you." Luna smiled when Harry whipped his head around to look at her. "I'm not as vacant as people seem to think, Harry Potter. Just because I prefer my own world doesn't mean I don't notice what's happening around me, either. But this is about you. I don't know who Alastor really is, but from what I can tell, he's been good for you. I just hope he's not too old."

"Very early thirties," Harry croaked out. He suddenly felt very violently ill. 

"See, that's not even close to the worst age difference in the wizarding world," Luna soothed him and put one of her small, warm hands in his. "I suppose he's Dark and came here to do nefarious deeds?" 

"Pretty much," Harry answered.

"And you stopped him and changed his ways like the heroic boy you are?" 

Luna's grin was bright and warm like summer, but it faded into autumn when Harry didn't answer and couldn't even meet her gaze.

"Oh," she made, and then again, "oh! It's the other way around, isn't it? He turned Gryffindor's golden seeker towards the dark, I see, and that thing you've mentioned… does it relate to the dream I've had about a pale hand reaching for—"

"Why are you even so insightful, Luna?" Harry stopped her and squeezed her hand. 

"I just am," Luna shrugged. "You know… ever since you and me and Viktor and Hermione answered Daddy's questions for the Quibbler, he's been selling more issues. People were very interested in what he had to say about Dumbledore's poor planning, and Daddy has become a bit more… critical in the wake of this success."

"Oh? Critical of what? Dumbledore?" 

"That, too, but also of the ministry. He's been critical of them before, but now he's actually investigating things and not just connecting the dots between rumours he heard." Luna turned his hand around where she'd been holding onto it and started drawing small circles into his palm. "The people like it."

"Whatever happened with the French minister? Fleur's dad? I was… kinda preoccupied with my own issues, and without Hermione holding the Prophet under my nose, I don't really know what's going on outside of Hogwarts."

"You wouldn't have seen anything about it in the Prophet anyway," Luna giggled. "No, no. Daddy investigated, and there have been agreements made behind closed doors, so the worst of the political fallout has been contained, but Beauxbatons leaving early sent a powerful statement that the general public in France is not amused." 

"Figures," Harry nodded wearily. "Come on, Luna, dinner's about to start. We both need our calories." 

"I do hope they have pudding, you know?" 

"Yes, Luna," Harry grinned fondly, "yes, I know." 

-o-

Thanks to a grave oversight of Magical Great Britain, Harry and Barty had a great excuse to leave the school that Saturday. 

The official explanation for Albus Dumbledore's absence during the week was that he'd contracted Wizard Flu, and such a prominent case had brought magical diseases to the forefront of the students' minds. 

Purebloods and halfbloods alike were aghast when they found out that most of their muggleborn friends had never even heard of inoculations against those diseases, so lots of owls between the ministry, the school, muggleborn students and concerned parents were sent back and forth that week. 

(Harry would later find out that this was also mostly due to an exposé the Quibbler had run which had been prompted by Hermione being horrified to find out from Luna and Viktor that both had been inoculated as children and that, apparently, no one had considered maybe putting information on that in the first Hogwarts letter.)

So on that fine, crispy Saturday morning in March, Harry and Barty left the Hogwarts grounds to "get him inoculated", just like many other muggleborn children either this weekend or one of the next ones. And they actually did—in a side street of London's magical district two streets removed from Diagon called Rittic Alley.

But after that, they didn't go straight back to Hogwarts. Instead, they Apparated once more to Little Hangleton where Karkaroff and the golem body Lord Voldemort was inhabiting were already waiting for them in front of a huge ritual cauldron. 

"Good, you have arrived," Voldemort greeted them, and if Harry wasn't mistaken, he actually sounded eager. Which totally made sense, he realised then, because the man had been waiting for this moment for well over a decade! 

He remembered Barty telling him about how much Tom Riddle had been afraid of death and tried to reconcile a scared boy that was hard done by with the nightmare vision of the Dark Lord he'd heard about. 

"Master!" Barty greeted back excitedly and took out the vial of blood they'd procured. "We have Dumbledore's blood with us, as promised, and the old man is still weakened."

"I had expected no less of either of you," the golem spoke, and Harry wondered just how much Voldemort's voice would change once he was back in his own body. New body. What a weird concept. 

"Are you alright, Harry?" Barty asked, and Harry looked up in confusion. "You look pale… are you still sure about this? Shall I bring you back to Hogwarts first for… plausible deniability?" 

"In for a penny," Harry joked dryly and crossed his arms. "I'll stay. I'm definitely staying. I told you I go where you're going, and I'm not budging on that."

"You really are an impossible boy," Barty grinned and hugged him fiercely before striding up to the ritual cauldron. "Alright, let's get this show started. We've all waited long enough!" 

On a signal from Voldemort, Karkaroff dropped the golem body into the cauldron and Harry's eyes grew wide. Wouldn't he drown? He frowned. Did the golem even need to breathe? 

As instructed by Barty, Harry stayed a distance away and watched the man perform the dark ritual. In another universe, it might have been a scary ordeal, held in the dead of night with only the fire burning under the cauldron illuminating everything. 

Yet today, the midday sun was standing high in the sky and the air smelled cool and clean. Voldemort's giant snake was curled up close to the fire, hissing about anticipation and new beginnings, and Harry found himself smiling at her. 

After throwing in the bone of the father, Barty poured the blood of the enemy into the cauldron, kept fresh by the powerful stasis charm the man had cast. Harry's stomach dropped when Barty next raised a huge knife to his own arm. 

They'd talked about this. Talked about this a lot, actually. Harry had sworn he understood what was about to happen at this point, and that he was not to interfere, at any cost, because it might upset the ritual which would negate a year's worth of preparation and would break Barty's heart. 

So Harry stayed silent and pressed his hands over his eyes as Barty brought the magically-charged knife down on his arm. He only heard a wet slicing sound, a gasp from Barty, and a splash when the offering hit the surface of the water. 

There were no great sparks or a roll of thunder in the distance, then. Only steam and a sense of agitation and anticipation shared between Harry, Barty and the snake. 

Finally, a tall, pale man with dark hair rose from the water and accepted the gifted robes he was handed by Karkaroff's empty husk. 

Once the man was wearing clothes and had stepped out of the ritual cauldron, Harry looked over for real and—

Tom Riddle had been a handsome boy. He'd been all broad shoulders and slim hips, thick curly hair and high cheekbones, with eyes that Harry would have called beautiful if they hadn't been so terribly cold. 

This man that stepped out of the cauldron though was more than handsome—he was beautiful in the way Harry imagined great heroes of long-forgotten times to be beautiful, like King Arthur and Lancelot, or Alexander the Great. 

There was nothing boyish about his looks anymore, but Harry could still see Tom Riddle in his features. The high cheekbones, for example, and the slightly wavy hair. 

"Master," Barty groaned, holding tightly onto what remained of his right arm. 

Harry couldn't be entirely sure from where he was standing because Barty kept his body between Harry and his arm, but they'd planned on him offering up just a hand. Yet, it looked like Barty was holding onto… 

"Foolish boy!" Voldemort hissed and Harry flinched, but the man hadn't even been talking to him. 

Voldemort knelt down next to Barty with his long, pale wand in his hand, and immediately began casting a very long, very complicated spell. 

Something that looked like a Patronus started flowing from the tip of his wand and began to weave itself to the ragged, bleeding skin of Barty's… upper arm? 

"You cut over your elbow," Harry whispered, eyes wide. "You're almost up to the shoulder! You said… you said a hand would be enough!" 

"A hand would have been enough," Barty choked out, "a finger would have also been enough. But the more…" 

"Hush, no speaking," Voldemort commanded. "This is highly complex magic." 

So Harry and Barty shut up and watched on as great strands of silver thread flowed from Voldemort's wand to weave a new arm for Barty. It was only then that Harry noticed that Voldemort was chanting the spell in Parseltongue and he looked up in surprise. You could do that? 

Finally, after long minutes, Barty's new arm was done. It looked silvery and reflected the sunlight, but other than that, it looked exactly like Barty's old arm. 

"I had to, master," Barty said imploringly. "This will have… such a huge effect on the rest of your immortal life. What is one mere mortal arm?" 

"But it was your arm," Harry said and fell to his knees beside Barty just as Voldemort got up. 

He hugged Barty's side and felt like crying, but no tears would come. Maybe it had all been a little much for him, after all.

"Will you be fine now? Does it feel… normal?" He looked down at the magical arm and let his fingers trail over it. It felt warm and… alive. 

"It doesn't feel normal at all," Barty admitted as he stared at his new arm in awe, "but it feels incredible. I just hope… Wingardium Leviosa." 

Barty cast the spell with his right hand, and it worked flawlessly. The ritual cauldron started floating and Barty grinned, relieved.

"So you can still imitate Alastor Moody," Harry grinned back before he realised something and stopped. "But… will you even come back to Hogwarts? After all, you have everything you'd planned on getting from there: Blood of the enemy—though it's a different blood than you'd chosen originally?" 

"The objective stays the same," Voldemort's smooth voice interrupted them, and both Harry and Barty turned around abruptly and got up. 

He was standing there with the snake draped over his shoulders, wand twirling in his right hand. As he approached them, Harry realised why the robes had been so big: Voldemort was tall, taller even than Dumbledore or Sirius, but it didn't make him look as gangly as Sirius, or as haggard as Dumbledore -- instead he was simply imposing.

"The objective?" Harry asked. 

"Get Harry Potter out of Hogwarts with no one the wiser," Voldemort explained with amusement quirking up one corner of his mouth. "The stakes merely are not as high as they were before. I have returned, even stronger than before, and my body is that of a young man again. Seems like the first time Albus Dumbledore and I considered each other enemies was when I applied for the post of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher back in the sixties."

"The sixties?" Harry frowned because that was so long ago, but then he remembered that the Chamber had first been opened in the forties, and Voldemort had been a teenager then. "Wait, you wanted to be a teacher?" 

"No, I have always been a teacher. Is that not right, Barty?" 

"He's taught me so many things during the War," Barty explained wistfully. "Dark Magic, but also Arithmancy, Runes… you stand before a prodigy, Harry. A genius! He can craft spells and invent potions as if it's nothing."

"Huh… that kind of reminds me of what Ollivander said," Harry said slowly and drew his wand. "He said that our wands are brothers, and that he expects great things from me, because you too did great things… Terrible, but great, he called it."

When no answer came, Harry looked up and was surprised to see Voldemort look down at him with a calculating expression. 

"Give me your wand," the man commanded, but there was no viciousness behind it, so Harry handed it over. 

To his great surprise, there were sparks when Voldemort's long, thin fingers closed around the smooth wood—the kind magical children experienced in wand shops all over Magical Britain. 

"Curious and curiouser," Voldemort muttered and got out his own wand again. "Here, indulge me, boy." 

Harry took the proffered wand with shaking fingers. Don't think about how this wand killed your parents. Do not. No. Absolutely not—

There were sparks, and Harry felt breathless and warm, the way he had back on his first day in Diagon Alley. 

"How is this possible?" Harry asked. "Is this—did we just bond with each other's wands? Do things like that happen?" 

"Apparently, they do," Voldemort commented idly and they exchanged wands once more. Harry's wand still felt familiar. 

"This is fate." 

Harry and Voldemort both looked over towards Barty who was watching them with a rapt expression.

"The prophecy, all those similarities… You two were never supposed to be enemies! Who knows whether there even is a prophecy!" 

"Barty–" Voldemort started, but Barty merely shook his head and held up a hand. 

"No, master, listen! Maybe it was all just a ploy by Dumbledore, and maybe he and Snape worked together, or maybe he just made Snape think there was a prophecy, but there wasn't." 

Voldemort was quiet at that and looked to be considering Barty's words. Harry was just confused by all those revelations and took a step closer to Barty. He wasn't sure whether he was allowed to touch him in the Dark Lord's presence…

Fortunately, Barty relieved him of his indecision by pulling him into a hug. Harry went gratefully and hid his face against Barty's chest. 

"Maybe there is merit to your words," Voldemort acquiesced. "We will look into it, in time. For now, though… this body has never eaten, and it's making this fact known. Come, we'll eat." 

-o-

Lunch was a quiet affair. They had sandwiches and tea and it all felt terribly domestic, somehow. 

Harry watched the Dark Lord Voldemort eat a sandwich with ham and pickled cucumbers and was amazed by how… peaceful he looked. There wasn't even a hint of cackling maniac and Harry couldn't help but wonder: was this truly the man who'd held a whole country in his terrifying grip? 

He looked just like a normal man (arguably one with red eyes) and was conversing with Barty about what life at Hogwarts was like at the moment. Harry still felt overwhelmed at the fact that the resurrection had just… happened like that and was content with listening to them talk. 

Curiously, it felt to Harry like there was no thirteen year gap between when those two had last spoken to each other. It all felt very familiar and Harry frowned at the thought that someone like Voldemort might have… friends? Or at least people he liked? 

"And McGonagall's still Deputy Headmistress. If you ask me, she's pining after the old man something fierce," Barty said with a grin, sandwich forgotten on his plate. "If you could see the way she looks at him during staff meetings… Doe eyes par excellence, I'm telling you. There's no way she'd ever not be of the same opinion as him." 

"Hm, I see," Voldemort hummed. "What about the security protocols? You mentioned in your letters that they have become lax."

"Now that Dumbledore doesn't want me to take care of security because of my, mh, mentorship of Harry, they have gone back to the way before I arrived. Some of the wards are deactivated and literally anyone could just walk right up to the castle if they so pleased. It's ridiculous."

"Or they could just use the Honeydukes entrance," Harry suggested idly. 

"Honeydukes?" Barty asked with a frown. "Wait, the sweets shop in Hogsmeade?" 

"Yeah, there's, uh, there's a tunnel? You have to enter the Honeydukes cellar and then you can walk straight into Hogwarts. You come out on the third floor. Should I have told you that? You're… not just gonna enter Hogwarts, right?" 

He looked at Voldemort with a dubious expression, but the man only looked back with one eyebrow raised. 

"That would quite work against my desire to stay anonymous, would it not?" Voldemort pushed his empty plate away and rested his elbows on the tabletop to steeple his fingers. "No. My plans are very much different this time around. No one will know that I am back except for you two. Barty, you have instructed the boy to look neither Albus Dumbledore, nor Severus Snape in the eyes?" 

"He has," Harry answered himself and looked over to Barty with a smile. "He's been a good teacher." 

"That does not surprise me," Voldemort commented and nodded at Barty with what could almost be called a smile. "He was a good student as well, after all. Ah, that reminds me. Do you wish to continue your education with me, Barty?" 

Barty snorted. "I'm no student anymore, master. I may not have had much use of my youth, but it's gone either way. I'm better suited to teaching now." 

Voldemort went quiet at that. Harry looked between the two and wondered, not for the first time, just what their relationship had been like before Voldemort's defeat through baby Harry (and what a strange thought that was!) 

"I mean," Harry heard himself say and flinched a little when the two men looked at him, "it's still really early, isn't it? Voldemort, you've only just been resurrected. And you, Barty, have only been able to be yourself for short periods of time for… thirteen years now? Maybe you guys need to, wow that sounds stupid even in my head, but maybe you need to, uh, find yourselves first? Before you think about yourselves in relation to others, I mean."

"You were right," Voldemort replied suavely, but it was directed at Barty. "The boy can be surprisingly insightful. Very well, I shall concede and spend time to find myself, as young Harry so aptly put it. Show me your Mark, Barty." 

Barty obediently rolled up his sleeve and Voldemort and Harry peered down at the tattooed skull and snake. As far as Harry could tell, it was still as pale as it had been before the resurrection. 

"That is good," Voldemort muttered more to himself than to them. "I have not activated it, and even my presence did not trigger it to go back to completely active. That means that no one is any wiser to my return but you two and Igor Karkaroff. It was him who sold you out, Barty, was it not?" 

"I'm… you know it was, master. Why would you–oh! You're going to avenge me?" 

"You have always been loyal, and Lord Voldemort rewards loyalty greatly. Come." The two stood up from the table, but Voldemort paused halfway to the door. "What about you, Harry? How far goes your new allegiance?" 

Harry gulped and looked to Barty for help on how to respond—yet, Barty was steadfastly refusing to look back at him, so Harry was left to his own devices to make a decision. 

"I… I'll come with you, but… I might leave if it becomes too much. What are you planning to do?" 

"It will end with him dead," Voldemort said as if he wasn't just casually talking about someone dying. 

But Karkaroff was the one responsible for Barty having to endure Azkaban and his father's harsh imprisonment, was he not? 

"I want to be there," Harry decided. 

-o-

When Harry and Barty returned to Hogwarts, Hermione was already waiting for them by the front gates, fretting. 

"Harry, you were gone so long, I was so worried!" She pulled him into a hug and Harry returned it gladly. "Are you alright?" 

"He reacted badly to the inoculation," Barty, once more in the guise of Alastor Moody, explained. "He'll be fine in a couple days, but until then he'll feel under the weather. You will look out for him, yes?" 

"Of course," Hermione nodded fervently. "Poor Harry! I, myself, had no adverse effects, but then my parents are dentists of course and I got all my muggle inoculations when I was young, so my body was used to it. You didn't even get your muggle inoculations, did you?" 

"No, I… I didn't," Harry admitted. "Alastor said I can get them this summer."

"That's good!" Hermione let go of him and beamed at Alastor. "It's good that someone finally takes care of him. Come on, Harry, it's almost time for dinner. Afterwards, you really should sleep." 

"You're right," Harry sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow, Alastor. I want to study Charms because there'll be a test next month." 

"Oh I'm so proud of you, Harry," Hermione grinned before Barty could reply. "You'll have your pick of the best jobs there are if you keep going like that!" 

"I'll make sure he keeps up with his studies," Barty promised and ruffled Harry's hair which he hated. Then, he stepped close and put his arms around Harry to whisper into his ear. "See you tomorrow, boy. Sleep well, and remember—I'm just ten minutes away if you need me." 

"I'll be fine," Harry promised. 

As he walked to dinner with an excited Hermione who was babbling her head off about going to school in France, and applications, and Viktor, Harry realised belatedly that thanks to all the excitement with the resurrection and the… Karkaroff incident… he'd forgotten to ask for the Dark Mark. 

But maybe it was for the best, he decided. After all, he'd still be sharing a dorm with the other boys at least until the end of the year. Three more months…

Three more months, and then he'd have his peace from the constant hostility of the other students, and he'd actually live with at least one adult who cared about him. He wondered briefly how Sirius would fit into this… and whether his godfather would be able to accept that Harry… oh but he wouldn't, would he? He'd loved Harry's parents fiercely, and now Harry was partly responsible for the resurrection of bloody Voldemort and had a… a thing with the Dark Lord's most loyal Death Eater. And he wanted a Dark Mark himself! 

Harry felt ill when they sat down. Sirius may be freed because Voldemort had sacrificed Peter Pettigrew to help clear the man's name, but he would never accept the Dark Lord. 

When Hermione piled vegetables onto his plate, Harry could only look down at the table with a heavy heart. How could he have only thought about this now? Sirius was going to hate him! 

 

Chapter 16

The day after Lord Voldemort's anticlimactic resurrection, a Sunday, Harry was in front of the DADA office before breakfast. There was, indeed, a Charms test coming up, but he'd only used it as an excuse to go and be cuddled and to assure himself that no, the new arm had not fallen off during the night. 

Before he could even knock, the door opened, and Alastor Moody's grizzled face peered out at him. The deep frown lines were Moody's, but the impish grin was all Barty.

Harry found himself pulled inside before he was able to say hello but didn't mind it much when he was soon enveloped in a warm hug.

"You know," Harry mumbled, returning the embrace, "I think I found a weakness of the Polyjuice Potion."

"Oh?", Barty asked as he buried his nose in Harry's hair.

"You smell like yourself, even when you're Moody. At first I thought you just continued smelling like Moody, but that's not it."

Barty was quiet for a bit after that, and Harry returned the hug just as quietly.

"That could definitely pose to be a problem in some contexts," the man finally allowed. "Imagine trying to trick someone's lover… no dice. Or any person that owns a pet with a nose!"

"Good thing he didn't have you pose as Filch then. Last time I checked, Mrs. Norris had a nose," Harry said and laughed when Barty made a noise of outrage.

"Harry! I think the only person in this castle that has greasier hair is the resident dungeon bat. I could never!"

"Don't worry, I wasn't suggesting you should do it," Harry giggled.

Barty huffed in mock-annoyance and let go of him only to put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Enough banter now. How are you? And I mean that—I want to know how you are."

"Oh. Uh. Surprisingly fine, actually," Harry replied almost shyly. "There were no late-night bouts of bad conscience or anything. How about you? School will go on for another three months. Don't tell me you don't miss him."

"No, Mr Potter," Barty admonished, "you don't get to change the subject this easily. Nothing? No regrets? No would-that-I-had's? You're just… chill?"

Harry shrugged. "I've had a lot of time to get used to the idea of what we were going to do. The following-through part of it didn't much change my resolve. The only thing I'm worried about is… well, it's Sirius."

Barty made a face that looked like a grimace of pain with Moody's features. "No, yeah, I totally get that. Is he still outside of Britain, do you know?"

"Yeah, he told me he'd wait until after the Pettigrew trial is over in case anyone holds a grudge. Did you, I mean, you're… almost the same age, aren't you?"

Harry tried not to think about the implications of Barty being about Sirius' age when it came to their—thing, and instead wiped Barty's hands off his shoulders so he could hug him again.

"Mmh," Barty hummed, "they were two years above me, Sirius and his friends. We knew of each other, but we weren't close or anything."

"But you were close with Sirius' brother? Regulus? What was he like?"

"Regulus and I were acquaintances more than friends, and only really after I came into my master's service," Barty hummed in thought. "Regulus was everything Sirius was not. He wasn't a natural genius, so he tried hard in school. He was quiet, introverted. He always looked… melancholy, if you ask me."

"And Sirius was the opposite of that?"

Harry felt a pang in his chest. He didn't even know anything about Sirius except for that brief meeting last year, and then the letters they exchanged inbetween.

Barty must have noticed he was having a bit of a moment, because he found himself pulled along towards the armchairs. Sitting in the man's lap, Harry cuddled close, feet stuck between the seat and the armrest.

"Sirius was always extroverted," Barty told him, "almost to the point of obnoxiousness if I'm being honest. Him and his friends always got into trouble but they were, apparently, always charming enough to escape serious punishment. In truth, my last two years were a lot calmer after they'd left."

"But they didn't bully you, did they?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"Oh, no, I was just one of those caught in the crossfire from time to time. With my, well, father being the head of the DMLE, people generally tried not to antagonise me too much. Especially those that planned on becoming Aurors."

So Sirius had wanted to become an Auror? Or had he been one, even? Harry didn't feel like asking because he got the distinct feeling that Barty was merely humouring him by sharing some tidbits about his experiences in school. Maybe he hadn't liked school?

"That's a relief," he sighed. "Do you think we should go to breakfast? I… kinda want to see the Prophet today. Just to make sure no one, well—"

"Mhh. I daresay we'd have noticed if news had come out, Harry," Barty laughed and helped him climb off his lap. "But you're right, we should go to the Great Hall. Separately, hm?"

"Yeah… you're probably right. I'll be studying in the library for my Charms test later and come by after lunch? I might bring Luna, I haven't seen her much. Is that alright? We wouldn't be able to talk about, you know, him."

"I'll survive," Barty grinned, leaned down and kissed Harry on the forehead before shooing him outside.

Harry stayed standing in front of the door with a hand pressed to his forehead for a moment after it had closed. He blushed. That had been so sweet.

-o-

Harry was a fool. All it had taken was for him to wander down a corridor sometime after dinner, lost in thought, at an inopportune moment. 

"Mister Potter," a familiar voice drawled from behind him, and Harry stopped dead in his tracks

"Professor Snape," he answered, voice guarded and posture forcibly relaxed.

"What are you doing this close to Ravenclaw Tower at this time? Out to have a little rendezvous with your… friend?"

A rendezvous with Luna? Harry had to fight down the urge to smirk with all he had. "No, sir. I merely escorted her to her common room and wanted to take the long way back to mine."

"Mhh. Battling a bad conscience, I suppose?"

Harry stilled. "What?"

Snape used that moment to pass by him and take position in front of him. How much did he know? Had anyone else found out? The Prophet hadn't mentioned anything. Would he have to kill Snape now? Or… could he get Barty to do it for them?

"So there is empathy left in you," Snape spat out. "I believe it failed to escape even your notice that the headmaster is in bad shape ever since you maliciously attacked him in cold blood."

Harry's shoulders sagged in relief. This was about Dumbledore, and not Voldemort. "I'm… I don't even know what exactly happened that day. It was, it was all a blur, and it felt like a dream, but… I still don't want to see you, except for classes. I know you did something. I saw it."

Harry never once looked up to Snape's face, but he could hear the sneer in the man's face. "Just like your arrogant father. You know everything better, don't you? Nothing could ever get by the marvelous Harry Potter, is that not so?"

Harry didn't answer.

"And now you're not even Gryffindor enough to answer me. So you're not only a disappointment for your mother, but for your father as w–"

Snape didn't get any further than this. Harry had whipped his wand out in less than a second, and the professor crumbled before him after a lightning-fast Stupefy Barty and him had been practising a couple weeks ago. 

Clearly, he was a fool.

-o-

"And you're absolutely sure you only stunned him and did nothing else?"

"It's not like I lost control completely, professor," Harry argued and saw Barty roll his eyes in response. 

"No, you only lost control insofar as to stun one of the only two people who've started to become suspicious of us," Barty growled in his Moody voice and hobbled along beside him.

Harry felt terrible. Barty was mad at him, and it had never felt as bad as this to have someone disappointed in him.

"He said I was a disappointment to both my mother and my father," Harry pressed out, voice a lot wobblier than he wanted it to be.

"Oh," Barty said softly and stopped dead in his tracks. "You didn't mention that earlier."

"... I panicked, I just wanted you to come as quickly as possible."

Barty sighed again and pulled Harry into a hug. Harry could hear the eye whirring about, checking for potential witnesses to their closeness. "I'm amazed you didn't chop his shriveled little bollocks off, actually. Yeah, no, whatever. I'm not mad or anything, just a little stressed now. Come on, let's keep going."

They found Snape where Harry had left him: haphazardly stuffed into a closet with the invisibility cloak thrown over him. Barty took it off the man and looked disgusted. At first, Harry thought it was because of Snape, but then he held the cloak at arm's length until Harry took it.

"Oh, your father made you wear one, didn't he?" Harry asked, rather insensitively. He could tell because Barty's face closed off immediately. "Sorry! Sorry! Let's just take care of Snape for now!"

Barty nodded, still with that defeated look on his face, and stared down at the unconscious potions master. "I'll… it might be a blessing in disguise, Harry. Getting the better of Snape like this… I hadn't expected him to go down without a fight. This opportunity… no. I can't not use it."

It felt more like Barty was talking to himself. He got Moody's wand out and pointed it at Snape. The unconscious man turned into a bat, still sleeping, and Barty stuffed it into the pockets of his big leather coat.

"I will take care of him. Be surprised when he is declared missing tomorrow."

"You'll… are you going to kill him?" Harry didn't know whether he was excited or grossed out by that idea. Maybe he was just grossed out by his own excitement.

"Hmm, no," Barty mused. "I will tranquilize him further, and then I will ask my master what I am to do with the traitor. The way I know him, he will want to take care of him himself."

"So it was actually a good thing?"

Barty couldn't quite keep the grin off his face. "No, Harry, it was very much a bad thing you did—but lucky for you, you got me to take care of you when shit hits the fan. Please don't go around stunning more Light-affiliation wizards and witches, yes?"

"Got it," Harry nodded. "Next time, I will stun a Dark-affiliation wizard to shake things up."

"Oh, you menace," Barty growled and pulled him into another hug. "You are a terrible boy, and I never want you to change."

"I don't think I could even if I tried," Harry laughed, relieved, and returned the hug with all he had. "I'm really glad I have you—and him too, I guess—to take care of my messes now."

"I'll let you know how it went once I know more," Barty said quietly and let go of him. "Get under your cloak. Did anyone see you take this route?"

"Uh, no. Nobody."

"Good. Return to your dorm immediately. Slip in with other returning students and immediately go to your bed. Are the curtains drawn?"

"They always are, yes."

"Warded? Like I taught you?"

"Warded like you taught me."

"That's my boy," Barty crooned. "Get into bed now. You went there straight after you escorted Luna home."

"Got it!" Harry nodded and let go of Barty to pull his cloak out of his satchel again. "And Barty? Thank you. Really, I mean it. For everything."

"Silly boy," Barty laughed, but his eyes looked a little wet. "Off you go now. I'll see you at breakfast."

Harry nodded, threw the hood of the cloak over his head, and cast a silence spell on his feet before running off towards Gryffindor Tower.

-o-

A letter arrived for Harry on Wednesday morning. He knew that creamy parchment and ornate handwriting by now, so he nonchalantly put it into his satchel to read later, in private.

For the first time since starting at Hogwarts, he wondered why all the owls arrived at the same time each morning when all parents, friends, etc, would inevitably send their letters at different times. He also wondered whether Voldemort would be able to overcome that… spell? if he set his mind to it.

"What's that letter?" Hermione asked, direct as always.

"Oh, it's from the doctor's office I went to to get inoculated," he lied easily. "Professor Moody had them draw my blood as well because I never got magical blood work done before. Just a precaution, really."

"Oh," Hermione answered, surprised. "That's very sensible of him. Maybe I should have gotten that done as well… I'll write to my parents about it immediately!"

And with that, she was lost in her notes. Luna was late for breakfast today, and Viktor was with his classmates for a change, so Harry said goodbye to Hermione and went to an unused classroom close to the Charms classroom to read his letter in peace.

 

Dear Harry,

I trust you are well—you are in capable hands, after all.

The very same capable hands, actually, that have recently informed me about your little indiscretion. Rest assured that this morning, a Tuesday, a package with air holes poked into it arrived at my current lodgings.

I would have been irate about such foolishness if you and your protector had not dealt with it most commendably. Your cover is secure, and one thorn in my side has been dealt with most pleasingly. Do be cautious to exert more situational awareness in the future though. 

Please see to it that this letter is burned to ash, and then vanish the ash. 

But before you do that, I want to extend an invitation for the Easter holidays this year. Your protector will approach you with the details, but do consider the offer already. I should be glad to get to know both of you better: one anew, the other for the first time.

Yours,

A friend

 

Harry felt his heartbeat quicken more with each line. At the end there, the paragraph concerning the invitation looked a little different than the rest of the letter. The letters were more slanted, and the writing looked more hurried, as if it had been written quickly. Had Voldemort been debating with himself whether to extend that offer?

That seemed so human.

Right after this thought, though, Harry felt bad. He had seen another side of the man this past weekend, and when they had first gone to visit him, hadn't he? Lord Voldemort was not, or not only, a heartless monster. Because what he'd done to Karkaroff… Harry shivered and burned the letter before vanishing the ash like he'd been told.

After that, he went to his Charms class and felt like he really aced that test he'd been dreading.

-o-

News of Severus Snape's disappearance spread like wildfire on Thursday. Up until Wednesday, it had been quietly assumed that he'd had something important to do and had to leave the castle urgently without bothering to inform anyone of where he was going. All the students he was supposed to teach from Monday to Wednesday had been especially silent in their worry for him lest someone might actually go and look for him.

Not for the first time, Harry wondered whether someone like Snape would have stayed a teacher under anyone but Dumbledore because if at least roughly 80% of the school held a strong dislike for you, chances were you were a shit teacher. When he shared that observation with Barty on the weekend, the man laughed loudly.

They were inside the Defense teacher's bedroom, with Barty finally himself again, and Harry greatly enjoyed seeing him laugh so freely.

"When I found out about Snape having become a teacher here, I couldn't believe it," Barty chuckled. "He was in your parents' year at school, remember? And they were vicious to him. Well, not Lily, but the four guys. He was just as vicious back of course, part of the baby Death Eaters that he was."

"Were you part of the baby Death Eaters as well?" Harry asked and thought it a very strange visual to imagine Barty and Snape being friendly with each other.

"Me? Oh no, nonono. Remember my bio father? Noooo, word about my allegiance wasn't allowed to come out under any circumstances," Barty explained feverishly. "I was a covert Death Eater. There weren't even rumours about my affiliation with anything Dark, or I would have lost both my reputation and my ability to filch reports from my bio father's desk."

"And he hid your Dark Mark? Or were you not marked until after you left school?"

"I was marked the day we met face to face," Barty hummed with a small smile playing on his lips. "Even if he hadn't had a way to hide it, I wouldn't have left without it. I would have found a way to hide it from the other kids in the dorm."

"I see," Harry replied slowly. "And you were 15 then?"

"Turned 15 the summer before, yes. It was during winter break of my fifth year."

"And I'm too young to get the Dark Mark even though that will be me in roughly half a year?"

"... well," Barty gulped and had the decency to blush a little. "Do as I say, not as I do?"

"That's not good enough, mister," Harry smirked and shook his head. "You have no right to talk me out of this! The next time I meet him, I'll get that bloody tattoo. No objections!"

Instead of arguing, Barty beamed at Harry. "But that's all I wanted to hear, Harry: true conviction! You really want it, and not just to make me happy or whatever. Oh Harry, he'll be so proud to have you in his service!"

Barty looked proud, and Harry blushed. He still wasn't entirely used to this adults being proud of him business. They were both sprawled out on big cushions on the ground, but each with their own cushion, and Harry didn't like that anymore. He left his seat and crawled the short distance over to sit next to Barty.

Barty welcomed him with open arms, and Harry snuggled right in.

"My master told me to ask you whether… whether you'd like to come visit him during the spring holidays," Barty said quietly. "I… want to go, and badly, but I'll stay here with you if you don't want to go as well."

Harry felt a pang of fondness in his chest. "Oh Barty… you're way too sweet, stop it! Of course I want to go! He already told me in his letter that you were going to ask. Where are we going? Does he have a house? Do you? Is he staying in that old manor? Surely he isn't staying there, is he?"

"Hah, calm down, Harry," Barty laughed. "I'm, he told me you'd probably want to come, but, well. I still can't quite believe my luck. I was so afraid I was going to have to choose, and yet... you gave me everything I could have ever wanted on a silver platter."

"Don't say it like that, you're making me blush…" Harry buried his face against Barty's chest. 

"And rightfully so," Barty said with conviction. "As to your questions… he has several properties, the way I understand it. I've only seen one of them, but I don't think it'll be that one. It's just a little flat in a residential area close to Diagon. He mentioned having properties that are a bit more out of the way."

"Barty," Harry gasped. "That means I'll be seeing you for two weeks. As yourself!"

Barty held him closer in response. "I'm—not sure what that says about me, but I'm still surprised you're looking forward to seeing me that much."

"All it tells me is that you're too humble for your own good," Harry shrugged. "After all, Voldemort is not known for choosing weak and uninteresting people to surround himself with, is he? If someone as powerful as him drops everything to come save you the minute he hears you're still alive, I'd say you did something right."

Barty stilled against him. "He did that, didn't he? He left the safe obscurity of Romania on the off chance I was still useful… fuck. I never thought about it like this! He came back to Britain because of me!"

That seemed to have a profound effect on Barty. Harry realised that him getting his Hogwarts letter, and finding out about a whole other world after ten years of Dursley-induced misery, was roughly on the same level as Barty having been kept a mind-controlled prisoner by his father for 12 years. It was just… Voldemort instead of a Hogwarts letter? That metaphor was lacking, but the similarities were there.

"He did. He trusts you," Harry said. "He believed you when you told him that I'm on, on your side. On his side. And he wasn't disappointed because you truly are loyal, and you wouldn't lie to him."

Barty didn't answer but there was a suspicious sniffling, and when Harry looked up, it was to find Barty crying softly. Were those happy tears? He sincerely hoped they were happy tears! When he asked, just to make sure, Barty nodded.

"It's just… he's always been everything to me, and I suppose I never allowed myself to entertain the thought that… well…"

"That he could like you just as much?" Harry offered.

"Like? Who said anything about like?" Barty gasped, cheeks turning red. "We were at trusting just now! Loyalty! He's a Dark Lord, he doesn't do like!"

Harry felt a grin spread on his face and raised an eyebrow at Barty's antics. "Is that so? I dunno, Barty, but he seemed pretty fond of you to me."

Barty actually got up this time and started pacing the room. "Harry, I'm—not exactly the most stable person. You can't just... throw these kinda curveballs at me and expect me to function normally for the next school day."

Well, now Harry just felt bad. He thought he was merely teasing Barty a little about his very obvious obsession with Voldemort, but it seemed that he'd unearthed some serious insecurities he'd rather not have forced the man to face.

"I'm really sorry, Barty," Harry reassured the pacing man and got up, hugging himself. "I just, I thought it was so obvious that he, you know? I merely wanted to tease you a little."

To his relief, Barty stopped his pacing and shook his head. "No, I'm, I'm not mad, Harry," he said. "I just, I can't deal with these thoughts, these, well, hopes? He's, he's so far away, and I only just got him back, and—"

"Oh," Harry realised, "you still miss him terribly and you wish you were with him..."

"Yes! But also—no. I don't regret staying here with you, Harry, not at all, it's just…" Barty sighed, came over, and wrapped Harry in a big hug. "I'm just being a child. I want to have my cake and eat it too. It's not long until the Easter holidays, and then not terribly long until the third task after which we're out of here."

"And we can meet him in between? During Hogsmeade weekends, I mean. Or just on normal weekends. Who cares if anyone gets suspicious? Three months and we're out of here!"

It was bittersweet to think he wasn't going to see Hogwarts again anytime soon, but the people here had truly been kinda terrible towards him. He was sure that between Voldemort and Barty, he could surreptitiously arrange meetings with Luna, and maybe even an international portkey to Hermione every now and then, and maybe he could sometimes write a letter to Hagrid, and Sirius… well, he'd first wait for Sirius' name to be cleared, and then he'd set up a meeting with him too.

-o-

In the week after Snape's disappearance, a new teacher for Potions was announced at breakfast on Friday morning. The collective student body held their breath as an unassuming man with dirty blonde hair and rather casual robes rose when his name was called.

"I do believe Professor Seloquent will serve the school well as an interim teacher for Potions class," Dumbledore continued with the air of someone whose heart wasn't exactly in it. "Normal Potions lessons will resume as of next week. Thank you for your attention."

There was silence for a beat or two, and then the mumbling started.

"He looks nice," Harry could hear Neville from further up the table. "Normal. Did they make a mistake?"

Lavender giggled. "How many scary dungeon bats can there be, silly? Maybe your prayers were finally answered."

"I would enjoy not feeling like I have to throw up from anxiety when I walk down the stairs to the dungeons," Parvati muttered and the rest of the fourth year Gryffindors nodded in empathy.

"You lot reckon he'll just, I don't know, stay gone? Snape I mean?" Ron mused. "Guy like him must have had more than one enemy."

"Wouldn't surprise me at all if a N.E.W.T. student snapped and drowned him in the Black Lake or something," Dean shrugged. 

There was some uneasy laughter and then the conversation died down. After Karkaroff's disappearance, him having been drowned in the Black Lake had been a theory by some of the older students as well. 

That's when Hermione leaned over to Harry to whisper conspiratorially into his ear: "You know, both Karkaroff and Snape used to be Death Eaters… what if someone is targeting Death Eaters? I mean, I'm not saying it's Moody, but what if it was?"

Harry did not like the rush of emotion that was coursing through his body at that statement. Still, he kept his expression neutral like Barty had taught him for dealing with the likes of Dumbledore, Snape or ministry personnel.

"I think he is more bark than bite, Mione," Harry shrugged. "He wants to keep a low profile and be done with the school once the year is out." He lowered his voice even more. "Remember? He wants to tutor me and let me live where there's only people who are nice to me. He can't afford to be hunting retired Death Eaters and potentially being found out."

Hermione nodded grimly. "I'm sorry Harry, that was uncalled for. I shouldn't have—I'm sorry. He has your best interest at heart, I should know that."

"It's fine," Harry lied even though it wasn't. "It was a logical conclusion, and you're very good at these sorts of leaps. Maybe it's the right idea though? Maybe someone out there is hunting traitorous Death Eaters? Someone who stayed loyal I mean, someone with a grudge. But since we don't have a list of covertly loyal Death Eaters… it could be anybody. Seems like everyone and their mothers was a follower back in the day."

"Ugh, you're right," Hermione sighed. "I might look into it more, but I still have so much to prepare for leaving Great Britain with Viktor…"

"Don't stress yourself, Hermione," Harry said. "We don't have to play detective every year."

Hermione snorted out a chunk of her porridge at that and was mortified as she dabbed at her chin. "Harry Potter," she finally wheezed. "Are you growing up?"

"I suppose I am," Harry chuckled and wondered if maybe… she was right.

-o-

"Oh you're such a child, Harry Potter," Luna chided him as she drew card after card. "Keeping all those mean cards just so I would have my hands full."

"I didn't specifically mean for you to draw all those," Harry defended himself while trying to keep his cackling in check. "I had originally planned on Alastor getting all those but I think he's using his eye to win."

Barty gasped in mock-indignation. "I would never!"

Luna turned her (not quite serious) glare on Barty instead. "No? Never? What if I don't believe you?"

"What is it with these witch hunts," Barty glared right back. He could barely keep himself from that particular giggle Harry knew he had that Alastor certainly did not have. "I have half a mind to give both of you a detention so I have a reason to beat you every evening of the week. Fair and square, of course. We don't cheat in this house."

"Oh it is on," Luna accepted, grinning. "But you take out the eye next round!"

Barty made a face that didn't look like Alastor at all and Harry rolled his eyes fondly.

"Stop being a baby, Alastor," Harry giggled. "If you are so fair and square about playing, not having the eye in won't change anything, right?"

"You two are menaces," Barty growled. "Menaces, I say!"

But he still reached up and took out the eye. A gesture of his hand conjured an eye patch, and he put that over his empty eye socket. Harry was glad because it looked kinda gross though he'd never tell Barty that. Not that it was his own face of course but… well. He really couldn't wait for the time when he could just be with Barty in his own body.

Coincidentally, the next game worked out to be a clear loss for Barty and Harry, and then, not quite as coincidentally anymore, another, and finally, a third one. Luna glared at Barty again.

"Don't you dare tell me this was a coincidence," she laughed good-naturedly. "You're a liar and a cheat, Alastor Moody!"

Barty had the decency to blush and popped the eye back in as he opened his mouth to reply. Instead of speaking, though, he shut it again and watched his office door. Harry and Luna sobered up and followed his gaze.

It opened shortly afterwards, and two men in Auror uniforms came in.

"Alastor," one of them greeted. "You have a minute for us? It's about a case. We need your judgment, and your observations wouldn't be amiss either."

"Kingsley," Barty greeted back and Harry was once again relieved that the man was so well-prepared. "And John. Is this about the disappearance of one Severus Snape?"

Kingsley threw an uneasy glance at Harry and Luna. "We'd rather discuss this in private, Alastor. If you're… finished?"

He pointedly looked at their deck of playing cards and the three empty cups of tea on the table.

"He lost," Luna informed the two Aurors. "And badly so. All is once again right with the world. Come on, Harry."

Harry nodded and followed her outside after briefly pressing his leg against Barty's under the table.

When they were well on their way to Ravenclaw tower, away from prying eyes in an empty corridor, Luna looked over at him.

"Will not-Alastor be alright with those Aurors?"

"Probably, yeah," Harry sighed. "He's well-prepared."

"When will we tell him? That I know he's not really Alastor Moody, I mean."

"I've been… I've kinda been procrastinating on that," Harry admitted. "Maybe we should tell him this weekend? Or maybe I should tell him alone, and then he can stress out in peace and make up his mind on whether he can tell you who he really is."

Or ask Voldemort whether he's allowed to tell Luna about his real identity, he added mentally. Maybe if she swore a Vow to keep their plot secret… 

They said goodbye at the eagle statue and Harry made his way back to Gryffindor Tower on his own. Without Snape potentially roaming the halls, things were a lot less stressful in the evenings, he mused. Maybe he could get Barty to get rid of Filch, too? He snorted. Barty wasn't his attack dog, of course, but he kinda got the appeal of having followers who did your bidding now.

Add another similarity between him and Voldemort to the list, he thought wryly. Maybe he should write the man a letter? Accept his invitation for Easter break all formally… who knew what else he'd learn during those two weeks.

Chapter 17

They had DADA after breakfast the next day. To Harry's relief, Barty didn't look tired or wrung out, the way he might have after a grueling session of Auror-induced cross-examination. Maybe they really had just come for his advice…

Since he didn't have a reason to stay after class without looking suspicious, Harry followed Hermione out but threw a glance back to see Barty wink at him. He tried winking back, but he'd never quite mastered the skill with one eye so it must have been more of a deliberate blink from Barty's point of view.

The soft chuckling he could hear from inside the classroom did little to assuage his slight embarrassment. 

"What's he laughing about?" Hermione asked idly.

"I think I saw him take a look at the essays we had to hand in before I left," Harry lied easily.

"Oh," Hermione replied, brows drawn together, "I think I saw Crabbe handing his in last. You know…" She lowered her voice. "I wonder whether what Viktor told me is true. He said pretty much all Purebloods in Wizarding Great Britain are actually related as little as two generations back. Sometimes I wonder whether… no, that's rude. Don't mind me."

"Sometimes you wonder whether they're all inbred and that's why some of them are so shitty?"

Hermione looked scandalised and flushed hilariously fast. "Harry," she gasped. "I never said –! I mean, ugh. You're terrible."

"Don't worry," he shrugged. "It's not insensitive if it's true."

With Voldemort being a half-blood, and Dumbledore being a half-blood, and both of them said to be the strongest wizards of their generations, Harry had, in truth, started to wonder about the whole Pureblood Supremacy thing. His muggleborn mother had been an extraordinary witch, hadn't she? And Hermione, also muggleborn, could probably defeat their whole year in combat at the same time if she set her mind to it.

"It's all a load of bollocks anyway," he added. "That blood thing. Ridiculous. I hate it."

"It'll be a little different in France," Hermione sighed. "They call muggleborn 'nouveau sang', new blood, and it's actually cherished to come from obscurity. I'm sure it's not all sunshine and roses of course, but… not fighting against a system that is inherently against me from the start, well. It appeals to me."

Harry didn't like the way Hermione's shoulders trembled, so he pulled her into an empty side corridor and gave her a hug.

"You'll do so well in France," he promised her. "You and Viktor both. And I'll come visit you with international portkeys, okay? And once I've overhauled the government, maybe you want to come back."

"You're silly," Hermione sniffled and hugged him back. "You're a silly, silly boy, Harry, and I love you a whole lot."

Oh. Well that feeling was new. He knew she meant it platonically, and that was also the spirit in which he received it, but it still served to patch one of the little holes in his soul. How curious to think he hadn't even known those existed.

"I love you too, Hermione," he replied and they stayed there, hugging, until they had to run to make it to their next class.

-o-

That evening found Harry outside the DADA office once again.

"They're soon going to charge me for two people if you keep turning up every evening," Barty laughed when he opened the door for Harry.

Harry threw a meaningful glance toward the trunk that contained the real Alastor Moody and Barty snorted. "You mean three people? And don't pretend you don't like it when I turn up."

"Quite the contrary," Barty admitted easily. "I always have half a mind to be sad whenever you don't turn up – even though the essays I need to mark all take a backseat once you're here. I just wished the last task took place before the exams so I could get out of correcting them…"

"Whose idea was it anyways to schedule the last task so late that the whole term goes longer than usual? The task is on the 24th of June, right? Hermione said that up until the 23rd, they're writing exams, and then there's a whole week of nothing after the task."

"Mhm," Barty answered, lost in thought. "Wait, exam results were delivered by owl during the break, right? So if we leave at the end of the year… I don't actually have to mark anything!"

"But you said you loved teaching," Harry reminded him, confused.

"I do, I truly do," Barty answered with a put-upon sigh, "but everything that comes with it is a drag. I'll much prefer simply tutoring you in the coming years."

Harry forgot his consternation about the long school year and felt excitement bubble inside his stomach. "That's really happening, huh? I can't really believe I won't have to see the Dursleys ever again…"

"Want me to kill them for what they did to you?"

Harry snorted in exasperation. "Barty… you said you don't like killing people."

Nevertheless, there was a… strange sort of rush thrumming through Harry's veins at the idea of Barty being so ready to kill for him. Not that he'd ever say yes, but to have so much power… 

"I don't, but I'd still do it for you," Barty replied and took Harry's hand in his. "I'm not gonna rush you but the offer still stands. Change of topic: can you get the map out? I'll be changing back any minute now."

Harry nodded and pulled the map out of his satchel while they made their way to the bedroom. 

"There's no one close," Harry said after activating it and Barty hummed in relief as he took off the leg and the eye and started changing back. "You know, Barty, I feel like you're getting thinner each time I see you change back…"

"Polyjuice isn't meant to be taken this often," Barty explained, sounding embarrassed, and went over to his wardrobe.

He pulled out robes that looked Alastor's size but turned out to be the dove grey ones Harry had gotten him when Barty cancelled some kind of glamouring spell on them.

"The transformations are taking their toll, didn't you say that once?" Harry asked. "Is it… bad? I could order some potions or something via owl mail if that would help."

"Ugh, no," Barty replied as he started taking Moody's too-big clothes off. (Harry turned around half out of politeness and half because he started blushing.) "The last thing I need right now is more potions. I hate the smell, I hate the texture – I hate everything about medicinal potions."

A hand on his shoulder had Harry turn around, and he grinned when he saw Barty in properly fitting clothes once more.

"You look nice, even if you're being a big baby," Harry told him and went in for a hug. "I'll be looking after you like a hawk during the break, you know? I know all about balanced meals now thanks to Hermione."

"I'll be a good boy and eat my greens," Barty promised with a chuckle and let his hand run up Harry's back to bury it in the curls on the back of the boy's head.

"See that you do," Harry said lamely and closed his eyes.

It felt really nice, having his hair played with like that, so he let his own hand reach up and tangle gently in Barty's hair. Barty's head sagged forwards almost instantly and landed on Harry's shoulder when he began to scratch at the man's scalp. Harry thought he quite enjoyed having that profound an effect on someone.

"You're so adorable sometimes," Harry laughed and continued scratching further up. 

Barty merely hummed in response and clung tighter to him. With the man this distracted, Harry threw a glance over at the map lying next to him on a dresser while he kept petting and stroking Barty's hair. For once, it seemed like absolutely no one was about to disturb them, so Harry brought his other hand up to Barty's face and made the man look up.

Those pretty blue eyes looked right back into his, and Harry couldn't help but smile again. And then, instead of talking more, he pulled Barty towards him and kissed him. Barty's eyes fluttered shut like startled butterflies, and, wow, he really should just stop it with the metaphors.

Instead, Harry leaned back against the dresser with his hips and drew Barty in closer. There was a helpless sort of sound coming from the man, and then he stepped in, crowding Harry against the dresser.

Harry was about to say something, but Barty merely shook his head and continued kissing him, so Harry happily humoured him. They hadn't kissed all that often since that first time after the second task, but it still wasn't as sloppy as it had been back then.

Barty was gentle, like he always was with Harry, but there was a hunger there, too. From the way his lips pressed against Harry's to the careful yet firm grasp he had on Harry's waist, Barty was signalling so much want that Harry felt his head start to swim.

When a warm tongue pressed against his lips, coaxing, Harry opened his mouth reflexively and a moan tumbled out.

There was an answering, shuddering groan from Barty, and Harry let his fingers tighten in the man's blonde hair. He was glad about the dresser steadying him because somehow, his knees felt rather weak at the moment.

"Harry," Barty gasped when they parted for air, and rested his forehead against Harry's. "You – it's so good. You're so good for me."

Harry could merely nod in response and moved in for another kiss. He wanted more of that exciting, heady feeling taking root deep inside his tummy, and Barty obliged him happily enough.

They spent a good while snogging, and when they looked up into each other's eyes again, they were both flushed and glowing and giggly.

"Never believed I'd actually get to kiss anyone like this," Barty admitted as he stroked Harry's cheek. "For the longest time I, well, it's sad really, but for the longest time, I thought I'd have to die in Azkaban, and later down in that basement, and now I'm here, Harry, and I can't even believe my luck."

As always when Barty gave little glimpses into his horrible past, Harry felt a pang of pity. Yet this time, there was also a surge of possessiveness coursing through his veins. Barty was his now, they had a thing, and Harry Potter always looked out for the few people who cared about him.

"I'll never let you be incarcerated again," Harry promised in a voice that was decidedly rougher than he was used to from himself. "If anyone tries, I'll stop them. I'll help Voldemort win the stupid ministry over, and then I'm clearing your name, and then no one can ever attack you or lock you in again without committing treason."

Barty looked at him as if he'd grown a second head but Harry didn't care. He knew those plans were grand, he did, and he was still going to make all of them come true.

"Don't argue," he said when Barty opened his mouth. "I mean it. You stood by me when all of Hogwarts wore those stupid badges and made my life miserable, and you came clean about your involvement in everything of your own volition. You're my, my – I like you a lot, and I will make sure that nothing bad happens to you."

Barty was quiet. Harry half feared he was going to be laughed at, and that Barty would tell him that silly teenagers shouldn't make promises they couldn't possibly hope to keep,  but instead… he got another kiss, and a warm look from those blue eyes.

"I'll hold you to that," Barty said softly. "And I promise, in turn, that you'll never have to live anywhere you don't want to live ever again. I'll protect you from… from everyone."

And just like Barty hadn't laughed at a silly teenager promising to overhaul British wizarding society for him, Harry didn't laugh at a wanted fugitive (thought dead) promising to keep the world at bay for him.

-o-

Since it was only two weeks until the start of Easter break, Harry and Barty didn't actually get to visit Voldemort in the interim like they'd planned. In a conversation with Barty, Harry had found out that while the Aurors hadn't outright voiced it, their questions had been relatively poignant in that clearly, he was at least a bit of a suspect in the disappearance of Igor Karkaroff and Severus Snape.

So they had to keep a low profile.

The subject of Luna potentially being allowed to know Barty's real identity had also, just as Harry predicted, stressed the man greatly. Barty wanted his little cousin to know, and badly, but Voldemort had already vetoed anyone but Harry knowing. And by vetoed, Barty meant Voldemort had explicitly forbidden it and Harry had learned that doing anything Voldemort had forbidden was not something Barty did. Ever.

Harry mulled about these things on his way to Potions class on Friday afternoon. Even in week two, it still felt surreal to climb the stairs to the fourth floor instead of going down into the dungeons. Potions class was now held in an airy corner classroom that had two walls lined with windows. The atmosphere was no longer one of doom and gloom, but rather one of a young-ish, spirited professor getting to teach something he loved.

The difference was so striking, in fact, that the first lesson had passed by in a blur for most of them. Professor Seloquent had started the lesson by explaining the potion, explaining the effect each ingredient had and, finally, explaining each step before having them get started.

Not very surprisingly, there had been no explosions the first week. Even Ron and Neville's potion had been a dark red that looked almost like the purple it was supposed to be if you held it against the light. (Neville had cried and stayed behind to share a bit of his tale of woe with potions with the new professor.)

Harry followed Hermione to their shared workspace and put his satchel down before walking over to the fourth year shelf to get his cauldron and their personal ingredients and tools.

The class listened to the professor's explanations, occasionally participated, and was eventually allowed to brew the potion while professor Seloquent walked the rows and helped and advised. It was… nice. Almost like cooking.

Harry fell into a bit of a trance as he cut and diced and crushed, but then he heard a familiar name and perked up. 

"–ssor Moody will return next year?" Lavender aked.

"I don't know," Parvati answered in a low voice. "Father says the appointment was only allowed because the headmaster strongly pushed for him to be appointed. I mean, not like they have a big bucket of candidates to choose from for DADA, but apparently professor Moody used to have a record when he was an Auror."

"The paranoia thing, yeah," Lavender agreed. "But he seems pretty sane to me to be honest. Like, I expected way worse?"

"Father's letter certainly made him sound a lot worse," Parvati giggled while she kept crushing delicate clover roots. "He's gnarly to look at but I'd still choose him as my teacher over someone like Lockhart."

The girls both laughed about that for a bit and then Lavender hummed in thought. "You think he'll be the first DADA teacher to stay more than a year? I kinda like him to be honest."

"Uh-uh, he won't," Parvati answered with a shake of her head. "They all suffer a terrible fate, all of them. I wonder how the headmaster continues bribing people into accepting the position."

"Yeah, it's uncanny," Lavender sighed. "But he's already so broken and old… I hope his fate is more like professor Lupin's was, of having a dangerous secret slip out, you know? Maybe he has a thing for dolls in frilly dresses and everyone will find out or something…"

The girls giggled again, and Harry stopped listening to their gossiping. That supposed curse on the DADA position… did it apply to the original Alastor Moody who had already suffered a harsh fate by being incarcerated? Or did that curse not care for the name signed onto the contract but rather for the one standing in front of the class, teaching?

He'd have to ask Barty about that, and soon!

"Mr Potter, do be careful with those whitethorn weed roots," a deep melodic voice to his right recommended. "Diced, not annihilated."

"Oh! Professor Seloquent!" Harry gasped and looked down at the battlefield on his cutting board. "I'm so sorry, I'll do it again – and better – immediately!"

"No worries, mr Potter," the man assured him. "I only meant to save you from inadvertently adding these to your potion. Your potion which, if I may say so myself, already looks well on its way to becoming another O. I'd hate to see such progress destroyed."

"Thank you, professor," Harry replied sheepishly as he vanished the destroyed roots and started cutting anew.

He watched as professor Seloquent moved over to help Neville adjust his grip on the knife handle and shared a glance with Hermione

"Strange, isn't it?" she asked. "What a difference one friendly face can make."

"You have no idea," Harry laughed and went back to working on his new whitethorn weed roots.

What a difference, indeed… this time, he paid attention to his cutting, but he was still a little lost in daydreams of being tutored by Barty for the next two years. Now he just had to get rid of that pesky curse before anything happened to Barty – after all, he'd promised to look out for him.

-o-

Unfortunately, Barty had no idea about the particularities of the curse, or whether it was truly anything more than a (very unlikely) statistical anomaly. They resolved to ask Voldemort about it during the break. After all, a master of curses ought to be good at breaking curses, too, lest the curser be undone by a mistake they made and couldn't fix.

It was now just one week until the break, and for the first time since he'd started attending Hogwarts, Harry didn't have to put his name down on the list of kids staying in Hogwarts. He watched a couple kids walk up to it in the evenings and hurriedly write their names down and wondered whether he, too, had always looked as shifty.

Idly, he wondered whether anyone would even notice that he was leaving. McGonagall maybe? She might tell Dumbledore. 

In the end, he didn't have to wait long. On Thursday, after Transfiguration, professor McGonagall asked him to stay behind after class.

"Mr Potter," she greeted him with a tired smile.

Harry didn't even know whether Dumbledore had told his deputy headmistress what had really happened when he'd been "down with wizard flu." His stomach made somersaults due to a sudden onset of nerves.

"Professor McGonagall," he greeted back. "You wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes, indeed," she answered and pulled out the list from the common room. "I wanted to ask whether you forgot to put your name down."

"No, professor, I did not. I thought… with the tournament happening, I thought it'd be a good idea to just relax back home? Get away from the magical world for a bit, you know?"

She nodded slowly, realisation dawning. "I understand, mr Potter. You are under a lot of pressure, are you not? It's not fair, none of it, I just want you to know that. We're not allowed to help, but let me give you just one piece of advice – if you're afraid of the third task, just… don't try to be a hero. Everyone is already proud of you just for participating as well as you did. You don't have to prove anything to anyone."

Harry had to look away because he was still partly afraid of there being more legilimens than just Dumbledore and Snape in Hogwarts. Fortunately, professor McGonagall interpreted this as him being shy or afraid or something, because she sighed and put a hand on his shoulder.

"We're all rooting for you, mr Potter."

"Thank you, professor," he nodded and hurried out of the room.

If they were all rooting for him that much, why had nobody shown it during that initial state of naked panic he'd existed in between the goblet and the first task? Ridiculous!

-o-

On Saturday, after breakfast, he joined Luna on the way down to the carriages. Hermione was going to stay in the castle with Viktor, so it was just the two of them because Barty, being a teacher, was going to Apparate out on his own. Ostensibly, Moody was going to spend his break away from people in general and children in particular and that was so in character that not one person had questioned it.

When they arrived at the previously horseless carriages, Harry stopped and stood stock fucking still

"What are those?" he asked Luna quietly but intensely. 

There were great big beasts that didn't deserve the name 'horse' strapped in front of the carriages. They had leathery wings and dead, pale eyes and were so thin Harry was afraid they would snap if a stiff breeze hit.

"Oh, those are the thestrals," Luna shrugged. "Only those who've seen someone die can see them. Are you… wait, are you seeing them for the first time now?"

Harry felt as if someone had bound an iron band around his chest and was pulling it closed. He had ridden these carriages when they'd arrived the past September, and there definitely hadn't been skeletal black horses with dead eyes pulling them then.

Karkaroff…

"Let's just… get inside the carriage," Harry choked out and made his way to one of the carriages further back.

Luna followed him and spelled the door shut behind her.

"I'm not going to prod, but I am here if you want to talk," she offered. "Personally, I could see them the very first time I rode the carriages when I returned home for winter break during my first year. My mother died when I was nine. She was a spellcrafter, and one of her inventions went awry."

Barty's aunt, Harry's mind helpfully supplied. 

"I'm sorry for your loss," Harry forced out. "I think for me it's… the dementors from last year. I've done a lot of soul-searching this year, and… I faced my demons, so to speak. Whenever they drew near, I could hear my mum begging for my life, and I think I finally remembered that I saw her die, you know?"

Funny how easy it was becoming for him to lie through his teeth.

Luna nodded solemnly. "I understand. You don't need to say anything more."

She held his (cold, shaking) hand during the entire ride to the train station and then secured an empty compartment for them. Harry still felt numb. He knew he'd watched Karkaroff be killed by Voldemort, but the gravity of that event hadn't truly sunk in until right now.

He'd watched someone die. Voluntarily. He could have chosen not to be there, and he could have also chosen to maybe try and save that person. But the fact was that he hadn't… 

And the even scarier part was that, if presented with that same situation again, he wouldn't have chosen any differently. Karkaroff had been the reason Barty's meticulously-kept cover had been blown, and he'd been directly responsible for the terrible chain of events that had thus been set in motion for the poor man.

So really… wasn't it… somehow just? To get revenge like this? Clearly, there was no reckoning coming for traitors from the ministry or the Wizengamot or whoever doled out punishments. So maybe, taking revenge into one's own hands…

He mulled about these things for the rest of the train ride. They didn't talk much, but Luna herself seemed to be deep in thought so she probably didn't mind his boring company. The only distraction was the lady with the trolley, and Harry got some chocolate frogs and pumpkin pastries for both of them. They ate them silently.

-o-

When they arrived at King's Cross, it was already getting dark. Harry politely greeted Xenophilius, Luna's dad, and hugged Luna goodbye. They promised to meet an hour before the train was due to leave after the break, at exactly this spot, and then Harry rolled his trunk towards the muggle exit. 

He didn't have a meeting place with Barty because as it turned out, Barty had trouble navigating the muggle side of Great Britain. He'd been told just to leave the platform and then to make his way through King's Cross until there were no other wizards or witches around.

Harry supposed Barty would be trailing him and move in once the coast was clear. So he obediently left the platform and then leisurely made his way towards one of the bigger exits of King's Cross that he knew. 

Soon enough, two men fell in step with him on either side. They were both wearing muggle business suits and the one to his left grinned at him from a middle-aged face Harry had never seen before.

"Everything alright?" Barty asked and Harry nodded quickly, eyes wide.

"Yes, I'm just surprised both of you came here together."

Barty blushed faintly and looked to the ground as they were walking. "Master did not trust me with King's Cross on my own," he admitted with a self-deprecating little grin.

Harry cautiously looked to his right. When he did, Voldemort looked down at him with a raised eyebrow from another nondescript face. "I did indeed not," the tall man agreed. "He has not stepped foot in the muggle world in thirteen years – I was not going to risk him stepping into the street because he was expecting slow carriages instead of speeding cars."

There was a muffled sound of outrage from his left and Harry couldn't help but snort. Voldemort had made a joke. And a funny one, too! 

"I think those will be an interesting two weeks," Harry said, still a little baffled.

"Mh, quite," Voldemort agreed and led them out a lesser-frequented side exit

A short Apparition later, they found themselves on a gravel road leading up towards a house Harry could just make out between the trees. Since it was already dark, the light coming from its windows served as a beacon, and Harry found himself already looking forward to arriving.

"How was your trip, Harry?" Barty asked, sounding worried. "You looked a little peaky when you stepped off the platform."

"I wasn't prepared to suddenly be confronted with my new ability to see thestrals," he shared dryly. "That threw me off."

Instead of answering, Barty waved a hand over himself and the glamours evaporated. He finally looked like himself again, and he was wearing fine robes Harry hadn't seen him in before. Voldemort must have gotten Barty some new clothes then. Made sense that he'd be able to access his vaults again now that he had a proper body once more

"I'm sorry you were blindsided by that," Barty said earnestly, reached out and held his hand as they walked up the gravel path.

Harry clung to him tightly. And to think he'd be able to have this sort of comfort all the time so very soon..!

They drew closer to the house, and Harry was not surprised to see that it was easily double the size of the Dursleys' house.

"That's a big house," Harry commented as they drew closer. 

"Not by Pureblood standards," Voldemort informed him dryly. "This place has five bedrooms which is merely a small weekend retreat in the eyes of many of your classmates."

Harry frowned because he could very well see the likes of Draco Malfoy scoffing at a house even though it had its own gravel road leading up to it.

-o-

The inside of the house, small mansion, whatever, was… surprisingly normal. There were no skull candleholders, and no sounds of rattling chains or screams coming from some sort of secret torture dungeon.

Instead, there was a small fire dancing inside the fireplace and Barty went to stoke it when they entered the sitting room.

"I like this place," Harry realised and let his fingers trail over the back of a brown leather couch. "It's... cozier than I expected."

Voldemort looked at him with a wry expression. "Did you expect me to live in a dark, foreboding castle with perpetual rain clouds hanging overhead?"

Harry had the decency to blush. "Maybe not quite that dramatic, but… yeah. Kinda? I expected something a little more sinister."

"Sorry to disappoint but I was always, and remain, a hedonist," Voldemort replied with a strange expression and left the room.

"Did I spook him?" Harry asked when Barty came over and wrapped him in a hug.

"No, he's just getting himself a glass of wine to go along with dinner," Barty laughed. 

Dinner sounded lovely, and Harry's tummy growled in sympathy. 

"I already prepared everything before we came to get you," Barty told him and motioned to a dining table tucked into a corner.

There was an honest-to-god roast with potatoes and vegetables, complete with little saucepans and delicate glasses to drink from. Harry felt his mouth water at the sight of it and quickly followed Barty over there.

When Voldemort returned with a bottle of wine in one hand and a glass in the other, Harry was surprised to see he had shed a layer of the elaborate robes he'd been wearing when they arrived in favour of a simple pair of trousers and a long sleeved tunic.

He looked relaxed, and utterly at home. 

"You changed over the last weeks," Harry said slowly. "Didn't you?"

"Oh?" Voldemort replied fixing Harry with his uncanny red eyes. "Maybe I did. True sleep after thirteen years without will do that to you."

There even was the ghost of a smile on the man's face. Had he truly not slept for that long? Then again, he had been this ghost-like wraith thing, hadn't he? 

"I'm sorry you had it rough," Harry finally said after mulling over the idea of not being able to sleep. "All three of us had a rough time, really."

"I'm quite ready for the hard part of life to be over," Barty agreed with a sad smile and filled both Harry's and his own glass with what looked like pumpkin juice.

Voldemort eyed both of them for a beat or two before raising his glass, now filled with a wine so dark red it looked almost purple. Harry was reminded of Ron and Neville's potion from a couple weeks ago and had to grin.

"To unlikely alliances," Voldemort said with a nod to Harry, "and new beginnings."

Here, he looked at Barty who raised his glass as well. "To a bright future."

Harry lifted his glass as well and drank when the other two did. He didn't feel like making a toast – he only felt like eating, and then maybe collapsing into bed. Speaking of beds…

"Do I Iet my own room?" he asked Voldemort after they'd already started eating.

To his surprise, the man looked like a piece of roast had suddenly gone down the wrong pipe. There was no coughing though, only a long-suffering look. So maybe Harry was only going to get the magical equivalent of a cot after all? So a magical cot, like at the Weasley's – the magical part of it being the fact that it was more uncomfortable than should be humanly possible.

"I am not letting you share a room with Barty," Voldemort said instead after he'd dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. "At least… not yet."

Barty cleared his throat, clearly embarrassed, but Harry frowned in confusion.

"No, I didn't mean it like that," he explained. "At the Dursleys', my mom's muggle relatives, I lived in the cupboard under the stairs for the longest time, and whenever I was at the Weasley's, I only got a cot in Ron's room. So I thought I'd ask before I start getting my hopes up."

"Cupboard under the stairs?" Barty asked incredulously. "You mentioned that before, back when... I meant to ask: didn't they have enough rooms?"

"Uh, my cousin had two bedrooms," Harry shrugged. "But like I said, they didn't like me much because I made strange things happen."

Barty knew about that of course, but he doubted that Voldemort did.

"Afraid of your power, were they?" Voldemort asked with a strange tone of voice. Almost… nostalgic? "Trying to keep you small because they knew you were different, and being different was frowned upon?"

Harry nodded, surprised. "Yeah. That's… really accurate, actually. They called me freak most of the time."

"Did they now…" Voldemort broke their eye contact and looked down into his wine glass. "What a singularly cruel fate for the saviour of Wizarding Britain."

"But you won't have to return there ever again, just like I promised," Barty reminded Harry and reached across the table to hold his hand. "Only a bit more than two months after we return, and then you and I can live here full-time!"

"So I do get my own room?"

"You do, indeed, each get your very own room," Voldemort said, amused, after being shaken from his earlier reverie by Harry's question. "I will show you your room after dinner, Harry."

His very own room in a magical home, Harry realised. So what if the house belonged to the Dark Lord? He wasn't being very Dark Lord-y at the moment, and Harry could see on Barty's exposed left forearm that the Dark Mark was still as pale as when he'd first seen it.

"I'd like that a lot," he replied and attacked the rest of his dinner with a vengeance.

-o-

After dinner, Harry and Barty were both yawning unabashedly, so Voldemort directed them up the stairs near the front entrance. The first floor consisted of a broad, straight corridor illuminated by wall torches and a large window covering most of the wall next to the stairwell. Not that the waning moon provided much light, though.

There were five doors leading off the opulent but not tacky corridor, two on each side and one at the back wall. 

"My room is the one at the end," Voldemort informed him. "Yours is the one to the right here."

Harry went to the first door on the right hand side and peeked inside. The rather spacious room held a four poster bed, a wardrobe, a dresser, a desk and (empty) book shelves. There was also another, smaller door to the left.

"Don't tell me I have my own bathroom," Harry gasped. 

"Why?" Voldemort asked, clearly confused. "Would that be a problem?"

"I've never had my own bathroom before!" Harry babbled excitedly and bounced into the room. He threw open the door and stared at the simple white tiles in awe and wonder. Showers. Long, hot, showers, and nobody peeking in, or telling him to get on with it! He could leave his things out at the sink! His toothbrush, and his hair brush, and –! "This... is literally the best thing ever."

"Glad to hear you will enjoy a bit of solitude," Voldemort said earnestly and turned to leave. "Good night, you two. Go to sleep soon."

"Of course, master. And thank you," Barty called after him and Harry echoed the last sentiment quickly before Barty came over to him. "It'll do both you and me a world of good, living here."

"I'm so glad you'll get to sleep without the worry of being found out for once, Barty," Harry sighed and went in for a hug. "No dementors, no mind control, no castle filled with your enemies… I can't even… I can't even begin to understand all that pressure all those years."

Barty hugged him back fiercely. "In the end, it was all worth it, Harry," he said with conviction. "I can't say it'd be easy, doing it all over again, but… I'm glad that path enabled me to end up where I am today. I wouldn't have it any different."

"That's sweet and all," Harry said, "but I still wish you'd had it easier. Fuck that prophecy."

"Hah, indeed," Barty nodded with a wry smile. "We'll render it void, just you see. And now, my dear Harry, you ought to sleep. If you're up first and hungry, you can go into the kitchen for a snack, alright? Or you can come wake me up, I don't mind."

"Thanks, Barty. Really. I'm… happy I'm here with you."

Barty returned Harry's smile with a sappy one of his own and leaned forward to give him a tender kiss on the lips.

"Night, Harry."

Harry looked after Barty even after he'd closed the door behind him and tried to calm his racing heart. Tender kisses like this really were his weakness…

Instead of going straight to bed, Harry went over to the window and looked out into the softly moonlit grounds for a while and let his thoughts drift. It was nice that all was quiet and calm like this. Were the thestrals already back wherever it was they lived?

Maybe the Forbidden Forest? What if he'd walked past them before, not even aware of the proximity of death's harbingers? But what did it matter? Not like anything had happened...

He ought to concentrate more on how silent everything here was. Serene. There was nothing but trees and grass, and a…

Oh no. 

A figure, slowly staggering away from the house..? But why...?

Harry bolted from his new room.

"Barty! Voldemort!" he screamed.

Both doors opened almost simultaneously, and two pairs of eyes stared at him in alarm. Barty was already in pyjamas and rubbed his tired eyes, but Voldemort was still dressed and held a quill limply between his fingers. It dripped ink onto the fancy carpet.

"There's a, there's, someone's walking along the grounds, towards the street –" Harry stuttered out, pointing towards his window. 

Barty frowned in confusion, but Voldemort cursed, dropped the book, and ran down the corridor faster than Harry had ever seen anyone run. Harry stepped hurriedly aside as Voldemort rushed past his room, threw open the window and simply… jumped down in a plume of smoke?

Harry stared after him with an open mouth and then turned on his heels to race down the stairs to the front door.

Notes:

Whoever could the mystery person be? gasp

Chapter 18

When Harry reached the front doors, a pair of arms wrapped around his chest before he could rush outside.

"Harry, stop!" Barty heatedly whispered right next to his ear. "You can't just run out there."

"But maybe he needs help!" Harry argued and tried to twist free.

"He's the Dark Lord, Harry," Barty grunted while trying to keep him contained. "If he needs help from either of us, we are already fucked."

"We need to at least check," Harry demanded and Barty finally let him go.

If he was being honest with himself, he wasn't entirely sure why he was so worried. Voldemort was able to look out for himself, of course he was, but Harry still needed to make sure everything was alright. Voldemort had only just gotten his body back! And he'd been nothing but nice to Harry even before then…

"Look, I'll go first, okay?" Barty said and drew his wand from a holster strapped to his left arm. "You stay behind me, alright? I'm pretty sure I know already who it is you saw."

"Alright," Harry nodded and held his breath as Barty cautiously opened the door.

They didn't even bother putting shoes on before creeping out and to the left where Harry's window faced. The grass was dry but cold under his sock-clad feet and Harry finally had time to wonder who the figure could be. Had it been Snape then? Was he still alive?

A hand on his chest made him stop. They had reached the corner and Barty slowly peeked around it. Not wanting to be left out, Harry bent down and looked around the corner too. 

Voldemort was already rushing across the grass in the distance. It looked like he was floating rather than running, and he had almost made it to the figure that was still slowly but steadily getting further and further away.

It was hard to see from this far away, but it looked like Voldemort drew his wand from his sleeve. When a large explosion of light signalled a powerful spell being cast, Harry was sure that yes, that'd definitely been a wand. The staggering figure seemed to come to life with that burst of magic though and started trying to evade the spells. It worked that first time, and then a second time, but the third spell struck the figure and catapulted them a couple feet away where they stayed lying on the ground.

Voldemort cast another spell and the figure started floating behind him as he made his way back to the small manor.

Harry and Barty stepped out from around the corner when the coast was clear and waited for Voldemort to arrive. As he drew closer, Harry realised it wasn't Snape after all, but rather –

"Him," Barty snarled in a dark voice Harry had never heard from him before. "I thought it was… fuck!"

Harry looked closer, and yeah, that was definitely Crouch Snr, Barty's dad. Barty had mentioned how his father was the one under the Imperious now, hadn't he?

"Settle down, Barty," Voldemort commanded in a stern voice that brooked no argument.

Barty didn't stop shaking, though he lowered the wand he'd raised upon realising who it was.

"Did he… run away somehow?" Harry asked, not liking the sudden tension.

Voldemort nodded distractedly and led them back to the front doors. "We visited him downstairs earlier today. Seeing Barty again might have overridden more of the Imperious than I had originally anticipated."

"Why don't you let me kill him already," Barty asked heatedly and raised his wand again. 

"We may still have need of him," Voldemort replied evenly, unperturbed by Barty's harsh words and harsher tone. 

Harry took a step back because he realised that this was not his conversation to take part in. Barty looked really shaken up, and Harry wondered whether he, too, would be looking at uncle Vernon the same way if he hadn't been allowed out the cupboard at all until his Hogwarts letter arrived.

"And what if he escapes again and tells everyone that you're back?" Barty growled, cancelled the glamour on his magical silver arm and used it to point at Voldemort. "I didn't give my arm just to see you waste your second chance of doing things over!"

Harry covered his mouth with his hands. He was known to be defiant and contrary in the face of authority from time to time, but even he wouldn't dare speak to Voldemort like this. And to have Barty talk to his own master like this..! He had to be really out of it to dare stand up to Voldemort this way.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed dangerously and Barty flinched and backed down immediately, fire lost.

"I am going to excuse this, Barty," Voldemort said quietly, almost lisping with the intensity of it. "I am going to excuse this because he deserves your scorn, because you are beyond tired in body and mind, and because you have heretofore served me well. I am not going to excuse behaviour like this a second time. Do you understand?"

Barty started shaking again but nodded obediently. "I'm so sorry, I – I shouldn't have… oh master, I'm so sorry, I don't even…"

Words seemed to elude him, so Harry cautiously stepped up to his side and wrapped an arm around Barty's back to steady him.

"Come on, you can apologise more in the morning. He knows how sorry you are, and that you didn't mean it." He tugged a little, and Barty started moving. "I'll bring you to bed. I'll even tuck you in, how's that sound?"

Barty nodded slowly, head hanging, and let himself be led towards the stairs by Harry. When they'd almost cleared the first flight, Harry looked back to see Voldemort still standing there, looking after them. He shot the man a grim smile, and Voldemort nodded back with an aloof sort of expression before leaving for somewhere else inside the house with the unconscious Crouch Snr.

Downstairs he'd said, right? Maybe there was a hidden torture dungeon after all...

-o-

When Harry woke up the next morning, he felt rested despite the disagreeable late-night excursion. He withstood the urge to cast a Tempus charm and went to his trunk instead. He hadn't unpacked it the evening before, so he had to sift through his things until he'd found an old alarm clock with fire engines on it that he'd scavenged out of Dudley's broken hoard.

It was only 6:30 am. Well, old habits died hard, as they said.

He went to the bathroom, yawning and stretching, and resolved to take the hottest, longest shower of his young life.

Half an hour later, he pattered down the stairs in the pretty wizarding casual wear he'd bought way back when in Hogsmeade. And had that really been last year? How fast time passed… he'd still thought he was friends with the real Alastor Moody back then.

Down on the ground floor, he made his way to the kitchen and stopped in the door when he was confronted with Voldemort sitting at the kitchen table, reading the Daily Prophet and nursing a cup of coffee. How exactly was it that you dealt with your ex-nemesis being domestic in front of you?

"Good morning," Harry improvised. "Am I allowed to help myself?"

Voldemort hesitated briefly but then made an inviting hand gesture encompassing the ice box and the stove.

"Have you eaten yet?" Harry asked as he opened the ice box to see what he was working with.

It was surprisingly full. Harry hadn't expected the Dark Lord to have a full fridge for some reason, and, to be certainly honest, he didn't have any concept of what a Dark Lord was like in his downtime. Well… he was about to find out, in any case, and wasn't that a weird concept? 

"Found something amusing?" Voldemort asked.

"Quite the opposite," Harry admitted. "No vials of blood or severed thumbs – I'm utterly disappointed. Anyway, want me to make you breakfast too?"

There was no answer while Harry rummaged around the ice box, so he turned around after putting all his ingredients on the counter.

"That a yes?"

"You know how to cook?"

"My relatives had me do most of the cooking when I was home," Harry shrugged. "I'm no Michelin chef, but it's mostly passable."

"Interesting," Voldemort commented and folded the newspaper together. "I certainly would not be averse."

Harry nodded, strangely excited to get to cook again, and on his own terms no less!

While Harry mixed ingredients together to make pancakes, Voldemort stared wordlessly out the window. Was he still tired? Had he even slept at all?

"Barty was really sorry," Harry said slowly. "I had to stay with him for a bit until he had calmed down enough to sleep."

"Mh," Voldemort hummed, seemingly deep in thought. "I am well aware his blood father is his Achilles' tendon, Harry. I will not punish him for his transgression."

"Good," Harry nodded, "good. It would have been incredibly unreasonable if you had, and I'd like to imagine that you changed."

"I never quite know whether to be amused or put out by your bratty behaviour." Voldemort turned in his chair and faced Harry who was leaning against the countertop with his hip. "I know you have questions. Let us get this over with lest you boil over like an unattended potion."

Harry smirked a little and considered that offer while he flipped the first batch of pancakes. 

"I do have many questions," he nodded, "but I don't think I can ask them all in one sitting. The most pressing matters though… you're good with curses, right?"

Voldemort raised an elegant eyebrow and took a sip of coffee. "An understatement, but yes. I am good with curses."

"Are you also good with countercurses?"

"Oh? And why would that be needed, specifically?"

"Barty and the curse on the DADA post," Harry explained quickly. "I overheard some of my classmates talking about how they're going to miss Moody once the curse takes a hold of him a couple weeks ago, and ever since then, I've been worried about Barty. What if the curse doesn't stop at the real Alastor Moody who signed the contract but instead includes Barty because he actually taught the subject?"

Voldemort looked… dismayed. "In truth, I had not considered this. How bothersome. No, we cannot have that, not at all… Worry not about the curse anymore, I will be taking care of it. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"Good, that's a relief. Considering what all happened to the last three candidates, well," Harry swallowed. "I can't have this for Barty. I promised to keep him safe."

"Did you now?" Voldemort hummed again.

Harry nodded, put the first batch of pancakes on a plate and brought it over to the table. "I did, and I will keep that promise. Anyway, second pressing question, before I forget again. Will you give me a Dark Mark if I ask for it?"

Voldemort, who'd already pulled the plate towards him, stopped with the fork halfway to his mouth and observed Harry with a shrewd expression.

"You are not having me on."

It was a statement and not a question, so Harry shrugged a little uneasy. "I'm not having you on, no," he replied though he felt a little silly as he returned to the stove.

"Mh," Voldemort replied, non-committal. "The pancakes are good. But… you need to afford me some time to ponder your request."

"I can do that," Harry agreed, suddenly anxious.

What if Voldemort said no? Would it matter in the long run? What would change if he was marked, especially with the Mark being inactive now? Could he even be marked at the moment? 

Why did he even want to be marked anyways? Because Barty was marked, and he wanted to be close to him? Or was it because…

He remembered sitting at Voldemort's feet in the decrepit old Riddle Manor, Barty next to him, and feeling strangely at peace. Voldemort had looked sickly back then in that weird golem body, but he'd still exuded an amazing sense of power, and of wisdom.

Harry blushed and flipped the second batch of pancakes over. Maybe he could understand a little better now why so many people had chosen to follow Voldemort back then – charisma, power, knowledge… 

And not having to lead was refreshing. Even with Hermione and Ron, it had always been Harry calling the shots in the end, but here… here, he could relax and let someone else take the reins for once. 

After the third batch was done, Harry brought two more plates to the kitchen table. 

"Can you put a stasis charm on Barty's plate for when he wakes up?"

Voldemort acquiesced easily and waited for Harry to finish his food before getting up.

"Follow me."

"Where are we going?"

But Voldemort was already halfway to the door, so Harry rolled his eyes and followed the man into the foyer and then through an unassuming door on the left. He found himself walking down stairs made of stone and realised quickly that they were going down into the… cellar? The dungeons?

"Is this where you brought Crouch? Is that where we're going?"

"Yes, and not quite."

The stairs segued into a short brick hallway illuminated by magical torches and led to a T-junction. They went right, into another unadorned hallway with doors leading off it to either side.

Voldemort stopped before one of the doors and turned to face Harry. His expression was indecipherable, but Harry imagined he could see a kind of dry amusement in those uncanny red eyes and the tilt of the man's lips.

"You want to take my mark?"

Harry nodded, uncertain of what was going to happen now. Was this some sort of test? 

"Regardless of your reasons – and I assume your closeness to Barty is your main motivator – I am going to show you why you are not ready."

Before Harry could ask how Voldemort could be so sure, the man had opened the door next to them with a careless flick of his hand. His natural curiosity be damned, but Harry immediately turned to take a look inside the room beyond and felt his heartbeat quicken.

"Professor Snape," he whispered faintly, feeling strangely numb.

It was indeed his (former?) Potions professor. He was sitting on the rough ground with his back to the wall, arms hanging limply from shackles attached to a hook that was driven deep into the stone behind him. Snape was sagged forwards, greasy hair hanging into his face.

The man stirred faintly when the door opened but that was all the reaction they got.

Voldemort took a step into the otherwise empty, windowless room illuminated by a single torch and beckoned Harry inside.

"I want you to kill him, Harry."

That drew a gasp from both Harry and Snape. 

"Harry?" Snape asked, and his head shot up. "Potter! No! No! Release him, the boy has done nothing, he's been an instrument used by Dumbledore and nothing more than that! Potter, you need to remember who you really are, don't let him control you!"

Harry frowned in confusion, shock at Voldemort's request momentarily forgotten. Snape's eyes were comically wide, and it looked weird with how coal-black they were. The light from the torch reflecting in them didn't make them any prettier – it only made him look more shiny and greasy.

"He doesn't control me," Harry shrugged. "I'm on his side of my own accord."

"Of your own – Potter, what are you saying!" Snape turned to Voldemort and his expression darkened. "What did you do with him?"

Voldemort smiled now, a thin, dangerous curl of his lips that made Harry suddenly really glad he wasn't on the receiving side. "What I did? Well, I am housing him for the break, for one – something few magical people have done. I have also provided him with his own room, and given him a friend. Though the last one, I fear, has not been entirely my own choice."

"A friend? What friend?" Snape looked worried now, and Harry could imagine him going through all the possibilities. He could pinpoint the moment it clicked in Snape's mind, and that searching, feverish gaze landed on Harry again. 

"Alastor Moody, Auror extraordinaire," Voldemort agreed with a smirk. "Did you and the old fool actually believe the real Alastor Moody would commit such blatant acts of impropriety and favouritism?"

"Then who…"

"You might have heard about a young man called Barty, Severus." Voldemort took a step closer. "I heard you went to school together for a time."

"Barty? That Barty? But he died… he was buried in Azkaban!"

"And yet, he was the one to resurrect me. Funny how that goes, is it not?"

Snape simply stared at Voldemort with his mouth slack and a wild look in his eyes. 

"Potter," he ground out and turned back to Harry, "Harry… whatever he has promised you, or whatever Barty has promised you in his stead – none of it is true. It's all lies, the Dark Lord deals only in lies and treachery, and you will regret this one day."

"What," Harry asked, beginning to get irritated, "like you regretted being responsible for my mother's death?"

Snape paled considerably, and Harry quickly felt his irritation turn into anger.

"You loved her, and then you signed her death sentence! Did you think she was gonna like you more if you were high up in Voldemort's new world order? You're a traitor, and a, and a bad friend – and an even worse teacher! We have a new Potions teacher now, and everybody likes him. Neville got an EE last lesson!"

Snape simply stared back incredulously. These things probably meant very little to him right now, but to Harry, they all belonged together because they completed the picture of "insufferable bastard". 

"Now that you are properly angry, Harry," Voldemort's suave voice cut in, "I repeat my earlier order. Kill him."

So it hadn't been a joke to make Snape a little afraid? Harry turned to Voldemort, gaze searching, but all he got was determination from the Dark Lord. Not a joke then – rather, the test Harry had been suspecting earlier.

"I can't do magic outside of Hogwarts without offsetting the Trace," Harry argued lamely. 

"Mh," Voldemort hummed, got out his wand, and cast a long spell with complicated wand movements. "It is rendered moot within these walls. Kill him."

Was that true? What if it was a trap to get him… well, no, that was ridiculous. If Voldemort wanted Harry seized by the ministry, there were easier ways to do it. Hesitantly, Harry got his wand out from its holster and looked down at the smooth, dark wood. A brother wand to Voldemort's. What did that even mean..?

Snape was staring at him with an unmistakable expression of shock. "Potter, you can't surely be considering –!"

"Crucio," Voldemort said, sounding almost bored.

Snape started thrashing and screaming in his bonds and Harry felt bile start to rise in his throat. It was just like Karkaroff, he reminded himself. They both deserved it for being filth, they did, he just had to grit his teeth and bear it for a moment longer, just a moment, one more –

Snape sagged again and hung limply in his shackles.

"Do you think he deserves this, Harry? For being the reason you and I have become enemies?"

Harry was startled by that question, but he had to nod. Ever since Barty had told him about Snape's (unwitting, but still) involvement, general antipathy had turned into pointed hatred, and now that he realised this, he could feel the anger slowly simmering inside him. "He deserves it," he answered. "But I'm not… I can't kill him. I'm not ready for that."

To Harry's surprise, Voldemort got a satisfied little smile on his face and drew closer to him. He didn't stop until he'd stepped up behind Harry and while their chest and back weren't touching, Voldemort took Harry's wand hand in his and pointed the wand at Snape.

"Crucio," he purred, and Harry thought his heart skipped a beat when it felt like... he himself was casting.

This time, no twitch and no scream from Snape surprised him. He could see him cramp up before it happened, and every minute movement of his wrist felt like he was a conductor for a symphony of pain. Aaand here he was again with his shitty metaphors.

Voldemort cancelled the spell, and Harry shakily exhaled. He felt weak, and his knees even more so, so he allowed himself to lean back against the tall man behind him.

"Having so much power is a sensation most heady, is it not?" Voldemort asked, his melodic voice ringing pleasantly in Harry's ears. 

With Voldemort's hand also still covering his, everything was a little too much for Harry and he didn't quite know what to say. Instead, he looked at the still-shaking figure of Snape and wondered whether he was a bad person now for being complicit in this.

"Harry," Snape almost-whimpered and looked up at him laboriously. When he saw Harry so close to Voldemort, he looked… a hurt kind of surprised. "What… what would your mother think…"

"Thanks to you, I'll never get to find out," Harry shot back.

"The Dark Lord was the one who killed her!" Snape cried out, voice hoarse from screaming.

"And I was the one who defied him in turn – three times now," Harry snarled, "just like my parents. And I won't ever do it again!"

"You can't be serious…" Snape ground out. "Everything the headmaster did for you and you just –"

Voldemort's free hand made a gesture towards Snape, and the man grew mute. He noticed soon enough and merely glared at Voldemort. Harry looked closer and noticed that Snape was… missing his mouth? That looked grotesque, so Harry looked away from Snape because of that and also because he was tired of confrontation.

"I want to go now," Harry said quietly. "I understand what you wanted to show me."

"Mhh," Voldemort hummed in agreement. 

Harry could feel the vibration against the back of his head where it rested against the man's sternum. How tall he was! And to think Harry had thought Barty, who looked so short compared to Voldemort, was tall…

(Distantly, a very vulnerable part of Harry realised he'd never been physically close enough to any adult except maybe uncle Vernon to get a feel for how tall people could get. And even with his uncle, it had only been intimidation that had the man get close to Harry. Closeness like this had been unheard of before this year except for that emotional yet short hug with Sirius at the end of his third year.)

"Come," Voldemort said and led Harry out of the room. 

When the door closed behind them and Harry still hadn't felt a lick of pity for Snape, he heaved a sigh. 

"You said you understand why I will not give you a Dark Mark?" Voldemort asked, his left hand on Harry's shoulder now.

"I can't follow all orders without hesitation," Harry answered, "and to be quite honest… I don't know whether I'll ever be ready to kill anyone just because someone tells me to do so. Even if it's you."

"Even if it is me? What a change of heart, Harry," Voldemort chuckled darkly. "But enough about that. There is another matter I must ask about. You said you defied me three times, yet I only seem to recall two. First on that fateful night in '81, and then in your first year at Hogwarts, misguided little Light soldier that you were."

"My second year too," Harry shrugged, "but you wouldn't remember it because it was technically speaking a younger version of you? I fought you in the Chamber of Secrets when you were still Tom Marvolo Riddle and killed the basilisk together with Fawkes."

Voldemort was eerily quiet, so Harry looked up searchingly. To his shock, the man had gone pale, paler even than he usually was, and he didn't even look at Harry.

"You killed the basilisk," he whispered, voice hollow. "And you fought… how? What? You must tell me everything, Harry."

The hand on his shoulder tensed, but not quite enough to hurt.

"There was this diary," Harry started, but then a portion of the wall exploded a little further down the corridor and Harry gasped. "What happened? Is – is someone attacking us?"

"No," Voldemort ground out and let go of Harry's shoulder. "I am incredibly angry right now. No, at neither you nor Barty."

Harry, whose mouth had opened reflexively to protest his innocence, closed it again. "Then who?"

"Probably a Malfoy."

"Oh yeah, Lucius Malfoy gave the diary to Ginny Weasley at the beginning of my second year because the ministry was doing raids to find Dark artefacts."

Voldemort's expression darkened considerably, and once again Harry was glad this sentiment wasn't directed at him. His voice was dangerously calm when he spoke next. "Give me a very brief run-down of events, Harry."

"Uh, okay, I'll try." Harry nodded. "Ginny wrote in the diary because it was her first year and she felt alone, but no one knew it was getting into her head. People, a ghost and a cat started turning up petrified over the course of the year because as it turned out, no one looked directly at the basilisk. Everyone thought it was me who opened the Chamber because it came out during that year that I was a parselmouth and it was just a really shitty year all around."

"Yes, I knew about the parselmouth thing," Voldemort said flatly, "but that, and you being ostracised in your second year for some reason, was about all the information I had on the matter."

"Yeah, and I totally went from saviour to enemy number one," Harry sighed. "A muggleborn Hufflepuff year mate of mine even ran away whenever I came near him during that year… anyway. We brewed Polyjuice to get into the Slytherin common room cause we thought it was Draco Malfoy who opened the chamber except it wasn't, and in the end Hermione found out it was a basilisk but she was petrified before she could tell anyone. Ron and I found the chamber, went down there, and a tunnel collapsed due to, uh, Gilderoy Lockhart but he isn't really important. So I went into the Chamber alone and you were there, or rather Tom was there, and he was corporeal because Ginny was almost dead and then I fought the basilisk cause he sicced it on me and Fawkes came and helped, and then I was bitten by the basilisk but Fawkes cried on me and then I used the basilisk fang to destroy the diary because you still wanted to kill me."

Harry felt all sorts of emotional after relating the rough story of his second year at Hogwarts, but it was nothing against Voldemort's utter pale stillness.

"I'm sorry if the diary was important to you, but your younger alter ego was trying to kill me and my then-best friend's little sister."

Voldemort was still eerily silent, and Harry was beginning to think something was going to happen. He didn't know what exactly Voldemort was about to do, but he had a feeling that heads were about to roll. Maybe Malfoy's? Lucius Malfoy's, that is.

"I am going to require the day for myself, Harry," Voldemort finally said, voice seemingly far-away. "Reassure Barty that it is not due to his outburst yesterday, will you? I am not mad at him."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Will you be at dinner?"

"I need to think about some things, and maybe kill a couple people," Voldemort growled. "Leave me now."

Harry nodded quickly and hurried back upstairs. He was very glad he wasn't Lucius Malfoy right now.

-o-

In the end, it was already a little after 10 am when Barty finally stumbled down the stairs. He looked tired and worn out when he entered the sitting room, but he still managed to put on a smile for Harry.

"Morning," Barty greeted and Harry got up from the couch to give him a hug.

"There's pancakes for you in the kitchen," Harry mumbled into Barty's chest but refused to let go of him.

"Will you let me eat them, too?" Barty chuckled.

"Alright," Harry sighed and held Barty's hand as they walked into the kitchen. "I'm supposed to tell you that Voldemort has left to think some things over, and to maybe kill some people. It's nothing to do with you though, he's not mad at either of us."

Barty, who'd gone pale during the first part, nodded slowly. "Alright… any particular reason why he left?"

"Well…" Harry shrugged, crossing his arms. "He took me to meet Snape in the dungeons when I asked for the Dark Mark and told me to kill him, but I couldn't. That was his way of showing me that I wasn't ready."

"Oh," Barty replied and pulled the pancakes over to him. "I see."

"Would you have killed him?"

"If my master had told me to do it? Yes, I suppose so."

That didn't really surprise Harry, if he was being honest with himself. "We then got to talking, and I told him about my second year. Apparently, he didn't know the Chamber of Secrets was opened in my second year?"

"I didn't explicitly mention that, no," Barty replied and started on the pancakes. "Oh no, those are really good! Did you make them?"

Harry felt a burst of fondness in his chest and he blushed a little. "I did, yeah."

Barty smiled warmly at him and ate some more before frowning. "So what made him leave then?"

Harry gave Barty an account of his conversation with Voldemort while the man happily munched on his pancakes.

"Wonder what's up with that diary," Barty mused when he was done eating. "Do you think it was something sentimental?"

"I don't know," Harry frowned. "Does he do sentimental?"

"I'd like to think he does," Barty grinned. "We'll find out soon enough, I guess. And he really held your hand and cast Crucio with your wand?"

Harry blushed again and looked out the window. "I didn't mean to make you jealous. It wasn't like we were properly holding hands or anything."

"Ah, no, that's not what I was getting at at all," Barty rushed to reassure him. "I'm pretty sure that is one of those things he doesn't do, hah. No, what I meant is… you feeling the magic as he was casting, that's not very common? I never heard of such a thing, and then there was you bonding with each other's wands back at the graveyard…"

"You still think it's more than coincidence," Harry mused.

Barty nodded and then yawned. "I do. But all of that pales in comparison to a night of sound sleep… Once I'd convinced myself that he would have reacted way differently if he was really mad at me, I was able to fall asleep. And not having to worry about someone barging in and trying to kill you because your cover was blown? I think I'll be spending most of the break sleeping."

"And eating too, I hope," Harry teased him and got Barty a joghurt from the fridge. 

Barty obediently continued eating. "I'll try to gain some weight, promise."

-o-

They spent the whole Sunday just lazing about. Harry got to working on his reading and essay assignments, and Barty curled up on the couch in front of the fire and slept some more. Harry briefly woke him up to eat the lunch he'd prepared, and then Barty went back to nap some more.

Distantly, from his spot on the dining table which was now littered with school books and parchment, Harry wondered how Barty had even stayed upright during the year if this was how tired he truly was. Devotion, a small voice in his mind insisted. First, he was only devoted to Voldemort and that's what kept him going. And now, he's got you, too, and he promised to keep you safe and to give you a home.

Harry's chest did a peculiar sort of squeezing sensation, and it got stronger when he looked over at a peacefully slumbering Barty. 

"... I love him," Harry whispered, realisation making his fingers tremble.

He quickly put the quill on his quill holder to save his parchment from giant splotches and went over to the couch because that's where his heart was telling him he needed to be. There was some space in front of Barty's tummy, so that's where Harry sat down. He stroked Barty's cheek and leaned down to kiss his forehead.

As expected, Barty woke up and laboriously opened his eyelids to peek up at Harry. "Hi," he yawned. "I'd like to be woken up like this every day from now on. Please and thank you."

"I'll give my best," Harry replied with a sappy smile and gave him another kiss. 

Barty was about to say something else but then the door to the sitting room opened and Voldemort strode in like he owned the place. Which, well, he did. He was wearing a dark travel cloak with fastenings made of what looked like gold and surveyed the scene before him with a calculating gaze.

He was holding something in his hands, too, and Harry quickly identified it as the snake-topped cane Lucius Malfoy owned. Did that mean Voldemort had killed him..?

Barty started struggling free from under the covers by then, and Harry got up again to get off the blanket.

"Did you manage to do your thinking?" he asked cautiously while Barty hesitantly made his way over to Voldemort.

The man nodded and put the cane on the dining table. "Quite," he replied and looked over towards them. "You can stay on the couch, Barty. You are here to rest after all."

"I wanted to apologise once more," Barty insisted, wringing his hands a little. "I was completely out of line yesterday, and, and even if you don't want to hear it, I still need to say it."

Voldemort had sat down at the dining table by then, still wearing his travelling gear, and Barty got to his knees and bowed his head when he reached the man. 

"I'm sorry for my conduct. You… know the reasons, so I won't list them, but know that I'll have myself better under control from now on." Barty reached out to touch the hems of the expensive robes and cloak Voldemort was wearing, and the man let him with an indulgent half-smile. "I don't ever want to give you a reason to be cross with me again, master."

"I am not," Voldemort reassured him and looked up at Harry. "We will need to speak again tomorrow, you and I. But for now – we have one more guest in the basement. My collection of traitors grows by the day."

Voldemort looked equal parts amused and murderous as he said this, and Harry felt a shiver run down his back. No wonder so few people had dared to openly oppose the man during the height of his power.

"What will you do with them?" Barty asked, looking up. "Will you use them to send a message, or will they remain missing?"

"I have not decided yet," Voldemort answered and then looked right at Harry when he continued. "But I feel as if being imprisoned and alone with their thoughts for a good long while will feel like a righteous fate to us who have already suffered the same."

"I'd say I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy," Harry mused, "but I think I actually do. They have all behaved terribly, and they ought to get a taste of their own medicine."

"We will go visit Lucius Malfoy together tomorrow, Harry," Voldemort decided. "He had a great many things to say about you once his tongue was loosened, and he needs to understand how despicably wrong he is in his assumptions."

"Oh? Eh, yeah, sure," Harry replied. 

He wondered whether Lucius had thought telling Voldemort how mean he'd been to Harry Potter would help his standing with the man. If it hadn't been for Dobby, who knows what kind of Dark curse Lucius would have used on Harry after the Chamber incident…

"And also," Voldemort started in a strange tone of voice, "I have a mission for both of you once you are back in Hogwarts. Mhh, no. Make that two missions."

"Is it the diary?" Harry asked. "I think its remains are still in Dumbledore's office."

"Not quite, but it has to do with the diary," Voldemort smirked. Since when did he do smirking? "Rest assured that these missions are among the most secret and most important assignments I have ever entrusted to anyone. You will not disappoint me with this."

"Of course not, master!" Barty quickly replied, eyes wide and cheeks glowing with how eager he was. "With Moody's eye and Harry's invisibility cloak, we can do anything!"

Harry nodded quickly, too, but desperately hoped it wasn't going to be an assassination plot on Dumbledore or something like that.

"Good," Voldemort nodded. He looked pleased, and even a little excited. "A little reunion, so to speak. So many under one roof…"

Barty and Harry exchanged a confused glance when Voldemort's gaze drifted towards the windows. He looked strangely whimsical, and Harry wondered what kind of reunion the man was thinking about. Were relatives of his still alive? Or what was this about?

Chapter 19

When Voldemort didn't make a move to say anything else and merely continued looking out of the windows, Barty got up off the floor. Harry was glad they wordlessly agreed on not prodding the brooding man because Barty turned to Harry and beckoned for him to follow. A reunion… 

"Cmon, we'll make dinner," Barty invited him. "You can be my sous chef! I've never cooked together with anyone else before."

"What? I'm not gonna cut all the vegetables just to let you hog the glory for the main dish!" Harry argued good-naturedly. "I want to be the, uh, be the main chef too!"

"Chef de cuisine," Voldemort told him in a low voice without looking over.

"Yeah, that," Harry agreed with a nod of thanks. "I want to be chef dequistine. Wait, Barty!"

But Barty was already headed for the kitchen, laughing, so Harry hurried after him. 

While they were playing rock, paper, scissors in the kitchen to decide who got to be chef dequistine, Voldemort, who'd apparently followed them and was now leaning against the doorframe, was watching them with wry amusement on his face.

"This place has been too quiet," he commented wistfully after Harry had won and relegated Barty to cutting and dicing onions. "I do admit I am looking forward to the end of the school year. I will be in the library, Barty. Send your Patronus for me once dinner is ready, will you?"

Barty nodded eagerly and mock-glared at Harry with tears in his eyes from the rather spicy onions.

"Why don't you use some kind of kitchen charm to take care of the onion vapours?" Harry complained as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve with ostentation.

"I am a chef, Harry, not a hobby cook," Barty answered and continued dicing with a vengeance. 

Harry narrowed his eyes at Barty because he was reasonably sure that this was a dig. "You're a brat," he told Barty and stuck his tongue out.

"Excuse me?" Barty laughed. "Who is sticking their tongue out like a little first year right now?"

They continued bickering like this all throughout their cooking endeavour, and Harry enjoyed it so much that his belly was hurting from laughing after dinner. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever laughed quite as much as this – or felt as carefree and unburdened as he did right now.

-o-

The next day, Harry was up early again. Voldemort was in the kitchen once more, reading the paper and drinking his coffee, but this time there was a mug of peppermint tea on what Harry liked to call his seat.

"You made me tea?" he asked, touched.

"You made me pancakes," Voldemort countered flatly without looking his way.

Harry turned towards the ice box to hide his little smile. "And today, I'm making you eggs and toast."

Voldemort looked like he wanted to say something, but then he didn't. He merely did that thing older men do with their newspapers where they shake them so they get stiffer and better to read.

"So… are you going to kill Lucius Malfoy for being responsible for your diary getting in harm's way?" Harry asked while rummaging around the ice box.

"I have not decided yet."

"What about Snape then? Do you really not care about him dying or were you just very sure I wouldn't kill him?"

Voldemort sighed and put the paper down. "You are obsessed with death, are you not? That is why seeing the thestrals shook you up so much."

"I don't like death or killing," Harry argued with a frown because he really really didn't and never had.

"I am not suggesting you like either of those things – quite the opposite in fact," Voldemort hummed. "You are obsessed with preventing death, or with not-killing. I believe seeing your parents die at such a young age left a profound impact on you."

"Oh."

Harry didn't know what else to say because he felt a little sick all of a sudden. Thankfully, Voldemort didn't prod, so Harry continued selecting things from the fridge in a contemplative silence.

Was he really so obsessed with preventing murder or death? Then again, who wouldn't be? Except for murderers, maybe. And yet… hadn't he decided for himself yesterday that sometimes justice had to be delivered far away from the court system of Wizarding Britain? 

And wasn't he effectively living with two murderers now?

"Share your thoughts," Voldemort offered. Or demanded? Harry wasn't sure, but he was inclined to humour the man either way.

"I have a moral dilemma," he admitted. "I consider myself a good person, or did, at least, consider myself one. But now… I don't know whether I am still good."

"And good means Light whereas bad means Dark?" Voldemort suggested with a gaze so piercing that Harry blushed and looked to the side.

"I didn't mean to insult you," Harry sighed. "I just… this is hard for me."

"If you want this… arrangement to work out, you need to abolish the dichotomy of good and evil, and of Light and Dark, that exists within your mind." As if drawn in by a spell, Harry left his ingredients on the counter and sat down on his seat opposite Voldemort, listening to what was sure to be an interesting lecture. "Think of morality as a greyscale instead, Harry. There is no good, and there is no evil – Albus Dumbledore is not inherently good for being a Light wizard and I am not a monster for being Dark."

"I used to think you're a monster," Harry blurted out quickly before he lost his nerve. "When I dreamed of you killing that caretaker the summer before this school year started. And back when you were possessing Quirrell."

"And did you think I was a monster when you fought my young shadow down in the Chamber of Secrets?"

Harry was surprised by that question and frowned. "No, I don't think so… why?"

"I have been told in the past that my natural face, unclouded by glamours and the like, is pleasing to look at," Voldemort told him with the air of someone who didn't really care either way. "I wager the guess that had it been me as the homunculus down in the Chamber, you would have called me a monster in retrospect."

Harry wanted to argue that no, he didn't, and he wouldn't have, but that little voice inside his head was calling him a liar and he didn't have it in him to try and silence it.

"Maybe there's some truth to that," he said sheepishly and held onto his mug. It was warm but not too hot in his hands. "So good is linked with beauty and bad is linked with deformed and ugly?"

"Broadly speaking, yes," Voldemort answered. "Humans like matters easy – well, most humans do."

"Who doesn't? People like you?"

"I am not vain enough to make that claim, no," Voldemort replied with a wry smile. "Bettering oneself is a constant up-hill battle, and I do enjoy looking at pretty things as much as the next person."

Harry nodded slowly and tried to wrap his head around the things Voldemort had told him. Good and evil not existing, grey instead of black and white… Dumbledore hadn't taken care of Harry after his parents had died. He'd sent him to live with the Dursleys and then never checked in on him, thus allowing him to be beaten, starved and locked in his cupboard. Not to mention that he had to live in a cupboard in the first place! Lupin hadn't come looking for him either even though he'd been best friends with his father.

He couldn't imagine someone like Barty or Voldemort leaving someone they were somehow in charge of in such conditions. And hadn't Harry himself told Barty that Voldemort had crossed half of Europe just to free him? Well, not just to save him, also to use him to regain a body, but the matter still stood – Voldemort had come running. And nobody had come running for Harry like that… 

Ron did once, didn't he? Ron and the twins… but Ron wouldn't do that again now that they weren't friends anymore. Kids were quicker to act, Harry decided. They see someone in need that they like, and they just do something about it if they can. But adults always went by the book, too afraid of doing something wrong.

And yet, Voldemort didn't… he'd been head boy back in Hogwarts, so he must have been a good student on the surface. But there were still rules he didn't like, so he just ignored those. Harry wondered whether Voldemort had frequented the Forbidden Forest back in the day… 

When he looked up from his musings, Voldemort was watching him with a calm expression. He was probably waiting for Harry to come to whatever conclusion he would end up with.

"So…" Harry started, frowning in concentration, "I think I understood some things now. If you manage to, well, win, right? What will you do?"

"By win, you mean take over the ministry?" Voldemort clarified and Harry nodded. "I see. I will overhaul the justice system for one. Old nobles should not have a say both in the passing and the execution of laws. When one body is judge, jury and executioner, willfulness lurks just around the corner."

"But don't you want to be a dictator? Wouldn't that make you judge, jury and executioner?"

"My position would ideally be that of an executive consultant with an all-encompassing right to Veto whatever the legislative body proposes," Voldemort explained and Harry had to take a second or ten of frowning to analyse all those difficult words. "Or, more easily: I want to be able to tell anyone at all 'no' when they are about to do or pass something ridiculous."

That was certainly easier to understand, so Harry nodded sheepishly in thanks. "That doesn't sound so bad. And you want to put good people in charge? And I mean good as in, competent?"

"That is indeed the plan," Voldemort nodded. "Magical France has a well-functioning system of government, as does Magical Germany. I aim to strengthen alliances after almost a century or more of insular politics by this ministry. Magical Britain is inbred and old, just like the people inhabiting it. Magically strong pureblooded wizards like Barty and, let's say… the late Evan Rosier, are exceptions."

"I was thinking about that before, too!" Harry said excitedly. "With you and Dumbledore both so strong, and both my mother and Hermione so extraordinary, I was already heavily doubting this Pureblood supremacy thing. I thought…"

"You thought I was a part of the Pureblood elite when you were younger, and that I was going to cater to them," Voldemort mused. "Yes, many people think that, but you need to grab the problem by the root – and I need powerful allies to reach my goals."

"Won't the powerful Purebloods drop you once they understand what you're trying to do?"

"At that point, my power will already be absolute," Voldemort replied confidently. "Plus, every last one of them is too scared to oppose me. Not to mention that a lot of these nobles bear my Mark, and that there is no way to get rid of it."

"You're not even that scary," Harry laughed. "Why is everyone so afraid of you?"

"Because I am powerful, Harry," Voldemort told him with amusement. "There is little that weak people fear more than someone truly powerful."

"So how powerful are you really?" Harry asked with a calculating gaze. "Do you mean powerful as in, able to best anyone in a duel? Or what?"

"There are few people alive that could beat me in a duel, but power is… more than that. Power is better felt than explained, in any case."

Harry wondered whether he'd ever see Voldemort in a situation where the man's power made itself evident. When he had just nonchalantly jumped out of a window two nights ago, it had already been a stunning display… 

"Alright," Harry agreed. "I think I understand you better now, and… I don't regret my decision. Of coming here, I mean."

"That makes you valuable to me," Voldemort replied – rather mysteriously, Harry thought. "Do always come and talk to me when you find yourself adrift, will you?"

Harry wondered what sort of drifting Voldemort meant, but it probably had to do with… doubting? Questioning? Once the questions from others would start coming in after he stopped attending Hogwarts, he might actually take the man up on that offer… 

"I'll try," he replied and forced a small smile on his face.

That was apparently enough for Voldemort because he turned back to his newspaper while Harry finished his tea in silence, lost in thought, before finally getting started on breakfast.

-o-

After breakfast, Voldemort excused himself to his study to do whatever an incognito Dark Lord did when he wasn't humouring his favourite servant and his ex-nemesis. Probably had to do with making plans and covertly contacting people.

Harry spent the morning working on his school assignments until Barty emerged from hibernation. 

"I'm sorry all I do is sleep," Barty apologised when he entered the sitting room instead of saying good morning, so Harry went over and gave him a hug.

"You heard Voldemort, these two weeks are supposed to be you resting up and healing," Harry reassured him. "We'll need to be at our best once we return to Hogwarts. Do you think you can handle the transformations for another two and a half months?"

"I'm not leaving you there on your own," Barty replied almost petulantly. "I put you into this mess, and I'm getting you out of it, too. That maze is going to be hell for you without my help."

"Maze?" Harry asked, a sense of dread washing over him.

Barty made a face when Harry looked up at him and rolled his eyes. "Well I wasn't planning on telling you now so you wouldn't stress about it, but you have to maneuver a maze filled with dangerous magical creatures, riddles and the like to reach the winner's cup in the middle."

"Oh goody," Harry sighed. "You know what? I'm just gonna enter and sit that one out near the entrance. Maybe Fleur will stay with me – she's really not into it anymore after getting that close to dying I imagine."

"Oh, the teachers were briefed about her and her sister's condition," Barty shared as they made their way to the kitchen. "They're out of the hospital and even attending classes back in Beauxbatons, but they are still weakened physically as well as magically. The French healers are positive they will be back to normal in less than a year, but it's still, well… it's not good obviously."

"Then she'll sit it out with me and Viktor and Cedric can go and be heroes," Harry decided. 

"I think that's a splendid idea," Barty nodded. "And once the task is over, we sleep, what? One more night in Hogwarts? And then we're off. We'll have over two months during the summer to concoct a story about your whereabouts and to cover our tracks."

"Sounds good, but it'd sound even better with you eating," Harry teased and pushed the stasis-charmed extra large portion of eggs and toast over to Barty.

Barty obediently did as he was told and even asked for a dessert. Harry narrowed his eyes because Hermione had said that too many desserts weren't good, but he supposed an apple and a banana wouldn't be amiss. He was adamant that Barty would return to a more healthy weight during their stay here so he wouldn't be sad and weak once the transformations had to start up again.

-o-

An hour before lunchtime, Voldemort found them both curled up on the couch with a book each in their laps.

"And they all said handling children is difficult. All they do is read and cook," Voldemort smirked and sat down on the nearest armchair, legs crossed. "How about a little excursion?"

"Wait a second –" Barty started with a frown but Harry put his Transfiguration book to the side and nodded eagerly.

"Yes!" He was already struggling free from the blankets covering his legs. "I've never really been places! Is it somewhere cool? It's… not just the basement, is it?"

"No, it is not just the basement," Voldemort soothed him. "We are going to London's magical district.

"Diagon Alley?" Harry asked excitedly. "I haven't been in years!"

Voldemort made a face as if visiting Diagon Alley was an affront to good taste. "I have no patience for the artificial homeliness of overpriced shop fronts pandering to the masses, Harry."

"So… Knockturne?" Barty asked, closing his book. 

Harry thought the disgruntled expression Voldemort made looked hilarious but knew better than to laugh. He didn't want to make the man feel as if he was making fun of him, and he wanted to see him be human like this in the future, too.

It almost felt like –

"No, Barty, we are not going to Knockturne either," Voldemort replied with a glare.

-o-

In the end, they went to a place called Rittic Alley, two streets removed from both Diagon and Knockturne. Harry was surprised the magical district was this extensive but then again… when would he have ever been able to explore this far? 

"I haven't been properly in public in… fourteen years," Barty whispered, voice tight. 

Harry made to grab his hand, but then remembered they were both glamoured to look like unassuming young men and – he had no idea what the wizarding world's general opinion towards men holding hands was, actually. He'd have to ask someone at some point

"You will tell me when it becomes too much," Voldemort commanded before Harry could find the appropriate words to calm Barty down. "But you have to get used to this again eventually if you ever wish to accompany me to social functions again."

"Did you go to a lot of those, back in the day?" Harry asked curiously. 

"My Lord didn't like them much," Barty replied with a bit of unease because Voldemort had ordered him not to address him as master in public and apparently, that didn't come naturally. "Me, on the other hand… well, I was very young. I liked getting to dress up all fancy."

"I liked dressing up for the Yule ball at Hogwarts too," Harry remembered. Spending time with Luna, Hermione and Viktor had also been nice… maybe attending a ball with Voldemort and Barty, even glamoured like this, would be even better.

"Dressing up loses its appeal after the twentieth ball, believe me," Voldemort scoffed. 

He was glamoured, too. His red eyes were spelled to look dark, and Harry thought they looked exactly like Tom Riddle's eyes had looked. His face, though, was different. It was a little rounder, softer, and he appeared shorter than he actually was. They could walk down the street, and nobody paid much heed to them – it felt amazing.

"We'll see about that," Harry laughed. "So what are you buying here today? Some old artefacts? Almost-illegal Potion ingredients? Don't tell me – dragon eggs!"

"Groceries," Voldemort sighed. "I am buying groceries, Robert. Rittic Alley is a street operated mostly by muggleborn shopkeepers, and the quality of groceries sourced by Pureblood shops is vastly inferior, not to mention more expensive."

Harry frowned. Voldemort getting his groceries from muggleborn wizards and witches? That was… he giggled. That was so unlikely that no one, neither stuffy Purebloods like Draco nor silly Light wizards like Ron, would ever believe it.

"That's brilliant," Harry decided. "You're brilliant."

Barty laughed at Voldemort's confused expression and put his arm around Harry's shoulders to pull him close. "I've never seen him so flustered, Robert. You truly have a gift."

"Well," Harry snickered right back, blushing a little, "I was kinda born to defy him, wasn't I?"

That made even Voldemort snort. "And just like that, the secret of the prophecy is lifted," he murmured in a low voice. "The saviour vanquishes the Dark Lord by making him choke on his own spit from laughing too hard. A cruel fate, but a deserved one. Everyone cheers. The end."

Harry was reduced to a giggly mess because he could just about see several people's Disappointed stares if that were the true extent of his awesome Boy-Who-Lived powers. "Or maybe I will vanquish you because you get a concussion from rolling your eyes so hard."

"Can we please stop talking about one of you vanquishing the other?" Barty whispered, exasperated. "It's hard enough keeping one of you alive, I don't need you fighting each other too."

Harry exchanged a grin with Voldemort and blushed after the man had looked away. He hadn't expected to just… feel this kind of kinship with the Dark Lord once they'd arrived. He thought it was going to be awkward in the house, with him having to tiptoe around whenever he dared to leave whatever space he'd been assigned. And instead, it was becoming a thing that he cooked for all of them in the mornings and had philosophical conversations with Voldemort while doing so. It was all new and yet, it felt familiar, and… safe?

He kept himself in the background while Voldemort got groceries but was secretly gleeful that there were, apparently, prepacked, shrunken boxes of groceries categorised into 'number of household members and weeks to feed them' for those who had the money to be able to afford that service. So no Voldemort strolling through an old-timey grocery store with a shopping basket. And to think Harry had imagined the man actually walking through rows of shelves selecting the nicest cuts of meat… 

‐o-

It happened while Voldemort made them take a detour through Diagon Alley after all. He had business at Gringotts but wanted neither of them to accompany him. Apparently, while the goblins were as discreet as could be, gossip always found a way and Harry and Barty had been quick to agree to wait somewhere else.

Harry keenly understood that sentiment about gossip always trickling through the tiniest cracks, seeing as keeping any kind of secret in Hogwarts was also almost impossible. Even his and "Alastor Moody's" close relationship was an open secret but people were fine with the two weirdos hanging with each other, so they were safe on that front. 

Another front they were safe on was food. Voldemort had handed Harry and Barty a couple galleons each before he left and told them to have some lunch. Since neither of them were especially imaginative nor well-versed in the lunch hotspots of the season, they ended up at a table in the Leaky Cauldron.

They were happy enough at first, but when food arrived, so did a couple guests at the table behind them. From Barty's drawn-up shoulders, Harry theorised it might be someone he knew. As it turned out, Harry knew them as well – if only peripherally.

"I understand the need for a low profile, but this establishment?" Narcissa Malfoy sighed in a low voice and Harry exchanged an urgent look with Barty.

"Mrs… Blake, I assure you that we have a lot more privacy here than in Summerisle's," a male voice responded. "About the case you want me to work on, is it about the mysterious disappearance of your husband?"

"No," Narcissa replied emphatically. "No one will believe me, so I won't bother you with my theories, but I have a good idea on where he ended up. This theory leads me to my next course of action: facilitating a speedy and complete acquittal of my cousin."

"You mean –"

"Yes," Narcissa hissed, stopping the man (a wizarding lawyer?) from naming names. "I want you as my cousin's solicitor. Money is not an issue. All that counts is him being declared innocent of all charges as quickly as possible."

"Sanctuary…" the solicitor whispered. "You wish for sanctuary behind your birth family's secure wards. You don't think… you don't think your husband will return."

"Sanctuary," Narcissa agreed. "For me and my son. The man I suspect to be behind this has spies and enablers everywhere. Or rather, he will have them once more in the very near future. I need my son either out of the country or behind the most secure wards in all of Britain before this happens."

The solicitor was quiet after this explanation. Harry was pretty sure that the cousin she was referring to was Sirius, so her helping in his acquittal was good. On the other hand, her being so very sure of Voldemort's involvement was not good at all and when he met Barty's eyes, Harry was sure that they were going to inform Voldemort of this development the very second they had met up again.

They listened in while Narcissa and the solicitor made plans for contacting Sirius and setting up a correspondence and also, finally getting a trial date for Pettigrew, and then they were off again. 

"You got to give it to her," Barty smirked, "she is a Black through and through: ruthless efficiency. She doesn't care a lick about Sirius, but she is willing to move heaven and earth to see him acquitted in order to save her son."

"Is he going to take his anger out on Draco, too?" Harry asked, strangely excited and feeling kinda bad about it.

"My Lord, you mean?" Barty asked and hummed in thought. "He's certainly known to hold a grudge… but I can't tell you anything about his plans for that family. You could ask him later on? I'm sure he'd humour you."

"Maybe I will," Harry agreed.

In truth, he was terribly excited Sirius might be a free and innocent man once again sooner than he had expected. On the other hand, he felt a little sick about the prospect of having to have the conversation about his current (and future) whereabouts. He doubted Sirius would ever be able to see Voldemort the way Harry saw him – a valuable ally, and a mentor of sorts. 

"What's wrong, Harry? Peas too mushy?" Barty smiled compassionately and reached for his hand below the table. Harry gladly let his hand be held and stroked with a thumb.

"It's Sirius," Harry whispered, pushing his plate away. "He'll never understand – all this, you know? My father was his best friend, and… it's just so sad that because of my choices, I might not get to, to…"

Barty looked at him with wide eyes. "So you already made the decision to stay even if…"

Harry looked up again from the tabletop when Barty stopped speaking and was surprised to see tears forming in his glamoured eyes.

"Stay even if…?" Harry asked, confused, but then he realised what Barty was referring to. "Oooh. Oh. You mean that I plan on staying even if Sirius… makes a scene and casts me out? Or something like that?"

He was surprised about that realisation himself, but it was true, wasn't it? If Sirius was going to make him choose once Harry's allegiance came out… well. He squeezed Barty's hand and felt that warm tingly feeling in his chest start up again when he looked up at the man.

"I said I'd keep you safe, didn't I?" he whispered. "You're not getting rid of me that easy." 

Barty squeezed his hand right back and cleared his throat. "That's – that makes me happier than I can possibly articulate. Thank you, Ha-Robert."

Voldemort found them half an hour later, casting an unamused glance at their half-eaten lunches. He went to order something for himself and then slid into the booth on Barty's side. After he'd reheated both their plates with a gesture, they obediently took up their forks again and continued eating.

"Have I interrupted something sentimental?" he asked slyly and rested his chin on his hand. 

Barty and Harry both blushed and refused to meet his eyes.

"A little," Barty finally replied after Voldemort's food had arrived as well. "But there's also something important we need to tell you once we're home. We overheard a conversation."

"My little spies coming into their own," Voldemort smirked. "Very well, we'll be off after lunch. Enough hustle and bustle for all of us for a day."

-o-

"So she plans on proving Sirius Black's innocence to get her son away from me," Voldemort summarised their account of what they'd overheard. "I have not yet decided what to do about young Draco. On the one hand, his father has greatly disappointed me – on the other, holding the son responsible for the sins of the father…"

Here, he cast a long look at Barty who held his gaze for a beat or two but then blushed and looked away. 

"No," Voldemort decided, "if I punish Draco Malfoy, it will be due to his own shortcomings. But let her free her cousin if that is what she desires. It would please you to have him be exonerated, Harry, would it not?" Harry flinched when he was addressed and blushed just like Barty did under Voldemort's sudden scrutiny. "You do want him free, do you not?"

How could he explain this? Of course he wanted Sirius to be free to enjoy his life after so many years of hardship, but if he was free, then he was free to pursue guardianship of Harry and –

"I want only the best for him," Harry rushed to reassure Voldemort, but also himself. "And yet… he's my godfather, and he might strive to become my guardian, and…"

"Ah." Voldemort breathed. "You need not say more. Fortunately for you, I have used some of the free time I get from not having to cook to finally study the contract pertaining to the Triwizard Tournament. Congratulations, you are now a legal adult. As soon as the tournament is over, you are free of your obligations and get to decide about your own affairs."

Harry stared at Voldemort disbelievingly, not quite able to compute what exactly this meant for him. Surely, things couldn't be that easy, could they? They never were this easy for him.

"So no one can..?"

"No," Voldemort smirked. "And even if they could, I would not let them."

"Oh," Harry breathed, almost violently struck by how he now had two people who wanted him around.

His gaze hardened. So what if one was a Dark Lord and the other a wanted criminal? They had done so much more for him than anyone else… and the world was a greyscale anyways, wasn't it? You could do bad things and still be a good person. Harry had done bad things by now, but he was still a good person, wasn't he? The alternative… no. Barty and Voldemort were good people despite some of the bad things they'd done. It really was that simple.

He'd been sitting on the couch so far, curled up with Barty, while Voldemort, armchair facing the fire, had listened to their little tale about Narcissa Malfoy. Yet now, as if drawn in by an invisible band suddenly pulling taut, Harry got up from the couch and crossed the short distance to where Voldemort was sitting.

While they had been eating in the Leaky Cauldron, the weather outside had changed and it was now raining and storming outside. The walk up to the small manor had only been bearable because Voldemort and Barty had cast a shield over their heads to keep off the rain and the strong winds.

And yet, the storm had another effect as well: the broiling darkness outside despite the early hour threw Voldemort's sharp features into sharp relief, what with the fire painting dancing shadows on his skin. He looked like an animated painting as he returned Harry's gaze calmly, if a little quizzically, before he came to some sort of realisation.

With his mouth pulled into a handsome, satisfied smile, he patted the side of his thigh and Harry drew in a breath before sitting down next to the man's legs, his back to the armchair. A large hand with long, elegant fingers found its way onto his head, simply resting there, and Harry exhaled a puff of air before relaxing and letting his head bob to the side to lean against Voldemort's leg.

There was movement to his left, and Harry knew without looking that Barty was mimicking his pose on Voldemort's other side.

"Adding onto what you boys have promised each other," Voldemort mused, fingers digging (pleasantly) into Harry's scalp, "I will see to it that no harm befalls you."

And just like that, Harry believed him. He'd been hurt badly in Hogwarts, despite people telling him it was the safest place for him. His friends had been hurt, too. Ginny had almost died, Ron had been hurt severely during the chess match in their first year, Hermione had been petrified, and Harry himself had had too many close encounters to even count them all… 

He turned his face to the side and buried his nose in the rich fabric of Voldemort's expensive overrobes. He smelled clean, and vaguely spicy, and Harry thought he could get used to having someone powerful in his corner like this.

"Thank you," he murmured, and the hand tightened again in silent acknowledgement. 

The fire was warm on the side of Harry's face and on his legs, and the rug he was sitting on was soft. Quite without conscious thought, he reached out to wrap his arms around the leg he was leaning on and fought valiantly against the sudden urge to have a little cry.

He was going to stay strong, like he always did. And he'd get to be even stronger now, because there were people rooting for him who took the time to explain things to him. The Weasleys, for all that they'd taken him in for part of two summers, had never answered any questions he'd had.

So far, everyone had tried to keep things secret from him – either because he was too young, whatever that meant for an orphan who'd willingly risked his life time and again, or maybe because they'd been afraid he'd either willingly or unwillingly spill all classified information he'd been given.

And here, Voldemort had just told him of his plan to overthrow the ministry, and about the prisoners he kept in the basement, and about so many other little things… and that wasn't even counting Barty who'd bared his heart for Harry to do with as he pleased, heedless of the possibility of Harry turning around and turning him in.

He didn't say it aloud, but he decided in this very moment that Voldemort was going to be included in the promise he'd made to Barty – if he was in danger, Harry was going to do his damndest to get him out of there!

All he hoped for was that his promise wasn't going to be put to the test too soon – he still needed time to get strong enough to be able to keep it.

Notes:

Bold statement, Harry-my-boy. Bold statement.

Chapter 20

It was already Tuesday. Breaks in Hogwarts had always seemed to stretch like toffee, but out here in the real world, time seemed to fly instead. As he stretched in his bed, in his own room, Harry wished for the first time that a break would last forever.

He rolled over and stared blankly at the unfocused alarm clock on his nightstand before realising he'd forgotten his glasses. They were still next to his pillows because he had lain awake for quite some time the evening before, staring out into the starry night sky.

There had been many things on his mind. He'd brooded over the nature of morality, reflected on some of his own actions, and even taken the time to have some imaginary discussions with his godfather. Some of them had turned out alright, some had turned them into bitter enemies, but most had merely… let them drift apart without ever really having connected.

Harry yawned, sighed and then felt his heart drop when he finally put his glasses on his nose and realised that the alarm clock read 9:24 am. He'd overslept! 

Technically speaking, he had no appointments, a quiet voice in his mind reminded him. He was on a school break, so really… all he'd done was sleep in. Still, he'd been planning to do a full english for breakfast today, and now he couldn't because Voldemort had probably already eaten by now!

And yet, he didn't have it in himself to hurry. After getting ready (and after another hot, long, solitary shower) a very relaxed Harry strolled down the stairs with only some of his new, well-fitting socks on his feet. Now that he didn't have to wear uncle Vernon's old socks anymore, his feet didn't get as sweaty and smelly as they used to get and it was glorious.

The kitchen was empty, but there was a stasis-charmed plate of hash browns on Harry's seat. His heart did a spirited little bout of pitter pattering, and he went to look for someone to keep him company while eating breakfast.

He soon found both Barty and Voldemort in the sitting room and was about to announce his presence when he realised Barty was crying. He stopped short and took a step back to lean against the wall outside the sitting room, listening in. He knew it wasn't the proper thing to do, but he was sure Barty was going to try and keep it together for his sake – and he wanted to know what was up.

"– missed you every single day," Barty said in a low voice. In addition to tearful, his voice also sounded a little muffled but Harry had seen how his face was buried in Voldemort's robes.

"I know," Voldemort replied with amusement colouring his voice. "You have only said so roughly a couple dozen times by now, both in person and in letters."

Harry could hear Barty laugh through his tears. "It never feels like I've said it enough."

"I have nothing against it, so you might as well keep saying it."

Barty didn't answer, so Harry dared to peek in again. Looking in from the hallway, the fireplace was to the left, and the armchair Voldemort was sitting in was facing away from Harry. 

All he could see… Harry grinned. All he could see of Voldemort was a hand, just like when they'd first gone to visit him. It was resting on Barty's head, just like yesterday, and Barty seemed content to simply… exist at his master's feet.

Harry was peripherally surprised by how little he minded Barty, his… well. How little he minded Barty, who he had a thing with, to be this close to someone else. It probably helped that the someone was Voldemort who just had a way with people if he wasn't being a nightmare vision of eldritch capacity.

Just as he was about to leave them to it, Barty started talking again – hesitantly this time. 

"I've been meaning to ask, master… you are different than you used to be."

"Oh? Different how? Different from how I was back in 1981, or different from August last year when I came to save you?"

"Both," Barty replied, voice not as muffled as before. He might have been looking up, so Harry didn't dare peek in again. "I liked you back then, too, of course I did, but… when you came to save me, you were nicer than before, and ever since, ever since Harry…"

Barty hesitated, and there was a heavy silence for a bit. Ever since Harry what? Had he done anything? Hopefully nothing wrong!

"Ever since you called me to you to talk about Harry and me, you've changed. You giving me your okay to tell Harry the truth in February – that was a surprise, master. A welcome one, but… why?"

Harry felt his heartbeat quicken. He really shouldn't be listening in like this, but how could he not? So it was due to him that Voldemort was nicer now? Had he inadvertently done anything maybe? Their letters hadn't been totally emotional, after all. Maybe… maybe it had to do with the circumstances that led to them connecting  with each other's wands? 

Harry was still confused by that and wanted nothing more than to sic Hermione on the problem. Alas, explaining to her why he needed information on that particular incredibly rare and probably maybe unprecedented occurrence? Yeah, he wasn't going there.

"Mmh, a good question," Voldemort allowed and Harry perked up again. "You are right insofar as that it does, in fact, have to do with your dear Harry, and what you have told me about him. Unfortunately, I cannot give you specifics at this point in time. Your mind is simply too unstable."

"I've been doing my Occlumency exercises every evening, master!" Barty replied quickly, almost hungrily. 

"I know you have, but thirteen years of mental trauma are not remedied by two months of meditation, Barty. You know that."

There was a sigh from Barty, and then his voice sounded muffled again. "You're right. You always are… do you think the nightmares will stop eventually?"

"Only time will tell," Voldemort answered in a soft voice.

Harry felt a curious sort of tugging sensation in his chest at the realisation that Barty was having nightmares. Not for the first time, he wondered what Azkaban was like – not in the way that he wanted to actually go there and explore, never that, he merely… couldn't imagine being exposed to dementors for more than like, ten minutes without going crazy. To think that Barty had been there for a year before going to yet another prison, and Sirius had endured the dementors for eleven years...

He pushed himself away from the wall and tiptoed into the kitchen to retrieve his hash browns and go somewhere else. Why was he responsible for Voldemort being different this time around? Was it because he'd been responsible for Voldemort having kind of… died, and then having a lot of time and not much else on his (non-corporeal) hands? Maybe he partook in that self-reflection thing Hermione was so into at the moment?

(He really ought to send her a letter to say hi.)

Harry heaved a big breath. He needed to clear away the lingering cobwebs of the overheard conversation before he lost himself in analysing everything to death.

-o-

Five minutes later, his plate with hash browns still in hand, he was outside the door to Severus Snape's cell. Room, maybe? No, cell, he decided. He drew in a deep breath, exhaled, breathed in again and then entered without knocking. 

Snape looked up at him with a glare, only for his eyes to widen when he saw who it was.

"Potter," he whispered, disbelieving. "He is not with you?"

"No," Harry answered simply and sat cross-legged on the floor across from Snape, well out of his reach.

Snape's brows drew together when he saw that Harry had brought food with him and Harry felt a pang inside his chest. 

"You do get food, don't you?"

"Nutrient potions," Snape ground out. "They are not ideal, but they fulfill their duty."

"Good," Harry nodded, feeling a little silly. "That's good."

At least that meant he wasn't unknowingly torturing Snape by eating in front of a starving man. Now that he was in the otherwise barren and empty room with Snape, he felt awkward enough as it were.

"Did you come here to gloat?" Snape asked, voice hollow. "I vaguely remember you stunning me back in Hogwarts."

"I didn't mean to," Harry shrugged. "You antagonised me so much that I blew a fuse. You can be glad I didn't use Sectumsempra with how mean you were to me."

Snape grit his teeth in response and narrowed his eyes even more. The magical torch in the corner behind Harry let the man's dark eyes look like they were entirely black with just a little speck of light in them. Maybe this could be a metaphor for Snape's soul? No, that was probably too melodramatic.

"I never understood why you always hated me so much," Harry sighed. "Barty said you liked my mum a lot, so shouldn't you have liked me a little too? Or did I remind you too much of my father? Barty says my father and his friends were mean to you – but I was never mean to you. I was just a kid when we met."

He didn't even have it in himself to feel angry about Snape's past conduct towards him anymore. All he wanted was maybe a reason, something that would tell him why the prickly man had chosen an unassuming eleven-year-old as his favourite emotional punching bag.

"Barty's told you an awful lot," Snape replied testily instead of saying anything of importance so Harry rolled his eyes.

"He has, and he continues being one of the few people in my life to do so."

Snape lost some of the standoffishness in his features. "And what do you mean by that?"

"What I mean by that is that hardly anyone's ever bothered to tell me anything," Harry replied, getting annoyed. "And since no adult took care of me, I branched out and found better adults to look up to. Oh and also, I'm emancipated now thanks to the tournament."

"It would be a lot easier to like you if you weren't so disgustingly self-righteous," Snape spat and Harry recoiled in surprise at the vitriol. "Look at you – poor little orphan boy who doesn't get enough love and admiration from a world that adores you, so he runs into the arms of an insane mass murderer and his pet servant! And you think it is that which will finally convince me of you being in any way likeable?"

Harry was stunned into silence for so long that his hash browns almost slid off his plate because his grip loosened. There were so many things in that rant to be angry about, but what struck him the most was –

"They don't adore me," he argued, voice trembling with ill-concealed rage. "What they adore is, is, it's the idea of the Boy-Who-Lived, and not Harry. Nobody sees just Harry the first time they meet me, they all expect me to be this, this larger-than-life boy warrior when in reality, I'm a mediocre student and wizard at best."

"And the Dark Lord of course understands all the hardships you face, and he's offered you a place at his side," Snape said flatly. "Have you ever considered that maybe he is doing all this so the one prophesied threat that might end him is made null and void? That you're not the first he's made promises to he doesn't plan on keeping?"

Harry felt the blood turn to ice in his veins. He knew Voldemort was manipulative – it was at the very heart of being a Dark Lord, he supposed. But he wouldn't be manipulative towards him, would he? Voldemort genuinely liked Barty, and the sort of positive attention he got from Barty. (Harry thought there probably weren't many people who actually liked Voldemort much as a person, so of course Barty was important to the man.)

"It's different," Harry said emphatically. "He likes me because Barty likes me. And he likes Barty."

"The Dark Lord doesn't do like, Potter," Snape said, softer this time. "It's all a ploy to make you harmless, and to alienate you from the people who actually care about you."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And who would that be? Because I personally spoke to Dumbledore maybe five or six times in my life, so he doesn't count. Ron fully stopped being my friend once he didn't believe I didn't put my name in the goblet, and I doubt I'm welcome at the Weasleys' anymore."

Snape sighed in a way that made Harry feel like a particularly dull, unruly child. "Headmaster Dumbledore is a busy man. He can't be expected to be present in every student's life, Potter," the man explained and Harry felt his blood start to boil again.

"Who else?"

"What?"

"Who else actually cares about me?"

As expected, Snape stayed silent.

"Not even the only blood family I have left likes me, did you know that?" Harry asked bitterly.

"Of course not," Snape huffed, an almost melancholy expression on his face. "Petunia has always hated magic, jealous woman that she is."

"Petunia?" Harry asked, incredulous. "You know my aunt?"

"I do," Snape answered, and for the first time, he wasn't spitting venom. "Your mother and I grew up in the same town. We were best friends in Hogwarts for a time."

In another lifetime, this revelation might have moved Harry and let him see the man in another light, but right here, right now, all he felt was resignation and silent anger.

"I see," he replied simply. "So you left her only child to rot in a cupboard because she chose another guy over you? I'd like to say I'm surprised, but I'm really not. You are part of what's wrong with the wizarding world, Severus Snape, and I hate you for it. Magical orphans will have it a lot better in Voldemort's new Magical Britain."

Snape's eyes had widened at the mention of a cupboard, but his gaze had quickly returned to glowering once Harry continued.

"Leave now, Potter," Snape pressed out, face contorted with anger. "I have nothing to say to a loyal servant of the Dark Lord."

"That's because you're a double traitor, and they better shut their mouths lest they betray everyone," Harry glared right back. 

Just to spite Snape, he continued eating his hardly-touched hash browns while keeping eye contact. Voldemort had told him that Snape was in magic-binding manacles since he could do a considerable amount of wandless magic, and that also bound the man's Legilimency. Harry decided he liked being able to glare at people, and vowed to ask Barty or Voldemort about learning Occlumency to protect his mind.

When he was done eating, Harry got up. "You will not be getting out of here," Harry promised darkly. "I don't like you, and he doesn't like you either. Either change your tune and do something worthwhile with the rest of your life, or rot in here like every magical adult has let me rot until my eleventh birthday and for every summer thereafter."

"Fine!" Snape bellowed, spittle flying in Harry's direction. "Betray the very world your parents, your mother, died to save, you ungrateful little brat! See if I care!"

"I know you don't," Harry replied as calmly as he could. "You've shown me that all you care about is my mother, and that you couldn't live with yourself ever since you realised that you were responsible for her being targeted and killed."

They continued glaring at each other for a while, both probably thinking the other one was a waste of resources and energy, and then Harry left.

Outside, Voldemort was waiting for him.

Harry almost froze, but then he closed the door as if nothing had happened and made his way to go back up the stairs. His knees felt as if they were made of wood, so locked were they, but he somehow made it a couple steps.

"Wait," Voldemort called after him with his smooth voice, and Harry stopped. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Harry's hands turned to fists at his side and he felt his shoulders tense up. "I didn't find what I was hoping for, but I found what I expected."

There were steps on the rough ground behind him, and then Voldemort was next to him. A hand landed on Harry's shoulder and squeezed.

"I will not bore you with platitudes, but whatever he has told you about me –"

"It doesn't matter," Harry interrupted, "He's full of shit. I don't care."

"You do care," Voldemort chuckled and led Harry towards the stairs. "You care a lot."

Harry deflated and felt all the pent-up tension leave him. He did care a lot about things. He cared about the (few) people that were important to him, and he cared too much about what all the other people thought about him as well. Just remembering that whole "Potter Stinks" fiasco… it wasn't as if it was surprising for someone in his position to turn to people who stuck up for him.

"We will not meet with Lucius Malfoy today either," Voldemort told him and steered him up the stairs and into his study. "Who knows whether I will take you to meet with him at all during this break."

Harry hummed in response. To be honest, he didn't much care for meeting with Lucius Malfoy. Instead, he was curious when they entered Voldemort's study because he hadn't been in there before. It was a classically-furnished room with a desk, a fireplace, a leather couch and lots of cabinets lining the walls. What was striking was that the far wall was entirely made up of windows which gave a nice view of the grounds outside.

The other noteworthy element was Voldemort's huge snake curled up in front of the merrily crackling fire. She looked up at their approach and flicked her tongue out, smelling the air.

"The child," she said to Voldemort. "The other Speaker."

"Yes," Voldemort replied smoothly. It still felt like English to Harry, but the man's voice sounded different in Parseltongue. "He is troubled."

The snake tasted the air again and turned her attention to Harry. "You can truly speak then?"

"I can," Harry affirmed and Voldemort's hand, still on his shoulder, tightened. "My name is Harry. What's your name?"

It felt a little weird to introduce himself to a snake, but then she looked at him with the sort of uncanny intelligence that "normal" animals didn't have, and all notions of weirdness floated away.

"Voldemort has given me the name Nagini," she hissed and settled back down. "You are welcome here if you behave and are good to my friend."

"No, I'm, I will," Harry reassured her quickly. "He's been good to me, too, ever since I came here."

"Then you may stay as long as you please," she declared and curled back up.

"I have never spoken this language with another human," Voldemort said slowly, deliberately, and Harry looked up at him.

"I talked Parseltongue with your younger self," Harry mused. "Or rather, we both talked to the basilisk but it only listened to him. It was a very stressful day."

"I understand," Voldemort replied, still in that strange tone. "I was… overzealous in my youth."

"Are you that excited about me speaking Parseltongue with you?" Harry asked, grinning a little. 

"If only you knew."

Voldemort's hand tightened once more on Harry's shoulder. It felt reassuring and steadying, and if he was completely honest with himself, he didn't like it when the hand let go and made a gesture for him to sit on the expensive-looking couch.

"I don't like Snape," Harry said emphatically after sitting down. "He makes my skin crawl."

"Traitors tend to have those qualities," Voldemort agreed and sat down next to Harry. "This one in particular is double-crossing, so your revulsion is to be expected. I, myself, find his conduct… lacking. I will keep him alive yet as a bargaining chip, but he will not leave his prison in this life."

"A bargaining chip for Dumbledore?"

"Mhh, yes. The old man always has an ace up his sleeve, so being well-prepared is half the battle."

"Do you expect a battle then?"

Voldemort was quiet, so Harry looked over to him. His expression was softer than Harry had seen it before, and it made him look a lot more like the (softer) young Tom Riddle Harry had met in the Chamber.

"I always expect a battle," Voldemort finally replied, voice wistful. "Though I am looking forward to a time when I do not have to do so anymore."

"I'm also looking forward to being away from Hogwarts. I… I never thought I'd ever say that, but the beautiful bubble of it being a place of magic and home burst in my second year." He thought of all the fights and dangerous situations he'd been in and wondered, not for the first time, how half of them could have happened in the first place. "I like it much better here."

"Then I did right by you," Voldemort decided, switching back to English. 

With humans, it was easier to tell that they were speaking Parseltongue than with snakes, Harry realised. He wondered whether both of them had always been able to talk to snakes… 

"I freed a snake from a zoo when I was ten, you know," he shared. "It was my cousin's birthday and the old lady I stayed with every time the Dursleys did anything fun had a broken leg or something. My cousin was knocking on the glass like a mad man but the snake didn't care so I went over there and we commiserated. It was the first time I found out I could talk to snakes…"

"And you freed it how?"

"It was accidental magic," Harry grinned. "My cousin came waddling back when he saw the snake holding its head up and knocked me to the side. I was pretty mad, and then the glass vanished and the snake said thank you and mimed biting my cousin as it slithered to freedom. Unfortunately, I never found out whether he made it back to… Brazil or something?"

Apparently, something within that story seemed to have struck a chord with Voldemort because the man tried to suppress a smile at first but gave it up as a lost cause and started… laughing?

Harry's eyes grew wide because he'd never heard Voldemort laugh before. A chuckle here and there, yes, but never this! His laugh was rich and not at all sardonic or mean – in fact, it was so infectious that Harry couldn't help but laugh along.

"And to think they've all got you pegged as a Gryffindor," Voldemort snorted as he was beginning to calm down. "You would have done great in Slytherin. Still, it is fortunate that things have worked out the way they have, with you ending up where you are now."

Harry felt his chest constrict and all he could do was nod. He was also glad to be where he was right now, and yet… after talking to Snape, there was one thing Harry needed to ask and have an answer to.

"I have one question for you," he started, and Voldemort, probably feeling the shift in the atmosphere, sobered up and watched Harry with curiosity. "My mother… you gave her the option to stand aside but she didn't. Do you… why didn't she fight back? Why did she just, just let you do it? Do you know?"

Voldemort held his gaze for a long moment. Harry thought he'd gone too far, but then he got another show of humanity from the man: Voldemort leaned against the backrest of the couch and overextended his neck as he looked up at the pretty white stucco ceiling.

"Your mother was, above all, as much of a foolish girl as you are a foolish boy," Voldemort replied in a tone that was almost whimsical. "You may look like your father, but your spirit is all your mother's. She was – the man who taught Potions when I was a student was still there teaching when your parents went to Hogwarts. Slughorn, he was called, and despite the awkward name, he is a prodigy both in teaching and in Potions. I tried recruiting him time and again, but he politely refused every single time."

Harry almost forgot to breathe. He couldn't believe that it would be Voldemort of all people who'd share stories about his parents with him. So many people could have… Lupin had a full year for it, Snape didn't because he hated Harry too much and Sirius of course hadn't had much time for it. And Dumbledore, well, the day the old man would willingly tell anyone anything was the day Snape would hand out O's and candy bars to every kid in class.

"He had this club while in school – the Slug Club. Again, a most unfortunate choice in names," Voldemort continued, still with a fond sort of voice, "but an important club nevertheless. In it, he collected students of important heritage or with noteworthy intellect. I was a member in my day, and so was your mother in hers. She was one of his favourites, and I watched his club with a keen eye. I could not be seen openly recruiting muggleborn of course, so I tried recruiting both her and her then-boyfriend who was the Pureblood scion of an important and rich House."

"And she said no?"

"I am not sure," Voldemort answered honestly. "He said no, and there was only the one answering letter. They were head boy and head girl at the time… I have, in my years as a wraith, fantasized about whether her answer might have changed if I had written to her only, and if all of history might have changed thereafter. Alas, if wishes were thestrals…"

Harry's head was swirling. Not only had Voldemort offered him a place at his side in his first year, but now he'd also tried to recruit his parents? What if they had accepted? Would the war have ended differently?

"Shame they said no," Harry sighed. "But we can only try and, and do better the second time around, I guess? Use that second chance?"

"We shall," Voldemort agreed. "This time, I am doing things the right way."

They sat in companionable silence afterwards. Harry found himself imagining a life where he grew up with his parents, both Marked, and had an actual room with toys just for him. With not a small amount of self-deprecation, he thought that that fantasy Harry wouldn't have turned out to be the kind of teenager to run into the arms of a mass murderer to get away from being bullied and belittled.

Would that Harry have been Sorted into Slytherin? Would he have become friends with a not-quite-as-pompous Draco Malfoy? Or maybe he'd have been friends with bookish Theodore Nott and intentionally-blasé Blaise Zabini? 

If wishes were thestrals… Harry rubbed his hand over his face after taking his glasses off with the other one and ran it through his hair for good measure.

"So you're doing everything right this time," Harry repeated. "Have you… started yet? Does anyone but me and Barty know you're back?"

"Yes, there are a handful of followers who know," Voldemort answered. "Old friends, acquaintances, allies… I will take you and Barty to meet them this holiday – glamoured up, of course. Depending on how the visit goes, I will reveal either or both your identities. Unless you have objections?"

Harry thought about that for a moment, but he didn't hold any illusion that his affiliation would stay secret forever. So why not gauge people's reactions with a gathering vetted by Voldemort himself?

"No, it'll be fine. But what's their excuse for not looking for you?"

"They simply believed I had died. Few people in history can boast of true immortality, Harry, so me having actually attained it was unlikely at best."

"So they thought you were a liar?"

"Apparently so."

"Well that's just a rude thing to think for a friend."

"I shall bring that up to them," Voldemort promised, amused, and Harry nodded.

"See that you do. Oh, and where's Barty?"

"Barty is preparing both lunch and dinner so he can spend the whole afternoon outside with you. There was talk of riding brooms together at some point?"

"Oh that's brilliant!" Harry exclaimed and jumped up. "He remembered! He used to play Quidditch too at some point, you know? See you at dinner, I'll convince him to eat lunch in the air! Bye!"

And with that, Harry ran off.

-o-

Spending the afternoon broom riding over the rather extensive grounds Voldemort called his own with Barty helped Harry get his mind off his rather explosive argument with Snape. It even served to tire him out enough to just fall into bed after dinner.

The next days all blended together in a relaxing blur of studying, being tutored by Barty, and sometimes having discussions with Voldemort on a whole host of subjects. But all in all, Voldemort was a little more absent than he'd been in the first days of Easter break. Harry wondered where he went when he wasn't home, and he even asked Barty about it at some point, but Barty didn't know either.

"I assume he is doing secret Dark Lord things," Barty merely laughed. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. He does this sometimes – disappearing for days on end, I mean. I guess he's really used to living a solitary lifestyle."

"That's kinda sad," Harry replied and set to coaxing Nagini out of Voldemort's study so at least she wasn't alone all the time.

It took a while to get her to emerge, but when she did, she soon grew rather fond of sprawling all over Harry's and Barty's legs where they were sitting on the couch next to the fireplace.

And so they sat again on the Sunday evening, Easter Sunday actually, with Barty telling Harry a story about Wizarding History that wasn't Goblin rebellions for once. (It was, in fact, about the ascension of Grupert Sparrow to the position of Chief during the time of the Wizard's Council, way before the ministry had been founded in 1707, and it was fascinating.)

Just as Barty began launching into how the leader of the opposition had prepared burlap sacks full of doxies to disrupt a meeting about the rights of magical creatures, the door to the sitting room flew open and Voldemort strode in with heavy steps.

He looked a curious mixture of miserable and furious, and neither Harry nor Barty quite knew what to make of such a dramatic entrance. 

In the end, it was Nagini who tried to save the situation from becoming too stressful.

"Stop scaring the young ones," she hissed and uncoiled from where she had been curled up on Harry's chest. "They were good. I made sure of it."

Harry looked on curiously as Voldemort laboriously drew in deep breath after deep breath until his demeanor changed back into the aloof elegance Harry was beginning to get used to.

"Barty," Voldemort said with stern authority. 

"Yes, master?" Barty answered, putting his mug of cocoa to the side.

"Regulus Black," Voldemort ground out. "Did he have a middle name?"

Harry was confused, but Barty looked confused as well, so he didn't feel too bad about it. Why was this detail so important?

"I… think he was named after his grandfather, Arcturus?" Barty said after thinking it over for a bit.

Voldemort's glare grew darker again, and Harry felt his mouth begin to feel dry as the air pressure in the room seemed to drop. Was this the sort of raw power Voldemort had mentioned? Harry began trembling.

"Regulus Arcturus Black," Voldemort spat out ominously, and the very air seemed to shift and grow dark around him. "I curse that name – and may it hereafter never be uttered in my presence again!"

With that, he stormed off again, and Harry felt singularly unprepared to deal with any of the implications of this outburst. What had Regulus done?

"What does that even mean?" Harry asked, disturbed, but Barty could only hopelessly shrug. 

"Whatever it means," he replied, "it's not good."

Notes:

Vee trying to recruit James and Lily is CANON

 

 

 

 

 

Also, Vee is singularly underprepared for his "family reunion" because with them, lots of those pesky human emotions are returning. He's already feeling the effects now, with [REDACTED NUMBER] of them around!

Chapter 21

"Regulus Arcturus Black," Voldemort spat out ominously, and the very air seemed to shift and grow dark around him. "I curse that name – and may it hereafter never be uttered in my presence again!"

With that, he stormed off again, and Harry felt singularly unprepared to deal with any of the implications of this outburst. What had Regulus done?

"What does that even mean?" Harry asked, disturbed, but Barty could only shrug. 

"Whatever it means," he replied, "it's not good."

-o-

It was Tuesday evening, and Barty and Harry were both on edge.

"You go, it was your idea," Barty insisted. 

"You were very enthusiastic when you agreed to it," Harry argued right back and shoved the plate of casserole into Barty's hands.

"Well, he hasn't eaten all day, what was I supposed to say?" Barty sighed. "Let's just, I don't know, put it on the ground, knock, and then run away and hide behind a corner."

"Aren't you supposed to be the mature one in this relationship?" Harry asked jokingly, but the (unintended?) gravitas in his words struck him when Barty blushed rather fetchingly.

"Harry…" he said, voice soft. 

They'd never explicitly talked about what Hermione called 'labels', so Harry was feeling concerned about overstepping boundaries and stuff. But instead of withdrawing, Barty pulled him into a tight hug and Harry exhaled rather forcibly. 

Part of him was dissociating and vaguely worried about the food, but it was floating next to them with not a care in the world so he relaxed into the embrace and wrapped his arms around Barty as well.

"You're a fool," Barty whispered into his hair, and Harry felt a blush creep up his neck.

"Then we're both fools," Harry grinned back, and Barty gripped him even tighter.

"Fine by me," Barty replied in a voice that sounded suspiciously choked up. "Let's be fools together, come on."

And Barty spun them around, one arm around Harry's waist, as he led them towards the door to Voldemort's study. Barty knocked before either of them could hesitate to think, and then they waited with bated breath.

It didn't take long for the door to open, and Voldemort gazed down at them – immaculate as ever, but with a weary sort of feel about him. 

"So you decided I was in dire need of calories."

"It's what humans do," Harry answered. "Hermione says you can only do your best if you give your brain appropriate nutrients."

"Is that so?" Voldemort mused and took hold of the plate. "Mh. Might as well, come with me."

And so they found themselves in Voldemort's study, seated on the couch, while Voldemort himself sat at his desk and ate his casserole.

"I am sorry for up and leaving like I did," the man said slowly when he was done eating. "I had… important matters to attend to that bore no postponement."

"It's fine," Barty was quick to reassure. "It's not like we can't get by alone."

"Yet this is the last time before the summer that I will see either of you for any meaningful amount of time."

Maybe Harry was imagining things, or getting too cocky with his observation skills, but as Voldemort was saying this, the man seemed to come to some kind of revelation. 

"Look at me," Voldemort huffed quietly and got up from his chair to face the wall of windows looking out over the grounds. "Being sentimental, of all things..."

Barty seemed to silently agree with Harry that they better not reply to this, so they waited for the brooding man to start talking again in his own time.

"I have been… looking for certain objects that are of, mh, mostly sentimental value to me in my spare time. Maybe that is the source of my recent moods, too. And yet, to my dismay, I have discovered that a couple here and there are out of my reach," Voldemort explained in a strange voice. "I have been pondering while I was away, and there is… something I must ask of you both."

"A mission?" Barty asked, gripping his robes and leaning forward.

"We'll do it!" Harry added, wondering what a mission from the Dark Lord entailed.

That enthusiasm seemed enough to shake Voldemort out of his reverie because he turned around and graced them with a rare smile.

"Eager," Voldemort chuckled and strode over to them.

He sat down opposite the couch they'd occupied and looked at them for a few quiet seconds. Then he nodded.

"It concerns what happened in your second year, Harry. As you have rightly theorised to Barty, my younger self contained in the diary is a part of myself." He pursed his lips. "Like a glimpse into a very old mirror, perhaps. A reminder of days gone by… I should very much like to get back both that restless spirit and the hollow shell that remains of my old diary."

"The Chamber!" Harry gasped. "I haven't been there in so long… do you really think you're, uh, he's still there?"

"I have ample reason to believe that this pitiful shadow yet haunts the Chamber, yes," Voldemort answered. "And the diary is in Dumbledore's possession?"

"I saw it in one of his many cupboards with Moody's eye," Barty answered. "There's no way they aren't cursed against intruders, but I can get it for you. Maybe towards the end of the school year when there's little left to lose…"

Voldemort nodded, satisfied. "I leave the planning to you. It has been too long since I have stepped foot into Hogwarts Castle."

Harry felt a strange sensation blossoming in his chest in response to those words. Had any adult before Barty and Voldemort ever trusted him with carrying out a task on his own, just like that? Sure, he was going to make plans together with Barty, but just like with their plan to extract Dumbledore's blood before the ritual, they were going to do it together.

"I won't disappoint you, Voldemort!" he promised.

"We'll make sure to return both of those to you," Barty nodded. 

Harry chose not to prod in regards to the Regulus matter, and apparently, neither did Barty. He was happy enough that Voldemort was in a better mood now and that he was hopefully back for good.

"Are you going to stay here for the rest of our break?" Barty asked. 

Voldemort nodded. "I will. If I leave, it will not be for long, and I shall inform you when I do. My manners as a host have been sorely lacking these past days. Come, we shall have a proper evening."

A proper evening, Harry found, consisted of a bottle of wine shared between Barty and Voldemort and a bottle of butterbeer for Harry while they spent time together in the sitting room.

It all felt incredibly homey and warm, to be curled up in a woolen blanket with the fire casting a warm glow on their faces. Harry vaguely wondered whether this was what having a family was like, and his heart started beating faster in his chest. Just spending time together, a bit like in the common room but… more intimate?

He bridged the distance on the couch between him and Barty and tried to snuggle in. Thankfully, Barty immediately raised an arm and pulled Harry even closer. With Barty's nose buried in his hair, Harry felt immensely pleased with the way his life had turned out and put the book he'd been reading to the side to fully concentrate on being warm and safe and… settled.

"This is really nice, you know?" Harry mumbled even as he felt his eyelids grow heavy.

"Oh, do I ever," Barty laughed gently. 

"I want to spend more evenings like this with you," Harry mumbled and gave in to the desire to close his eyes.

"That so?"

"Preferably," here, Harry yawned, "preferably all of them, yes."

And then he fell asleep.

-o-

Harry hadn't expected any sort of important happenings to be taking place on a Wednesday, yet here they were. Barty had called it the privilege of the privileged not to have to worry about such arbitrary things as waking up early on the next work day..

Thus, eight pm on a Wednesday evening seemed to be a perfectly acceptable time for a gathering of what Voldemort referred to as "old friends". Harry wondered how old they were, and whether they had known Voldemort back when he'd been Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"Lestrange Manor," Barty breathed beside him from glamoured lips. "Feels like it's been a lifetime.

"It has been," Voldemort murmured in answer. "But a new life is about to start. Come, Edward. Henry."

They were now Edward Smith (Barty) and Henry Miller (Harry) – at least until Voldemort deemed it safe to reveal their true identities. As such, they were glamoured to look like nondescript young men with no particular characteristics apart from dark hair and dark eyes. It was easy to discern for an experienced wizard that they were not who they claimed, yet impossible to guess at their true identities. 

"Lestrange… I think I heard that name before," Harry said slowly. "But they don't have children in school at the moment, do they?"

"They do not," Voldemort affirmed. "And yet…"

"I went to school with one of Corvus Lestrange's sons. Rodolphus, the younger one – though he was some years ahead of me. I was friendly with both of them in my master's service though."

"Much rides on getting Rabastan and Rodolphus out of Azkaban," Voldemort told them uncharacteristically severely. "Corvus is loyal still, but as long as his remaining family remains in hell… he will remain preoccupied."

"So you're getting them out?" Harry asked. "From Azkaban, I mean."

"Precisely."

"Just them? What about her?" Barty asked almost confrontationally.

"I will be getting them all out," Voldemort replied with a warning tone in his voice. "All the Lestranges, Augustus Rookwood, Antonin Dolohov – all of them."

Harry was surprised to see Barty actually roll his eyes when Voldemort went up to the front gate and resolved to ask him about her when they were next alone.

Voldemort rang an old-fashioned cast-iron bell and almost instantly, a house elf opened the large wooden door for him.

"Yes? And who might you be's, mister and misters?"

"I am Lord Thomas Moregrave, and Lord Lestrange expects me," Voldemort declared grandly and then motioned toward Harry and Barty. "These are my servants Edward Smith and Henry Miller."

"He expects you," the house elf replied quickly and the front gate opened for them.

Harry felt his stomach churn a little. If these people truly knew who Voldemort was, then wasn't there a possibility that it would get out, and that everything would go to shit? Even if they were old friends and everything… 

Voldemort seemed unperturbed though as he followed the elf up some stairs, and down a hallway. This place looked a lot grander than the place Voldemort lived in, with extravagant rugs and furniture, and huge framed pictures of landscapes and people. Harry felt entirely out of place in this sort of environment.

The elf finally led them to a sitting room in which a group of older men was already gathered. They each had their own armchair arranged around a low table, and there were only two spots open. Harry started wondering who of them was going to have to stand, but then Barty moved to stand behind and a little to the side of the chair Voldemort took, so Harry felt compelled to follow and take up position on the other side of the armchair.

Once he was in position, he dared look up at the gathered men.

"Thomas," a short, wiry man greeted with a smirk. "You look frustratingly well."

"And you used to laugh at me for having a skin care routine, Cantankerus," Voldemort replied with a bit more snark than Harry had gotten used to from him.

"Indeed I did," the man, Cantankerus, replied.

"News of your… resurgence have surprised us all," a dignified wizard with long, dark hair hummed. "Will you start up as you left off?"

"Corvus, please," Voldemort said and held his hands up in a placating manner. "We've been over this in our letters. This time around, we are doing things right."

"And my children?" The words sounded pained, and… desperate. "Their best years – spent rotting in hell on earth, and I can't get them out, Thomas."

Harry got the feeling that this was indeed the very reason for this meeting. And the atmosphere in the room had cooled off decidedly – the half dozen men looked warily at Voldemort who was, thankfully, still the picture of calm grace.

"I will be getting them out," he said simply. "Every single loyal follower will be freed before the year is out."

Corvus Lestrange returned Voldemort's gaze with an intensity Harry hadn't expected anyone to be able to hold up when confronted with those uncanny red eyes. But they'd gone to school together, hadn't they? They'd seen awkward puberty Tom. But had Tom Riddle ever been awkward? Harry couldn't imagine the handsome boy from the Chamber ever having been awkward.

He had probably been like Cedric, who must have gone from small boy to graceful youth in the span of a summer… 

"–ciate that," Corvus said in a shaky voice and Harry realised he'd almost missed something. "More than you can imagine. The support of my family will be yours once more."

Corvus Lestrange and Voldemort held eye contact for a bit longer, and Harry imagined there were many things the two were planning to discuss in private. But that was for later, and for now another man demanded attention. 

"What about Lucius?" the youngest in the round asked. "Isn't it too much of a coincidence that he vanishes shortly before we are to meet here?"

"Astute as ever, Corban." Voldemort took his time uncrossing his legs and leaning forwards with his hands on his thighs. "Lucius has greatly disappointed me and he will not return for a long while. I have not yet decided what to do with him."

"Speaking of returning," Cantankerus interjected slyly, and Corban looked slightly put out to have his thunder stolen, "how did you manage it? Was Black one of yours after all?"

"Sirius Black?" Voldemort asked with a hollow laugh. "Never has a Black been lighter than this silly man. No, Sirius Black was never mine. The reasons for my return are twofold, and both are standing behind my chair like silent sentinels."

Immediately, all eyes roamed over Harry's and Barty's glamoured faces and Harry felt himself blush. He looked to the ground in embarrassment and shuffled his feet even though he felt silly doing it.

"They are glamoured," Corban sighed. 

"Mhh," Voldemort agreed. "Seeing either of their true faces upon entering this room would have tipped over the mood immediately."

Nobody replied and Harry could tell that the men were thinking furiously about who it could be. Yet, it seemed like no one wanted to be the first to break the silence. In the end, it was Barty who decided for them because he took a step forward.

At a nod from Voldemort, Barty waved a hand over his features and they returned to the freckled face and blonde hair that Harry was beginning to get achingly used to. (He didn't want Barty to have to change back again once back in Hogwarts.)

Gasps and exclamations of disbelief roused Harry from his brief musings, and he registered the shock on the faces of the gathered gentlemen. They all seemed to recognise Barty immediately, and Corvus Lestrange got up, shaking in every limb.

"You're supposed to have died in Azkaban," he practically accused Barty. "How is it you are alive and free, boy, and my sons are still in that godforsaken place!"

Voldemort held up a placating hand. "It was not his own doing. His poor excuse of a father exchanged the mother for the son, and it was her who died and was buried on the black island." He reached out and put a hand on Barty's right arm, cancelling the glamour on the sacrificed limb. "After being a prisoner for twelve more years, he gave his arm for his master. All his debts are paid."

"Blood, flesh and bone," Cantankerus growled. "You went and used necromancy? Whose blood did you use? Did you manage to get your hand on the boy?"

"Necromancy is not nearly as depraved as people make it out to be," Voldemort huffed.

Harry wanted to yell at him to stop telling these people things, but he didn't dare. What if there was a traitor among them? Hadn't they all denied following him, just like Lucius Malfoy had done? Who could say that they'd stay true even if commanded to do so?

The second question was still open. The esteemed Lords were staring at Voldemort almost hungrily, and Harry could feel their piercing gazes on him every so often. What would they say if they knew… 

"I require a Vow if you wish to know the identity of my second companion," Voldemort finally said.

"We're Marked, Thomas," Corvus Lestrange reminded him almost questioningly.

"That matters not," Voldemort waved him off. "Vows, or we are changing the subject."

Prepared as ever, a small stack of papers flew out from somewhere within Voldemort's robes, each accompanied by a quill.

"These are rather unforgiving," a pale man said. " '- do declare not to speak of the matters discussed on aforementioned day to any soul until my Lord allows me to do so.' You really think this is necessary?"

"I do indeed, and there will be no bartering."

In the end, they all signed. 

Voldemort looked over his shoulder at Harry and raised a questioning brow. And even though Harry had spent the time the men had been reading and discussing the Vows with each other furiously thinking about whether he actually wanted to reveal himself, he still hadn't reached a conclusion. 

And yet… hadn't he attacked Dumbledore for Voldemort? Resurrected him? Harboured a wanted criminal by not exposing Barty's identity? He was already as deep into all of this as he could be, so… 

"Do it," he demanded and took a step forward.

He could see a satisfied smirk on Voldemort's face, but then there was pandemonium when his glamour was lifted and his attention shifted onto the suddenly rather undignified gentlemen. 

After the initial clamour and shouting had died off via Voldemort raising a hand, a rather wide-eyed Corvus Lestrange pressed out a "You Imperioed the boy?"

"I'm not under the Imperious," Harry shot back. "I wouldn't use that excuse for what I did of my own free will."

Someone (Barty?) chuckled in a gasping sort of way, but Corvus Lestrange simply stared at Harry and shook his head in disbelief.

"My dear friend Harry does not take kindly to traitors, I fear," Voldemort shrugged. "An admirable character trait, though I do of course understand your reasons for wanting to stay out of Azkaban. Now you know of the manner of my return: my so-called arch nemesis and my most loyal follower, presumed dead, facilitated my rebirth in a forbidden necromantic ritual all while attending school under Albus Dumbledore's nose."

There was a long silence. Harry looked at the men, but only Cantankerus returned his gaze. The others looked to be processing things, until finally Corvus Lestrange nodded.

"Both more and less than we expected of you," he said. "Understated in a way, and yet… whimsical in its execution. Mr Potter, welcome amongst us. Your presence is highly unexpected, but a guest of my Lord is a guest of mine. And Barty, I apologise for my earlier outburst. You were a good friend to Rabastan, and I should not have judged so harshly. Come, sit."

The lone empty chair moved closer to Voldemort's, and another one just like it appeared on the man's other side with a quiet incantation by Corvus Lestrange. Harry followed Barty's example when the man sat and was grateful to have his weight off his wobbly knees. This situation had been stressful beyond belief, and he didn't even dare look up anymore because he could feel that the men were looking at him now that they had processed the new information. 

"My son says you changed this year," Cantankerus said with a smile shining through his voice. "Got more quiet. Studious. Says the mudblood girl is better for you than the Weasley boy."

Harry's head whipped up so fast his vision got a bit blurry. "Hermione is my friend. If you want to call her names, I want you to know that she's the most brilliant witch of this generation. She might not have wizard parents, but she's got more magic in her little finger than most other wizards have in their whole bodies – and it's because of people like you that she's leaving the country to be brilliant somewhere else!"

"A passionate speech," Voldemort hummed. "Attacking Harry's friends, even unconsciously, will land you on the black list, Cantankerus. Harry, Lord Cantankerus Nott is your year mate Theodore's father, and calling muggleborn students mudbloods is as ingrained in him as in muggles offhandedly calling Romani people gypsies. Do forgive him."

Theodore. Harry narrowed his eyes at the short wizard who was peering back at him from grey, intelligent eyes. 

"Theodore has been a help this year in keeping Malfoy in check," Harry told the man. "Of all the pompous Slytherins trying to make my life miserable, he is the least irritating. He didn't even sport a 'Potter Stinks' badge, so that makes him a good bloke in my book."

"I told Lucius to keep his brat in check," Cantankerus replied with a huff. "It's no good making enemies at that age, especially not the saviour of the Wizarding World. And yet… you have rescinded that title, have you not?"

Harry shrugged. "If I'm the one who saved it, I might as well be the one to, what, plunge it back into darkness? It was already pretty dark if you ask me."

"Certainly," Corvus Lestrange agreed and Harry turned to look at him. "Wizarding Britain, as much as Cornelius Fudge and Albus Dumbledore want to deny it, has always been Dark, and it will remain Dark. So you have chosen to stray from your family's path then?"

"I have made my decision, yes, of my own free will," Harry agreed. "My reasons are my own, but I don't want any of you to doubt me. Once I cast my lot in with someone, I'm in."

Corvus Lestrange's elegant mouth curved into a satisfied smile. "And to think Lucius would have had us believe you to be a hopeless little Light soldier. All the while, you were harnessing that Black blood of yours."

"Black blood?" Harry asked. "You mean because Sirius is my godfather?"

"Juicy," Corvus Lestrange grinned and he looked like Lavender Brown did when she was about to spill one of her little secrets. "Your father's mother, Dorea Potter. She was born a Black, Mr Potter."

"Oh," Harry mouthed lamely. "I'm… I didn't know that. Is that, I mean, is that widely known? Does everyone know?"

"The Pureblood children would know," Cantankerus explained. "But well-versed in genealogy as they are, they would assume everyone knows of their heritage. And you expect the likes of Albus Dumbledore or Minerva McGonagall to tell you of your inherent Dark blood?"

"Oh," Harry said again, subdued. 

He was related to Sirius.  

"Enough about Harry," Voldemort commanded and reached out to put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I appreciate you agreeing to reveal your identity on such short notice. Know that none of the men gathered here will make you regret that decision."

There was a warning tone to his voice, and Harry felt an uncomfortable rustle go through the room. He nodded in thanks, breathed out slowly, and then leaned back into his chair. He wondered just how powerful and influential these men were. If Lucius Malfoy was anything to go by, they would be politicians, or at least advisors, and be responsible for making laws and stuff.

"So, Barty," Corvus Lestrange said and Harry was glad the attention shifted off of him, "you came back from the dead to bring your master back to life?"

"I promised to be there for him," Barty shrugged, seeming a little uneasy. "I did what I could to help."

"Well, gentlemen," Cantankerus said with a bit of a snort, "I think it surprises few of us to know it was him, after all, who facilitated our Lord's return. He would have been in my top three, together with your daughter-in-law, Corvus, and your son, Theseus."

Theseus, the pale wizard whose surname Harry also didn't know, nodded. "If not for that thrice-damned Moody, Evan would… and you really trust the boy, Thomas? My sources tell me he is close to Alastor Moody. Is that on your orders only?"

Voldemort smiled, but it was a dangerous sort of smile. "Barty?"

Barty smirked in response and reached into his robe pockets. He produced Moody's magic eye, and the gathered gentlemen were a-bustle again.

"Alright, lads?" Barty asked in Moody's gravelly voice. "What a merry gathering we have here…"

"And to think we used to think the voice thing was a gimmick at best," Corvus Lestrange chuckled. "But where is the real Moody?"

"Master told me how many of us he killed and imprisoned even after the trials, and I already knew about Evan of course, so I… fought him and won," Barty replied, earlier uncertainty forgotten. "He's my prisoner now, and once my mission in Hogwarts is done, I will let our Lord decide what fate awaits him."

"Oh, I should think we ought to make an example of him," Voldemort mused. "I will leave the matter up to you, Theseus."

"My Lord is too gracious," Theseus mumbled, a fire alight in his eyes. "I shall rip off what remaining limbs he has and–"

"That's quite enough of limb removal," the youngest in the group, Corban, interrupted. "Just because Mr Potter saw the light, or the Dark, as it were, does not mean he wants to take part in any of your bloodlust. Barty, I wasn't yet a member of the Inner Circle thirteen years ago, so let me introduce myself. My name is Corban Yaxley."

"I have heard of you, back in, back… back when I was my father's prisoner. You were quite the thorn in his side, so… I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Glad to see my machinations paid off, hah! But just to make sure, you have been taking Polyjuice and posing as Moody since, hm, September, correct?"

"Yes, I have, and I know as well as you do that it's not meant to be taken for so long," Barty admitted and Harry felt his stomach drop. "But there is no other way, now that Harry is one of us. I can't leave him there all alone after I was the one who got him into the tournament."

"So… two more months? Until late June, the day of the Third Task."

"Mh, yeah."

"Not worth it to have a transmogrification stone made for that amount of time then, especially since it would be a difficult custom one," Corban huffed.

"You should have come to us sooner," Cantankerus interjected, directed at Voldemort. 

"You say that as if the people in this room did not all deny my name," Voldemort reminded him in a hard voice. "I understand your reasons, and you are of more use to me out of Azkaban than inside of it, and yet…"

"We looked!" Corvus said forcefully, "I gave my sons access to unlimited funds, and they looked for clues everywhere. They paid off the whole British underworld, interrogated Light and Dark wizards alike – they tried everywhere!"

"They did, master," Barty agreed. "Or rather, we did. We left no stone unturned until they caught us because of Karkaroff."

"Whatever happened to that guy?" Corvus asked, and Harry shuddered when he remembered the execution he'd agreed to watch. "He vanished, and since you were at Hogwarts, Barty, I assume you..?"

"I took him in," Barty admitted easily. "Master killed him, as he will kill the others who sold out their brothers and sisters."

The men exchanged uneasy glances, but Voldemort raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"Gentlemen, please," he reassured them, "I have no intention to make an example of anyone currently present in this room. I merely wish to assure myself of your continued unconditional support, and give you tasks for the coming months to prepare our vision of the future."

"Certainly," Corvus nodded. "Let me be in charge of the plans for the breakout, my Lord, I beg of you."

"Mh, I think I shall."

"Barty," Corvus addressed the young man."Your experience with Azkaban will prove invaluable to me. May I borrow you for a while to gain some insight?"

Barty looked like he wanted very badly to throw up in his mouth, but to his credit, he nodded weakly. "Yeah, I'll be glad to help Rabastan, Rodolphus and the others, even if my memories of that place are – well. Let's just get it over with."

At a nod from Voldemort, Barty followed Corvus towards a door leading from the sitting room. 

"Barty Crouch Jr," Cantankerus chuckled. "How you got Crouch Snr's offspring on your side, and this loyal too, I'll never understand. But then…"

Here, he looked at Harry.

"He can be nice," Harry shrugged. "He makes a lot more sense than all the other adults in my life."

Corban Yaxley actually laughed, and Theseus shook his head sadly. "Says a lot about the current state of affairs in Hogwarts. That castle is in dire need of a complete overhaul after the tyranny of Albus Dumbledore and his loyal followers. What about Severus?"

"I kidnapped him because he's a greasy git, a double spy, and because everyone hates him!" Harry interjected with more force than he intended. "I just wanted him gone from Hogwarts."

"You do all feel possessive of the castle, don't you," another man, a wizened old wizard who'd been silent until now, mused in an accent not unlike Krum's. "I never understood Antonin's fascination with Hogwarts, but hearing you all talk about the castle like that…"

"Yuri Dolohov," Voldemort explained to Harry, "his son Antonin was one of my most capable and ferocious followers. He is currently imprisoned in Azkaban, and I should very much like to have all of them back."

"You had better, Thomas," Yuri Dolohov grumbled. "Antonin must be charring at the bits. To know that you got them out within months of returning yourself will ensure their desire to rehabilitate."

"And they will need help," Corban Yaxley reminded them. "I have spoken to some that spent years in the minimum or medium security ward, and they were… Let's just say those who spent years in the maximum security ward are going to need patience, stability and a lot of good food."

"All shall be provided," Voldemort allowed. 

"I can cast a strong Patronus," Harry said. "You're all part of the ministry in one way or another, aren't you? If I can get a pardon for underage magic, I can help to free them."

"We might try the political side of freeing them first," Corban explained, but nodded at Harry. "We've been setting things in motion, my Lord, and we are close to sending dementors to other countries to help out. Though they are many, their numbers are finite. Every dementor that is gone will be less of a worry for us."

"Impressive," Voldemort nodded. "What countries? China? Russia?"

"Yes to both, and Turkey has also shown interest. And on top of that, I've been reviewing cases for wrongful conviction again in the wake of Sirius Black's imminent re-trial."

"You're involved in that, too, Mr Yaxley?" Harry asked quickly. "Are things looking good? Is he going to be exonerated?"

"Doubtlessly, yes. Foolish man didn't even have a trial. And if he's important to you, and you're important to our Lord, well – let's just say I will use up some favours to move things along a little faster."

Yaxley winked at him, and Harry could only grin at him. Sirius was going to be free! Who knew having powerful allies could be useful in every single facet of his life.

"Very well," Voldemort nodded, "I see you lot have not been idle. Nevertheless, I will have Corvus continue to look into forcibly getting them out in case Fudge proves to be even more of a nuisance than he usually is. Harry, will you be alright here? There are some things I need to speak about one-on-one with some of my followers."

"I'll be fine," Harry was quick to reassure even as his heartbeat quickened. 

"You're responsible for him, Cantankerus," Voldemort commanded after a beat, and then he motioned for Theseus to follow him out a different door than the one Barty and Corvus had taken.

By all means, it should have felt like being thrown to the wolves, but Harry only felt that characteristic, vague sense of discomfort at being alone with people he hardly knew.

Sure, they'd have their questions, but they were well-disposed towards him on Voldemort's word alone – and maybe that's what it meant to have someone in your corner.

Notes:

I

The gentlemen in the esteemed round for all who got confused are:

Lord Corvus Lestrange, father to Rodolphus and Rabastan
Lord Cantankerus Nott, father of Theodore Nott
Lord Theseus Rosier, father of the late Evan Rosier
Lord Aldric Mulciber, who hasn't spoken yet

These guys all went to Hogwarts with Voldemort

Then there's also:
Lord Yuri Dolohov, father to Antonin Dolohov who's also in Azkaban and
Corban Yaxley, an influential Ministry employee

Chapter 22

"You surprised us all today, Mr Potter," Cantankerus Nott told him once Voldemort and Theseus Rosier had left for good, and Harry shrugged.

"I didn't know what to expect. I'm… I feel out of place here."

"Which is not your fault," Corban Yaxley said and waved his hand airily. "You don't know any of us, Mr Potter, just as much as you know little about the Wizarding World as a whole. And yet, somehow, you managed to make the right decision and join the side that will win in the end."

"Uh, thanks? But you can call me Harry, I don't like being called Mr Potter."

"You are entirely different from what we expected," Cantankerus mused. "To think you, of all people, managed to get our Lord back…"

"It was mostly Barty," Harry explained lamely, "I just helped where I could."

"Stop pestering the boy," Yuri Dolohov demanded when Cantankerus opened his mouth to dig deeper, and he let a bottle of butterbeer float from the middle of the table towards Harry. "Drink, Harry, and don't answer what you don't want to answer."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled and took a deep gulp. "It's just… all a bit much at the moment. This whole thing here, then there's the tournament. I just want the bloody thing done and over with, and then I'll be able to breathe again."

"Rest assured we will ensure your survival in the maze," Corban Yaxley reassured him. "As you have no doubt ascertained by now, we are influential people, and we take care of our own."

"No, yeah, I have gotten that impression," Harry nodded even as he was feeling a nice warmth spread through his body. "And I appreciate the help, I really do. I just want to survive, really."

"I came to watch the first task with my son, you know," Cantankerus told him. "You spoke with the dragon, did you not? No one could hear anything through the barrier you put up, but word travelled and…"

"I did," Harry answered quickly. "And yes, before the inevitable follow-up questions pour forward – I can talk to snakes, just like him, the rumours are true."

That sent another wave of excitement through the remaining four men. 

"I'm not his son though, don't get too excited," Harry cautioned and crossed his arms. "I'm not planning on being a successor either. I don't even want to be a high-ranking anything, I just want to be left alone."

"Gods no," Cantankerus laughed while the man who hadn't yet spoken almost choked on his drink. "Thomas having a child is not something any one of us would have believed to be in the realm of possibility. How'd you come about your talent? Is it inherent, or does it have to do with your connection to him?"

"Probably my connection to him, but you'd have to ask him if you want specifics," Harry shrugged.

"Might be your Black relation too, who knows," Corban mused and propped his chin up on his hand. "A most unusual family. Metamorphmagi in the bloodlines, necromancy, ritual magicks… a peculiar bunch."

"Most of us are related to them in one way or another," Cantankerus Nott said and even rolled his eyes a little. "And I can say that most of Slytherin dabbled in rituals back in my day. I certainly did."

After that, the men started talking about genealogy. Apparently, Cantankerus had even written a book about blood purity while he was still in school. Harry was quite content to sit, listen and occasionally nip at his butterbeer until Voldemort returned with Rosier.

Those piercing red eyes sought out Harry's own the moment the man entered, and Harry gave him a smile and a nod. Voldemort gave no outward sign of acknowledgement and sat back down in the chair next to Harry's the way Harry imagined an indulgent king might.

Voldemort was now entirely at ease, and it felt as if he was holding court with the way the men all clung to his words when he addressed them.

"You are permitted to share vague information about a new age coming. But! I want more than rumours, gentlemen," he declared. "I want even the most ill-informed Light disciple to toss and turn at night for fear of a reckoning."

"Consider it done," Cantankerus Nott answered for them. "Permission to feed choice tidbits to the children?"

"Certainly," Voldemort agreed, "but not even a hint towards Harry's involvement – and believe me, I will know. I want him treated exactly as he is always treated."

Which is like shit, Harry added sarcastically in his mind and took another swig of butterbeer. But it made sense, didn't it? No one was allowed to know. There were too many potential enemies surrounding him in Hogwarts, so it was easier if things didn't change.

After this, Corban Yaxley was busy giving an overview about what was going on at the ministry at the moment. Apparently, the matter with France regarding Fleur and Gabrielle Delacour's near-death experience had had a bigger impact on international politics than had been officially communicated. 

Shit was hitting the fan behind closed doors, and Harry was surprised about how gleeful that made him. 

While Corban was talking, a door opened to reveal Barty and Corvus Lestrange. To Corban's credit, he only took one glance at Barty's puffy eyes and then kept on talking to keep the others occupied.

Harry wanted badly to snuggle up somewhere with Barty because he looked haunted and ill, and Harry had learned that getting a hug helped a lot with those kinds of things. But that wasn't what you did in these sorts of social scenarios, Harry knew that much, so he settled for behaving very well in the hopes that not drawing attention would let them get home earlier than if a new line of questioning started.

"I will contact those of you I still need to talk to personally and privately in the coming weeks," Voldemort declared at one point after Corban was done with his glorified progress report. "Today is for catching up only. And, if there are no more urgent questions that need answering, I will take my leave."

"It is good to have you back," the man who hadn't yet spoken apart from murmurs of agreement said in a quiet, almost frail voice. "Out of all of us, I have the least amount of time left, so... we never gave up hope, of course, but I truthfully did not expect you to return in my lifetime. Just let it be said that I am glad I held on long enough to see you again, Thomas. Do come to visit me again before the year is out, and promise to consider letting my son take my place. He is a good man, and a strong wizard."

Voldemort's eyelid twitched almost imperceptibly, and Harry wanted to claim that it was only due to being physically close to the man and used to his facial expressions that he was even able to see it.

"I will, Aldric."

-o-

On the way back to the gate, Harry walked swiftly to keep up with Voldemort's long strides.

"That man at the end, the quiet one," he started. "He looked really ill. What's wrong with him? Is he sick?"

"Aldric Mulciber," Voldemort explained without looking at Harry. "He went to school with me. While some wizards seem untouched, or at least unbothered by the tides of time or normal illnesses, there are those who do not have that luxury. Lord Mulciber has always been sickly, for a wizard, and it seems time has caught up with him."

That explanation sounded a lot colder and more analytical than Voldemort's body language conveyed, but Harry didn't want to push it. Vol de mort. Flight from death… was Voldemort, rather than just being scared of his own death, scared about his friends dying as well?

Harry imagined a teenaged Tom Riddle hiding in the rubble of a bombed-out London and felt a shudder come over him. 

"I wish they hadn't destroyed that bloody stone," he sighed and kicked at an unassuming pebble in retaliation. 

"We can change a lot with magic, but never the past," Barty said in an eerie voice that made Voldemort and Harry stop and turn around. 

"Are you alright, Barty?" Voldemort asked. "Did Corvus upset you?"

"Thirteen years, master," Barty ground out, balling his hands to fists. "Corvus made me remember Azkaban, and Rab and Rod and Antonin and all the others have been in there for thirteen fucking years!"

"I should not have let you go alone with him so soon," Voldemort almost hissed out. "Come, we are going home."

Voldemort grabbed Barty by the shoulder and half-pulled him the short distance towards the gate. Once outside, he didn't waste time to tell Harry to hold on tightly before Apparating them home.

"Harry, get him some hot chocolate if you please," Voldemort asked of him, and Harry hurried into the kitchen to prepare a mug (or three.)

When he came into the sitting room, carrying a tray with three mugs of hot chocolate, Barty was sitting on one of the chairs at the dining table with Voldemort opposite him. They were staring into each other's eyes, Voldemort unmoving but Barty trembling, and Harry thought vaguely how this definitely wasn't just sharing feelings or whatever. 

Finally, after the cocoa had already begun cooling, it was as if a spell was released and the two men snapped back into the here and now.

"What was that?" Harry asked and pushed the mugs towards Barty and Voldemort. "Was that some sort of calming spell?"

Because Barty certainly looked calmer than before.

"No," Voldemort answered and curled both his pale, elegant hands around the warm mug. "I, for lack of a better term, performed Legilimency on Barty. In an open, willing subject, a legilimens can do almost everything a pensieve is capable of."

"A… pensieve?"

"A rare magical artifact that can be used to store and revisit memories," Voldemort explained. "Think of it as a basin to put all the things that keep you tossing and turning at night. It is also used by aurors when dealing with spotty memories – the innate magic imbued in them can lay open secrets and clues in a witness' memory that even they were not aware of."

"That's wild," Harry said, frowning. "Wait, Barty told me about those before! I thought they were just for replaying memories like with VCRs…  and you can mimic one of those pensieves?"

"I can do all sorts of things to a mind once I am inside of it," Voldemort all but whispered and Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "I can wreak havoc to my enemies and make them lose all semblance of rationality, but I can also calm a wandering mind down enough to facilitate healing and quiet."

Harry followed Voldemort's glance over at Barty. The man was looking deeply into his mug, frowning, and then just got up and carried his drink up the stairs.

"Is he going to sleep?"

"Yes. A broken mind needs even more rest than a broken bone."

"Can I help him somehow?"

Voldemort took a long moment to look at Harry, studying him. 

"You have probably never heard of it before, but in Japan, they practice an ancient art called kintsugi," Voldemort told him wistfully, "the art of repairing broken pieces of pottery with veins of gold. It is really quite beautiful."

"Pottery, huh?"

"An admirable profession," Voldemort agreed, "and one you seem to be aptly suited for in more than name. What I have seen in Barty's mind today is a perfect example of kintsugi. Where before, when I freed him, all I saw were broken pieces, there is a hesitant net binding them all together by now."

"Like in kintsugi?"

"Precisely. A major aspect of this art is the understanding that a piece is more beautiful for having been broken."

"Because fixing it shows how much you love it?"

"That, and because the imperfections tell of its history."

"So Barty is more beautiful for having been broken?" Harry asked, unsure about the lesson he was about to learn.

Voldemort looked amused more than anything. "You mentioned how fixing something in this manner shows how much you love it. What I saw in all those tentative connections and scabs… was you."

Harry felt a blush slam into him and all the air in his lungs seemed to leave his body. He didn't know what to reply, so he looked to the side and opened his mouth only to close it again.

"You need not answer, or tell me anything," Voldemort soothed him in the most gentle voice Harry had heard of him yet. "Matters of the heart are rarely easy to talk about. But it is getting late – you should go to sleep too."

-o-

Barty was withdrawn the next day and only came down during mealtimes. He quietly reassured Harry that he was going to be fine, and that revisiting the memories of Azkaban for Corvus Lestrange had been more of a burden than he'd expected.

Harry in turn told Barty that he expected him to come to either him or Voldemort if he needed help, even if it was at like 3 am, and Barty promised to do so.

To Harry's surprise, Voldemort was there all of Thursday to keep him company while he was doing the last of his homework essays. Nagini, heavy though she was, lay over the man's shoulders all morning.

Voldemort looked almost peaceful.

When it got close to noon, Harry closed his Transfiguration book and planned on getting started on lunch for the day. It didn't come to that just yet though because Voldemort opened his eyes from where he had closed them earlier.

"I have a task for you, Harry," he confided in a low voice.

"Another one?"

"This one is just for you," Voldemort said, just as quietly as before. "Do you accept it?"

Without knowing what it entails?, Harry wanted to ask, but snorted softly instead. As if he'd say no.

"Yeah, sure."

Voldemort nodded, satisfied. "There is a hidden room in Hogwarts, up on the seventh floor corridor, left hand side. You walk up and down the corridor in front of a garish tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy three times while thinking about needing access to the room of hidden things."

"The room of hidden things?" Harry asked, eyes lighting up. "What sorts of things are hidden there?"

"Anything and everything," Voldemort said indulgently. "From contraband and ancient trinkets to forbidden books and broken time turners. I expect there is little in the magical world that you cannot find a copy of within this room…"

Harry felt  excitement course through his veins. Could a place like this really exist? A real-life treasure island!

"And no one knows about this room?" he asked greedily.

"I certainly never met anyone there in my time," Voldemort shrugged. "Then again, I did not dare venture near it again in my last years at Hogwarts for fear of the old man finding out this secret. But that is not important – you have your little map, and your cloak, so you will not disappoint me. Go into the room, and retrieve a magical artifact of mine."

"You left it there in your school days? And you think it's still there after all this time?" Harry frowned. "Well I guess if no one knows about the room…"

"I stored it there later on," Voldemort said in a strange voice. "I visited Hogwarts one more time after my travels abroad. Can you imagine? Me, a teacher…"

It sounded as if Voldemort wanted Harry to chuckle along, but he didn't feel like it. "You mentioned that shortly after your resurrection, and you would have been a good teacher. I mean, you still are. You taught Barty so much, and you've been helping me with my homework too, and whenever you explain things to me, I don't feel stupid for needing explanations or asking questions. You'd have been a great teacher!"

Voldemort looked conflicted, but the customary expression of blank indulgence he often wore around Harry and Barty soon won over. "I appreciate the sentiment. Unfortunately, we will never find out how I would have fared in an official setting. The old man was quite adamant that having friends to accompany me to Hogsmeade and wish me luck on my interview, the very same friends you met a couple days ago by the way, was enough to prove that I had been collecting followers and was planning something nefarious."

Harry lifted a brow. "... but wasn't that exactly what you were doing?"

Voldemort actually barked out a laugh. "Of course you would think that, no, you are absolutely correct. I suppose I just hated the matter-of-fact way he gave me the boot."

"Mh, I get that," Harry mused. "With how crappy a lot of the teachers at school are, I wonder whether things might have been different for me and other students if there had been more people like you around… but it's no use crying over spilt potions. What does your artifact look like? Another book?"

"No," Voldemort said and shook his head. "It is a diadem made of silver. The room shifts sometimes, so I cannot tell you where exactly you will find it, but you will know it when you see it."

"Why can't Barty come with? Or is this a test just for me?"

"It is not a test." Voldemort looked out the window, a small smile playing on his lips. "You are better suited to deal with the sort of artifact this is. It will try to control your mind if you put it on, and I have it on good authority that you are a very stubborn young man."

Harry remembered not wanting to jump back when Barty-as-Moody had used the Imperious curse on all of them.

"Barty's not good at not following orders, isn't he?"

"Not good at not following my orders. There are worse qualities in loyal followers," Voldemort shrugged, still with that small smile, and got up. "Only get this artifact when you are close to leaving school. I do not want anyone to know it is in your possession. It shall be our secret."

Voldemort had a mischievous and almost painfully human glint in his eye, and Harry felt a wave of excitement wash over him. In a spur of the moment decision, he got up too and surged forward to wrap his arms around the man's middle.

"I won't disappoint you, I promise!" he declared, voice muffled by the rich fabric of Voldemort's overrobe.

"I know." 

Voldemort didn't hug him back, and Harry hadn't expected him to, but there was a warm hand on the back of his head and another one on his shoulder.

-o-

In the end, Sunday came way too soon. Harry never got around to meeting Lucius Malfoy down in the dungeon with Voldemort, and he didn't get to see Snape again either. He found that he didn't mind much.

What he did mind was that Barty looked ever more queasy the closer they got to departure time, and that even Voldemort looked like he hadn't slept well that night. 

"You guys aren't making this easy for me," Harry said over scrambled eggs and toast. "At least you don't have to ride the Hogwarts Express all day instead of simply Apparating."

"I'd take the Express with you…" Barty mumbled, poking at his untouched eggs with a fork. "I just can't do the teacher's meetings anymore, gods… if I have to listen to one more 'teaching goblin wars and nothing else for thirty years is a perfectly acceptable pedagogical concept', from the headmaster, I'm going to exorcise Binns myself before the month is out!"

"Rest assured that Hogwarts will soon see a complete overhaul," Voldemort promised, eggs just as untouched as Barty's. "Until then… you two must be patient, and remember that I need you there to fulfill the task I gave you."

"Yeah, I know, I know," Barty groaned. "And it's really just two more months, I know that as well. I can do that. Won't even be alone or anything."

"We can do this, Barty," Harry said firmly. "We need to get Tom, and I need to finish the tournament. Dumbledore is still weakened, and there's not even Snape to pester us anymore. Just you wait, it'll all be over in no time."

"From your lips to Merlin's ears, Harry," Barty sighed.

-o-

The rolling hills and whimsical bridges he drove past on the way didn't make the trip on the Hogwarts Express any less solitary. Despite having agreed on a rendezvous spot, neither Luna nor her father had shown up. Harry had waited until the last whistle but had ultimately decided on entering the train on his own.

He hadn't managed to find a compartment just for himself because lots of students had left Hogwarts due to not seeing their families because of the Yule Ball. So he was sharing a compartment with three younger Hufflepuff students who'd shrugged and invited him in when he'd asked if there was space left.

They were busy sharing their experiences during the break, so Harry was content to simply read a book Voldemort had given him as a parting gift. The cover read "One Thousand And One Defensive Spells For The Industrious Young Duellist", but the inside cover read "Occlumency: A Guide By Thomas Moregrave" and his heart had started pounding when he'd read that.

The book was a bit hard to understand, but Harry thought he was able to get the jist of it. There was just the nagging feeling in the back of his head that he'd heard of the author before. Maybe he'd written other books that Harry had seen in the Forbidden Section of the library?

After reading the first two chapters, Harry took up the advice in the book that said to take a break and to try and clear your mind by meditating. He'd seen Barty do this in the evenings sometimes, so he copied the man's relaxed expression and closed his eyes to drown everything out.

His head was still spinning though, and it was really hard to let go of some of the worries that were plaguing him. Was Luna alright? Why hadn't she shown up? What about Barty? Would he be alright with taking that bloody potion again all day? Would they be able to get the remains of the diary and the sorry spectre that was Tom Riddle?

And what about the diadem?

How on earth did people clear their minds when there were pressing matters to attend to! 

-o-

Luna wasn't at the Sunday evening banquet either, but at least Hermione and Viktor sat with him, and Barty gave him a curt nod up from the teacher's table. 

"I'm sure Luna didn't mean to not come," Hermione said not for the first time. "She was going abroad with her father, wasn't she? Maybe they got held up somewhere, or their Portkey malfunctioned and they got sent somewhere else. There's a myriad of possibilities, and not all of them heinous and scary."

"I didn't necessarily think heinous and scary," Harry argued. "I just worry about them, is all."

"Luna is a strong girl," Viktor said earnestly. "She is one of few girls here in Hogwarts who would survive harsh northern winters in Durmstrang, and those are heinous and scary. Maybe she met a Rakatonian Rumdunger. Sneaky little beasts – I bet she did not leave trail for days and days because some things are more important than school."

Hermione looked scandalised and Harry snorted when her and Viktor got into a (not quite serious) argument about the merits of perfect attendance versus following your passions from time to time.

It was terribly domestic. Harry sighed and stole another glance at the head table. He'd never wanted to follow his passions more than right now, but there were still obstacles to overcome before he was done at this school.

It took a lot of willpower after spending two weeks together, but Harry managed to not visit Barty that very first evening. Instead, he busied himself with practising his magic muscles by warding his bed and reading more of the book Voldemort had given him.

-o-

When Luna wasn't there for breakfast the next day, Harry vowed to talk to Professor Flitwick that very day. At least that's what he was planning to do, but then the Prophet arrived.

"France closes magical border to Britain," Hermione read aloud from the third page over her bowl of porridge. "It says that due to… ongoing diplomatic conflicts between the two nations, France has decided to close down the border for broom traffic and portkeys! So there was still animosity left between our countries, and wasn't Luna going to France with her father?"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief; it probably really was just a mishap in travel plans for Luna and her father. He still planned to ask Flitwick whether he'd heard anything, but it didn't feel as pressing now.

But first, he had Herbology and then Care of Magical Creatures out in the grounds.

What stuck out in that last lesson was that Draco Malfoy, who Harry hadn't paid any attention to in the Great Hall, looked… bad. He was paler than usual, and the bags under his eyes were so dark that they looked like bruises. What was even weirder was that he was standing on his own. His (former?) cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, stood off to the side with Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott.

Theodore, for his part, did not look pleased with that arrangement and took the initiative to quickly form a group of four with Lilith Moon, Millicent Bulstrode and Blaise Zabini when it was time to herd the nifflers around.

Harry, working with Hermione, Fay and Isobel, pondered how strange it was that things had changed so much so quickly. All Malfoy's cockiness was gone, and he didn't meet Harry's gaze once. He wondered whether the other boy was grieving the loss of his father, or whether his mother had told him to keep his head down as much as possible. 

Whatever it was, it seemed to work, because Malfoy kept silent all lesson and hurried back to the castle on his own once Hagrid dismissed them.

"Viktor told me that Malfoy's mother tried to get him enrolled in Durmstrang over the break," Hermione shared on their hurried way up to the castle. "She came to the school, personally, and spoke to some of the Durmstrang teachers that came with. No one was able to give a yay or a nay though because technically, Durmstrang doesn't have a headmaster at the moment. They told her to try again during summer break using official channels."

"Weird," Harry shrugged, stomach churning. "Maybe they expect Karkaroff to turn up again during the summer? Who knows where that guy went."

"Maybe he had debts," Hermione mused. "He seemed like the type of man to owe someone else a considerable amount of money."

Harry merely nodded and led them toward the Charms classroom. They'd been let go a little early from Care, so this class, some older Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, were still in the process of leaving. 

"Mr Potter, Ms Granger, welcome, welcome," Professor Flitwick greeted them and waved them closer. "If this is about your friend, the ever-elusive Ms Lovegood, I'm afraid I know as little as anyone else. Neither her, nor her father have contacted the school regarding her absence."

Harry felt his face fall. "They were supposed to be in France, professor. Do you think they got stuck there because of the travel ban?"

"I'm afraid that might be the case, Mr Potter," Flitwick sighed. "You could always try sending a letter with that pretty owl of yours, ask if she's okay…"

Harry nodded, defeated. "Thanks anyways, professor."

"Not at all, Mr Potter," Flitwick answered quickly. "I am, after all, glad Ms Lovegood finally found some companions in this school. I haven't had the opportunity to tell you this before, but I appreciate what you two have done for her. If I hear anything, I will be sharing the news with you."

Since that was about as much goodwill as they could expect, Harry and Hermione left the Charms classroom again and made their way to lunch.

They didn't speak much the rest of the day.

-o-

The next day, Luna was waiting for Harry and Hermione outside the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Luna!" they both exclaimed simultaneously and almost bowled the slight girl over in their desire to hug her as fast and as tight as possible. 

"Where have you been?"

"What happened to you?"

They were talking over each other, and Luna held her hands up to get them to be quiet.

"I was busy," she explained. "Daddy and I were hunting, and there was a Rakatonian Rumdunger that was so interesting and elusive but then, when we finally got to the portkey, it didn't work and we had to take a ferry. A muggle ferry!"

"You are terrible, Luna Lovegood, and I love you a whole lot," Hermione cried out and hugged her again. "You and your silly creatures, my poor heart can't take it! But I'm ever so glad you just got held up because, I swear to Merlin, I couldn't deal with anything happening to you."

Luna proceeded to tell them all about her little excursion to the southern part of France and Harry and Hermione were too relieved to change the subject.

After breakfast though, with Hermione going off with Viktor, Luna cast a conspiratorial glance at Harry.

"I wasn't hunting Rakatonian Rumdungers with daddy, Harry," she grinned. "Not-Alastor gave me a small task, and it took a bit longer than expected. You see, daddy is really good with magic when he puts the effort in, and we pulled a little heist." 

"A heist?"

"We'll talk later," Luna promised, gleeful as a spring day.

-o-

Later, Harry found, turned out to be after dinner in Barty's office.

"I got it," Luna announced when the door opened to reveal Moody's expectant face.

"You what," Barty intoned, voice somewhere between Alastor's and his own, and pulled both of them in. "You can not be serious, Luna, I was joking!"

"I can be very sneaky," Luna confided, vibrating with uncharacteristic energy, "and I learned how people hide things they don't want found because that's how I hid some of my dearest belongings from the other children."

Harry kept looking between them, face scrunched up in confusion. "What? You stole something?"

Luna turned to him, eyes sparkling with mirth, and withdrew… something wrapped in a delicate handkerchief embroidered with pink flowers.

"Go on, open it."

"You can't be serious," Barty whispered again. "Please tell me you're not serious… that was a joke. I didn't mean for you to–"

His voice broke off and Harry took the proffered package, heart beating fast. It seemed to call to him, and the weight and shape felt… oddly familiar in his hands. When he started unwrapping it, his breath caught.

Right there, on top of Luna's delicate flowery handkerchief, rested the Philosopher's stone in all its crimson glory. 

"I get to know who you really are now, Not-Alastor," Luna sing-songed. "A promise is a promise."

 

Chapter 23

Right there, on top of Luna's delicate flowery handkerchief, rested the Philosopher's stone in all its crimson glory. 

"I get to know who you really are now, Not-Alastor," Luna sing-songed. "A promise is a promise."

Barty looked torn between queasy and excited, and Harry shared those warring sentiments with him.

"It wasn't a diplomatic closing of the borders at all," Barty murmured, looking at Luna with a quizzical expression.

"I am responsible for an international conflict!" Luna exclaimed confidently. "Daddy interviewed the director of the Museum of the History of Magical France while I snuck around and found the stone."

"You snuck around?" Barty asked, incredulous. "In the Museum of the History of Magical France?"

"I became an animagus at the beginning of the break!" Luna said, still so giddy that she was close to vibrating out of her own skin. 

Harry gaped at her. He didn't see her for two weeks, and that's what she'd been up to? But wait! If the stone still existed… 

"Flamel's alive then?" he asked, because somehow that was the hardest pill to swallow. "Dumbledore said Flamel and his wife would die because they destroyed the stone so no one can take it… ughhh, that was a lie, wasn't it?"

"Afraid so, lad," Barty answered, contrite, "at least partly. They died, or at least that's what people say happened. The stone, though, definitely survived both of them, seeing as it is a piece of magical history – not only of Magical France, but of all magical nations since no one but Flamel has ever been able to create a philosopher's stone. My m– somebody told me all about this earlier in the year."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. So Voldemort had known that the stone still existed? Well, if anyone were to know, it would be him. "But how did you know all this, Luna?"

"Daddy helped me," she shared with a fond smile. "He can almost never say no to me, so when I told him that I needed the philosopher's stone to make sure my friend Harry Potter survives the third task of the tournament, he agreed to help me out."

"Oh," Harry breathed, more than a little overwhelmed. "You did that for me?"

"Ninety percent you, ten percent wanting to know who Not-Alastor really is, if I had to estimate," Luna grinned.

Barty looked ready to either faint or vomit. Maybe both. He'd never looked more like himself while in Alastor's body than right now, but maybe that was just Harry being used to Barty's face by now.

"He's gonna kill me," Barty whispered.

"Not if you have the stone he isn't," Luna reminded him helpfully. 

Barty snorted despite himself and cast a long-suffering glance at Harry. "I'll… have to ask for permission," he admitted slowly, finding back into his proper Alastor Moody voice. "I didn't for a second consider that you'd take me up on my ridiculous quip about spilling the beans in exchange for the stone, but, well. This changes everything."

Barty looked at the stone with such longing that Harry handed it over to him. The man proceeded to hold it reverently with both hands as if he was afraid that a centuries-old artifact would shatter from a mere 5 feet drop.

"You are amazing, Luna Lovegood," Barty said earnestly. "Amazing, but scary."

"Being friends with Harry Potter keeps you on your toes," Luna giggled. "You need to be in tip-top shape to roll with the punches."

"I hope you don't need to do much rolling anymore," Harry sighed, pulling Luna into a hug. "I appreciate this gift more than you could possibly imagine – the stone saved my life once before, so to have it back once more… thank you, Luna."

"It was my pleasure," Luna replied and hugged him back. "So shall I tell you how I did it?"

-o-

"So you just entered the museum in your father's bag, and then… went off on your own to steal a priceless piece of history?" Harry asked, grinning.

"Mh, not quite," Luna hummed. "There were groups of tourists, and I turned back into human and blended in with them while daddy did his interview. When I got close to my objective, I slunk away to the corridor leading to the vault."

"But wasn't there security?" Barty asked.

"Yes, loads," Luna replied, eyes wide. "Not human security or anything, but there were curses and traps. I wore my spectrespecs and my lucky socks though, so I managed to slip right through."

Barty looked incredulous. "No, young lady, you do not get to do that. How does one simply 'slip through' into a no doubt heavily guarded secret department in Magical France's biggest museum?"

"Alright, you want the whole story. Have you two lovely young men ever heard of a bird called magpie?"

"Your animagus form is a magpie?" Harry asked. To be honest, he could see it – they liked shiny things a lot, just like Luna. "When did you even become an animagus? How did you do all that in just two weeks, Luna? What even are you?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Barty agreed. "I've never heard of a third year student becoming an animagus, especially not without guidance!"

"Oh, I started way earlier than just two weeks ago," Luna admitted. "Daddy procured a mandrake leaf for me after the second task because he wanted me to have a reliable way to get out of trouble even without my wand. I did that for a month, then the phial, and the dew drops, and the moth and everything, and finally, a storm hit just when we'd arrived in France!"

"Luna…" Harry started, unsure, but a puzzle was beginning to put itself together in his mind, "is your father an unregistered animagus?"

Luna blushed, something she rarely did. "You cannot tell anyone, Harry Potter, or he'll go to Azkaban!"

"Of course I won't tell anyone," Harry reassured her quickly, "not ever, and especially not after what you did for me with the stone, silly."

Luna nodded. "Daddy is a horse animagus, you know? It's no good for blending in anywhere, but I loved braiding his mane when I was younger."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at that mental image: Xenophilius as a horse with braids in his mane and ribbons in his tail while a tiny version of Luna worked on further prettying him up.

"How does… being an animagus work, Luna?" Harry asked. "You swooped in there in bird form, became human again, pulled out the stone from somewhere, and then you turned back and the stone… turned with you?"

"Animagi magicks are weird," Barty answered in her stead because Luna shrugged with a bit of a helpless expression. "There seems to be no rhyme or reason to it. Some merge with their accessories like McGonagall does with her glasses, but the clothes just vanish while they're in animal form. Objects that are in pockets vanish as well and reappear when the animagus turns back."

"Pocket dimensions is what daddy claims is happening," Luna explained. "It's where the nargles go when you look directly at them. I have a lot of experience with tracking pocket dimensions, so storing one small stone was…  easy? I can't really explain it. Thankfully, the tiny windows used for ventilation were only warded against entering, so I squeezed through a cracked window and waited for daddy at our agreed-upon meeting place."

"They were too sure that no one knew that the stone still existed," Barty hummed. "It was not easy to come by this information in the first place, so I'm not surprised they weren't as careful as they ought to have been. Good thing it was in France and not inside the DoM."

"No windows there," Luna sighed. 

How did she know that, too? But before Harry could ask, Barty had changed the subject. "They don't even have the slightest idea who did it, do they? I looked into the closing of the border out of curiosity, and Magical France closed all its borders. Magical Britain is just too isolationist to mention other countries as well, and a personal conflict between our two countries sells more copies."

They sat in silence for a bit. Harry, for his part, was busy updating the image he had of Luna as a brilliant, odd, shy girl to that of a brilliant, odd, shy and badass girl. Would Barty get permission from Voldemort to tell Luna about his true identity? Harry didn't doubt she'd keep it a secret, but would she still support him as unabashedly as she was doing right now?

"I can't believe you just walked into a museum and stole the philosopher's stone, Luna," he finally muttered.

"Flew. I flew into a museum and stole the philosopher's stone."

"Right…"

When they said goodbye for the day, Barty asked for time, and for the stone. Harry and Luna had granted him both, and Harry wondered how Voldemort would react to all these new developments. 

-o-

On Friday evening, Harry went to visit Barty again. After warding the door extensively, the man simply collapsed into Harry's arms and they stood hugging for a good long while. 

"I'm turning back soon, c'mon," Barty urged and led Harry toward the armchairs where he proceeded to take off his leg and eye.

Harry got out the map on autopilot and kept an eye on it as Barty changed back.

"I went to talk to him last night," Barty told him, the circles under his eyes dark. "He knows Luna has been suspicious of me for a while now, and that she was interested in my true identity due to our friendship with her. That said… When I asked him during the break, he was quite adamant that no one but you must know my or his identity."

"I feel like there's a but coming."

"Mh, yeah," Barty sighed, running his hands down his face. "When I gave him the stone… gosh, Harry, you should have seen him. I can't even describe it. Longing? Heartbreak? I've never seen him so vulnerable."

"He wanted that stone."

Harry remembered all the traps back in his first year, leaving behind his friends one by one, only to find out that nothing would have happened to the stone if only he'd stayed away. Why did he always rush headfirst into danger? Why did he, who no one ever stood up for, throw his life on the line like this time and again?

"He did," Barty agreed quietly. "Still does, except now… he actually has it. He'll be giving it to you for the third task, but he'll be handing it over personally. We can't let anyone know that we have it, or they'll have both your head and mine."

"More than they already do?"

Maybe he should stop risking his life for anyone other than those who'd do the same for him? Barty, Luna, Hermione… Voldemort?

Barty made a face. "Don't remind me of what fate awaits me if I'm caught. I get sick just thinking about being near one of those abominations again."

"What do you hear when they're near?" Harry asked cautiously. "I hear my mother begging for my life, and I hear…"

He stopped. He couldn't say how he also heard Voldemort, could he? Barty idolised the man, and it would be unfair to – and yet…  

"I heard my father telling me that a bloody queer is not fit to be a son of the Crouch family, and other fun things like that," Barty ground out. "Now though? It'd probably be lots worse to be honest, and I'm not in a hurry to find out."

"Here's to hoping they're not in the maze," Harry agreed. "So you're allowed to tell Luna about your true identity then?"

"How can he say no after a gift like that?" Barty laughed, visibly glad that they were moving on from dementors. "I am only allowed to tell her about my own identity now, not about his involvement. I told him I can't help it if she draws her own conclusions, and he shrugged, wandering off with the stone."

"Do you think he'll be able to replicate the elixir of life?" Harry asked.

"Well," Barty winked, fingertip placed on his lower lip, "he's certainly going to try."

-o-

In the end, it took another couple days for Barty to summon both Harry and Luna to his office for the evening via a note delivered by Hedwig at breakfast.

When they arrived, there was a piece of parchment placed on the otherwise empty desk, and Barty pointed at it.

"You may read this, and then decide on your course of action, Luna," he said. "If you don't sign this vow of secrecy, I can't tell you my true identity."

"I understand," Luna said and walked towards the desk.

She studied the parchment for a good while, and Harry went over to her at one point and looked over her shoulder. It seemed to be the same contract, or one very similar to it, that Voldemort had used for his old friends back at Lestrange manor.

"That sounds reasonable," Luna said finally and signed the contract with the quill Barty handed her.

Harry was surprised to see that the ink it seemed to be filled with was red.

Barty nodded, satisfied. "Good call, Luna, very reasonable." He looked over to Harry. "You can tell we're related, can't you?"

Luna went from giddy excitement to deer in headlights in a fraction of a second.

"Related?" she repeated, voice soft. "Related in the way that most purebloods and some half-bloods are related, or…"

She left it open-ended, voice petering out, and Harry reached out to take her hand. She squeezed it, but her eyes were only fixed on Barty.

"Alright," Barty said slowly, wringing his hands. "Harry, do you have the map again?"

Harry got the map out obediently and activated it.

"We're… pretty related," Barty revealed to Luna, voice shaking and not at all sounding like Alastor anymore. 

Harry watched Barty walk over to one of the armchairs before sitting down heavily and beginning to unbuckle the prosthetic leg.

Luna inched closer, and they both watched Barty take out the eye and shrug off the heavy coat.

"You are absolutely sure that you want to know?" Barty asked. "Because I am turning back very soon, and there's still time for you to be able to plead ignorance when the inevitable questions start coming."

"Oh, but I need to know," Luna whispered eagerly and took a couple more steps towards Barty. "I really, really do. Especially now that I know we're related! Are you from mummy's or daddy's side?"

"... she was my aunt," Barty whispered back, just as his hair was beginning to turn back into blonde. The same shade of blonde Luna had, Harry noticed not for the first time, but now that he was seeing both of them at the same time…

Luna, for her part, clasped both her hands together in front of her mouth. "You," she gasped, voice tight all of a sudden as if she was close to crying. "Daddy told me about you…"

"And thanks to me getting caught, I never even got to hold you when you were a baby," Barty ground out, fully himself once more.

Luna's eyes roamed over Barty's features and Harry wondered what she saw. The dark circles under his eyes? Or rather how close in colour both their eyes were? Did she notice how thin he was, or that he was as anxious as Harry had ever seen him?

"So your allegiance is truly with him now,  Harry Potter," Luna said quietly, looking like her mind was racing a mile a minute. "Lord Voldemort… I had thought it was him that was reaching for you in my dreams, but how do you ask that when he was the one who… no, but you would have your reasons, would you not?"

She sounded as lost in thought as Harry had ever heard her, and when she took two hesitant steps towards Barty, Harry's breath hitched. Then, she was rushing to close the remaining distance between her and Barty and practically bowled him over despite the fact that he was sitting by throwing herself into him.

"You look so much like grandfather did in the pictures of when he was young," Luna pressed out, arms wrapped around Barty's neck. "He had to see two children and one grandchild die – oh how I wish he'd gotten to see you one more time."

That's when she started crying, and it didn't take long for Barty to cry along.

"I loved visiting grandpa when I was a child," Barty admitted between sniffles. "When I heard that he'd died while I was, was…"

"But where were you? Daddy said you died in Azkaban!"

"Your aunt died in Azkaban," Barty shared with her, and Luna gasped.

"She went to Azkaban in your stead?"

"No, she… they came after I'd been there over a year because she was dying anyways. She traded her life for mine."

"That stupid Greengrass curse," Luna said heatedly between tears, small hands balled into fists. "Mummy was showing early signs too. I think – I think that's why she was getting reckless…"

"Oh Luna," Harry choked out, and Barty hugged the girl tighter. 

-o-

They sat in Barty's bedroom, huddled in front of the fireplace there. Even though it was already April, they had a big fire going. Luna had coped a lot better with everything than Harry would have expected though he almost felt bad for doubting her because it was Luna. She had been friends with Barty-as-Alastor almost as long as he himself had been.

"He'd never been my favourite uncle, your father," Luna admitted. "He was… too cold. I was used to everyone from the Greengrass side being nice and warm, but he was just…" She sighed, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter. I would never have thought that you were Alastor though. To be honest, I thought you were Sirius Black."

"Oh, that makes a lot of sense actually," Harry gasped.

"Huh, it does," Barty agreed, eyebrows drawn up. "No, you're right, it really does. Sorry I'm not Light though."

"I didn't really expect you to be Light," Luna mused, staring into the flames. "I had kind of talked myself into believing Sirius Black was who they said he was after all, but… this makes much more sense. And you knew all along that we were cousins?"

"I couldn't let myself ruminate on that," Barty excused himself quickly. "No one was allowed to know, and you have to understand the danger I have put you in by telling you my identity!"

"I don't care about that," Luna shrugged. "You're family, and you were a friend even before I knew that. I understand why you couldn't share your identity earlier, but I'm glad I'm finally in the loop. I have to admit that I felt a bit left out…"

"I'm sorry Luna, but…" Harry started, unsure how to continue. "Well, you see yourself now why we had to be as secretive as we were. As we are."

"So you met him, too, didn't you?" Luna asked, eyes fixed on Harry. "What's he like? He has to be different than they say for you, of all people, to be on his side."

"He's…" Harry hesitated – how did one explain the phenomenon that was Lord Voldemort and his more human side? "He's really not quite like anyone else I've ever met. He's not necessarily a kind man, but he's polite, and reasonable, and he keeps his word. He's very strong, you can tell immediately when you meet him – like, there's no doubt he could take on all of Hogwarts at the same time – except maybe Dumbledore – he's that strong. And he's, he's also a good teacher, and, and he has that aura, you know? I think it'd really freak you out if you're on the receiving end of his anger, but when you're on his side, it's just…"

Harry stopped his gushing because he was becoming self-conscious, but Barty stepped in. "It's very easy to bask in his power, is what Harry's trying to say."

"But…" Luna put on a thinking face. "I have to ask, Harry Potter. Your parents, was that all a big misunderstanding? How can, why, I mean–"

"No, that's, I get that," Harry shrugged uneasily. "He had no choice but to come after them, or after me, really, because there was… I can't really say much more than this, but he thought his own life was on the line, so it was an easy decision for him. It was… nothing personal."

"A prophecy," Luna nodded, and Harry and Barty both did a double-take, "that figures. I know a thing or two about them, so you can come to me if you need help."

"I didn't know you took Divination too, Luna," Harry said. 

"Oh!" Luna exclaimed. "No. Nonono, I am not in her class at all. Trying to teach Divination to children is like trying to teach breathing to a fish. No, sir, my mother taught me a lot."

Harry felt fondness bubble up in his chest and he hugged Luna from the side. "I'll take you up on that offer of help when the time comes," he promised. "But now that we're spilling secrets, Luna, I need to ask: what did your mother do? And don't just say spellcrafter!"

Luna made a pained expression, and Harry felt a little bad for asking. But then, Luna drew in a deep breath through her nose and breathed it out through her mouth. 

"Mummy was… she worked at the Department of Mysteries," she admitted while staring into the flames. "She researched new spells, but she did other things too, like more experimental magicks. Rituals, and, and wilder sorts of magic – things that are frowned upon in Magical Britain. She was beginning to weaken, though, just like her sister before her, and so she took some of the work home with her because she said that there was just too much to do and too little time…"

Harry and Barty exchanged uneasy glances with each other. Luna's mother, an Unspeakable? Voldemort had told him a little about them during the break, and they were apparently some of the most skilled, but also most reckless wizards and witches that Magical Britain had to offer.

He opted for hugging the shivering girl and saw Barty scoot closer to her from the other side.

"Luna, that curse… do all Greengrass women get it?" Harry asked when a terrible premonition befell him. 

"Not all of them," Luna whispered, "but enough for the worry to never leave you completely. There are no warning signs in your youth, it just… starts around your mid-twenties and you get sicker, and sicker, and then you die."

"Even if you get it, we have the philosopher's stone, Luna," Barty reminded her. "Master won't let you die just like that if you get the curse now that you have given us this terrible, wonderful gift."

"What an awful curse," Harry commented, disgusted. "Is this… random? Or did someone put that curse on your family at some point?"

"Mummy said that some centuries ago, a Greengrass woman spurned a suitor in favour of another, and so the spurned suitor cursed our very blood. It can happen to those like me, who aren't born with the Greengrass name, but the more the blood gets, well, diluted, the lower the chance gets. Supposedly." She shrugged. "Not like there's much empirical science in our society. Mummy liked that about the muggles – scholarly excellence."

Barty scoffed.

"I don't like muggles," Harry admitted. "Well, maybe Hermione's parents. But all the other ones I've met were horrible."

Luna gasped. "Don't go down that path, Harry Potter," Luna cautioned him, eyes wide, "not when you're allied to him. That is a slippery slope, and you are not prepared for what awaits you at the bottom. Please remember that you are kind, and give people the benefit of the doubt."

Harry thought back to his elementary school days, and apathetic faces of his teachers and cruel laughter from the other children filled his mind. Mrs. Figg's smelly apartment and her too-many cats. The Dursleys.

"Harry," Luna urged again and took his hand in hers. They were cool, and he returned her imploring gaze as best he could. "If you can forgive the man who killed your parents and gave you this scar on your forehead, you can forgive innocent people you never met for things they never did."

She was right. Harry knew she was right, but… he still felt all wrong when thinking about himself in relation to the world of the muggles. That wasn't where he belonged, after all, but most of them didn't even know he existed, and they'd done him no harm, and there were wizards who sucked, too!

He decided to postpone that bit of soul-searching and nodded. "You're right, Luna, I shouldn't be so small-minded."

Luna grinned at him, relieved, and let go of his hands. When she turned back to the fire, Harry caught Barty's eyes over her head and saw the man smirk knowingly at him. He smelled a conversation coming his way.

-o-

The next week passed in a bit of a blur. It was already May by now, and the castle finally seemed to be waking up from the lingering chill of a cold winter. 

Coincidentally, Harry felt a chill run down his spine when faced with a sink he thought he'd never have to look at ever again.

"The little snake is still here," he murmured and caressed the stylised carving of a tiny snake. 

"Oh," a nasal girl's voice said, "you're back. Took you long enough."

Harry flinched when Myrtle emerged from her toilet. How anyone could willingly sit in the sewers, even in ghost form, was beyond him.

"Uhm, hi Myrtle," he said awkwardly. "Have you been good?"

"Good? Good? Look at me, I'm dead," the ghost girl screeched, but started sobbing afterwards. "You don't come to visit once, and you ask me how I've been? If you weren't so cute, I would slash–"

Harry never found out what exactly she was going to slash, because she… disintegrated after a barked spell by Barty.

"Hated her ever since I was a kid," he excused himself. "Something about that egotistical, in-your-face kind of misery and self-pity, you know? Hate it."

"You sure you weren't just jealous?" Harry laughed, trying not to think too hard about whether Barty had just… killed a ghost.

Could you even kill ghosts? Were they alive? Surely it wasn't murder to disintegrate a ghost? For someone as pitiful as Myrtle, it might have even been a relief not to have to suffer anymore…

A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Luna reminded him of slippery slopes, and Harry shook his head to focus again.

"Maybe I was a tiny bit jealous too," Barty winked and gestured toward the sink. "C'mon, let's do it before anyone finds us together in a bathroom."

Harry snorted when Barty wiggled his eyebrows and spoke Parsel to get the snake to open up the hidden entrance to them.

"Dyou think it used to be a girls' bathroom, back in Slytherin's days?" Harry mused while the heavy stone blocks shifted away to reveal the dark, downward passage he remembered. 

"I really hope it wasn't, because that'd be hella creepy," Barty answered distractedly and lighted his wand to look down the passage. "Alright, broom time."

Harry got the two brooms out of the mokeskin pouch Sirius had given him for Christmas and handed one to Barty. The way down the narrow slope was as muddy and dirty as Harry remembered, but at least he didn't have to skid through it this time. 

At the bottom, he stored the brooms in his pouch again and they started the trek along the corridor that led towards the Chamber of Secrets.

"And you were here all alone in your second year?"

"Well, Ron was there. And Professor Lockhart," Harry shrugged. "But after Lockhart obliviated himself on accident and the corridor collapsed between Ron and me, I was kind of on my own… it was fine though."

"Fine, he says," Barty grumbled. "Fighting against a giant snake and an echo of my master, and he says it's fine."

"Well, it was," Harry argued. "To be fair, I almost died, but Fawkes came in clutch. He really did most of the work."

"That story does not get any less stressful for my little heart the more I hear it." Barty took Harry's hand and held it as they continued their trek.

-o-

When the large doors leading to the chamber opened, Harry felt his heartbeat quicken. He'd almost died here… Maybe it was a bigger deal than he'd made it out to be earlier? His skin felt clammy, and the wand trembled where he held it with pale fingers.

"I'm with you this time around," Barty reassured him. 

The man had changed back into himself somewhere along the way, and he still held Harry's hand in his as they walked.

The corpse of the basilisk was where he'd left it. Harry's mouth felt dry, and he could feel his pulse hammering in his throat.

"It hasn't even started decomposing," Barty murmured as he cast a spell at the basilisk. "How odd…"

"This whole place is odd," Harry whispered. "It feels wrong to be here. Forbidden. It feels like I'm as unwelcome here as the last time around."

"You've got me with you now," Barty reminded him and squeezed his hand. "If anything happens, you're to summon a shield and leave the fighting to me, understood?"

Just when Harry was about to nod and promise to do so, there was a scoff from behind them.

"Droll," a smooth, achingly familiar voice commented. 

Barty whirled around and fired a spell. Harry watched it pass right through the transparent body of Tom Marvolo Riddle and fizzle out somewhere behind the other boy.

"That was a very effective spectre-locking spell," Tom nodded appraisingly, and then his pleasant smile morphed into an angry grimace. "Unfortunately for you, those don't work on me."

A pillar behind them exploded. 

"Harry, shield," Barty commanded and erected a barrier shield between them and Tom. "We're not here to fight you, Tom!"

"What a pity," Tom snarled back. "I was so looking forward to a real match after all this time trapped with only my dead best friend as company."

"You tried to kill me!" Harry defended himself from the implied accusation. 

"Then maybe," Tom whispered, but it was way too loud to be a whisper, "you should have just died!"

Another pillar exploded behind him, and Harry had to turn his shield the other way to keep the debris from crushing him.

"Tom, please," Barty called out and lowered his own shield. "I serve your future self – we're here to take you away from this place, back where you belong!"

"My future self?" Tom repeated and looked at Barty properly for the first time since they'd entered. "A servant... My future self's servant – accompanying Harry Potter to save me. Right. You have a vivid imagination, I'll give you that, but you should not think for a second that any of this seems plausible!"

"And yet it is, master," Barty argued, eyes burning with a passion the man only ever seemed to feel when it concerned his master. Harry saw Tom's expression shift from caged, striking animal to… something. "I could never hurt you, no version of you. We're here to get you out and away from this place, back where you belong!"

"And where is that?"

"In Lord Voldemort's hands."

Harry thought that was it. That Barty had managed to subdue the angry spirit with his heartfelt promise and his confident loyalty, but Tom's aura changed once more. 

"No," the other boy said in a tone that brooked no argument, "I think not."

He vanished. 

"Careful Barty, he's– oh no."

Tom reappeared again in front of Barty. Distantly, Harry registered how the two of them were the same height. 

"Dep–" Barty started, but his wand arm wasn't quick enough to stop Tom from crashing into him.

At least that's what it looked like, except there was no impact at first. But then, there was a blinding light coming from where the two of them stood and Harry had to shield his eyes against the onslaught.

When he was able to open his eyes again and blink furiously to make the flickering dots in front of his vision disappear, he saw Barty lying in a heap on the floor and rushed to his side.

"Please, please be breathing," Harry gasped out and turned Barty onto his back. 

The man's chest was softly moving up and down, all steady, and Harry exhaled in relief. He shook Barty carefully and whispered his name while keeping an eye on the chamber to be prepared if Tom was to attack again. Now that this trick hadn't worked, the other boy might escalate things further.

Barty groaned, and Harry helped him into a sitting position. 

"Are you alright?" Harry asked. "What did he even do? Did he hurt you?"

Instead of answering, the man looked down at his fingers with hooded eyes and flexed them slowly. "Now this," he murmured, "is very interesting."

When Barty looked up with a twisted grin, his eyes were red.

Chapter 24

"Are you alright?" Harry asked. "What did Tom even do? Did he hurt you?"

Instead of answering, Barty looked down at his fingers and flexed them slowly. "Now this," he murmured, "is very interesting."

When Barty looked up with a twisted grin, his eyes were red.

Harry's blood felt like ice in his veins. Were mere spectres even allowed to be able to do this?

Out of sheer panic and frustration, he whipped his wand up and cast "Stupefy!" so rushed that Hermione would have had his head for the pronunciation. 

Thankfully, it still worked, and Barty (or Tom?) crumbled back to where he'd lain before. 

"Fuck," Harry muttered and looked down at the unconscious man with worry brewing in his gut. 

Barty had told him that the kind of spectre Tom Riddle ought to be had to be less than a ghost since the original Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, was still alive and kicking. Thus, it wasn't even a real ghost but rather an echo – a memory of what the Dark Lord had been at this age, tethered to the diary.

Apparently, they'd been wrong.

What was he supposed to do now? Exorcise him? But whom? Both of them? And on that note, was the one who was exorcised the host or the parasite?

Harry felt his thoughts begin to spin around in circles and forced himself to stop them from making him dizzy. Be realistic, Harry!, he told himself and got to thinking.

No one knew they were here at the moment, not even Luna. It was around noon, a Saturday, so they wouldn't be missed for a good long while yet. That was good, but it was also… kind of frightening. Then again, hadn't he always been alone in the end when things got really tough?

Barty hadn't planned on leaving him to his own devices of course, but it was a constant in his life that these things happened. So he'd have to deal with this situation, just like he'd done countless times before.

His options were few. Contacting Voldemort via his patronus was his last resort – a vengeful Dark Lord descending on the school to discipline his younger self for possessing his favourite servant was the last thing he needed right now.

He could chain Tom-as-Barty up and look for a cure for possession in the Forbidden Section of the library of course… or maybe in that hidden room Voldemort had told him about. But where would he even chain them up? The defense professor's quarters? Too obvious. The Shrieking Shack was too far away, wasn't it? Maybe in the cover of the night, maybe with Luna's help… but no, he wouldn't rope her into this.

His gaze fell down onto the unconscious man before him and he frowned in concentration. Voldemort was not unreasonable, so his younger self definitely ought to have the capacity for striking a bargain. Tom didn't know Barty at all, so he wouldn't know that possessing him just meant that he inhabited a wanted fugitive with nowhere to turn to.

Reasoning with Tom then? A promise to get him corporeal somehow if he promised to let Barty go free?

Harry decided that that was the best course of action and used a body-bind spell Barty had taught him to make sure there would be no nasty surprises. He also remembered to take Moody's wand away and stash it in his satchel.

"Alright," he sighed, cast a floating spell on Barty and started the long trek back down the tunnel towards the… well, the other tunnel.

Only when he had reached the opening leading up to the bathroom did he hesitate for a second and turn back towards where the chamber laid. He frowned. Where had the shed skin of the basilisk gone?

-o-

He'd decided against going back to the Defense classroom. Instead, he had levitated the cloaked Barty to the formerly forbidden corridor on the third floor. Even though there was no longer a philosopher's stone hiding there (and seriously, Luna, what?) the corridor still remained closed for regular lessons and the like.

In Fluffy's room, Harry took the invisibility cloak off of Barty's body and gently lowered him to a chair he'd snuck from a disused classroom on the way. 

"Ennervate," he muttered, and red eyes sprung open and focused on him. 

"Nice trick, Harry Potter," Tom snarled in Barty's voice and Harry didn't like it one bit.

"It wasn't a trick," he replied evenly, trying to channel the calm and confidence the adult Voldemort carried himself with. "I merely used your own surprise to catch you off-guard. Now we negotiate."

"Negotiate?" Tom repeated, and one of Barty's eyebrows rose. Barty couldn't raise just one of his brows, so it felt wrong. "Colour me intrigued."

"Barty is a wanted fugitive who dons a false identity so as not to be caught," Harry decided to explain. "If you manage to overpower me and walk out like this, you'll get a Dementor's kiss before you can clear the gates."

Tom was quiet for a long while and simply stared Harry down. From what he had gotten to know of Voldemort's habits and expressions, the other boy was most probably thinking furiously to connect dots.

"Ah," he finally said. "Moody. The Defense professor who is way too chummy with Gryffindor's golden boy is, of course, not the real Moody. That makes sense."

Harry felt a flush run over his face. Barty and Voldemort had both drilled into him to avoid eye contact with anyone at all costs, and here he was, having a staring contest with Tom fucking Riddle.

"How did you–" he started with a trembling voice, but Tom interrupted him.

"None of your business. Now what are your terms?"

"Fine," Harry shot back. "You leave Barty's body, and I will help you become corporeal. You almost did it two years ago, and I am much more ruthless than I was then. If all you need is someone else's lifeforce, we'll pick someone out and you, I don't know, feed on them or something."

Tom laughed. It wasn't the high, almost musical laugh Voldemort had. Instead, it was all raw and… dangerous, in a way.

"You changed," Tom admitted, and Harry had the feeling that for the first time, Tom was beginning to take him seriously. "So this…  Barty, was it, wasn't lying? He is my future self's servant, and you have… switched sides?"

"It's, uh, true," Harry admitted, losing some of his suaveness. "And it's a really long story. Well, except it isn't that long. Basically, nobody ever cared for the boy beneath the Boy-Who-Lived persona, so I found some people who do."

"Touching," Tom commented dryly. "I appreciate how forthcoming you are though, and I would much prefer having my own body."

"Great!" Harry grinned in relief. "I mean, I know your older self well enough by now to know you're reasonable and everything. But this is still… wow, quite the surprise."

"Who do you intend to be your sacrifice to me?"

"Uhh…"

Harry had a half-formed thought about using Lucius Malfoy or maybe Snape, but that would involve Voldemort and he'd really rather not have the man know about their almost-but-not-quite failure.

"I'll think of someone," Harry promised. "In the meantime… is Barty okay? Does this hurt him at all? Can he… hear us right now?"

Tom's expression shifted somewhat from blasé confidence to, well, on Barty Harry would have called it thoughtfulness.

"It was a crack shot," Tom admitted, "trying to possess him. But I know my older self possessed one who idealised him, and with Barty's heartfelt little plea…"

Harry felt his blood run cold again. "Possessed one who idealised him?" he repeated. "Are you talking about Quirrell? How do you know about that?"

"Quirinus Quirrell, studious little Ravenclaw who wanted to be the one to find Lord Voldemort in order to bring about his glorious return," Tom mused, a glint in his eye. "History doth repeat itself, does it not?"

"How do you… can you hear him? Is Barty telling you this?"

"Barty loves his master a lot, Harry. I am his master. He can have no secrets before me, not with the state his mind is in." Tom smirked. "But he has not been told about Quirrell's motivations. That is all my own knowledge."

It felt teasing, and there was a lot to unpack. Was Tom really reading Barty's mind at this exact moment? Was Barty maybe banging on the metaphorical doors of his own head this very second? 

And Quirrell… Harry remembered the sizzling of flesh under his hands, and wondered whether that man, too, could have been–

"You sure know how to charm people," Harry finally answered. "And you know it, too."

"Oh believe me, I do," Tom smirked.

Harry had to turn away from Tom to keep his composure. He masked his discomfort by getting a small notebook and a pencil from his satchel and started to scribble. Time was of the essence, so he had to find someone within school grounds who preferably nobody would–

"Oh," Harry whispered without even having written anything of substance. "Tom, does the… quality of the sacrifice make a difference? Any difference at all?"

There was no answer for a long time, so Harry turned around to find Tom looking at him with a dangerous grin. "Are you passing judgment, Harry Potter?"

"Answer my question, Tom," Harry answered with more bite than he'd planned on using.

Tom chuckled darkly. "A soul is a soul. There is no difference for this ritual."

"Alright," Harry answered, drawing in a deep breath. "Alright. If I acquire a sacrifice for you, will you leave Barty's body and behave?"

"Behave?" Tom repeated, again with his brow curling up. "That has not been part of our bargain until now. I don't do well with authority."

Harry snorted. "Oh believe me, I know. And as much as I'd like to indulge your desire for hubris, this is neither the time nor the place. The magical world is connected, and Dumbledore is still in power, even if he is hanging on by a thread."

Tom rolled his eyes. "If that's your definition of behaving, I will play nice for now. I have no desire to be caught immediately after gaining my freedom."

Harry held Tom's gaze, unflinching. A part of him was very sure that Tom couldn't use legilimency the way his older self was able to, and he needed to commit the picture of Barty being possessed into memory so he could remember how much he hated it. 

"What else do you need to drain someone's soul? The diary is broken."

"It was never about the diary, Harry," Tom explained, still with that almost sickening grin in place. "It has always been me. I need only a sacrifice, a wand, and some time."

Harry closed his eyes and nodded. "I can do that. You'll have to stay here, and I will have to hide you."

Tom shrugged, but Harry saw his brows draw together the way Voldemort's did when he was worried about something when he got his invisibility cloak from his satchel.

"It's only for half an hour, tops."

"Whatever," Tom shot back, and Harry was struck once more by how much he hated Barty's voice sounding so callous.

He threw the cloak over Tom, cast a silence spell over him, and left the abandoned classroom.

"Alright, Harry," he psyched himself up on his way out of the formerly forbidden corridor, "it's just a small step. Just one small, further step."

-o-

"And you are absolutely sure you saw them sneak there, Malfoy?" Argus Filch asked. 

"I'm positive," Harry nodded earnestly in his best approximation of what Draco Malfoy sounded like. "I think Davens and the others are holding some sort of secret club. I've seen him and the others sneak off there from time to time and, with Professor Snape gone, you are the only hope that remains for keeping order around here."

Filch threw a gnarly smile at Harry over his shoulder. "For all your posh upbringing, you're surprisingly alright, boy."

"Why thank you," Harry forced himself to grin but felt bile rise up in his throat the second Filch had turned back around. 

He understood now why teenagers (or anyone, really) shouldn't have unfettered access to potions like the Polyjuice. Other people were way too gullible – he didn't even have the same ability of disguising his voice as Barty, and Filch was still gobbling it up.

When they finally arrived at the abandoned classroom, Harry nailed Filch in the back with a stunner before he could change his mind. 

A gesture with his wand and two muttered spells later, Tom was free, and Harry reluctantly handed him Moody's wand afterwards.

"Do what you have to do, but remember we have a deal," he said with a warning tone to his voice.

"A deal, yes," Tom agreed. "But not a vow. I will have words with my older self if this is how we tutor people, dear Harry. Why, if I was anyone else, I could turn on you just. like. that."

Tom stalked closer with every word until they were merely an inch apart, but Harry didn't back down. He stared back at Tom, into those familiar red eyes, and set his jaw.

"Tell me, Harry – do you hate me?"

Harry felt himself frown in confusion because this was not the kind of question he'd expected. "I hate some of the decisions you've made along the way."

"Mh," Tom answered, nodding sagely. "I see. But there is no hate. Not even… oh, not even a bad conscience, is there? You're annoyed that I have to make a sacrifice, and that you have to wear the skin of your petty little nemesis so as not to draw attention to yourself."

"Malfoy is not my nemesis," Harry clarified. "I don't have a nemesis. Only important people have nemeses, and I plan to go down in history as the most unimportant wonder boy there ever was."

Tom actually laughed at that. So much so, in fact, that he broke their intense eye contact and had to turn away. "Oh, Harry. Oh my poor, dear mirror boy." He turned back towards Harry with a glint in his eye. "You will always be important in this life. Better get used to it. Now, give me some space and I will depart from your dear, dear Barty."

Harry refused to rise to the bait and simply took a couple steps back. Tom affected a bow, and got to casting. Harry didn't know what it was that he was doing exactly, but after the casting had gone on for ten minutes, he decided to sit down on the chair.

There was a lot of latin, and at some point he realised it was the same long spell again and again. He'd spent enough time with Voldemort and Hermione by now that he could tell that there was something about spirits, and about souls, and about release. He could guess at what was about to happen – namely, an exchange – but didn't really want to know anything about logistics.

After about half an hour – Harry had already changed back into his own self – Filch started stirring. Tom didn't stop his casting, but he threw Harry a look so Harry stunned Filch again. Shortly after that, Filch started becoming… pale. Pale enough, in fact, that Harry was beginning to be able to see the rough stone he was lying on through the skin of his hand.

He was losing… mass, Harry realised. Matter. His body. Once again, there was a sensation of bile rising in the back of his throat, but he forced himself to take deep breaths. No one was going to miss Filch. Nobody. In the grand scheme of things, this was… 

This was what Tom had meant by passing judgment, Harry reminded himself. Best not to go there. He was helping Barty, and he'd do almost anything to help Barty. It simply was that easy.

There was a weird noise, and Harry watched in horror as Tom stepped out of Barty's body like the apparition he had appeared as down in the chamber. He looked see-through, but the grip on the very corporeal wand in his hand was steady.

Barty was left swaying, gaze unfocused, and Harry surged forward to catch him in case he fell. He didn't. He grabbed Harry's upper arms instead and shook him once.

"Harry, what have you done!"

"What have I – I saved you," Harry said haltingly, unnerved by the intensity of Barty's gaze. "I can't do this without you, Barty."

Instantly, Barty's gaze softened. "I don't want you to kill for my sake, you impossible boy…"

"Technically, Tom is the one doing the killing," Harry muttered.

"Semantics," Barty argued but drew him into a hug nevertheless. "I'm so glad you're alright, Harry, and even though I was worried, I'm so proud of you."

"Relax," Tom's voice, his proper voice once again, called over to them and Harry and Barty turned to him as one. "How resourceful you are, Harry. Without actually knowing, you chose the one person most appropriate for this endeavour of mine. Someone with magic, but unable to access it to fend me off."

"But he's a squib," Harry argued, "he's inherently unmagical, isn't he?"

"Ah, that's what they'd want you to believe," Tom said with a wink. "For you see, it's not as if squibs have no magic at all. Rather, they are unable to access it. Whereas magic in wizards such as us flows freely throughout our whole body, with squibs, it's restricted into one big metaphorical ball stored deep within themselves."

"And you know that how?" Harry asked, wrinkling his nose.

"There's rituals to make magic visible to the naked eye," Barty whispered, and Tom nodded appraisingly.

"So my older self isn't quite as hopeless at teaching as I had begun to fear," he drawled, and he didn't look see-through anymore. It was done. "Alright, you lot – how do we dispose of a body?"

Filch was no longer see-through either, but he was very, unnaturally still. Very dead, Harry's mind supplied helpfully.

Harry shrugged. "Vanish it?" 

He saw Barty shake his head from his peripheral vision. "People will ask questions when someone vanishes without a trace."

When he looked over at Barty, he was dealt a long-suffering glance and blushed in response. "Look, that thing with Snape was one time."

Barty was about to say something, but Tom laughed. It was such a nice, melodious sound that they both looked over at the young man again.

"Knowing what I know now – weren't you the one to spirit Karkaroff away, Barty?" Tom asked and Harry began to grin in triumph.

But then, he stopped short and his grin froze uncomfortably on his face. "How do you know about Karkaroff?" Harry asked in a voice he didn't quite recognise from himself.

Barty drew in a sharp breath and looked at Tom with furrowed brows. "He's… right. You aren't supposed to know anything about what happens outside the Chamber of Secrets. What are you? Don't be fooled Harry, he didn't see nearly as much in my mind as he would have you believe."

Harry got his wand out again and handed it over to Barty just in case. But instead of doing anything threatening, Tom raised his hands in a placating gesture, wand carelessly pointed at the ceiling, and shot them a disarming smile.

"No need to get all worked up," he reassured them. "I have a little bird who tells me things."

"A little bird?" Barty asked with a frown, but Harry felt an urgent sense of dread wash over himself the likes of which he'd seldom experienced.

Tom cocked his head and grinned at him. "You got it, didn't you? Who else can answer the Chamber's call but you and me?"

"Harry…" Barty said, but it sounded distant with all the ringing in his ears. 

A part of Harry wanted to scream, because fuck knows how long this had been going on. "She's never known Hogwarts without you…"

Tom's gaze was almost pitiful, but the glint in his eyes betrayed how much he enjoyed the horror Harry was feeling.

"Little Ginny has always been mine," he declared with a soft voice. "She's ever so in love with me."

"You tried to kill her," Harry spat, voice quivering with anger.

"She knows it was all I could do. After all, she could never freely give me what you have given me, Harry Potter – a proper sacrifice."

"But why come back to you? Why!?"

"Why?" Tom repeated, and his demeanour changed considerably. Where before, he had been full of wry humour, his gaze turned cold. "Why, it's this school's inability to take care of the students entrusted to her!"

Harry took a step back, and Barty took a firm hold of his hand. A thought struck. It was Barty who'd saved him this year – someone not of this school, who'd lied his way into the castle walls. If the real Moody had been here, Harry would have been as alone as he had always been.

His head hurt, and not in the scar kinda way. "I can't do this, Barty," he muttered, pressing the balm of his free hand into his eyes. "This is… this is not what Hogwarts ought to be like."

"Hogwarts needs changing," Tom said in a clear, firm voice and stalked closer to them. "Are you prepared to give everything to change this school for the better?

Harry found himself nodding, and he pressed close to Barty's side.

"My master wants to overhaul both Hogwarts and British wizarding society as a whole," Barty said with barely a tremble in his voice. "Despite what you may think, you and he are still similar."

"Ah, so the little connection went both ways then," Tom said, sounding annoyed. "Be that as it may, we are on the same side for now. Here."

With that, he handed Barty Moody's wand back.

"Oh!" Barty let go of Harry's hand to take that wand and give Harry his own back. "I'll look into acquiring a wand for you. Do we… I mean, he'll have to know eventually. How do we tell him?"

"That I'm back?" Tom asked with a grin. "I do think I ought to write him a letter. And I will be staying in your office until we make further arrangements, Barty. Oh, and Harry? I will be needing that cloak."

"Uh, yeah," Harry said lamely, struck by how much the mood had changed.

Where Voldemort was good at commanding a room, Tom was a master of commanding a room's atmosphere. Instead of agitated, Harry now felt at ease because Tom had taken charge so easily, and because Barty and him were used to taking orders from TomRiddleVoldemort by now.

So what if Ginny had been a lonely little girl with no one to turn to regarding the traumatic first year she'd experienced? Tom had been there for her, apparently, hadn't he? And as far as Harry knew, as of this morning in the Great Hall, she'd been very much alive. Had she changed at all? He supposed she hadn't, since she'd presumably never been apart from Tom's influence for long.

"How long?" he asked flatly.

"Hm?" Tom asked with polite interest.

"How long has she been coming back to you?"

"Oh, it was close to Halloween during her second year." He winked. "She made it all of three months without me."

"She wanted to confront you," Harry said even though he wasn't sure where he got his sudden insight from. Still, he was absolutely sure he was right. "She wanted closure, and instead…"

"Instead, she's been dancing with the devil, yes yes." Tom stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. "But I don't need her anymore. I have something way better now."

"A proper body?" Barty asked quietly.

"No," Tom laughed darkly. "Well, yes, that also, but I was talking about the two of you and the potential you can offer."

Barty took a step forward. "Mast– Tom. Mr Riddle, ah, no." He wavered, but then shook his head as if to clear it. "Master Tom, I need you to clarify what role you wish to play in your older self's plans. There cannot be two leaders since neither of you are made for this, so what's the plan?"

Tom looked at Barty, considering. "Very insightful, yes. You know, I understand why he likes you so much. I can feel myself drawn in by that burning loyalty, but he's not one to share, is he? He'll have to share a little, though, just as he will have to share Wizarding Britain with me. Don't you worry, Barty, Voldemort and I will come to an agreement. We will doubtlessly butt heads, but he won't resent either of you for bringing me back like this."

Harry doubted that, but he supposed that no one knew Voldemort as well as he himself did, even if there were several decades between both of these versions.

"What about Filch then?" Harry asked because he desperately needed to get out of this situation and order his thoughts. "Do we need to… take his body somewhere else?"

"Draco Malfoy was last seen with him," Tom mused. "Ah, but we don't want Lucius sniffing around here."

"Lucius Malfoy is out of the picture," Barty informed him dryly. "Indefinitely."

"Ah, in that case…" Tom started, but shook his head. "No. No. Don't make it difficult. You have more Polyjuice, I imagine?"

Barty nodded, and Tom's grin turned wicked once more. "Gentlemen, I have a plan."

-o-

That evening at supper, Harry sat with Luna at the Ravenclaw table. He was pretty proud of only having stolen one glance at the Gryffindor table to look for a particular redhead among the sea of red and gold. Ginny looked still young, still completely normal, and was still surrounded by her girlfriends like always.

Nothing had outwardly changed about her, but still, Harry saw guilt in the way her brows wrinkled when she said something to her friends, and loneliness in the way she had her arms crossed. It was all in his own head, of course, and so he ignored it. Instead, he tried to focus on the food.

"What's troubling you, Harry Potter?" Luna asked from where she was using a spoon to dig a trench into her mashed potatoes. "Can I help you with anything?"

"No," Harry answered in a low voice. "It's just that lots of things keep happening, and that I'm not sure I should be as involved as I am."

Luna frowned and was about to ask some more questions judging by the look on her face when a clamour from the head table had every student whip around so as not to miss the ensuing gossip.

"Quit?" Dumbledore asked, eyes wide behind his half-moon glasses.

"I quit!" Argus Filch shouted in his grating voice. "I've had enough of shit and puke and nosy brats sticking their noses where they don't belong. I have enough of twelve-hour days, and of everyone looking down on me. I am moving to Magical New Zealand effective immediately, and I don't want to hear any – no, stop it, Albus, I'm leaving. I have many witnesses. I'm leaving. Goodbye, everyone, and see you never!"

With that, Argus Filch turned around and strode from the room, pulling a trunk behind him.

Dumbledore, who'd tried to get a word in edge-wise, was left staring after him, much like all of the student body and the faculty members. Only Alastor Moody looked slightly amused and seemed to sit straighter than he usually did.

"That was either the Imperious curse, or Barty," Luna whispered very, very quietly into Harry's ear.

"The latter," Harry shared in an answering mutter.

"But then who's–"

"That is literally such a long story," Harry sighed. 

Notes:

Ginny been feedin diary!Tom some of her life energy in case you've been wondering. That's why he's such a strong lad. What a naughty girl.

Chapter 25

Notes:

TW: mentions of abuse (i.e. alienating someone in a "relationship" from the outside world) but not between any of our main characters

On Monday morning, Harry received two letters at once during breakfast. One was from Sirius, and the other one was from Voldemort.

He wanted neither of them. Rather, he wanted to go back to bed and hide under his blanket until all of his problems would go away by themselves. 

"You look a little peaky there, Harry," Hermione told him and craned her neck to get a look at his letters.

"It's from Sirius," Harry explained lamely. "I'm just worried that something will go wrong at the last minute or something. It's very stressful."

"And the other one?" she asked, still looking at him as if she was on to the fact that something more was going on.

"It's from a, from a law wizard," he improvised in a low voice. At least there really was a law wizard, and lying was always easier when there was some truth to it. "Sirius didn't want me to spend money on him, but I insisted. This will be another bill, I imagine."

"That's very generous of you, Harry," Hermione whispered back. "In muggle Britain, the low-income lawyers aren't terrible, but they're simply overwhelmed with all the work and not paid amazingly. It might be the same in magical Britain, I would have to check."

"No, yeah, Alastor told me as much," Harry lied through his teeth. There was no low income anything in the magical world. "That's why I'm doing it."

Hermione praised him once more for becoming ever more thoughtful before turning back to her meal. Luna, on the other hand, was watching him with a curious expression. He hadn't elaborated on who exactly the one imitating Alastor had been while Barty had been busy impersonating Argus Filch, and she hadn't prodded. But she knew something was going on.

"You know what, Hermione, I think I'm going to go to Madam Pomfrey instead of Herbology," Harry finally said because he felt taut like a drawn bowstring. "This whole thing with Sirius is… you know, the trial is set for two weeks from now and I think I need something for my nerves."

"Oh Harry, you go there immediately. I will tell Professor Sprout you're not feeling well."

"Thanks, Mione," Harry pressed out and fled as fast as he could without making anyone too suspicious. 

-o-

"Mr Potter, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Madam Pomfrey asked kindly when she came to see who had arrived. "No nasty cuts or fractures this time, I hope?"

"Ah, no, I hope to be completely over the grievously injured every other month-phase," he laughed, but Madam Pomfrey merely looked at him with pity in her eyes.

Harry cleared his throat. "It's actually… I don't know if you've kept up with the news, but my godfather Sirius Black is about to have his trial soon where he'll hopefully be rightfully exonerated, but… I have little faith left in the system and my nerves, they are, well, I feel–"

"Dear, dearie, my poor dear Harry," Madam Pomfrey tutted. "I've been telling everyone who will listen, again and again, that none of this is any business for a young man such as yourself. All the lonely exploits, all the injuries, the trauma – and now this! All without a proper guardian, and no, don't look at me like that, Alastor Moody does not count as a proper guardian. I appreciate him taking you under his wing, but he's not what – I remember Sirius Black, and I think he will be very good for you."

"Thank you, Madam," Harry said because he didn't know what else to say. "I appreciate that you've thought about this."

And he did, even though he was very sure that Sirius was so not going to be on board with Harry's current trajectory.

"No wonder you're a bit of a wreck," she continued. "The tournament, and now Sirius Black. Why, anyone would be beside themselves. Now, let's see… I'm going to give you two days off, medical orders, and I'm giving you something to relieve some of that anxiety. Here, just take that first dose on that bed over there so I can watch you for any unwanted side effects."

Harry agreed to that easily enough. Truth be told, he'd just wanted a bit of time off, but now that he thought about it… he really was just a ball of nerves pretending to be the Boy-Who-Lived. He obediently tipped back a small vial of a cotton candy pink potion that tasted of sugar and bubblegum and had to laugh at how silly a potion it was.

He immediately felt lighter after that laugh and giggled again. "Oh wow, is that what it does? Make you laugh?"

"Part of it, yes," Madam Pomfrey told him. "It smoothes out life's wrinkles for a bit to allow people to gather their thoughts. Oh, and who have we here?"

Harry watched her bustle over to a small, miserable-looking student who explained how he'd gotten stuck in one of the moving stairs. Two of his friends were helping him walk, and from what he could see, the boy's leg looked gnarly.

"I told Albus to fix that bloody staircase," Madam Pomfrey cursed and Harry had to put a hand over his mouth to keep his giggles from becoming too noticeable. 

He spelled himself into a soundproof bubble, just in case, and decided to read his letters here now that Madam Pomfrey was preoccupied. He chose to start with Sirius' letter because so far, their correspondence had been… nice. Harry had lied a lot, and Sirius had also written about how good everything was going for him, so he was also probably lying a lot.

 

"My dear Harry,

I hope your preparations for the third task of the tournament are going well. I bet Hermione and Moody, that old dog, are hard at work whipping you into shape. 

As for myself, thanks to that law wizard you helped pay for, preparations for my trial are almost done. My location is still undisclosed, and all official communication goes through my solicitor, so I'm all set. I do have to turn up personally for the trial, but if things go south, I will have a very illegal, very international portkey to whisk me away.

Surprisingly, some of my grandfather's old acquaintances seem to have pulled through for me. My solicitor tells me several influential lords have contacted him to tell him about their monetary support should I find myself lacking in that regard. Can you imagine? I know you don't know much about internal politics yet, but that's huge! Those are the same guys sitting in on the jury!

Oh Harry, I can almost taste proper freedom. And I can't wait to finally give you a proper home like you should have had all along. 

I miss you, pup, and I'm looking forward to seeing you hopefully soon.

Yours,

Sirius

 

Harry wanted to sigh, but instead he giggled. What a silly situation, going from no good home to two possible good homes! He realized it wasn't the worst problem to have, and that maybe… they could work something out? Lots of children had divorced parents, for example. If they could make two homes work, why wouldn't he be able to?

Oh, but that stuff was good, he realized. Made him able to look at things a little more… relaxed, somehow. He opened Voldemort's letter next and was at first glance relieved it didn't look or feel like a surprise howler. Even the man's handwriting looked neat and tidy as always.

"My student,

I do not fault you for this recent development. I do not fault our friend either, if that is what you are worried about. I did not anticipate anyone having access to the spirit and feeding him energy in that manner.

Alas, he is a shadow of mine, so I should not be surprised at his resourcefulness. I shall come and collect him soon. Until then, you must keep an eye on him. Because the spirit is, for all intents and purposes, me, our friend cannot be wholly trusted around him as he is simply too loyal.

Do not let yourself be fooled by whatever ploy the spirit aims to disarm you with. He is not to be trusted, no matter what he promises.

Sincerely,

your mentor"

Harry exhaled a shaky breath and laughed when the tension that had been coiling around his shoulders and inside his tummy broke. Voldemort understood they hadn't meant for this to happen. He understood they were sorry, and that they would do their best to keep Tom contained until Voldemort was able to come get him.

What had he even been worried about? Sirius and Voldemort both liked him, and when adults liked you, like, properly liked you, they were nice to you and didn't resort to throwing pans or locking you away.

So when Madam Pomfrey arrived to release him, he already felt much better and told her so. "And thanks for always being there for us students. Can you do me one more favour and not tell anyone why I've been excused for two days?"

"Oh dearie, of course I won't disclose that," the mediwitch reassured him. "If anyone asks, you came down with a, let's see… a temporary bout of wizard cold. But they won't ask – no one ever does."

"Thanks," Harry said again sincerely and waved at her when he left the hospital wing.

The initial hustle and bustle of students hurrying to and from class had already died down since lessons were underway, so Harry aimlessly walked through the halls. He didn't want to go back to the common room, he couldn't go to Barty since he was teaching, and what else was there, really?

Harry sighed and thought back to Easter break. There had been his room, the sitting room, the kitchen, Voldemort's office, the grounds… for the first time, he experienced homesickness, and for a place he'd only been at for two weeks! Thanks, abandonment issues, he thought grimly and made his way to the Astronomy tower because at least there wouldn't be any lessons during the day.

He really missed his cloak.

-o-

Once he was up on the tower, he was relieved to find it empty. He took his formerly customary spot against the back railing and watched in the distance how some other students were herding nifflers around. Almost a whole year of herding nifflers around… he really hoped Voldemort's overhaul would come sooner rather than later.

"Not thinking of jumping, are you?" a familiar voice asked, and Harry flinched.

"You're supposed to be hidden in Barty's bedroom," Harry pressed out and tried to calm his racing heart. "We had a deal."

"I was bored," Tom answered simply from where he was leaning next to Harry. Invisible.

"How did you even find me?" Harry asked testily. "How long have you been following me?"

"I stole that map of yours, so I didn't have to look long."

Harry cursed and threw open his satchel. The map was still inside, of course, and Tom had the audacity to laugh at him.

"Well now, that saves me the trouble of locating your other rare magical artifact," Tom said, and Harry rolled his eyes. 

"Where else am I supposed to keep it but in my satchel?"

And then, because the stupid potion was apparently still effective, Harry couldn't help but snort because it was all so silly.

"Fair enough," Tom replied easily and took off the hood of Harry's cloak. "You're a bit of a spoilsport, aren't you?"

The other boy looked relaxed. His cheeks were rosy, and there wasn't even a hint of a haunted expression in his eyes anymore. Seemed like actually being alive suited him.

"You came here to tease me," Harry realized and drew his brows together. "You're just a brat."

Tom laughed at that, head thrown back and everything, and Harry laughed as well. "It's true, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders," the other boy admitted and sobered up when he let his gaze roam over the grounds. "Don't mind me. Fresh air and your own body will do things to a person."

"Make them silly?"

"I'm in a silly mood," Tom shrugged. "Let me have my fun."

Harry nodded slowly and turned back towards the grounds. Out of habit, he got out the map and checked it. No one was coming towards their hiding spot, so everything was fine.

"How's Barty holding up?" Harry asked. "I haven't had the time to check on him after he spoke to Voldemort yesterday."

"As can be expected, he was a bit out of it," Tom said after a bit of deliberation. "But he's fine. Keeps tossing and turning at night, the occasional muffled screams, bit of crying, but he assures me that's all normal."

The nonchalant way in which Tom told Harry about Barty's night terrors was too much. Harry laughed again, and Tom's lips curled up too. 

"I shouldn't laugh at that," Harry wheezed, "stupid potion."

"And I shouldn't have laughed while I was running away from dear little Barty, yet here we are."

"He knows you're gone?"

"Nah, at least not yet. I snuck out, you see? Moody's eye doesn't work with your cloak which is most peculiar, if you ask me. It has to be really ancient and powerful magic because my sources tell me that the powers of Moody's eye are nigh-infinite."

"Your sources are a twelve-year-old girl, Tom."

"Thirteen."

"Whatever."

Tom snorted. "She used to have a major crush on you, you know? Told me aaaall about it, actually. Not anymore though."

"I don't want to talk about Ginny Weasley, Tom."

"Ah, but we do need to talk about Ginny Weasley. She's going to go ballistic when she next visits the chamber and I'm not there," Tom told him and leaned over conspiratorially. "There's signs of a fight, too, so she is going to assume the worst. There is only one person who can open the Chamber apart from her, and she knows that person's name and has access to where that person sleeps."

Harry didn't feel like it initially, but his heart felt lighter when he allowed himself to giggle. "Imagine her coming down on me with the fury of a thousand raging suns for kidnapping her beau," he snorted. "What do you suggest? We Obliviate her?"

"Obliviating her of me will render her incapable of going about her day," Tom said. "Without Tom Riddle, there is no Ginny Weasley."

"Then why didn't she do what I did to get you out of there? If she truly loves you that much, she could have brought someone to you, couldn't she?"

Tom's expression changed from amusement to disgust. "As much as it pains me to admit, she was smart about it. Only ever gave me enough of her energy to sustain me up to her next visit," he admitted. "She scavenged the basilisk skin in the tunnel and got herself a talisman to protect herself from possession with the proceeds. She could have brought me someone, but she wanted me all to herself."

"She was afraid you'd leave her if she got you out properly," Harry realized, and he felt a knot form in his stomach.

"That she did," Tom agreed, expression… weary. "And rightfully so. I don't particularly like her, and would have made a run for it the minute I became properly corporeal."

"But you didn't run away now even though you have my invisibility cloak."

"I didn't run away yet."

Harry shook his head. "No, you're not planning on running. You changed after you talked to Voldemort through the fire. What did he promise you?"

"That, my dear Harry, is none of your business. We promised things to each other, and we were both very reasonable about these things." Tom looked over at Harry and winked. "I'll stay with you two for a bit, and then I'm going to rendezvous with my older self."

"What even are you?" Harry asked because it had been bothering him. "How can there be two of you?" 

Tom grinned mischievously. "I'm a special case, but I'm not the only one. You and I, my dear Harry, are ever so much alike."

Harry frowned, because Tom looked at him like the cat that got the cream, and he quickly broke their eye contact. The effect of the potion seemed to be wearing off because he didn't feel the overwhelming urge to giggle anymore. 

"I think most of our similarities are only superficial," Harry said.

"Who's your friend, Harry Potter?" Luna asked, and Harry flinched, again, as if struck.

"How, Luna Lovegood, how!" Harry asked indignantly and turned around only to find no Luna behind him.

"Up here."

Harry looked up to find her perched on top of the little ornamental tower in the opposite corner of where Tom and he were standing.

"I did find it odd that there was a magpie watching us intently the last couple minutes," Tom mused.

"No way," Harry sighed. "Why is everyone spying on me?"

"I was worried about you," Luna said and jumped down from the little tower. "You were lying during breakfast, and you really weren't with Hermione when we met at the greenhouses."

"I wasn't feeling well," Harry said and crossed his arms. "I'm excused until Wednesday."

Luna nodded, content with that answer. "That will do you a world of good," she decided. "And your friend?"

"My name is Tom," Tom introduced himself and shrugged off the cloak completely. "Pleasure to meet you. Anyone that's a thorn in Ginny Weasley's side is a friend of mine."

"Oh?" Luna asked and cocked her head. "Is she still mad because Harry took me to the Yule ball as his friend date?"

"Kind of, yes," Tom agreed. 

The two eyesld each other, and Harry would have facepalmed right there if he wasn't so over everything.

"You're not from…" Luna hesitated. "Here? But in a temporal sense. Your uniform is all outdated, and I've never seen you before."

"My family is very poor," Tom lied. "I can only afford frightfully old clothes."

"He's a spectre turned human," Harry said to keep it brief because Luna was getting that investigative sparkle in her eyes. "He's the one who was Moody on Saturday evening."

"Aah," Luna nodded as if everything made sense now. "The long story you mentioned, I see. You have been busy again, Harry Potter."

"Unfortunately, yes," Harry agreed. "But I think things will turn out well now."

Tom frowned. "You are a peculiar girl, Luna Lovegood."

"Why thank you, Mr Riddle," Luna replied and Harry threw his arms in the air.

"I swear to Merlin, Luna, this isn't funny anymore! How do you know his full name!"

"You're… altered, in some way," Tom said slowly when Luna failed to answer and looked intently at the girl. "What happened to you?"

Luna had the decency to blush, and Harry looked from one to the other, feeling left out. "Altered? Like, genetically?"

"No…" Tom drawled, "magically. What was the ritual, and where did it go wrong?"

Luna broke eye contact first and looked to the side. "It's not like that, but also it is," she admitted, and Harry drew in a sharp breath. "Harry, do you remember how I told you about how my mother died during her research with experimental magic?"

Harry nodded, wary. "What exactly was she researching, Luna?"

"That curse," Luna shrugged uneasily. "The blood curse her family, my family, has fallen victim to for generations. Everyone knows about the Greengrass curse, but those kinds of curses are nearly impossible to break completely, so she decided to try and alter the future instead. It's seldom explored, that particular branch of magic, so there isn't much research, but she did it."

"She lied," Tom said and Luna glared at him.

"You don't even know her!"

"She made you watch, didn't she? Dying was her plan all along," Tom said. "She died for you. There's little that can break a blood curse short of exchanging a life."

"No," Luna said loudly, a wild sort of fire alight in her eyes.

"Yes," Tom continued, and Harry could only watch the two helplessly. "It's been done before, that exact ritual. A classmate's grandmother that didn't get the curse exchanged her life for her granddaughter's, and that granddaughter eventually went on to give birth to Gawain, Genevieve, and Pandora Greengrass."

"No… What? My great-grandmother did, but, is that why… grandmother wanted grandfather to take her name?" Luna asked, stunned, and Tom shrugged.

"I don't know about the sentimental part," he said. "I just know that Greengrasses love their sacrifices."

Harry thought about Barty's arm and shuddered. "I think that's enough for now, Tom."

"No, it's not," Tom said and shook his head. "Your mother was young, Luna Lovegood, and so you got more than just a curse-free life."

"You mean she got, like, seer powers?" Harry asked, quite overwhelmed by it all.

"The veil is thin for her," Tom told him, and Luna still glared defiantly at both of them. "Admit it – you couldn't do what you do now before her death."

Luna visibly deflated. "I was always able to see the Nargles, and the Rumdungers, but the other stuff…" She sighed. "You'd be right in that it is… a more recent development."

"Fascinating," Tom said, and grinned triumphantly. "Your abilities are uncanny, and you didn't even know."

"I mean, they don't call me Loony for nothing," Luna admitted uneasily. "I just always thought that was just me being weird, but…"

"Oh no, you're plenty weird," Tom laughed, but it wasn't the kind of mean laugh his words might have suggested. "But it's fine. Harry Potter and his little menagerie of friends are quite the sight to behold."

"You're not even a real boy, Pinocchio," Harry reminded him with a wry laugh. "You'll fit right in with the others."

"Oh, so we're friends now?" Tom asked, and that dangerous grin was dancing on his lips once more.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, Tom," Harry shot back, but he was in a way better mood than that morning at breakfast. "Come on, I need to get you back to Barty again, or he'll have a heart attack before lunch."

"I don't think I want to be alone right now," Luna mumbled, and Harry held out his arm for her.

"We'll invade the DADA quarters for lunch, come on."

-o-

When they turned up in Barty's classroom, all huddled together under the invisibility cloak, Barty looked at them with such a weary expression when they revealed themselves that Harry felt a pang of pity.

"Tom, we had a deal," Barty said simply.

"Look, I know, but I haven't walked these halls in fifty years!" Tom argued, eyes alight with rapture, and Barty ran his hand over his face in exasperation. 

"No, I get that, I do," the man argued, "but on the first day? And not even telling me before you leave? And you bring my cousin into this?"

"To be fair, I brought myself into this," Luna explained kindly, and Barty snorted. 

"Alright, you lot, up into the office with you."

He herded all three of them upstairs and locked the door behind them.

Tom pouted, and Harry couldn't help but laugh softly. He could see the adult Voldemort in this boy with every movement, every expression, and he felt like he understood the adult Voldemort a little more with each minute he spent around Tom Riddle.

"Alright, Tom, where were you?" Barty asked. 

Since he was still inhabiting Moody's body, he actually looked very stern and towered over all of them.

"I was literally just walking around to see what changed around here," Tom explained testily. "Then I saw Harry, and I followed him. We talked, we bonded, Luna came, and it was all very idyllic."

Barty looked like he tried very hard to stay as stern and stoic as before, but he finally relented and snorted in a rather undignified manner. "Oh, who am I kidding? I knew all three of you were menaces, didn't I?"

"I at least gave you ample opportunities to see what a fool I was before you revealed yourself to me," Harry muttered under his breath and Barty rolled his eyes fondly.

"I don't want to play the strict teacher when I'm with you," the man sighed and shook his head. "Just remember your promise, Tom. Don't get careless now, for all our sakes."

Tom actually looked chagrined and nodded. "No, you're right. I ought to be more careful if I want the future to turn out the way I want it to. And I very much want it to turn out just like I want it to."

Barty ran both his hands over his face. "I don't have the reserves to change back during the day anymore, so you lot will have to deal with this scarred mug during lunch."

"We like the scarred mug!" Harry argued immediately, and Luna nodded quickly, too.

"We like you, Barty, with or without your pretty face," she laughed.

"You don't call men pretty, Luna," Barty mumbled, but he was blushing and looked away.

"I do it when they deserve it."

Harry snorted, and even Tom looked highly amused. "You are all surprisingly droll for a group of terrorists."

"Oh sod off, Riddle," Harry laughed and threw a pillow at the other boy's head.

Tom easily averted the impact by twirling his wand in a delicate gesture and Barty sighed again.

"Tom, whose wand did you steal?"

"Oh, this?" He shrugged with a dangerous grin. "Did you know the cloak works with pretty much anyone? Literally no one in the castle can see me. Why, poor little Draco Malfoy will have one more tale of woe to write home about."

After a beat, Barty laughed loudly and hobbled over towards one of the armchairs where he collapsed, still giggling. "Look, I know I'm supposed to be the adult here, but that's hilarious."

"Technically speaking, Tom is older than you," Luna reminded them.

"Oh, so I'm calling the shots now?" Tom asked with a bright grin. "My first decree is that there's ice cream for dinner and our bedtime is never."

"Now that's a future I can get behind," Barty snorted and held his belly. "No, but seriously. You kids are going to be the death of me. I don't think this body has ever laughed as much as I'm doing in it."

Harry felt light, too, and wondered whether this was all a part of Tom's nefarious plans to lure them into a false sense of security like Voldemort had warned him. But when he looked at the other boy, his eyes were sparkling, and his cheeks red from all the attention he was getting. 

Add another lonely soul to the collection, Harry thought grimly. Incarcerated, left alone…

"I'm keeping you safe, Tom," he declared, and Tom swivelled around to look at him with surprise evident on his face.

"You what now?"

"I'm keeping you safe, just like I'm keeping the others safe, too," Harry explained. "I'm going to be, I'm studying and training for the third task, and I've been through a lot, so I'm using all that to… keep people safe."

Tom snorted and rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Harry Potter."

After that, Barty made all of them eat their fill and Harry wondered, not for the first time, why the house elves working in the kitchens never once questioned what was happening in Barty's quarters. Moody's quarters. So he asked, and Barty got a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Must have been fate, you know?" he mused. "My biological father freed that house elf I mentioned before, for failing to keep me in check last year. With nowhere to turn, she came here."

"She recognised you!" Luna gasped.

"Yeah, and she's bound to me now. She's the one doing all the work around here, and bringing food. Ostensibly, she's still employed by Hogwarts, but she's mine. Some house elves ended up in Hogwarts because Alastor Moody killed all members of their Dark families, so Winky taking care of him instead of them having to do it suits them just fine."

"Why is literally everyone I know and love a murderer?" Harry asked with a sigh when he realized that even the auror persona he'd gotten close to in the first place was one.

"I'm not a murderer," Luna said. "At least not yet."

"Luna," Barty hissed. "No. You stay all pure and innocent, alright?"

"I go to the Forbidden Forest at least once a week and feed raw meat to the thestrals, Barty," Luna told him with a quizzical expression. "I haven't been pure and innocent in years."

"I think I'm in love," Tom laughed, and he looked as delighted as Harry had ever seen him. "I should have convinced you to join me two years ago, Harry! Your friends are a delight."

Harry shook his head and felt amusement bubble up inside of him despite himself. "I wasn't friends with Luna then, but your weirdness might have drawn her in earlier."

"Am I catnip for crazy people?" Tom asked with a challenging glint in his eyes, and Harry held that gaze.

"Your older self calls quite the selection of oddities his followers. Werewolves, ghouls, giants…"

"Not giants," Barty shrugged. "We tried, but they're very thick-headed. Werewolves though… oh boy, they're out for blood. That leader of theirs, whew, him and my master shared an instant connection over their mutual lust for… revolution."

"It feels like everyone here is drunk," Luna said. "It's weird, but in a good way. Do you always have that effect on people, Tom?"

"I can read a room," Tom admitted with a hum. "I can control that room, too – it comes naturally to me. Right now, I want all of you to feel very comfortable around me."

"Well, it's working, you fiend," Barty winked. "Alright, you lot. Lunch is almost over. Harry, we need to talk soon. Plans, et cetera."

"I'll come by this evening?"

Barty threw a glance at Tom who looked interested. 

"I can come too and keep the nosy menace occupied?" Luna offered, and Harry couldn't help but snort again. 

"You're playing with fire," Tom informed her with a wry expression, but Luna simply shrugged.

"I'm too stubborn to burn for anyone's entertainment."

Harry exchanged a look with Barty and was relieved to find that the man looked as surprised by how well Luna and Tom got along as he himself felt. 

Tom must have sensed their little interaction and gave them a disarmingly brilliant sort of smile. "What can I say? I like my Greengrasses."

Barty blushed almost violently in response and shot up from his seat. "That's quite enough banter from budding Dark Lords, thank you very much. You stay back here, Tom, and you get back to class, Luna." He drew in a deep breath. "I'll see all of you this evening."

They left Tom behind in the office and made their way down the stairs to the DADA classroom.

"I hope you can calm down a bit while teaching, professor," Luna said with a small smile, but Barty just waved her off.

"I'm going to sleep for three days straight once this is all over."

"You're doing fine," Harry told him earnestly. "We'll talk this evening, alright? You're doing fine, and everything will work out. Please don't worry too much. It's already May, so it's just a little less than two months until this is all over."

Barty looked like he wanted to say more, but then his magical eye swivelled around which meant he must have seen other students nearing his classroom.

Harry and Luna nodded grimly at him and set off quickly. They made it around the corner before the other students arrived, and Harry leaned against the wall behind him when they were out of sight of the highly frequented corridors.

"I'm not made for this sneaking around stuff," Harry complained, but Luna didn't answer. 

When Harry looked at her, she looked deep in thought. "Do you think my mother really sacrificed herself for me? Or was that just Tom Riddle talking big?"

Harry sobered up and considered everything he knew about the situation before coming to only one logical conclusion: "I don't think he's lying. Your mother must have loved you very much."

Luna looked close to tears, so Harry quickly pulled her into a hug. "How can I look daddy in the eyes anymore, Harry Potter? He loved her so much, too!"

"You're just… going to have to live well to make her sacrifice worth it. You said she was getting sick anyways, didn't you? She did what she had to do. Just like…" He closed his eyes when a threat of tears tickled on the inside of his nose. "Just like my mother."

And now he was friends with her murderer. Harry felt sick to his stomach again and yet, he wanted nothing more than to be with Voldemort and Barty in the warm sitting room, reading a book, and maybe getting his hair petted by either of them. 

"Quite the menagerie indeed," he chuckled darkly and simply held Luna tighter when she made an inquisitive sound. "Don't mind me. I'm just becoming more and more jaded the more time I spend here playing a part and wearing a skin that doesn't fit me anymore."

Luna was quiet for a beat. "Did you kill Argus Filch, Harry?"

"In a way, yes," Harry admitted quietly. "And the worst thing? I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I don't know if I am a good person anymore, Luna."

"I can't answer that for you, but I'm still your friend," Luna replied. "So that makes me at least a willing accomplice. Do you think I'm a bad person?"

"No, you're amazing."

"Then I think we're going to be just fine," she decided. "Come on, I'm skipping class. We're going to see the thestrals. They have a habit of putting things into perspective."

"Yeah, alright," Harry sighed and let Luna lead him down the empty corridors. 

Notes:

Full disclosure:
I started writing this story because of a popular but discontinued Tomarry fanfic I read that had lots of Harry/Barty/Luna/Tom banter and I have FINALLY reached the point where I can make it happen. Let me have this, guys, this is literally the most fun I've had while writing EVER :D

 

PS: victim of abuse!Tom Riddle pulls more on my heartstrings than I initially expected, send help

Chapter 26

Notes:

So many milestones for me within this story... thank you all for joining me <3

It was a relief to be alone with Barty once more in the evening. Luna was keeping Tom occupied in the office like she'd promised, so Harry was free to cross the distance between the two of them and pull Barty into a big hug.

The man had already changed back, so the height difference wasn't extreme, but Harry was also not okay with how thin Barty felt in his arms.

"It's time for this to be over," Harry sighed. 

"Tell me about it," Barty laughed weakly. "Now I've got three menaces I'm responsible for."

"We're all responsible for each other," Harry reassured him. "Voldemort knows we're doing our best, and he's not even mad about the Tom thing."

"At least that's what he says," Barty sighed and pulled Harry tighter into his embrace. "The break has been over for like two weeks, and I already feel like I need another one."

"You deserve all the breaks." They let go of each other, and Harry took a step back. "What plans did you want to talk about?"

Barty looked away, and Harry felt his stomach drop. "It's… this is not really about any sort of plans, is it?"

Barty kind of crumbled onto his mattress and rested his face inside his hands. "I'm so sorry, Harry," he pressed out, and Harry quickly rushed over to him.

"What? What are you sorry for? What did you do?"

"I made you into a murderer," Barty whispered. "If I hadn't been possessed by Tom, you wouldn't have had to barter another life for mine."

Harry relaxed inwardly because of all the possible things that could have gone wrong in the meantime, this was… not bad.

"It was just Filch," he argued lamely, and Barty drew in a sharp breath.

"You're starting to sound more and more like him, have you noticed?"

Harry eyed Barty warily and thought hard about that. He had spent a lot of time talking to Voldemort during the break, and lots of things the man had said to him had made perfect sense, so he guessed it was only natural that he was beginning to be similar to Voldemort, right? 

"Tom said that he and I are two sides of the same coin or something," he mused. "And that we're really similar."

"I just… don't want to be responsible for leading you down a path you're going to regret," Barty admitted, and when he looked up at Harry again, his eyes looked suspiciously wet. "You're still so young, even though you've been through a lot which kinda matured you before your time, so I'm, I'm…"

"Is it that thing again where you feel like a horrible person because of the age difference?"

"Among other things," Barty sighed.

"I told you before, I'll wait as long as I need to," Harry tried to reassure the fretting man. "I don't want anyone else but you."

"Another reason why I don't deserve you," Barty laughed. "But since you chose me regardless, I'm going to do whatever is in my power to lighten your load."

"You're doing just fine."

He didn't want to keep having this conversation. Barty looked weary, and sick, and Harry wanted to bundle him up in blankets and ship him to Voldemort until he was done here and could join them.

"Tom would step in as Alastor if you asked him," Harry mused.

"Never in a million years." Barty shook his head resolutely. "No way. We're getting him to my master, and he is going to take care of matters from that point onwards."

"Do we know when, or how?"

"There's a tentative date set for next weekend, or maybe the one after that, deep within the Forbidden Forest."

Harry nodded because that made sense. "I'll come with you. I want to see him again."

Barty laughed knowingly. "He does that, doesn't he?"

"Does what?"

"Makes you want to bask in his presence," Barty explained. "But maybe that's just the two of us being down with the same sickness."

Harry considered that sentiment and decided rather quickly that Barty had to be right. With how afraid everyone, Light and Dark alike, was of Voldemort, following the man didn't automatically equal wanting to be close to him. Maybe they really were the weird ones, and everyone else had the right idea. 

"It's clichéd, but if that's wrong, then I don't want to be right."

Barty snorted and seemed to cheer up a little. "You're a hopeless romantic, Harry."

"Must be your influence," Harry grinned and sat down next to Barty on the mattress. He put an arm around the man's shoulders and pulled him close. "We'll get through this, I promise."

"You have no business being the mature one in this relationship," Barty laughed, and Harry felt the words run down his spine like warm honey.

"This relationship, huh?" he asked, and he could see the side of Barty's face turn red.

"I mean," Barty coughed and tried to pull away, but Harry held him tight.

"You're mine, Barty," he growled, and surprised himself with that. "Never forget that. You might bear Voldemort's mark on your body, but you're mine."

"Oh," Barty breathed, and he shivered in Harry's arms. "That's… certainly not a problem I've ever had before."

"Get used to it," Harry said, and used his free hand to turn Barty's face towards his own. 

He'd never felt possessive about a person before, at least not with this kind of intensity. "Ever since we got to know each other, you've put me first, Barty, haven't you? You jeopardised your standing with Voldemort in order to get his permission to share the truth with me, and you jeopardised your own life by being different than what people have imagined Alastor Moody to be."

"If you put it like that…"

"Soon, all of that will be over. The hiding, and the lying. The acting." Harry rested his forehead against Barty's and looked him in the eyes. "I promise we will have our happy ending, alright?"

"Alright," Barty agreed with a soft look in his eyes. "I don't know if it's too soon, or if I'm an idiot for jumping the gun but…" Here, Barty closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. "No, forget it."

Harry felt a sting, but he let it go. He was too relieved that Barty had glossed over the being responsible for Filch's death-part to start prodding now. 

"So what did Voldemort say to Tom to make him so docile?" he asked instead. 

"Oh, I wasn't privy to that," Barty shrugged, visibly relieved to change the subject. "But when I talked to my master afterwards, he was… it was good? He wasn't mad or anything, he just told me to be more careful in the future, and to not underestimate potential foes."

"We were rather reckless," Harry agreed.

"No, we weren't," Barty protested. "If not for Ginny Weasley, we would have snagged Tom up just like that. Maybe not with the spectre-locking spell, I'll give you that, but he would never have been able to overpower me like that."

"Voldemort is afraid Tom will get into your head," Harry told him after a beat. "Because you're too loyal. Is that a problem I'm going to have to look out for?"

Barty didn't answer immediately, so Harry guessed the man was properly thinking about that possibility. 

"I'm… not sure," Barty finally replied. "It helps that he's younger than me, and that I've been dealing with students his age all year, but there's, well, there's the catch that he's been inside my head."

"Haven't you been inside his head, too?"

"Oh, no," Barty sighed. "His Occlumency, even at this age, is still several steps above my frankly abysmal Legilimency. And vice versa, since the only magical discipline I'm even worse at than Legilimency is Occlumency, so he could rummage around a little. He was… surprisingly respectful about it, but he rummaged."

Harry frowned in thought.

"Why are you so bad at those when you're so good with so many different kinds of magic?" he asked.

"It's mind magic," Barty explained with a huff, "and my mind is… Look. It's getting better by the day, but I am not exactly stable after the life I've had. And I'm not complaining, things are comparatively peachy at the moment, but the damage has still been done."

Harry nodded slowly and considered what he'd overheard during the break when Voldemort and Barty had talked. Even Voldemort had said that Barty's mind was a piece of work, so Harry added that to a long list of things he wanted to fix.

"I'm going to abolish Azkaban," he decided. "Destroy it completely, actually – down to the very foundations. I'm going to kill all the dementors, too, or at the very least imprison them forever so that no one can free them."

"That would be amazing," Barty chuckled without joy. "It is a horrid place."

"What do you think the other Death Eaters will be like once we get them out?" Harry asked. "Those who weren't able to turn into a dog to shield their minds from the dementors?"

"Oh is that how Sirius did it?" Barty asked, surprised. "That makes… no, that makes sense. Wow, a lot of things about him and his friends make sense now. And to be honest with you, Harry, I have absolutely no idea what they will be like. Some of them were my friends, and… I don't know what kind of living skeletons we will be saving from that godforsaken place."

Harry narrowed his eyes when he remembered a half-forgotten line of questioning he'd neglected to follow during the break. "Who is she?" he asked. "You asked Voldemort whether he was going to save her, as well."

"Not many female death eaters, are there?" Barty asked, severely grumpy all of a sudden. "At least not many that were vocal about it. Her name is Bellatrix Lestrange, I've mentioned her before."

"Oh, the one who tortured Neville's parents," Harry remembered. "Is she that cruel?"

"What?" Barty asked, frowning. "I mean, yeah, she is. But it's not about her cruelty alone, many of the death eaters are kind of cruel when you get down to it. No, the thing about her is… she's in love with my master. Adores him. Aches for each and every shred of attention from him."

"But you said she was born a Black when you first told me about her, so she's… married?" Harry asked incredulously. 

"No, yeah, she's married," Barty shrugged. "Her obsession is probably the reason her and Rod never had children, I don't know."

"So she's… basically like you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're also kinda obsessed with Voldemort," Harry explained simply. "Aren't you? And you're jealous because she's the same? Did he give her more attention than he did you?"

Barty blushed fiercely, but it was embarrassment and shame rather than the cute kind of blushing he normally did. Harry had probably struck a nerve.

"Look, it wasn't me who wore scandalously low-cut dresses whenever I had a private audience with my master, was it?" Barty growled and got up from the mattress. "It's not like I begrudge people their crushes or whatever, but to rub it in my face how I was just a, a prepubescent boy, and how nobody in their right mind could possibly choose a milk-faced teenager when someone like her was the competition–!"

Here, Barty stopped himself in his tracks. His hands were balled into fists, and he was all tightly strung-up. He was breathing heavily, too, and Harry felt bewildered at the guttural reaction the woman had provoked in this usually very sweet man.

"She sounds like a piece of work," Harry said quietly so as not to set Barty off again..

Why had Barty even continued spending any sort of time with her? Even gone so far as having been there when she and the other Lestranges had tortured the Longbottoms? No, but Barty had claimed that that had just been Karkaroff saying he'd been there, right? Harry was curious, but he wasn't going to get into that right now.

"I suppose we'll cross that bridge when we get there," Barty sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry for getting angry like that, Harry, it's just… it kinda dug up some repressed memories. I fear I know what I'll have to work through for my Occlumency meditations this evening."

"I'm sorry too," Harry admitted. "I was just curious, and I didn't know it was going to be this sore of a subject."

"It's fine, really, I just… need some time alone now if that's alright?"

Harry nodded. He wanted to walk over and give Barty a hug, but the man had stepped over towards the windows and was looking out at the grounds with a severe expression. His arms were crossed, and his body language screamed defensive, so Harry thought it best to just leave him alone.

In the office out front, Luna and Tom were playing a game with marbles. Harry hadn't seen anyone actually play with marbles ever, but he knew it had been a thing at some point in the past.

"Hullo, Harry," Luna greeted, and rolled a marble so it pushed some others out of the way.

"Oh, you are on, Luna Lovegood," Tom thundered and took aim with one of his marbles.

"I'm going to sleep," Harry told them. "Don't stay out too late, Luna. Or did you want me to escort you to Ravenclaw tower?"

"I'm fine," Luna said kindly and waved at him before returning her attention to the game.

Harry waved back at them and trudged back to his common room. He thought he might drink another dose of that cotton candy potion Madam Pomfrey had given him because he was in a dark mood after this disaster of a conversation. He also had half a mind to ask Sirius about that cousin of his but decided against it almost instantly.

No way was he going to burden that man with even one more possible stressor! Instead, he barricaded himself behind the curtains of his bed and penned a letter to Sirius. Pettigrew's trial was being held at the end of the week, and neither of them had even acknowledged that yet in their letters… 

When he was done writing paragraph upon paragraph of well wishes and declarations of support to his godfather, Harry lamented once again how he could really use his cloak right now to make the trip to the owlery and have a bit of a cuddle with Hedwig before sending her on her way to Sirius.

-o-

Luna Lovegood was a good girl, and yet not so good a girl at all. She was a good girl in the way that she generally went to bed on time, did her homework more often than not, and tried to be nice to the people around her. 

She was not a good girl in the way that she was currently trudging through the Forbidden Forest behind Barty and Harry with Tom following right behind her hidden under the invisibility cloak.

She felt like humming a tune, but they were being stealthy, and daddy had taught her how to be stealthy. Low center of gravity, only walk on the front parts of your feet, and keep your ears and eyes peeled for the Balayups. Except instead of Balayups, they were looking for a Dark Lord, and instead of actually sneaking, Barty was making quite the ruckus with Alastor Moody's leg.

Harry, who was walking in front of her, had his head bowed as if he wasn't looking out for what was ahead at all. Peter Pettigrew's trial had gone well, Barty had told them as much when they'd met up, but Harry still looked… lost. He'd been looking lost for a while now, and Luna was considering her options of finding him.

Barty held up a hand, and they all stopped. He had his wand in his left hand, just like her, and that made her all giddy. Lots of things made her giddy nowadays – the way things just hadn't for the longest time since mummy's death, so she grabbed her own wand tighter.

"There's someone coming," Barty informed them and Luna cocked her head.

The forest smelled cold this evening, and she wasn't sure whether she liked it. Was this how Voldemort felt, this eerie coldness, or was it something different?

"It is not right," a dreamy voice floated over towards them. "It was wrong, and cursed, and now it isn't. The stars are clouded when we need them more than ever. Have you returned to bring good tidings or bad, Harry Potter?"

"Is he a friend of yours, Harry?" Luna asked when a centaur stepped out from the thick undergrowth ahead of them.

"He's… we've met," Harry informed her with a funny voice. "Firenze. We haven't seen each other in a long while — what troubles you?"

"There is a presence," Firenze the centaur answered. "The herd cares not for him, but I recognise his power, and the forest trembles before him. But what kind of trembling is it that makes leaf and branch quake in excitement? The wind of change? Or a storm aiming to lay desolation on us all?"

"It's a fresh breeze," Harry answered, and Luna liked that description very much. "Nothing more, nothing less. We are here to deliver a friend to his protector because he is not safe within Hogwarts."

"No," Firenze answered and shook his head sadly. "Hogwarts offers little safety nowadays. Even the herd has heard tell. Children almost drowning, dragons destroying our trees. No, Harry Potter, the herd is in a stir, and the stars are silent sentinels warning us of a great calamity."

"I thank you for your counsel," Harry replied evenly but Luna could see his wrackspurts turn from bleak to alert. "I will heed your words."

"The stars have a great many things to say about you," the centaur hummed. "You and your companions will be welcome here, for the time being, but do not overstay your welcome."

"I understand, Firenze, thank you."

With that, Harry bowed to the centaur, and Luna and Barty were quick to follow. Whereas the thestrals came when she called for them, she hadn't yet met a centaur before this encounter and found herself positively mesmerised.

"Harry," she breathed when Firenze had gone back into the forest, "how do you know him?"

"I met him in my first year," Harry explained. "He's… helped me a lot. He saved my life, actually, when Quirrell was…"

Harry went quiet and didn't finish what he started. He did that a lot lately, too, and Luna felt that pang in her chest she'd felt when daddy had stopped eating when mummy had died. It had taken her declaration of only eating if he were to eat as well to get him eating again.

"You are not alone today," she reminded him.

Harry's expression turned vaguely amused. "Last time I was this deep into the Forbidden Forest, Ron and I visited with the Acromantulas. The time before that, Hagrid took four first years into the Forest and sent two of them off with Fang, his dog. Middle of the night. Can you imagine? I couldn't even cast Lumos, and my only human companion was Draco fucking Malfoy who ran away at the first sign of trouble."

"Sounds about right," Barty growl-laughed in that way Moody had – or at least they all thought he did by now. "But Luna's right, you're not alone today. And not anytime soon, either."

"I just want to go home," Harry sighed. "Come on, let's go."

Luna didn't need any ritual-awakened quasi-seer powers to know Harry wasn't talking about the Gryffindor common room when he mentioned home. Her heart did another tug when she realised she would be sitting alone at the long, lonely Ravenclaw table again once Harry, Hermione and Barty were all gone. 

"I'll follow you," Luna said because it was true, and because it was all she really wanted at the moment.

So they kept walking, with Barty periodically using his wand to check the direction they were taking. With no further distractions, they reached a small clearing where a man stood waiting for them. It was a man she'd never seen before in her life, except for the fact that she'd become friends with his past.

"He's friends with my friends," she said in a small voice, because two of the thestrals were next to him and nudged him with their sharp noses.

"They like the smell of death," Tom murmured very close to her ear and Luna looked in his direction. He'd taken off the cloak and grinned at her like the cat that got the cream. "Sound familiar?"

"I do have a way with horses," Luna answered defiantly because Tom Riddle knew how to get a bit of a rise out of her. 

"You may recognise this clearing, Harry," Voldemort called out to them from where he was stroking the side of a thestral's face. "I thought it might be nice to override bad memories with better ones."

Harry didn't answer, but it wasn't because he was mad. Rather, he looked like he was on the verge of crying.

"You can go to him, you know?" Luna told him quietly.

And Harry apparently didn't need to be told a second time because he went over to where the Dark Lord Voldemort was waiting with long strides. Just as he seemed to slow down, as if doubting himself, Voldemort moved towards him and engulfed Harry in an embrace Luna hadn't seen coming.

"Oh," Tom exhaled beside her, and they exchanged a glance.

"Oh indeed," she agreed, and they both walked further into the clearing as well.

After Harry and Voldemort had parted, Voldemort opened his arms again and pulled a perplexed Barty into his arms as well.

"But master, I still look like –"

"Hush," Voldemort commanded, and Barty hushed.

When they, too, were done, Voldemort let his gaze wander over towards her and Tom, and he beckoned them closer.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," she greeted with a proper curtsy like daddy had taught her, but the man simply shook his head.

"No, Luna Lovegood," he said in that pleasant, tenor voice he had that sounded like Tom but different and bowed low before her. "You have done what I deemed impossible and made me a gift greater than I have ever imagined receiving."

"Hm? Oh, this is about the stone," Luna realised and frowned. "I'd almost forgotten."

Voldemort cocked his head and looked at her with a funny expression. "You almost forgot you gave me the philosopher's stone with hardly any strings attached?"

He sounded amused more than anything, and Luna shrugged. "I like giving gifts, and you really needed a catalyst for that proper reunion you've been considering."

She felt weightless for a second there and realised she'd known something she didn't know again.

"I see," Voldemort answered, and his red eyes bored into hers. "And yet… I don't."

"Daddy says I'm special," Luna said with a secretive smile because she was feeling feisty.

"Mind magic won't work on her," Tom informed them. "I tried."

"Rude," Luna said, but Tom was already somewhere else.

That is, he was still standing right beside her, but he was in a world of his own – with himself.

"So you return to me of your own volition," Voldemort said to Tom, and Luna took a step back and to the side to give them space. "I am, above all, relieved to see you kept your word."

"Your chance to do the same," Tom said with a hint of a challenge in his voice, but then he frowned. "Your… you didn't. Did you?"

"I did," Voldemort answered cryptically, and Luna looked over at Harry and Barty for answers.

Both of them looked as stumped as her, so it had to be something Voldemort kept to himself. Reunion, she reminded herself, and a picture flashed before her inner eye and made her nauseous with the intensity of it.

"You like jewelry," she muttered quietly because she'd seen Lord Voldemort decked out in precious artefacts while sitting on a throne as bone-white as the wand he was said to wield.

"Are you feeling alright, Luna?" Harry asked urgently, and Luna realised she was holding her head in her hands.

"He's steeped even deeper in destiny than you are, Harry," she told him in a strangled voice and wondered why she was trembling so much. "He's so powerful…"

A cool hand pressed against her forehead, and when she looked up, Voldemort was looking down at her. "What have you seen?" he asked, and she felt sweat start to bead on her forehead from the exertion of standing upright.

"You," she answered, short of breath. "You and your, your, except there was… you were…"

She shook her head. Something was going to happen, and she didn't know what it was. 

"Hush," Voldemort said again, and Luna hushed. "All in due time, little girl. What have you seen?"

But as always, like with dreams, the image was already fading and she shook her head. "I don't know. I never know, you know? It's only a feeling. A premonition. I have no control over it."

"I understand," Voldemort said. "Do alert us if anything else comes to you. Can you do that?"

She could, and she said so, and then she took a step back and made her way over to the thestrals to allow the others to catch up. 

"So thestrals instead of unicorns, huh?" Harry asked, and Voldemort looked uncomfortable.

"I was a desperate man on a desperate mission," the man replied. 

"What's that about unicorns?" Barty asked.

"It's nothing," Voldemort answered shortly. "I had Quirrell do his part in extending the time we had to search for the stone."

"Unicorn blood," Harry sighed. "The absolute madman was drinking unicorn blood."

"Remind me to look for different role models once I'm free to go out and about," Tom laughed.

"That reminds me," Barty said, "do you have a plan for Tom's new identity yet?"

Both past and present exchanged a long glance at that, but no words were spoken. Luna stopped petting the younger of the two thestrals, and he nudged her into the side with his head.

"Shh, history is being written," she murmured.

"All in due time," Voldemort finally answered. "For now… is there anything I can do for either of you until we depart?"

"I wish you wouldn't have to leave again so soon," Harry said.

"Patience is a virtue, Harry," Voldemort chided gently. 

"But this is the Dark side, there aren't supposed to be any virtues," Harry complained with a bit of a smirk. "Can't I just leave and only come back for the third task?"

Luna wanted to scream that no, he couldn't, because that would leave her right where she used to be at the beginning of the school year which was right where she never wanted to be ever again now that she'd had a taste of proper friendship! But she couldn't take that from him, could she? 

Maybe she could come visit?

The thestral nudged her again, and she resumed gently petting his flank. 

"Appearances must be upheld, Harry," Voldemort said after some consideration. "If my identity is revealed before all the little chess pieces have been set up, reaching our goal will prove considerably harder."

"No, you're right, we have to do things properly," Harry sighed. "End them properly, too. It's just a couple more months, isn't it?"

"You don't need to worry about me, Harry," Barty said. "My body can handle a couple more months if it means a quiet life for all of us after that."

Luna watched Harry and Voldemort exchange a long look, and when Voldemort nodded first, Harry nodded, too. With all those unspoken conversations going on around her, she felt quite out of the loop, but still enough in the loop to not go prodding needlessly.

-o-

When they started the trek back towards the old castle, Harry looked even more downtrodden than before. Luna felt bad for him, and she desperately wanted to do something about it, but they were still being sneaky so she thought better of it.

What was there to say, after all? The goodbye had been neither long nor drawn-out, but none of them were the type for that, she supposed. Ripping the band-aid off kinda people, the lot of them. A band of tough bastards, except all their parents had been married. And yet, only one or two parents among them remained.

Her thoughts were quickly spiralling out of control, and when she heard a soft noise behind her, she turned around and cocked her head to the side. The young thestral was following them. 

"Hello, my pretty," she cooed, very quietly, and petted him. "Don't want to be alone? Me neither. You know what? I think when we're back at the castle, I'll–"

But she didn't get farther than that because the world was doing a somersault all of a sudden, and down was up, left was right, and the concept of gravity as a whole seemed to have become more of a guideline.

"Now that's peculiar," Luna muttered to herself, floating upside down. "Oof!"

Just as soon as it had started, gravity seemed to have returned and she fell back to the forest floor. Harry and Barty also seemed to have met the same fate and were sprawled on the forest floor not far from her.

And then, there were voices all around them and Luna knew it hadn't been a harmless trick played by the forest herself. (Not that she'd ever stoop so low when Luna and her friends had never harmed her.)

The thestral, ever unaffected by the happenings of the mortal realm, looked at her with his milky eyes. And she had an idea.

"I need to leave," she told him.

For a frightfully long, breathless moment, it simply stared at her. They weren't meant to be ridden. Strictly speaking, they weren't even meant to be used to pull carriages like they did several times a year, and yet, they did it, because the forest was life, and because Hogwarts was the forest, and because all living things, and also some dead things, clung to life with every ounce of strength they had in their muscles.

Finally, the thestral laid down beside her.

"Thank you," Luna whispered. "I'll be back!"

She didn't know whether Harry and Barty could hear her, but she knew that not all of them could be captured at once because then it was game over, and daddy hadn't raised a quitter.

"To Voldemort," she whispered into the thestral's ear, but because today was one of those days, things didn't work out as planned.

The thestral crashed through the dense undergrowth like the unstoppable category four creature he was, twigs breaking and thorns scratching her but not him, moving ever further away from the voices, until finally, they reached a figure running between the trees.

Luna smiled in relief when the figure stopped and turned around.

"Stay away, I'm warning you!" Tom said and drew himself up to his full height. "Oh, Luna!"

And the thestral had led her to Voldemort. Only it was the one that was about fifty years too young and missing a wand. Maybe it was him who needed her.

"Tom," she said, and jumped off the thestral's back after thanking him with a small kiss to the neck. "Where is he?"

"We got separated!" Tom pressed out, nerves frayed like the ends of Luna's old childhood blanket. "They were, they were everywhere suddenly, I don't even know – teachers? Aurors? Both? He banished me so fast, so I'd get away from them, but I don't know where he–"

Tom stopped talking and interlocked his hands, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

"They got to Harry and Barty too," she said, and felt all of a sudden just like she'd felt when mummy hadn't woken up after that spell. "I ran away, but I couldn't take them with me, Tom… They are going to hate me!"

"No," Tom said and shook his head, "no they won't. You were smart, and able to get away, and you didn't show anyone your hidden flighty power. We'll talk more later. For now, we need to hide. How well do you know this forest?"

"Oh, only like the back of my hand," Luna shrugged, but she put on a devious smile.

"It's been… half a century since I've been here," Tom mused and followed her when she started walking. "I recognise some parts, but it's like, like I've walked into a memory of a memory, and everything is familiar but also… not."

"Don't you worry, Tom Riddle," Luna said and patted his arm. "The balayups are on our side."

"And that's a good thing?"

"Oh, the best. The balayups rule the forest."

"But… no, nevermind. And that's where we're going? The balayups' place?"

"No, of course not, silly," Luna giggled. "You see, the balayups are tree spirits and, by nature, very very shy. No. We are going somewhere where nobody is going to find us, and then we're going to wait until Voldemort can come get us."

"But you just said that nobody is going to be able to find us."

"Ah, but he's nobody, isn't he?" Luna asked and grinned at Tom. "The man without a name – the man whose name is so feared that no one but the wisest and the strongest of our world will say it."

"Harry says his name," Tom reminded her. "You say his name, too."

"Harry is very strong," Luna hummed. "And you yourself said that I have a gift."

"Voldemort… might be able to find me. He knew where I was before, so I'll give you that. So where are we going?"

"We're going where the thestrals live," she told him. "It's hidden, and very out of the way. You can't find it unless you know where to look for it, and he will know where to look for it."

"But he is me, so why don't I know?"

"Not enough death, I imagine," Luna shrugged. "Yet."

Tom huffed out a laugh, but that seemed to have been enough to make him shut up, so Luna kept her hand on the thestral's neck and let it guide their way towards its home.

"I will do anything to get them back," she declared to no one in particular, thoughts very far away, and altogether all over the place. "I'm very mad."

Tom stayed quiet, but he reached out and took her hand.

"Don't wanna lose sight of you, too," he said, very quietly, so she squeezed his hand.

"Don't worry," she laughed. "I'm hard to miss."

So Luna went deeper into the forest than she'd ever been, and if she was being really honest with herself she was a little afraid what would await her outside once she'd have to leave it again.

She also knew she was going to destroy whoever had dared take her friends from her.

Notes:

:>

Chapter 27

Notes:

As thanks for reaching over 100k hits (which I still can't believe?) I have the next chapter ready for you guys :>

And now—Lights! Music! Curtain!

When Harry woke up, darkness surrounded him. That was, in itself, not too worrying for someone who had spent his formative years living in a cupboard under the stairs. And yet… there was no light filtering in from beneath the door, so it either had to be night, or… 

Harry sat up with a scream lodged in his throat and found himself in a small room he'd never seen before.

He was in a bed, he was looking at a door, and he wasn't alone.

"Hello, Harry," Albus Dumbledore said with a very sad and very tired voice. With a flourish of his wand, the old man brightened the room up a little.

"What happened?" Harry asked, because he hoped things had not gone the way he vaguely remembered they'd gone.

It all flashed in front of his mind in a rapid fire series of images. They had been inside the forest… they'd met Voldemort, and the thestrals… And then, Luna leaving them just in time, and way too many people descending on a disoriented Barty before the world had gone dark. He could only hope Luna had managed to catch up to Voldemort and Tom before they'd left and–

Dumbledore was still calmly looking at him, so Harry swallowed. What was he going to say? He wasn't in any way shackled or restrained, so maybe… 

"Where's Alastor?" he asked this time, voice guarded, and Dumbledore leaned forward.

"What do you know about Alastor, Harry?" the old man asked, not unkindly, and Harry shivered.

They knew. Of course they knew.

"What I know about…" And just like that, Harry knew what he had to do. "I know he's a retired Auror, and that he doesn't have a wife, or kids, and no extended family that I know of. He's brilliant, though, and he promised to tutor me after the tournament is over so I wouldn't have to come back here again."

Dumbledore nodded, and leaned back in his chair. "I see. And why do you think Alastor Moody wants to tutor you, Harry?"

Harry allowed himself to breathe in and out as slow as he could before answering. "He knows what I've been through in Hogwarts, with, with Voldemort after me all the time, and with the other students being mean, and he… knows about the Dursleys too, about how they're terrible towards me, I mean, and I suppose he's seen too many abused kids in his career?"

"And now that he can do something about it, he wants to make up for all the children he couldn't save?" Dumbledore prodded, and Harry nodded, hands fisted into the blanket.

"That's what he told me."

Dumbledore was staring at him, but Harry looked at the spot between Dumbledore's eyes instead of making direct eye contact. He hated how knowing the old man looked. How much did they know? How had they found out? Did they know just how deep Harry's new allegiance went?

A distant part of him was relieved he hadn't  (yet?) taken the dark mark.

"He told you many things, Harry," the old man finally said. "What did he tell you you were doing in the Forbidden Forest tonight?"

They didn't know about him, Harry realised. Or hoped to realise. They didn't know Voldemort was back! Or did they? It was maddening. What could he say, what could he divulge, without incriminating anyone needlessly? 

"It was about the tournament," he finally lied.  "He wanted to hunt Acromantulas with me, to teach me how to fight them in case they were put into the maze, but we were walking in circles and couldn't find them."

Dumbledore was silent, and Harry hoped he was a good enough liar to convince the old man that he was still good enough to save.

"He's been lying to you, Harry," Dumbledore finally said.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, and narrowed his eyes. "He promised he'd take me away from all the, all the fighting, and the lies, and the bullying, he promised! What's going on? Why did you attack us?"

"My dear boy," Dumbledore sighed heavily, "I'm afraid the man you've been spending time with is not really Alastor Moody."

"What?" Harry asked, tonelessly. "Not Alastor Moody? Then who else is he supposed to be? You two used to be friends, is what he told me, so how can he not be Alastor Moody?"

"We were, or rather, we still are friends," Dumbledore said slowly. "I'm afraid I'm not as sharp as I thought I still was. Otherwise, I might have noticed sooner, but I fear I can't help but see the best in people… Alas, Harry, the real Alastor Moody has been kept as a prisoner in his own trunk for the whole school year."

Harry didn't answer immediately. Instead, he frowned and shook his head. "No… what? Then who… what?"

Distantly, he could see a different reality play out. One where Barty hadn't sat him down and spilled everything unprompted. That Harry would have had a real breakdown in the situation he was in right now.

"Alastor Moody has been kidnapped and impersonated by a death eater, Harry." Dumbledore had his hand in a pocket, and Harry was sure the man was holding his wand because he didn't know what Harry was going to do.

"What?" Harry asked again. "No… Come on, headmaster, that's not funny. You can't take away the one adult that genuinely cares about me! Since… when? The whole year? Surely that's not… I mean, how!?"

"Alastor Moody is not who you think he is, and you better start reworking everything you think you know about the man," Dumbledore urged him, eyes alight with a sort of righteous fury Harry had seldom seen in him. "The real Alastor Moody would never have stood for, for any of the things this impersonator made you believe. I am so sorry, Harry, but you've been used, and I was too sure of myself to see it. I thought a stern, hands-on mentor might do you good, even if I had to sacrifice my old friend to let you have that experience. I even played the villain to enable you to excel in his care, and yet, I aided our enemies all along…"

After that monologue, Harry saw how tired Dumbledore looked. Was it still the middle of the night? Or was it just the sort of world-weary sort of tiredness that old men exuded when things didn't go their way?

"But… who?" he asked. "And… and why? Because I was the reason Voldemort was killed? Revenge, I mean? But then why become my mentor? Was that just a sick joke to, I don't know, make me sad? I thought he was my friend!"

"Calm down, Harry, calm down," Dumbledore said, both hands raised like you would with a spooked horse. He wasn't holding his wand in either of his hands, so Harry considered that a success.

"How am I supposed to calm down, headmaster?" Harry asked incredulously. "You've just told me that my mentor is a death eater! How am I supposed to stay calm? Who is that man? What's going on, and why is this always my life?!"

Dumbledore sighed again and actually took off his half moon spectacles to massage his eyes. "It's… a long and complicated story, Harry, but I'll try to summarise it for you as best I can. You remember Bartemius Crouch from the ministry? He… used to have a son. Good boy, Ravenclaw, smart. Not the most popular of students, but a quiet and studious boy who kept himself out of trouble. After Voldemort's defeat, it came to light that he had been a marked death eater – an honour, albeit a questionable one, that was only awarded those with either influence or loyalty to spare."

Harry shook his head because he didn't know what to say. How? How had they found out?

"Then why would he join Voldemort? That's not exactly keeping out of trouble, is it?"

"No, I'm afraid it's not, my dear boy," Dumbledore sighed, again. "You see, his father was the head of the DMLE during the worst of the wizarding war, so he didn't spend much time at home. And Barty's mother was a sickly woman, so he had… little in the way of parental guidance."

"Wait, Barty's mother? So that death eater's grandmother?" Harry was grasping at straws here, but he had to make Dumbledore believe he didn't know about any of it.

"What? No, no, his name was… he was named after his father," Dumbledore explained absentmindedly. "The impostor's name is Bartemius Crouch Jr, Barty for short, and he was sentenced to life in Azkaban with the worst of the death eaters. Yet, he somehow managed to escape, though we know not how he managed it. After all, he died a year into his sentence, and was buried on the cursed island…"

"Sirius escaped," Harry said slowly. "So it's not… impossible. Maybe his father wanted to keep it quiet that someone had escaped, and that it had been his son of all people?"

"I don't know, Harry, but I imagine I will find out soon enough," Dumbledore replied softly. "We think he's the one who's responsible for your being thrust into the tournament too."

"But… why? Why all that?" Harry asked again urgently. "Why become my mentor and help me when he's the mastermind behind all of it? None of it makes any sense, headmaster!"

"No, it doesn't," Dumbledore agreed. "And there's something else that doesn't make sense… we know there was someone else in the forest, Harry, and no, we know about Miss Lovegood. Someone else."

Harry closed his mouth again. So they knew about Luna. What else did they know? If he was to lie outright, Dumbledore would know he was being played, so Harry had to think quickly. 

"You think I knew," Harry pressed out. "You think I knew about my mentor being a death eater, and for some reason, you think I went along with it…"

"Harry, that's not… I know you've been put in a difficult situation, so I…" Dumbledore shook his head sadly, and Harry felt red hot shame wash over himself.

All the things Dumbledore was accusing him of were true, and they were so terrible that the old man had tears in his eyes from the mere thought of accusing Harry of them.

"Ginny Weasley came to me, Harry, and she… told me something I took very seriously."

And just like that, Harry went numb. That bitch.

"It's about Tom," Harry said calmly, and he felt satisfaction when Dumbledore closed his eyes in resignation.

"So it's true."

"I had… pity on him," Harry continued, voice as soft as he could make it, and Dumbledore's eyes opened again. "I know he did all those things in my second year, but he's… he didn't do all the things Voldemort did, did he? And I suppose that I felt a certain kind of… kinship with him. He's an orphan too, a parselmouth, and he was thrust into this world just like me, wasn't he? I thought, I thought that if I could save him, then no one would be beyond saving. Not even…"

"Not even yourself? Oh Harry…" Dumbledore shook his head. "Have you been having more dreams and visions? Like the one about Severus?"

Harry nodded. "I'm… I don't want to turn out like him, and I told Alastor, and he said we could try rehabilitating that memory of Lord Voldemort, and maybe get more insight into him in the process?"

"And you were taking Tom into the forest?"

"We have… outside connections," Harry shrugged. "Since you know what's going on, well, it's… I mean, I don't know how true any of what Alastor told me is, but we delivered Tom into the care of one of Alastor's mentors. I don't know his name, so I can't tell you more than that, I'm afraid, but I figured with Alastor being a tough-as-nails former Auror, any mentor of his ought to be enough to whip even Tom Riddle into shape? I… trusted him."

"And he was very good at making you trust him, Harry," Dumbledore said, once again adopting that grandfatherly demeanour he used to use with Harry a lot before this year.

"So it was all a lie?" Harry asked. "All of it?"

"Barty, that is, Barty the younger, always struck me as a sentimental sort of child," Dumbledore explained. "I don't doubt that, in some twisted sort of way, he thought he was doing you a favour. He might even like you, in his own unhealthy way, but, ah, I'm afraid I can't answer this, Harry."

"Can I see him?" Harry asked. "I don't doubt that you're lying to me, but I just… my world is…"

"I understand, Harry," Dumbledore said earnestly, "but I believe it's still too early for any of this. You're traumatised, and you will need some guidance before you can face that man again."

"But he's free now?" Harry asked. "The real Alastor Moody, I mean? He can't be hurt anymore?"

"He's in Poppy's, that is, Madam Pomfrey's care. The poor woman was quite distraught and told me to tell you that none of it is your fault."

Harry felt the faintest of stings because he remembered how relieved the matron had been that someone was looking out for him.

"Thanks…" What now? What if they were to send Barty back to Azkaban before Harry or Voldemort could get to him? "I just can't believe this. Why is it always me, headmaster? Why can't I catch a break? I just want to be Harry, and have a, a normal family, and a normal life, without all these curveballs life keeps throwing at me!"

He couldn't see Barty shipped off to Azkaban. No way. He simply couldn't, even if it meant severing ties with everyone he'd ever known. A return to Azkaban would mean Barty's death before even the likes of Voldemort could get him out!

"I'm so very sorry, Harry."

Was he, though? Was he really? Harry felt a white-hot flash of rage course through him like a bolt of lightning. It seemed to start from his feet and went all the way up to his head where it manifested into a blinding headache that –

It all culminated in his scar. A lightning bolt. White-hot rage. 

They had taken something that was his. Barty was his. Harry had told him that he was his, and that he was going to keep him safe, and now they had Barty locked up somewhere, and they were going to ship him off to–

"Harry, what's wrong?" Dumbledore asked, tone alarmed and urgent.

"It's my scar," Harry groaned, and the pain in his voice wasn't an act. "It hurts so much, he's… he's furious!"

He probably was, if Luna had managed to find him in time, but Harry didn't feel Voldemort's negative emotions anymore like he used to in the beginning of the school year. But Dumbledore didn't need to know that.

"We caught one of his more capable followers," Dumbledore mused. "Fury on Voldemort's part is to be expected. And if our plan has worked out, we will have the sorry shadow that is Tom Riddle the younger in our custody too, by now, so Voldemort's plans have all failed in one swift operation."

"Gah!" Harry screamed when another pulse of electricity went through him. But if it wasn't Voldemort… 

A new feeling spread throughout his body, and he didn't know whether to be alarmed or relieved at the suddenness with which the pain left him. In its wake, a new sort of clarity washed over him and he felt like he wasn't quite as alone anymore.

Voldemort counted on him, and Barty counted on him, too. He needed to make it out of this situation as unscathed as he could, and he needed to get Barty out of here before things escalated further.

"I want to–"

But before he could ask about seeing Barty again, the door to the little room Harry was staying in opened abruptly and Dumbledore stood with his wand in hand in one swift motion.

"Minerva, what," Dumbledore started, but she interrupted him. She never interrupted him.

"It's the others, Albus," she said, and she didn't even spare more than a passing glance at Harry. "They haven't returned yet, and… I tried sending my patronus, but it won't leave with a message to any of them!"

Dumbledore stood up even straighter. What did it mean if you couldn't send a patronus to someone? Harry shivered. Did it mean… 

"Expecto Patronum," Dumbledore intoned, and a brilliantly silver phoenix erupted from the tip of his wand. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, meet me in my office immediately."

The phoenix didn't move from where it was lazily floating in front of Dumbledore. Its wings weren't beating fast enough to hold a bird of its size in the air, and its lifeless silver eyes looked on without emotion. It felt eerie in a way a patronus had never made Harry feel. Was this because it was Dumbledore's patronus or…? 

"Nymphadora Tonks, meet me in my office immediately!" Again, the phoenix didn't move. "Septima Vektor, report to my office immediately."

What was it with Dumbledore using professors in reconnaissance missions? 

"Headmaster," Harry said quietly. "What does it mean? Are they unconscious?"

Dumbledore looked very old again. "No, Harry. A patronus can try and rouse someone from sleep, or from unconsciousness, but this…"

"Oh Albus," McGonagall breathed, "surely they can't all be dead?"

"Who did you meet, Harry?" Dumbledore asked in a tone of voice Harry had never heard from him before. "You need to tell me everything you know!"

"I don't know, headmaster!" Harry answered quickly. His earlier rage had vanished with McGonagall's swift entrance, and he felt like he was grasping at straws again. "He was wearing a cloak, and I didn't see his face. His voice was distorted, too, but Alastor said it was fine, and that we could trust him. But because of Tom, we needed to be careful, and, and–

"Harry, how could you!" McGonagall asked with tears in her eyes, and Harry felt defensiveness claw up his throat.

"I didn't know! No one ever tells me anything, so how was I supposed to know about any of this?" he asked, and he finally climbed out of the simple bed he'd woken up in. "Alastor was my friend, and I've only just learned everything he told me was a lie! What do you expect me to do, professor? I trusted him!"

McGonagall shook her head and wrung her hands. "Albus," she said, and changed her focus again, "how could this happen? How could a marked death eater teach our children a whole year?"

"A marked death eater has been teaching us children for years and years now!" Harry couldn't help but exclaim. "Why would the castle handle this one differently?"

Something gleamed in Dumbledore's eyes, and he looked over at Harry. "Speaking of Professor Snape, Harry… do you know anything about his disappearance?"

Harry was taken aback, and he let it show on his face. "You think Alastor is behind this…"

"Not Alastor, Harry."

"The death eater then," Harry shot back. "Barty. You think he did it, don't you? Well, if he did, he didn't tell me!"

"And to think that Barty was such a polite young man." McGonagall shook her head sadly, just like Dumbledore had done earlier. "Those things he said in Alastor's body, Albus, about how he hated the death eaters that got away…"

Dumbledore threw a glance at Harry before he answered. "I suspect that during his incarceration in Azkaban and whatever followed after it, he escaped into the delusion that Voldemort would have kept him from harm."

And he would have, Harry thought bitterly. "So he killed Snape because he was a traitor to the man they both used to follow? Oh, don't tell me… Karkaroff, too?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "That is my theory," the old man agreed. "He was smart about it, but in hindsight… the signs were all there. I should have seen it!"

Dumbledore sounded bitter, and Harry had to fight with himself to keep the rage off his face. How dare he allow himself to pass judgment like this? 

"I want to see him," Harry repeated his earlier plea, and this time, Dumbledore didn't dismiss him immediately. "He made me… distrust so many people, and if, if all of that was just a ruse to alienate me from everyone, then I need to know, and I need to speak to him one more time before the Aurors deliver him to his fate in Azkaban!"

He thought he might have thrown up a little in his mouth at the words he had to speak. They couldn't just take him and throw sweet, loyal Barty back to the dementors, could they? 

Well. Not if he let them.

"Harry," Dumbledore began, "I don't know if it would be wise to… and there are more pressing matters to attend to, in any case. I am sorry, my boy, but–"

"No, headmaster!" Harry said loudly. "I need to see him! I know him, even if it's not him I know. He will tell me who it is we've met with, I'm sure of it. Please, I just, I just need to…"

He stopped himself, and he reached back into that deep, cold place inside himself he'd managed to tap into briefly before McGonagall had interrupted them.

"I need something to believe in."

He met Dumbledore's eyes, and for the first time, he could actually feel the featherlight touches of legilimency at the forefront of his mind. Guided by a power he didn't know he possessed, Harry filled the imaginary window Dumbledore peered into with visions of him telling "Alastor" about his home life, his lack of friends, and his fear concerning the tournament.

There were visions of them practising spells for the third task, swimming lessons for the second task, them just joking around and then, a memory of Alastor promising to take Harry with him, come hell or high water. He allowed memory-Harry's chaotic emotional swirl of hope and need to show through. 

"Oh Harry…" Dumbledore said with genuine emotions warring in his eyes. "My dear, dear boy."

"I just want something to believe in, headmaster," Harry repeated, voice small and vulnerable, and it took everything he had learned from Barty about perseverance to keep looking at the old man. 

To his surprise, it was enough for Dumbledore. The old man walked around the bed that was separating them and drew Harry into a tight embrace. Harry, who had been getting better at hugging, reflexively returned the tender gesture. He might even have sobbed because everything was terrible.

"Don't worry, my boy," Dumbledore whispered into Harry's hair. "From this point onwards, you will have me to believe in. I will teach you everything you need to know to fight Tom and his neverending schemes. We'll beat him together, you and I. What do you think?"

Harry thought that Dumbledore really should go eat that big bag of dicks Barty had been saving for him. Where had the man been when Harry had really needed him before?

"I think that's the best thing I've heard all year, headmaster," he mumbled into Dumbledore's plum-coloured robes. 

He smelled clean, and not at all like Harry had imagined old people to smell like. A small part of him was filled with regret about this other life he could have had if only Dumbledore had taken him properly under his wings his very first year in Hogwarts.

And yet another part of him couldn't help but compare how different hugging Dumbledore felt as opposed to Voldemort. Distantly, Harry thought he might be the only person in the world to have hugged both of these men.

Where Dumbledore clung to him for reassurance just as much as he was trying to give it, Voldemort's embrace had been bedrock. The man had felt solid, sure and safe, and Harry desperately wanted to curl up on a couch somewhere, held between both Barty and Voldemort. 

"Let's go, Harry," Dumbledore said tenderly. "I'll come with you, and we'll deal with the fallout afterwards, alright?"

"Alright," Harry agreed, and because everything depended on him being Gryffindor's golden boy, he clung to Dumbledore's robes when the old man started walking.

With a warm smile, Dumbledore put his arm around Harry's shoulders. "Don't worry, my dear boy. You never meant for any of this to happen, so I forgive you."

"Thank you, headmaster," Harry answered. "For what it's worth… I'm sorry Alastor got between us like that. He said all the right things to, to make me like him, and… trust him, I suppose."

But they didn't get to speak much more than that. The door leading out of the small room he'd woken up in led directly into the headmaster's office. Immediately, a wave of adrenaline crashed into Harry and made him lose his breath, because in the middle of the room, chained to a wooden chair by his wrists and ankles, was Barty.

Their eyes met, and Harry let the coldness inside of him take control.

"Liar!" he shouted and pointed a finger at the man he loved because Barty needed to know what story Harry had gone with. "How could you do this to me! You said you'd give me a home, and that we could rehabilitate Tom and thus prove that not even I was beyond saving, and for what?"

"Harry," Barty started, voice pleading, but Harry only screamed at him in frustration. 

"No, shut up!" he snarled. "You lied to me! You're not who you said you are, and you don't even have a home to take me back to! You're terrible, and creepy, and friends don't do this to each other!"

"Headmaster, is this wise?" Professor Flitwick asked, and Harry was surprised to see that there were other people in the room, too. 

Professors Flitwick and Sinistra had their wands trained on poor Barty, but Harry couldn't stop now.

"Let me explain," Barty started again, but Harry cut him off once more.

"No, I don't want to hear a word from you! Snape and Karkaroff, that was all you, wasn't it? You lied and said you would never do anything to jeopardise your reputation for my sake, when really, your reputation is that of a cold-blooded murderer who belongs in Azkaban!"

Barty looked so small and skinny in Alastor Moody's oversized clothes. The man looked around him as if looking for a way out, but then something in his gaze shifted. Harry felt relief wash over him, because of course Barty was strong enough to continue holding the act up.

"It's true," he said, and McGonagall and Flitwick drew in sharp breaths. "You were a means to an end, and if I grew to care for you along the way, well… I'll chalk that up to occupational hazard."

"Barty," Dumbledore said calmly and stepped next to Harry, "this is your chance to set things right. Why did you have Harry join the tournament? What was your mission here?"

Barty sneered at Dumbledore as if considering the old man beneath him, and Harry was so proud of that simple act of defiance. Barty had to be scared out of his wits!

"My mission here is accomplished. I have nothing to tell you."

"Tom," Harry gasped. "From the very beginning, this was all about Tom."

Barty grinned in a way Harry had never seen him grin before, and if he didn't know him as well as he did, he thought he might have gotten fooled by it. "It was always about him," Barty declared in a syrupy voice. "It's done, so I might as well just… well. The tournament was just a way to get close to you. After all, I know exceedingly well that Hogwarts and its staff are very good at turning a blind eye towards those who need a helping hand."

"You come from a good home," Dumbledore protested, but Barty interrupted him and shook his head with a disgusted expression.

"I come from a terrible, broken home with an absent father and a terminally ill mother," he argued. "But this isn't about me… it's about my master. All of you failed him, again and again, so I'm here to pick up the pieces and do a better job of raising him!"

Harry watched the teachers exchange worried glances. 

"Tom Riddle cannot be trusted, Barty," Dumbledore tried to explain. "I don't know what Voldemort told you, thirteen years ago, what he promised you to ensure your loyalty after all these years, but… it's not true. None of it is true, and if left to fester like an open sore, Tom Riddle will turn into everything we stand against. He will hurt and kill people again. You're a good boy, Barty, surely you know deep down that your endeavour is folly?"

"I'm not a boy anymore, headmaster," Barty answered, a dangerous glint in his eye. "All my childish dreams died when the Wizengamot sent me to rot with the worst of my brothers and sisters."

"And what were your dreams?" Dumbledore asked kindly, and Harry could respect that about the man: he always wanted to find a path to get along with just about everyone. Even Barty, who was making a point of being as obnoxiously evil as he could manage.

Barty remained silent. Ah. Harry realised this was him playing along. "It's none of your business," Barty ground out, eyes darting around nervously.

Dumbledore's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "Leave me with them," Dumbledore commanded. 

"But Albus!" McGonagall started to complain. 

"Barty is contained as well as he can be, and our dear misguided Harry has never been our enemy," Dumbledore replied evenly. "I have dealt with many more terrible foes than these two. Go look for Kingsley, Septima and the others, and send Hagrid out to look for Miss Lovegood. She will be in desperate need of guidance."

They discussed some more amongst themselves, but finally, everyone else filed from the room and left Harry alone with Barty and Dumbledore. 

"Now, Barty," Dumbledore started again, "Voldemort is no father material, no matter how much you might ache for one."

Barty turned bright red, and Harry knew Barty didn't have to act his mortification. Say what you will about Dumbledore, but he had a habit of being frightfully insightful. "I never–"

"But you did, didn't you?" Dumbledore asked again. "Tell me, my boy, what happened to you after your death?"

Barty looked pained, and Harry thought he might have felt pity at this point even if this had been the other reality

"My… father kept me prisoner at his home. There was… well, if you must know, I spent twelve years under the Imperius curse and invisibility cloaks," Barty shared bitterly and Harry briefly wondered why he was being so truthful. And yet, hadn't Voldemort himself told him at some point during the break that the best lies had some truth in them?

Dumbledore sucked in a sharp breath and summoned the comfortable chair from behind his desk to sit across from Barty. "He didn't."

Barty blushed an even deeper red. "Leave me alone if you don't believe me," he demanded. "I have nothing to say to you!"

"He broke you," Dumbledore said with pity staining his voice. "He's tortured you all these years, and no one knew… I spoke to him from time to time, and never even had the faintest idea that you'd… and you escaped?"

"A friend freed me," Barty said quickly, and Harry wondered how much truth was too much truth. 

"A friend… the one you told Harry was your mentor?"

Barty looked away and screwed his eyes shut. He made it look as if he wanted to tell Dumbledore more. "I can't tell you anymore, headmaster. You already know too much."

"Why did you lie to me about everything!?" Harry exclaimed to buy more time for Barty to make up a proper backstory and keep Voldemort's involvement out of it. "You said we were going to rehabilitate Tom, and that we'd use his greatness for good this time around. I trusted you!"

"Make no mistake, Harry, we are going to use him – just not in the way you imagined," Barty replied in a cold voice. The sneer he was sporting would have rivalled Malfoy's if—

And there he had it.

"Don't tell me…" Harry muttered as if he'd had a great realisation. "So few people know what happened down in the chamber… and he would have had to have known you, too! Don't tell me… that mentor of yours is none other than Lucius Malfoy!"

Barty's eyes widened, and Harry saw real surprise in them. But then, the man went with it and snarled at Harry. "So what if you know? It changes nothing! Lucius will provide my young master with everything he needs, and he will rise again, amass another army, and let darkness reign over this whole backwards country!"

"Enough!" Dumbledore thundered, and Barty shut up. "Lucius Malfoy is missing, Barty. Not even his wife and son know his whereabouts."

"A good ruse," Barty said proudly. "Who would have suspected him if he's missing? When my good-for-nothing father accidentally told Lucius about the skeleton in his basement, he came to free me because he'd been planning how to get into the Chamber for a year at this point, and because he remembered me fondly. I was to befriend Harry Potter and use his attachment to me to ensure his silence and his cooperation. And it worked just as intended."

"You said you'd give me a home! Was all of that a lie as well?" Harry did his best to look as if he was about to cry. "Was everything you said just a lie?"

Barty was so good at this. He met Harry's gaze, and Harry could see his resolve shatter. 

"Harry…" he said, voice a lot more fragile than before. "I'm sorry I had to lie, but it was for the greater good. I had fun with you, but you were… ultimately, you were just a means to an end. You're such a good kid – honest, brave, kind. It's a shame the students keep treating you the way they do, but those same qualities of yours ensure that you will never see the world the way I see it."

Harry allowed himself to feel those words as if Barty meant them. What a cruel world it would have been if this had been how it had gone. "No…" he whispered, and he turned away from Barty.

It took some effort on Harry's part, but he managed to turn on his heels and practically crashed into Dumbledore, who'd gotten up again from his chair, with the force of his embrace.

"I was so stupid, headmaster!" he almost-cried and fisted his hands into the soft fabric of Dumbledore's robes. "I was so fucking stupid, and now they've got the memory Tom Riddle and they will make another Voldemort and it will have been my own fault!"

"Harry, my dear boy, you must calm down," Dumbledore tried to soothe him and patted his back kind of awkwardly. "You were tricked by him, but we all were. No one will hold you responsible for this."

"But they always do," Harry cried. "They always hold me responsible – the press, the other students… and they will always wear 'Potter Stinks' badges. No one will believe me, just like before…"

"Sirius will be exonerated by the end of next week," Dumbledore reminded him quickly. "He will understand. He will take care of you."

"Thank you, headmaster…" Harry said softly. "It will be such a relief to have a proper home to return to during the summers."

"See?" Dumbledore asked and put a hand on Harry's shoulder to prompt him to look up. "Sometimes, bad things happen to good people. It's what we decide to do when faced with the consequences of our actions that define who we are."

"I want to be better," Harry pressed out and wondered earnestly whether it was a good idea to steal Dumbledore's wand right now, or whether the old man was too good at wandless magic for Barty and him. 

He decided not to take any chances and took a step back when Dumbledore released him. The old man granted him another reassuring smile and Harry vaguely wondered why none of it seemed to reach him anymore. Part of him felt like he'd been through this cycle too often to give a fuck.

"Wait a moment for me, Harry. I will take you to the hospital wing soon," Dumbledore said patiently before turning back to Barty. "I don't know what's happened to make you so bitter and make you join the dark in the first place, my dear lost boy, but we will have some more conversations before I will hand you over to the Aurors. You will sleep now, and when you wake up, we will–"

But Harry didn't find out why Barty looked quite as appalled as he did because at that moment, a massive explosion rocked the castle's very foundations. 

Dumbledore looked over at Harry, and Harry believed he must have looked sufficiently shocked since Dumbledore told him to get down.

"Expecto Patron-" But before Dumbledore's silver phoenix Patronus could appear, a silver cat came running through the wall and stopped in front of them. 

"Albus Dumbledore, you need to get over here right now," McGonagall's disembodied voice urged the old man, and then they heard the explosion again in the background of her message. "Albus, the Astronomy Tower just exploded."

"Oh boy," Barty drawled, "looks like you really underestimated both Lucius' magical prowess and his affection for me."

For the first time that Harry could remember, Dumbledore looked disgusted, and it only took a wordless curse and a red light by the old man to render Barty unconscious. It hurt something very visceral inside Harry to see Barty with his head hanging down all limp like that.

"I can't believe Lucius left his wife and son for this misguided soul," Dumbledore said, still with a faint hint of a sneer on his face. 

"Barty is blonde," Harry mumbled, but Dumbledore was already halfway to the door.

"Come, Harry," he said, and Harry made to follow when the silver cat came rushing up the stairs once more.

"Albus! Quick, there's— ahhh!"

Harry felt his heart soar. For the first time, the hopeless rescue mission wasn't resting on his shoulders alone. So what if the whole school was going to stand against him? There was someone powerful out there who had his back—and who would stop at nothing to get him back.

Despite the grim situation, a smirk found its way onto his face. Having power proved to be a sensation most heady.

Notes:

Dumbles, your internalised homophobia is showing...

Chapter 28

Notes:

The last chapter flowed like milk and honey while writing, and then this one right here was like crawling through rocks—but I persevered!

I hope you enjoy <3

Truth be told, Luna hadn't known just how many thestrals there were in the forest. There were three or four who were curious enough to meet her almost anytime she visited, and then a recurring variation of others who tagged along from time to time.

What she hadn't considered was that one carriage fit four students, and that there were hundreds of students. Thus, many carriages, and just as many thestrals pulling them.

She held Tom's hand tighter and watched the herd of dozens of thestrals below them. Tom and her were standing on a ledge above the creatures, their little guide thestral still at Luna's side, and she shook her head in wonder and delight. To think that people thought of them as weird and creepy when they huddled against each other so adorably while they were sleeping!

"When I was a child, there were normal horses pulling the carriages," Tom said quietly. "I wonder why there are so many thestrals now."

"You're still a child," Luna reminded him, and Tom laughed softly. 

"I suppose." He cocked his head. "Or maybe they've always been here… What now?"

Luna hummed. "Now, Tom Riddle, we wait."

Tom nodded in agreement. She liked that about him. Whereas even Harry sometimes looked at her as if she was a manduray during shedding, Tom simply took everything in stride. 

"No one comes here, you know?" she informed him absentmindedly. 

"I know, I can feel him," Tom answered. 

-o-

When Voldemort arrived not ten minutes later, Luna realised why he had been feared during the height of his power. He was a terrifying sight to behold with his red eyes splitting the darkness and the raw magic rolling off him in black tendrils.

At least she assumed that was what the tendrils were. She refrained from asking because she was pretty sure that seeing them was a Luna thing. The thestrals were also sensing something, with how a surge of excitement seemed to roll through them like a wave breaking at the beach. She felt a little bad they all got woken up like this.

"You are well," Voldemort said in a low voice after he'd reached them.

"I am very mad," Luna answered equally as quietly, "but overall, I'm fine."

"That banishing charm you used bruised me some, but it's a small price to pay," Tom shrugged before glowering. "I should never have left Draco Malfoy's wand in Hogwarts."

"It is traced. We are better off without it—here, try this." Voldemort produced a wand from one of his sleeves, and Tom's eyes shone hungrily. 

He took a hold of it and let sparks of varying colours spew forth from it the way Luna had done in Mr Ollivander's shop. "For half a second, I was surprised it fit so well, but you would have tested it before, right?"

Voldemort merely inclined his head, and Luna was once again struck by how they were what amounted to the same person. How peculiar. Would she be able to get along with herself like this? Had they had time to put up some ground rules?

"What do we know?" Luna asked. "I couldn't see the attackers."

"Aurors," Voldemort spat. "Teachers. The old fool thought he was dealing with children past their bedtime."

Which, to be fair, most of them were. Luna refrained from telling him so. "They have Harry and Barty."

"I know," Voldemort replied with a growl, "and I want them back."

Luna appreciated that neither of the two cared much for trivialities like them being outnumbered three to a dozen or so adults and hundreds of children of varying ages. Then again, Voldemort looked about as mad as Luna felt, and he was said to be rather a good fighter.

"Did you kill those who attacked you?" she asked.

Voldemort looked over and seemed to consider her before he answered. "I did."

"I understand," she said, and another ripple went through the herd of thestrals. "They took my friends, and I had to run away because I'm not strong enough."

Voldemort hummed. "And how did that make you feel, little girl?"

"Powerless," Luna answered, and Tom winced because she was still holding his hand and must have squeezed it too roughly. "I don't want my friends hurt, or dead, or taken. I want to be strong enough to protect them!"

"Come with me, then," Voldemort invited her and held out his pretty, long-fingered hand which she knew so well from her dreams of a hand reaching for Harry. "They are waiting."

She didn't have to think twice. When she took his hand, the winds didn't pick up, the moon still shone, and everything was entirely the same all around them. But inside of her, she felt something change. 

"They are waiting," she agreed, "and it's not fair that people get taken from me when I have so few of them."

"Then let us remind Wizarding Britain just why they dare not speak my name," Voldemort thundered, and his eyes shone with something dark that Luna dared not name.

-o-

The ride back to the school was swift, and Luna allowed her mind to wander while the thestrals did all the navigating. From up here, the treetops looked like pipe cleaners, and she was surprised by how far from the school they'd walked to meet with Voldemort. 

Looking to her right, the man himself looked like one of those generals from centuries past. Daddy had shown her some paintings in the French museum before she'd committed burglary of an ancient, powerful artifact. Those men in the paintings had been comprised of billowing capes, intense looks of concentration and an aura of power about them—just like Voldemort.

They had also been decked out with material displays of their power like staffs, and swords, and… 

Medaillon, ring, goblet, tiara.

Her head hurt. It was just like the vision in the forest, the one she'd lost so quickly… 

"You are really quite magnificent," she said softly, but supposed he wasn't able to hear her. Or maybe she hadn't spoken aloud in the first place.

At the rate the thestrals were going, they had reached the outskirts of the forest in no time. When they spiralled down, it felt strangely slow after their swift flight, and Luna took that last chance to look upon the castle the way it used to be.

"Oh," she breathed as a giant fire started roaring inside her head. Well, she'd never quite liked Astronomy all that much anyways, she supposed with another sideways glance at Voldemort.

When they touched ground, they jumped down from the thestrals' backs and gathered close to the treeline.

"Another vision?" Voldemort asked, and Luna nodded, surprised. 

"What's my tell?"

"For lack of a better term… your aura flickers."

The castle was silent while Luna mulled the man's words over. She decided not to answer, but the beauty of being with those who could see was that she didn't need to.

"Are we going in?" Tom asked. "I feel… I don't think we should wait long. The penalty for escaping from Azkaban is a dementor's kiss, isn't it? What if they send for one as soon as possible?"

Luna's tummy did a weird kind of somersault tumble, and she felt like screaming and vomiting at the same time.

"We're going," she decided and didn't wait for an answer before leaving the safety of the trees and heading straight for the castle.

Voldemort and Tom caught up with her in no time.

"Do you think it is wise for you to be seen like this?" Voldemort asked. "Your old life will be over. I can transfigure a cloak with a hood for you, should you prefer that."

Would she prefer that? Daddy would be devastated with her gone, but he'd considered taking her out of Hogwarts anyways, hadn't he? And also… She frowned. Voldemort was very confident about winning, so if he was going to win in the end, the world order was about to shift drastically anyways.

"I'm not old enough to be wise, so I'm just going to have to follow my heart," she decided. 

And as far as she was concerned, that was that. 

The castle in front of them, usually so familiar, seemed to loom like a sleeping giant tonight. Only a handful of windows were illuminated, and just like Firenze had said, the stars above were veiled. Even the moon only peeked out from behind the clouds occasionally, and the long grass was wet with dew beneath their feet.

Luna acutely remembered how cold it had been to walk barefoot all the time. (She still wore the boots Barty had Conjured for her all those months ago because she routinely used restoration spells on them every night.)

"They're coming," Tom said, and Luna allowed herself to exhale a long breath. 

Right on cue, a group of people poured from the front doors, and Luna blindly reached for Tom's hand again because she was about to turn on her teachers and wondered whether she could still be considered a good girl if she did that.

They had gotten so close to the castle that Luna could see McGonagall's eyes widen as she was the first to spot them.

"What are–" she started, before her hand flew up to her mouth. "No…"

Flitwick followed the woman's terrified gaze, and Luna forced herself to remember how no one had helped her get her things back, not even her head of house—how they had looked the other way when she ate alone for every single meal in Hogwarts until Harry and Hermione had come along, and how everyone had tolerated the other students giggling about her behind her back all the time.

How no one had stood by Harry when he became a pariah a second time around.

"You have something that belongs to me," Voldemort said with a voice so cold Luna feared the dewdrops would turn to ice beneath her boots, and McGonagall actually took a step back in horror. 

Professor Sinistra looked confused more than anything, and Luna mused that, as an old piece of Ravenclaw wisdom dictated, ignorance was not bliss. 

"Minerva, who are these people?" the young woman asked, but McGonagall couldn't get a word out.

"Aurora," Flitwick answered instead, "run inside and get everyone. Every teacher you can reach, and call for the Aurors, too."

"Oh, I should think not," Voldemort chuckled darkly and the doors to the castle slammed shut behind the three professors.

"Miss Lovegood, come here," Flitwick beckoned to her with a trembling voice and extended his hand. "Release her, you fiend!"

"Release her?" Voldemort asked with a rough laugh. "Why, if you love something, set it free. Go on, little girl, join those hopeless fools."

"I'd rather not," Luna answered simply.

"It's no use. He has her under the Imperius curse," Flitwick told the others, and Sinistra seemed to realise that things were becoming dire.

"I see that little has changed in the last fifty years," Tom drawled from where he stood next to Luna. "You teachers are still as slow as ever. Now, hand over what you took from us, and the night might end without any more bloodshed."

"You want Crouch," Flitwick realised with a frown. "Well, you, you can't have him. He will be turned over to the Aurors for his numerous crimes, and we will—there's no way that…"

His voice petered out. 

"He can't be back," McGonagall whispered. "Please no…"

"Hold on," Sinistra urged, and Luna could see the knuckles of the hand holding her wand turn white, "are you telling me this is who I think it is? Is this, is it, is–"

Her voice got higher and higher like the Rakatonian Rumdunger during mating season, and then it stopped. Except she then made the mistake of using it again.

"Stupefy!" she called out as little more than a squeak, and Voldemort parried the curse with a lazy flick of his wand.

"What an exceptionally uninspired idea," the man snorted before raising his bone-white wand.

The sight made Sinistra scream, whereas Luna thought that the man's wand looked rather pretty, all things considered. Artistic, in any case, even though she was not altogether sure a wand that looked like a bone ought to have been sold to an eleven-year-old.

In the meantime, McGonagall seemed to have gathered her wits about her. She summoned a Patronus, and Luna supposed Voldemort was letting her because it would have been easy for him to stop her. "Albus Dumbledore, you need to get over here right now!" she demanded in a tightly controlled sort of voice, and Luna watched as a gleeful grin spread over Voldemort's face.

"Confringo Maxima!" Voldemort shouted out of nowhere, and yet another vision came true when the Astronomy Tower in the middle of the castle exploded into a plume of fire and smoke.

"Protego Maxima," Tom cast, sounding almost bored. A globe shield grew from the tip of his new wand and encompassed the three of them just as some stray fragments of stone and debris started raining down from the general direction of the Astronomy tower.

"Minerva," Flitwick implored urgently, "send another Patronus. Albus needs to know we're dealing with, with…"

The small professor couldn't even use the silly nickname they'd given to Voldemort. Just like Tom, he was employing a globe shield while McGonagall and Voldemort were staring daggers at each other.

Luna frowned. She didn't want to be the Sinistra of their group. So while McGonagall summoned another one of those cat Patroni of hers, Luna used a spell Barty had taught to Harry in case the third task included enemy wizards as well.

"Albus! Quick,"

"Perfringo," she cast with great diligence, and watched in awe as their own globe shield flickered for the briefest of instants to allow her shield-penetration spell to pass through and shatter Flitwick's shield.

"There's—ahhh!"

The spell itself didn't hurt, but the shield exploded outwards like it was made of glass before the fragments evaporated in a shower of light. It must have been very disconcerting to have been inside that.

"I think Hogwarts ought to be awake now," Voldemort said. "Come."

Luna didn't quite know where she ought to come to, but apparently, the answer was a little further away from the castle.

"Can we be sure that he'll come?" Tom asked. "What if he sends Barty away before coming here?"

"They have a history," Voldemort replied with an expression of distaste. "The old fool will not hand him over to the Aurors tonight."

"And Harry?" Luna asked quietly.

"Harry is fine," Voldemort answered in a low voice. "He will be there as well."

"Stay there!" McGonagall demanded, wand raised. She had followed them, Flitwick right behind her, and pointed her wand at Voldemort. "Albus will be dealing with you. Leave Ms Lovegood out of this!"

Luna hummed and looked towards the castle instead of at the distraught woman. There were more lights now. What were the other students thinking? That the castle was under attack? Why had Voldemort destroyed the Astronomy Tower in the first place? Wasn't he trying to be as incognito as possible?

But of all times, there was no vision coming now.

Voldemort didn't care about what McGonagall was saying either. Instead, he enveloped the three of them in a Muffliato charm.

"Tom," Voldemort said, "I have a mission for you."

"Oh?" Tom asked, definitely interested but trying very hard not to seem eager.

"Do you already know of the Room of Hidden Things at this point?"

Tom's eyebrows rose higher. "I do, yes."

"There is a diadem there—we eventually managed to obtain it. It will call to you," Voldemort explained. "Recover it, and hide it well. You will also need to recover Harry's invisibility cloak. Dumbledore will have taken it from him. If you make it to the headmaster's office, retrieve the diary as well."

"A diadem… that's almost like a tiara," Luna whispered to herself, and her eyes widened. "I'll go with him! Harry has shown me some shortcuts!"

Voldemort regarded her intently, but then he nodded. "Very well. I will cast a powerful disillusionment charm on the both of you, but you need to be quick either way. The castle is in an uproar—tread lightly, and be swift. I will buy you time."

Luna held Tom's hand tighter when he squeezed hers, and as soon as Voldemort spelled them invisible, they made a run for the castle.

"Confringo," Tom hissed under his breath, and the front door of the castle exploded. 

The three professors were already ensconced in another globe shield but were still knocked a little to the side by the force of the door splintering apart. Luna and Tom swerved around them and made their way into the castle.

And now Luna realised why Voldemort had destroyed the tower: he had wanted to spread chaos to make it easier for Tom and herself to blend in! Already, she could hear the commotion of distressed voices from deep inside the castle's bowels.

Tom was quick, but Luna had been routinely running away for quite some time now. It felt good to finally be running towards something.

"Whatever happens, you stay by my side, alright?" Tom asked.

"No," Luna answered and felt the ground drop from below her feet for a second. "I won't, actually, but I think it will be fine."

-o-

Harry felt winded from running after Dumbledore. The old man was deceptively fast for someone his age, and the overall condition of Harry's body was… weary. The fall back to the forest floor must have cracked a rib or two with how his chest ached, and he wagered it was only pure adrenaline that kept him running. 

Before actually leaving the headmaster's office, there had been quite the argument that had left Harry mentally exhausted, but at least he had managed to persuade Dumbledore to take Barty along. Ostensibly, it was to bait "Lucius" into surrendering, thus neutralising all the Dark Lord-sympathisers in one fell swoop. Dumbledore had hemmed and hawed but hadn't been able to think of a better alternative for where to put Barty since all his little spies and henchmen were out and about.

Harry's elation had been short-lived, though, because at the rate they were going, poor Barty's head was lolling to and fro something fierce. He wondered where Dumbledore had stored his trusted holly wand and hoped desperately that the old man had it with him as opposed to having left it stashed away in his office.

"Quick, Harry," Dumbledore called back to him, and Harry grit his teeth and kept running.

Thankfully, the headmaster's office was close to the grand staircase, so he didn't have to run too long. When Dumbledore proceeded to take the stairs four steps at a time with his long legs though, Harry realised he'd gotten ahead of himself with his relief. For such an old man, Dumbledore was frustratingly agile.

When they finally arrived down in the foyer, Harry could see that the front doors had been blown apart and shuddered involuntarily. Voldemort had to have been really angry to lay such desolation upon—wait, wasn't that what Firenze had cautioned him about?

"Behind me," Dumbledore commanded and erected a shield in front of them before advancing. 

"Headmaster, do you have my wand?" Harry asked. "I could watch your back. I'm afraid I'll just be an additional target for Lucius if I can't defend myself."

Dumbledore stopped walking and turned around to face him. With his newfound ability to command carefully-curated memories only to appear on the surface of his mind, Harry dared meet the old man's eyes again. 

"You have been practising, haven't you?" Dumbledore asked, but it didn't feel like he wanted an answer. (Probably because he saw the memories of Harry practising dueling spells that Harry wanted him to see.) "No, you are right. If I'm supposed to help you fight your fight, we will need to learn to fight together."

And miraculously, joyously, Dumbledore reached into a pocket of his robes and produced Harry's wand. 

Having it back felt so good, and it cost Harry all his willpower not to cancel the spells put on Barty immediately and make a run for it. Wouldn't do to jeopardise the seedling of trust he'd planted in the old man.

Instead, he followed Dumbledore outside and watched in awe how a veritable firework of spells illuminated the grounds. In the distance, three figures were locked in a duel the likes of which Harry hadn't even dreamed of. Harry thought he could recognise McGonagall and Flitwick, and the other figure unmistakably was that of Voldemort—holding his own against two skilled duelists without so much as breaking a sweat.

"Sonorus," Dumbledore intoned. "Cease your childish squabble. Lucius Malfoy, I have what you so desire!"

The duel stopped, and Dumbledore cancelled the spell on his throat before marching out toward the three figures.

In the distance, Harry could see how tense Voldemort was.

"Albus, Albus it's not Lucius Malfoy!" McGonagall called over to them, and Dumbledore became slower and slower the closer they came to the three duelists. "It's him."

"No…" the old man breathed when there was no mistaking that the third figure was tall, slim and dark-haired instead of the light blonde he'd probably anticipated.

"Who is that, headmaster?" Harry asked breathlessly, and then, because the act was still on, he screamed in agony when Voldemort turned towards them. "My scar! Don't tell me that's–"

For added drama, he fell to his knees and clutched his forehead. 

"Erect a shield, Harry," Dumbledore urged him. "Tell me, quick, what age was Tom Riddle when you handed him over?"

"What? He was… around sixteen, just like back in the chamber," Harry pressed out. "Who is that man? Is that… is that Voldemort?"

Dumbledore threw a glance back at him. "No heroics now, Harry. You must stay back and let me handle this," Dumbledore commanded. "I should never have brought you—or Barty, for that matter."

"You do have something that belongs to me," Voldemort called over to them, and Harry groaned again and held his forehead.

They were outnumbered here, and he couldn't risk Dumbledore realising that Harry wanted to hide behind Voldemort instead of him as long as Barty was behind enemy lines.

"A neat trick," Voldemort said and came closer. "Using an obfuscation spell to make Moody's eye less effective in the forest, I wager? Only the man himself would know that particular charm."

"He is out of your reach now," Dumbledore shot back. 

"Oh, is he? He has served his purpose of course, but I know the way you operate, Albus Dumbledore," Voldemort drawled. "He will be in the hospital wing where you can keep an eye on him, and that ought to be… right behind those windows over there."

A violently yellow spell erupted from Voldemort's wand and would have impacted with the windows that Harry was sure indeed belonged to the hospital wing if not for Dumbledore countering it and rerouting it so it impacted with the still surface of the Black Lake instead. There was a huge geyser of water that shot up in response and doused the Durmstrang ship. 

Harry wondered whether Dumbledore had wanted to play it this close.

"You have wrought enough destruction for one night, Tom," Dumbledore said calmly.

"Not Tom," Voldemort laughed cruelly. "But don't worry. I will teach you that lesson in due time."

"Albus, he has Miss Lovegood under the Imperius curse!" McGonagall called over to them, and Harry could see Dumbledore grit his teeth in annoyance.

"Not Luna!" Harry screamed. "No! You monster!"

Voldemort looked over at him for the first time, and Harry shivered at the expression the man was wearing. It was cold, and calculating, and Harry hated that it had to be directed at him.

"You're supposed to be dead!" Harry screamed over at him. "You lied to me, just like Barty did!"

"Ah, yes, about that," Voldemort answered in a bored tone of voice. "I want my servant back."

"You are not here for Barty," Dumbledore replied with a brisk shake of his head. "You have no attachment to anyone but yourself."

"Even if we were to assume that you are right," Voldemort looked annoyed more than anything by that implication, "skilled servants are hard to come by. I should like this particular one back."

"It's a diversion," Flitwick interjected. "He sent Miss Lovegood and the, his, and Tom Riddle—he sent both of them into the castle!"

Why would he do that? Harry frowned in concentration. Was this a rescue mission for Barty and him? No… what then? The diadem Harry hadn't been able to get? Harry felt bad he hadn't managed to sneak up there the last couple of weeks. But Voldemort had asked to only collect it once the year was close to over… 

"How are you back!" Harry asked and tried to put on a tone that was as accusatory and bratty as possible. "Last time I saw you, you were an ugly, malformed outgrowth on someone else's head and I beat you!"

"Are you quite done, Harry?" Voldemort asked in a too-sweet voice. "The adults are talking."

"Harry is right," Dumbledore said. "How did you manage to come back? And what do you want now? You will not get to Harry as long as I draw breath!"

"I hardly think I owe anyone here any kind of explanation," Voldemort drawled. "Give me my servant, and I shall be on my way."

"He will receive the dementor's kiss, as is law." Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height. "If he is the one behind your resurrection, I am sad to say that he finally deserves his sentence."

"Mh." Voldemort looked spectacularly unimpressed. "Not today, and not ever. Hand him over."

"Does that mean Lucius Malfoy isn't behind this, headmaster?" Harry asked. "Did Barty lie even more? What do we do now that he's back? Can you beat him?"

Harry made his words tumble out faster and faster, and Dumbledore held up his hands. "My dear boy, calm down," the old man said and came over towards him. "He is strong, but Lord Voldemort is alone as ever. He can't harm you here."

Dumbledore held his hand out to him, and Harry allowed the old man to pull him back to his feet.

"No matter how dire a situation is, there is always hope," Dumbledore told him with a kind smile. "Remember that you will always have people on your side, my dear boy. Everyone believes in you."

"Believes in me?" Harry asked incredulously. "Why would they believe in me? What do people expect me to do? I can't beat him, headmaster."

"The boy is right," Voldemort said, and he had stalked closer while they'd been talking. Harry could see the way the man's fingers gripped his wand tighter as if getting ready to strike. As always, he was so in control of the situation that it made Harry dizzy.

McGonagall and Flitwick were coming closer too, presumably to join Dumbledore, and Harry thought that it was about time that he interfered as well.

Barty, still unconscious, was floating behind their shield, and Harry broke free of Dumbledore's hold on his shoulder to make a run for Barty. Unfortunately, it was still too early to free him because Luna and Tom needed more time to do whatever it was that Voldemort had told them to do.

So instead, Harry positioned himself next to Barty and pointed his wand at the man's throat. 

"I know the sectumsempra spell," he directed at Voldemort with as much venom as he could inject into his voice. "If you don't fuck off back to whatever hole you crawled out of, I will let Barty bleed to death in front of your snakey eyes!"

"Of all the brats…" Voldemort replied with irritation darkening his voice. "For someone who played nice with my younger self after what he did to your best friend's sister, you are quite righteous. But that is to be expected of someone whose only claim to fame is his mother's protection."

Dumbledore sucked in a sharp breath, and Voldemort chuckled darkly. 

"What, you think I did not know? Thirteen years, less than a shadow, and I am supposed to make the same mistakes all over again?" Voldemort stalked closer and Dumbledore mumbled something that made their shield glow softly. "No, I think I will do things the right way this time around. Pigtails, snakes, waterfall, Quidditch!"

"Harry, whatever he's telling you, don't believe a word he says!" Dumbledore commanded with a hint of panic in his voice. 

"Sorry, I had to make sure he cannot somehow understand Parseltongue," Voldemort thundered menacingly. "Are you and Barty alright?"

Harry shook his head with a shocked expression and let his hand tremble. "Yes, I managed to make him believe I got played for a fool by Barty. Why did you reveal yourself? I'm so sorry we got caught!"

"We got jumped as well—not my proudest moment," Voldemort admitted with a murderous glint in his eye. "I sent the others to retrieve our things. The minute they return, we head out. Until then, you need to play along."

"Shut up!" Harry shouted in English. "My parents were good, and brave, and the dementors made me remember that night, so I know they never cowered in fear! They fought bravely!"

"They fought bravely, and they died bravely," Voldemort agreed. "But still, they died. Now, kindly throw my servant over here."

"Tom," Dumbledore said, and Voldemort actually rolled his eyes. "The world has changed, and there is no place left for you in it."

"Like you are one to talk," Voldemort spat back. "You had your chance, and you blew it. I have enough of this! Depulso!"

Apparently, Dumbledore hadn't expected Voldemort's magic to be quite as powerful as it turned out to be because the shield simply shattered from that one, single attack. Harry knew Voldemort was strong, but he had been sure that Dumbledore and him were roughly on the same level, so he was… surprised.

Funny thing was, both Voldemort and Dumbledore looked surprised as well—Voldemort delightedly so, but Dumbledore looked horrified. 

"It does feel ever so good to be back," Voldemort practically chirped. 

"I still have my wand at Barty's throat!" Harry reminded Voldemort. "I thought he was the reason you came here!"

"Oh, my dear, dear Harry," Voldemort replied darkly. "Barty told me so many things about you. Cruelty and bloodlust are so far removed from your comfort zone that even now, you feel nothing but regret about the loss of one of your few human connections. You liked the character of Alastor Moody so much that even now, you can't differentiate between the one who played him and the man himself."

"Shut up!" Harry snarled, but he lowered his wand all the same. "You know nothing about me…"

"You know, Harry, that you could still be close to your mentor if you joined me?" Voldemort asked. "Barty never lied when he told you that you were to deliver Tom Riddle to his own erstwhile mentor."

"That's quite enough!" Dumbledore interrupted them. "Reducto!"

Voldemort shielded himself and got into a proper dueling stance. "May I have this dance?" he asked with an enchanting grin that was all Tom Riddle and bowed deeply.

Dumbledore bristled like Crookshanks when confronted with water. "You changed, Tom," the old man said carefully, but he bowed nevertheless. 

"You, on the other hand, did not," Voldemort replied, and then they went off on each other.

Harry could hardly follow the rainbow of colourful spells their wands spewed forth and hastily conjured a shield to protect himself and Barty from stray charms and curses. With both Voldemort and Dumbledore thus preoccupied, Harry was free to look around. To his right, McGonagall and Flitwick were still inching closer toward him, so he'd have to find a reason to move away, and soon.

But there, far to his left, lay the Black Lake, and he could see Durmstrang students climb off the ship. They would have heard the explosion too, of course, and the second impact of the rerouted spell next to their boat, Harry realised. With a start, he turned around toward the castle behind him and could see that the lights in the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor towers were glowing softly, and that there were shadowy figures outlined against the light. Did Voldemort want an audience?

What had happened to wanting to lie low? Was this an impulse thing Voldemort was going to regret? Maybe this was one of those in for a penny, in for a pound things? Because Harry could get that. The minute you're chasing something, be it a snitch, a wayward godfather or the philosopher's stone, only reaching your goal mattered. And they were alike, him and Voldemort, weren't they? 

Voldemort did want that audience, Harry decided. If he was to reveal himself prematurely, he was going to put on a show. Harry grit his teeth because he knew he would have to make a decision soon. 

Probably tonight.

Was he going to continue the stupid act he'd been putting on in front of Dumbledore and the other teachers tonight, or would he publicly join Voldemort in front of what promised to become a hell of an audience?

He wished there was some sort of middle ground here, something that would hide his involvement while still enabling him to stay with Barty and Voldemort. Could he ask Voldemort to kidnap him? But then they would come looking for him and—

No, Harry decided. Enough hiding. If he was going out, he was going out with a bang. Not quite an Astronomy tower exploding kind of bang like Voldemort, but… something that was all him, maybe?

With a quietly muttered spell, he roused the still-floating Barty from his stupor.

"Everything is under control. We're outside, and Voldemort is here," Harry whispered without moving his mouth much. "He's duelling Dumbledore. Tom and Luna are in the castle to get some things, and we're stalling. I'm going to drop you down to the ground, so brace yourself. Afterwards, you're stealing my wand, and you're going to help him."

"Alright," Barty agreed with a rough voice.

"Just a little more," Harry mouthed, again as quietly as he could manage. "Just until Luna and Tom come back. Then we're free to leave, and I promise you'll never have to drink Polyjuice again. Ever."

"I'll hold you to that," Barty replied with a weak chuckle. "And Harry? If any of this turns to shit at the last second, I'd regret it forever if I didn't tell you that… I'm … fuck, I love you!"

Harry dropped Barty to the ground without meaning to even though it wasn't even his floatation spell.

Chapter 29

"I'll hold you to that," Barty replied with a weak chuckle. "And Harry? If any of this turns to shit at the last second, I'd regret it forever if I didn't tell you that… I'm … fuck, I love you!"

Harry dropped Barty to the ground without meaning to even though it wasn't even his floatation spell.

 

Had to have been accidental magic or something… 

"Wha–?" he started to ask, but then Barty tackled him to the ground and all Harry could do was wince in pain and stare at the man kneeling above him.

"This ends here, Harry," Barty said loudly and leaned down so their faces were inches apart before continuing in a whisper. "I meant what I said. Sorry it had to be in a situation like this, but… just in case I don't—I needed to say it. Hah!"

The last word was louder again, and coincided with Barty firing a wordless greenish spell at Harry with his own holly wand. (When had he stolen it?) 

Harry screamed obediently, but instead of proper pain, he was amazed to find it was only the temporary pain of his ribs shifting and growing back together. Did he even deserve someone as thoughtful as this?

"I think I have a new Patronus memory…" Harry whispered, overwhelmed with everything that had happened tonight, and Barty looked this close to slipping up.

"Harry!" he could hear McGonagall's voice, and then a spell whizzed past Barty's left ear.

Barty winked at him before putting on a sneer and jumping to his feet.

"Why, finally taking an interest in one of your students, Minerva?" Barty taunted her in Moody's voice, and Harry rolled to the side and got on his knees.

"How dare you desecrate poor Alastor like this!" McGonagall practically growled at him. "And to think none of us knew about the snake in the grass!"

"Don't worry, I know I'm entirely too good at this," Barty winked while Harry felt torn on where to go.

McGonagall was fuming, and her Gryffindor side seemed to win over cold rationality because she started firing a volley of curses at Barty. No matter what side he'd decide to fight on, Harry decided that this was not the place for him without a wand of his own.

A glance over his shoulder revealed that the Durmstrang students had almost made it up the slope leading towards them, Viktor at the helm. Harry didn't think twice and turned around to sprint towards them. 

"What's going on!" Viktor demanded when they met, restless eyes searching the battlefield, and Harry had never been happier to hear a Bulgarian accent.

"It's—Headmaster Dumbledore says the man he's dueling is Voldemort, and apparently, Alastor's been an impostor?" He shook his head. "I have… no idea what's going on."

Viktor looked down at him, and his intelligent gaze seemed to bore into Harry. "And here you are, in your school robes in the middle of the night? Hermione said you don't sneak around anymore."

"It's… a long story," Harry muttered and averted his gaze.

"It's the Voldemort?" one of Viktor's schoolmates asked incredulously. "Didn't you kill him when you were a baby?"

"Temporarily disincorporated him, more like," Harry replied uneasily. "I fought, uhm, a kind of shadow of him in my first year here at Hogwarts? Anyways, I kinda knew he wasn't truly gone."

"Father said Voldemort was the strongest Dark Lord," another student, a girl about Harry's height, told them. "Stronger even than Grindelwald."

"Dumbledore killed Grindelwald," the first boy said. "Doesn't look like he's killing Voldemort anytime soon, so…"

"I'm sorry, but why are you all using his name?" Harry asked, as if that was the most surprising thing about what the Durmstrang students were saying. 

"We didn't have the taboo back on the continent," the girl, had her name been Sofia?, answered.

"The taboo?" Harry frowned. "What taboo?"

"When you said his name during the war here on your silly little islands, some of his followers would appear and ask uncomfortable questions," Sofia replied as if this was something exciting. "Imagine the arithmancy behind a spell as extensive as that!"

Harry could only stare.

"Also, Dumbledore didn't even kill Grindelwald," the boy scoffed. "My father says he imprisoned him somewhere on the continent and goes to visit him like Rapunzel."

"Old Gellert's hair could be long enough by now," the girl laughed, and most of the Durmstrang students laughed along with her. "Nah, but it's probably that prison Grindelwald built himself. Karma and all that."

Viktor, who could identify Harry's helpless expression quite easily, put a hand on his shoulder. "Friend, I know Hogwarts is very, ah, one-sided? Partial. Partial to Light magic. The continent, most of it, is not so. Grindelwald became unpopular because Nazis became unpopular after their defeat, but dark magic as a whole is not as… unpopular as it is here."

"So Voldemort is… popular in Europe, too?"

"We can, mh, respect his resourcefulness, but he never had a following or anything. Coming back from the brink of death like this is very advanced magic, though," Viktor shrugged. "I imagine that Magical Britain will, how do you say, go off the rails tomorrow? I am glad I am taking Hermione out of this insular country soon. And you are sure you don't want to join us?"

Harry swallowed. Viktor knew Harry had been planning on going with Moody, and the other boy was smart enough to realise that this particular plan had fallen through. 

"To be honest, I have no idea what I'm going to do," Harry replied slowly and felt his stomach fold itself into knots.

He felt like he'd done during his first year in Hogwarts. Disoriented, and as if there was so much more outside of his own small reality that he'd never experienced before. And that, somehow, something was holding him back and keeping him from broadening his horizons. 

Barty had told him that Voldemort used to travel when he was younger. The farthest Harry had ever travelled was to Hogwarts, and maybe the Quidditch Cup if you wanted to count that. But that had been an event, and not a proper holiday. Even Ron had been to bloody Egypt!

He wondered what India was like. From the stories he'd heard Parvati tell, magic in India was… different, and the people and the food were magnificent. Just the Beauxbatons students alone seemed so unlike the Hogwarts students, and they were only one country (but arguably also an ocean) away. Nouveau sang, he reminded himself; Hermione would be considered new blood over in France, and he could never see the likes of Draco Malfoy or Daphne Greengrass not sneer their nose at a muggleborn student who was smarter than them.

He wanted to travel, and to see the world, and his heart felt heavy and melancholy as if someone held it in an iron grip. Or rather, like someone had been holding it in an iron grip and was slowly but surely forced to let go.

Even through the spellfire bathing the grounds in colourful light, Harry felt… lost, somehow. The way forward seemed as hard as the way back, or maybe going back had become even harder than it used to feel? Was there even a way back at all anymore?

And Barty loved him… 

Wasn't this what Dumbledore had told him? That his greatest power was love? What if that was the truth, except he had been looking for that love in all the wrong places before this year?

His head was spinning. When he looked back toward the battlefield, he could see that Barty was only battling Flitwick by now. McGonagall was lying in the grass a distance away from them, unmoving. He didn't know whether her lying there was even able to make him feel an emotion. 

Maybe he had just been feeling too many emotions for one day, and was thus all out of them. Could something like that happen? What he did know was that the odds of Barty surviving this night were getting greater and greater with every hour, so he allowed himself to feel a tentative slip of hope.

"What do I do, Viktor?" he asked weakly because he felt the exhaustion settle in.

"You do what your heart tells you to do," Viktor shrugged. "Why? You want to play hero?"

"I don't even have my wand," Harry replied and shook his head. "And also… thing is, I don't want to play the hero ever again, you know? I just want to be Harry."

"Then be Harry," Viktor told him and cocked his head before continuing. "I will play Quidditch for as long as I need to make enough money for a little house, and then I'm becoming house husband for extraordinary Hermione Granger and go hunting for Mandurays in the evenings sometimes."

Despite everything, Harry snorted with real, almost heart-wrenching joy. "Does Hermione know that's your plan?"

"Know it?" Viktor asked with a winning grin. "She suggested it. Viktor Granger, husband of the famous scholar Hermione Granger. How's that sound, friend?"

"I think that sounds amazing," Harry laughed, and he felt his heart soar once more.

Hermione had finally found someone who liked her just the way she was—and who even celebrated her for it! Viktor and Hermione had shared the obstacle of living in different countries, so they had simply decided to up and leave both of those countries and make a fresh start in a new country. Together.

So what if Voldemort and Barty were technically on a different side compared to official reports on Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived? Just-Harry, that famous boy's lesser-known cousin, couldn't give a rat's ass about opposing sides, or war, or playing someone's else's game.

"I think I need to do something," Harry mumbled. "Viktor—please tell Hermione she's amazing, and that I love her very much. I will be in touch as soon as I can, and I will explain everything. Okay?"

Viktor narrowed his eyes in that knowing way he had. "That does not sound like good idea talking, Harry Potter."

"Nah, it's not. It's Just-Harry talking," Harry answered, and then he was off towards the battleground before Viktor could say another word.

Thankfully, no one threw a stunner or anything after him. Praise Durmstrang and their policy of autonomy, he supposed. 

When he felt he was far enough away from the Durmstrang students to warrant slowing down, he took some time to really watch the duels taking place before him as he approached. 

Surprisingly, Barty duelling looked like the man was in a muggle fistfight. At one point, when he sidestepped one of Flitwick's curses, he retaliated while spinning. Then, he advanced while rapidly firing curses which made Harry think of the boxing games he'd sometimes caught glimpses of when cleaning the living room while his uncle and cousin had been watching TV.

Professor Flitwick, who Harry remembered was a duelling master of his own right, seemed to have his hands full with this… probably somewhat untraditional style. He had to back away due to the sheer force Barty was pushing on him, and then also sidestep curses aimed at his feet or the ground, which made the short professor almost trip over his own feet.

Barty still had his hands full with Flitwick though because somehow, the man seemed to know counters for just about everything Barty threw at him.

Voldemort and Dumbledore, in stark contrast, were unmoving like two great mountains. They sent curses and charms at each other, but nothing ever hit either of them, nor did they have to sidestep anything. This also meant that those spells that didn't hit laid waste to the grounds, and even managed to mangle some of the trees in the distance. 

And yet…

Where Voldemort stood tall and proud, back straight and with no sign of weariness, Dumbledore… well, Parvati and Lavender would have said he didn't look too hot. With a sting, Harry remembered that Snape had told him, during their confrontation in the corridors that ended with Snape a prisoner, how Harry's insidious attack on the headmaster had weakened him greatly. 

The attack! Harry's eyes widened when he realised that they had used Dumbledore's blood to resurrect Voldemort!

Voldemort had told him that the flesh of the servant was a part of what determined the magical power of the resurectee, and that the blood of the enemy was responsible for the physical appearance. But this was magic, and magic was always about intent, so it stood to reason, maybe, that using Dumbledore's blood made it easier for Voldemort to duel the man?

But that didn't matter. What mattered was that Voldemort was amazing, and strong, and that Harry really wanted nothing better than to leave with him and the others.

He worried at his lips and wondered how to help Barty, and Voldemort too even though he didn't seem to need it, without attracting attention, but that decision was postponed when more people flooded from the broken gates of Hogwarts. And really, wasn't that broken front door a metaphor for the state of the school as a whole?

Harry recognised the rag tap group as some of the other teachers, and some of the prefects and knew he had to step in before his friends would be outnumbered.

—What a weird thought. Was he friends with Voldemort? Could their relationship be labeled that way?—

It took him a long time to reach the new spectators because he'd been running way too much for one night, but at least his ribs weren't hurting anymore. 

"Harry!" Cedric greeted him when he came into shouting distance. "Over here!"

He liked Cedric, he really did, but what exactly did the other boy think Harry was doing?

"Coming!" Harry called back.

When he reached the group, Cedric held him up as he was gasping for air.

"Harry, Professor Sinistra came to get us, and she says… Voldemort is back?" Cedric looked over Harry's shoulder at the fighting going on. "Is that… really him?"

Harry looked at all the fearful faces of his teachers and fellow students and swallowed nervously. "... it's true," he answered after a beat or two. "He's back, and he's… he wants something from Hogwarts."

"Merlin's beard, he wants you!" Professor Seloquent, their new Potions teacher, exclaimed. "Get right behind me, Mr Potter, we won't let him lay a finger on you!"

"No, he's, ah," Harry started but shook his head. "Alright, thing is? Alastor Moody wasn't, technically speaking, Alastor Moody. He was… a death eater in disguise and I kinda got played for a fool? It's literally such a long story, and I can't tell it again. What I'm trying to get at is that this is personal. I need to see what happens here, because if Dumbledore fails, then there is no one left who can beat Lord Voldemort.

That replaced their fearful expressions with solemn ones. He saw the very moment that it clicked inside their heads that what they were witnessing was the Grindelwald vs. Dumbledore duel of their times. 

Six prefects, four teachers… None of those people were going to make a difference in the grand scheme of things. The only people in the school able to make a difference in those duels were already fighting in it.

Or Viktor, maybe? But he was still only seventeen, as was Cedric. Professors Seloquent and Sinistra were scholars, Madam Hooch was… a part-time flight instructor, and Professor Sprout was, well, she was Professor Sprout. None of the other prefects had made lasting impressions on him either, so Harry guessed they were going to be alright on those fronts.

"What about all the other students?" he asked Cedric.

"Professor Sinistra told us to keep them all in the common rooms," the other boy answered. "Everyone in the Hufflepuff dorms is beside themselves with fear. That explosion rocked the whole castle, Harry! Father told me stories about the war, but just how strong is that guy? How did you ever beat him?"

"I didn't beat him," Harry shrugged. "It was just my mum who died for me is what Dumbledore said."

"But so many parents died for their kids," Cedric muttered, eyes on the fighting. "Why was your mum any different?"

"Luna's mother died for her, too," Harry replied quietly. "And magic is all about intent, so maybe my mother…"

He didn't finish that sentence because he realised that maybe… maybe his mother had done something to prepare for Voldemort coming for them other than loving him a whole lot? He would have to ask someone. No. He shook his head. He would have to survive the night first, and make sure everyone else survived it with him.

He was just about to go and maybe do something stupid when a high-pitched scream pierced the night. All heads that hadn't been watching snapped to the duels, but Harry's eyes searched the sky instead. That hadn't been any of the duelists, and he was frighteningly sure he knew that particular scream very well from one too many escapades in the dead of night.

"Hermione, oh no," he whispered when a figure from the general direction of Gryffindor tower came hurtling into view over the parapets above them.

Those wayward curls could truly only belong to one girl—a girl that was currently riding on the wonkiest broom Harry had ever seen in his life.

"The absolute madwoman transfigured a broom," Harry whispered to no one in particular and started sprinting, again, to maybe go and catch Hermione before she broke her neck.

Despite her screaming and flailing, Hermione's descent wasn't the worst Harry had ever seen, and she actually managed to land, with way too much force, and whirled around to him as he was approaching. 

"I hate you, Harry!" she screamed when they met and pulled him into a hug. 

She was shaking everywhere, and Harry couldn't help but hold onto her as tightly as he could.

"Mione, did you transfigure a broom?"

"You bet I transfigured a bloody broom from Lavender's engorgified mascara brush and flew here from the fourth year girls sleeping quarters' window, Harry Potter!" she answered, loudly, with a disapproving frown. "They wouldn't let us leave, and I used a spell to enhance my vision, and I saw the red eyes, and this mysterious stranger in Professor Moody's clothes, and I realised that you've been duped, no, we've all been duped, and I had to come save you, because I know how you get when you want to save people."

Harry felt like crying again.

"You're such a good friend," he sighed and felt like the biggest traitor in the world. "I'm so very sorry, Hermione."

"What? About Voldemort coming back?" Hermione asked and shook her head. "No one blames you for that! If it weren't for you, he'd have the philosopher's stone and would have returned three years ago."

Despite, or maybe because of the absurdity of it all, Harry snorted. If it weren't so crucial that no one knew who was in possession of the stone, he might have been tempted to spill the beans here. After all, he was only going to be able to be friends with Hermione for maybe half an hour longer.

"Never change, Hermione Granger," he told her with what felt like a bittersweet smile, and she looked at him searchingly. 

"Why?" she asked and cocked her head. "Harry Potter, you're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"The thing with your jaw, where you set it all tightly because you're about to do a Potter thing."

Harry smiled. "You know me so well… I love you a whole lot, Hermione Granger, you know that? Despite what may happen tonight, I want you to know that I'll always care for you. You were one of the first friends I've ever had, and even though we have both changed, I will always keep you in my heart."

"What? No, nonono," Hermione hurried to interrupt. "That's goodbye… why does this sound like goodbye?"

"I really wanted to get the chance to explain everything in great detail, but you'll just have to trust me, Hermione," Harry explained without actually explaining anything and he could see the disappointment in his friend's face the moment she realised there was nothing more coming.

"Don't play the hero, Harry," she told him and pointed a finger at him. "Do not test me!"

"I won't," he promised. "I really won't play the hero this time."

"That… doesn't feel comforting, Harry," Hermione replied uneasily. "What are you planning? What's going on? Can't we let Dumbledore handle this?"

"He's losing, Hermione," Harry told her.

She watched the duels, and she nodded. "I know. I could see it from the window… so what do we do? Do we band together and just… try to overpower him before he kills Dumbledore?"

"He's too strong," Harry said. "We'd need a whole squad of Aurors, and he already killed one of those tonight."

"Harry, that's not like you!" Hermione exclaimed. "What's going on? Don't tell me you're giving up! We need to at least get you out of here."

She grabbed his arm, but Harry shook her off. "Don't you understand? It's over! There is no one who can beat him!"

"Then we need to find someone—or become someone who can beat him!" she replied quickly. "You can come with me to France, and we'll train until we're strong enough to fight him and win!"

"I can't beat him," Harry argued and realised he was way too deep into this conversation to get out of it without lying, and he didn't want to lie to Hermione. "Look, Hermione, I'm… a lot changed, this year, and…"

Her eyes widened in realisation. "You can't go with Alastor because it wasn't Alastor," she muttered. "So you have nowhere to go… what about Sirius?"

"I'm still leaving," he explained. "I just… gosh, Hermione, I'm so sorry."

Had he had a wand, he might have stunned her. As it were, all he could do was stand there awkwardly and hope that one or both of the duels would be over soon.

"No, you don't get to do this to me, Harry. I demand to know what–"

A spell impacted right beside them and obliterated part of the castle wall. Harry and Hermione looked up to see Voldemort's red eyes directed at them. He was still duelling Dumbledore, but apparently, he was relaxed enough to be able to look out for him, Harry realised.

He nodded at the man, and then watched him resume fighting against Dumbledore with his full attention.

"Oh, you did not, Harry James Potter," Hermione whispered.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry repeated. 

She would have said more, but he didn't want to hear it. 

Thankfully, it was that moment that saw a familiar piece of cloth being draped over his head, and Harry found himself squished between Tom and Luna.

"Shh," Luna whispered into his ear, and then they were off.

"Harry!" Hermione called out with a mixture of fear and worry colouring her voice. "Was that the cloak? Harry!"

"We're under a muffliato," Tom whispered. "We got your cloak, and something for Voldemort. Let's go."

Harry nodded breathlessly and let himself be swept along with them. He wondered briefly how effortlessly they fell into step on either side of him and allowed himself to relax a little.

"You're just in time," Harry said, and then his gaze fell on the diadem in Tom's hand. "Oh, that's pretty."

"It's Ravenclaw's diadem, you know?" Luna asked. "Rowena Ravenclaw, I mean. She wears it in a statue in our common room… Tom won't let me take a look at it."

"And you can be glad I don't," Tom told her. Judging by his firm tone, it wasn't the first time. "Voldemort and I are the only ones who should touch it."

"He does look very pretty in jewellery," Luna agreed. "I think you would look lovely with a pair of earrings, too, Tom."

"I would not."

"I'm this close to passing out," Harry mumbled, and both of them tightened their holds on his arms.

"Just a little longer, Harry," Luna reassured him. "We're almost there."

Harry looked up and through the cloak. 'There' apparently meant the middle of the fighting. When they were close to Barty and Flitwick, Tom raised his wand and pointed it at Flitwick's back.

He whispered a spell in a language Harry didn't know, and then Flitwick simply collapsed. Barty appeared to be surprised and frowned down at his fallen opponent.

"You two stay under here," Tom commanded and handed Harry the diadem before leaving the safety of the invisibility cloak.

When he saw Tom, Barty's eyes softened with relief. "He was giving me some grief," Barty admitted. "Flitwick is craftier than I would have given him credit for, and I haven't duelled properly in ages."

"He won't get up tonight," Tom promised. "I will teach them to attack what is mine."

Harry felt his heartbeat begin to quicken. Tom apparently felt the same sort of emotions about people that he was beginning to feel—namely, that his friends were entirely off-limits. Was this why Voldemort was fighting so ferociously? Were they all so similar?

"Oh look," Tom laughed, and then he smirked cruelly. "A titan of our times just fell."

Harry frowned and followed Tom's gaze. His eyes widened when he had made sense of what he was seeing: Dumbledore was kneeling, and Voldemort was towering over him, two wands in his hand.

"What a peculiar turn this night has taken," Voldemort mused in a voice that managed to carry over to them.

Harry spared the briefest of glances behind him and saw the prefects and teachers near the gate huddle against each other. Hermione was where he'd left her, worrying her lip, and he sincerely hoped she wouldn't try to use the wand she was restlessly twirling in her hands.

Thankfully, the Durmstrang students were moving in and Harry could see Viktor making his way towards Hermione as he was turning back around.

"You need not do this," Dumbledore all but pleaded. "Leave the boy out of this, he hasn't done anything that merits the ferociousness with which you have been chasing after him for over a decade!"

"Admirable," Voldemort nodded even as his handsome face twisted into a snarl. "I wonder how you justify to yourself that you are pleading for his life when you gave him even less than abstract guidance all these years."

"And why would it matter to you, Tom, who has never cared about anyone other than–"

"Do shut up," Voldemort interrupted. "That's not my name. Tom, come here."

Tom obeyed easily and came to stand beside his older self. "You are in so much denial," the boy laughed. "Look at you. You know what I did after I took my diary back? I set your wardrobe on fire, and it was very cathartic."

Harry and Luna exchanged a puzzled glance.

"Did Tom Riddle grow up in a wardrobe, Harry?"

"I… don't know," he whispered back.

"That is Tom," Voldemort explained. "I am no longer Tom."

Dumbledore looked confused, more than anything. One of his eyelids was drooping, and his left arm was bent in an odd angle. He shook his head. "That is… why are you still here? Not Barty."

"I came here for Tom," Voldemort explained. "Then I returned for Barty. And I will leave with more souls still."

"I won't let you have the boy!" Dumbledore thundered with what strength he had left. "I won't let you take him! He belongs with the school, and with those who care about him!"

Harry grit his teeth. The people he was going to leave with (was he really leaving?) far outweighed those who cared for him in Hogwarts—in quantity as well as in quality.

To his surprise, Voldemort looked over at him and seemed to be able to see through the invisibility cloak. Their eyes met, and Harry swallowed.

"Tom said not to, but I trust you with this," Harry muttered to Luna and handed her the diadem. 

Then, he emerged from beneath the cloak and crossed the remaining distance between him, Voldemort and Dumbledore.

"Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "You're still alive! What are you doing here? You need to leave, and quick! Fawkes will take you away if I ask him to. You are the only one who can stop him!"

Harry stopped in his tracks and looked at Dumbledore. 

"He won't help me anymore, headmaster," he said tonelessly. 

Dumbledore frowned. "What do you mean, Harry? Fawkes is–"

"No," Harry interrupted the old man and shook his head. "There's nothing a phoenix can do for me."

On cue, Tom stepped close to him and put his arm around Harry's shoulders. "For what it's worth, Harry, the basilisk would have suited you a lot better than the phoenix. Wish I would have known then."

Harry didn't say anything in response, but he didn't need to. Dumbledore's eyes widened, and he looked between Tom and Harry. "No…" the old man whispered. "Harry, please tell me it is not so…"

"You lost him before you ever took a proper hold of him," Voldemort declared and held his hand out to Harry.

Harry swallowed, but when Tom gave him a little nudge, he walked over toward Voldemort and extended his hand. The moment their hands met, Voldemort pulled Harry into him and turned him around so Harry's back was against his chest.

Harry's heartbeat quickened, and he held onto Voldemort's arm slung over his chest. This was so like when Voldemort had tortured Snape together with him, and he really didn't know whether he could do that with Dumbledore. He felt as if he was beginning to hyperventilate, but Voldemort squeezed him and started hissing.

"This is your last chance for today," the man said. "If this is not what you want, I will declare that you are under the Imperius curse like Miss Lovegood."

Harry felt a sharp pulling sensation in his chest. Voldemort was going to take Barty, Luna and Tom with him, and he couldn't–

He looked back toward Tom. Luna had taken off the invisibility cloak and was holding Tom's hand. When had that happened?

Barty was next to them, eyes soft, and Harry made up his mind. How could he ever be able to willingly do anything that might dim the fire slowly returning into those warm, blue eyes?

"This is where I want to be," he finally said in Parseltongue, and added in English: "I'm sorry, headmaster, but he promised me something you can't give me."

"No… Harry, he is the snake in paradise! You can't trust a single word he says!" Dumbledore pointed an accusing finger at Voldemort. "He killed your parents, and so many more people with that very wand! Step away, and you may yet be saved, my dear, wayward boy."

"I don't want to be saved," Harry mumbled, and then louder, "I don't need to be saved. I chose this myself, and I'm… he's been good to me."

Dumbledore seemed to be at a loss for words. 

Voldemort laughed in that high, cruel way he had sometimes and Harry held tighter onto the man's arm.

"What a scene, what conflicting emotions!" he chuckled. "Oh, I will treasure this moment greatly for the entirety of my immortal life, Albus Dumbledore. It is gratifying to see that the magical world cares as little for orphans now as it did fifty years ago. I will do for Harry what no one did for me."

Dumbledore glared at Voldemort. "And what is that?"

"Give him a proper home."

"Sirius will–"

"Sirius Black needs to get his own affairs in order first, and then he is more than welcome to spend time with his godson," Voldemort shrugged. "Over a decade of time with my thoughts alone for company taught me the value of the little things in life.

"Don't pretend you are repentant, Tom!"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Voldemort growled, and Harry couldn't help but giggle helplessly.

"I really wish you had been nicer to me, headmaster," Harry told the old man and met his blue eyes fearlessly. One of the lenses of his spectacles was cracked. "I'm sorry it had to be this way, but I can't stay here."

"Do you want me to kill him, Harry?" Voldemort asked in a chilling voice and Harry felt himself shivering.

"I don't know," he whispered. 

"Mh. Will you stop me if I decide to do it?"

Harry swallowed nervously. "I don't know." Voldemort's arm across his chest squeezed him once more. "I… I'm sorry."

"Never be sorry with me if you did no wrong," Voldemort said as tenderly as Harry had ever heard him, and he watched Dumbledore's expression sour.

"How dare you pretend to care about him!"

"Pretend?" Voldemort asked with a small laugh. "No. There is no pretense necessary. I care about him, and he shall stay with me in my home. He has his own room there already, can you imagine?"

"You predator!" Dumbledore snarled, but Voldemort only laughed louder.

"Don't make fun of him like that," Harry asked with uncertainty brewing in his gut. "He did a lot of wrong, but he meant well…"

Voldemort sobered up. "Ah, yes. The greater good. Is that not right, Albus Dumbledore?"

"You know nothing of me!" Dumbledore bit back.

"I know enough of you to understand that we were not so dissimilar, once," Voldemort replied slowly. 

"That has nothing to do with any of this," Dumbledore muttered. "Barty was… a means to an end."

Harry frowned, and when he looked up he saw Voldemort look at Barty who, in turn, was staring at the ground with a blush on his cheeks. He wondered briefly about the history that was hidden there, but then Voldemort continued.

"Anyways. I would say it was a pleasure, but it really was not. Now die, and continue your meddling in the afterlife if there is one."

With that, Voldemort raised both wands high and Harry briefly thought about stopping him maybe? But then, Dumbledore met his eyes and winked with the eye that wasn't beginning to swell shut.

"Avada Ke–"

Dumbledore erupted into a great pillar of flame, and when the fire vanished, Dumbledore was gone, too.

"Was that fiendfyre?" Barty asked quietly. 

"No, that was a phoenix's fire," Tom muttered back. "I'd recognise that anywhere after last year."

"Two years ago," Harry supplied absentmindedly. 

"Oh bugger, how time flies."

Voldemort groaned and squeezed Harry one last time before letting go of him. "That was… not part of the plan."

"But you got his wand," Barty said. "Surely that's worth something?"

They all looked down at Dumbledore's wand and Voldemort let his own wand slip back into his sleeve to properly look at the dark wood and the berries adorning the handle.

Voldemort shrugged. "Might as well," he mumbled, and pointed the wand at the castle. "Reparo."

There was a shockwave, and Voldemort was thrown back by the sheer force of the spell that erupted from the tip of Dumbledore's wand.

"Master!" Barty called out and rushed to kneel at Voldemort's side. 

Harry turned back in time to see debris and stones fly together from where it had landed all around the castle only to shape itself back into a tower before the whole construction floated back to where it had once stood. There was a great deal of stone grating on stone, and some crunching and creaking, and Harry could have sworn he saw the tower wiggle this way and that, before it seemed to be satisfied with its orientation and returned to inanimate stone.

And just like that, the Astronomy Tower was returned to its former glory.

"Well," Tom drawled. "That was unexpected."

"I read a story once," Luna muttered. "Every wizarding child would know it…"

"No," Barty whispered. "You don't mean…"

"The Peverells are related to the Potters, you know?" she said. "Daddy knows a lot about genealogy."

As one, Barty and Luna looked at the invisibility cloak held in Luna's hands, and Harry exchanged a puzzled glance with Tom who would have grown up without those kinds of stories just like him.

"We are leaving," Voldemort ordered. He was already back on his feet. "No thestrals this time–we are leaving the ward lines. Are you coming?"

He directed this question at both Harry and Luna, and Luna immediately nodded with a small smile. "Where else would I go?"

Harry chuckled softly. If it was so easy for Luna, why was he making such a fuss about it? "I'm coming, too."

With another violent eruption of magic, Voldemort erected a softly-shimmering barrier between them and the school when they began their trek toward the ward lines.

When Harry looked back, Hermione's pale face stood out to him immediately. Her expression was one of such sorrow that he couldn't help but feel like a failure. He mouthed a sorry to her, and then Voldemort put a hand on his shoulder and tucked him into his side. Viktor would be taking care of her until he could explain things—he had to believe in that.

"This is not goodbye," Voldemort reminded him. "You will see everyone again, if you want it that way."

"I don't know what I want," Harry mumbled, and Voldemort turned them around to walk down the path you'd take to Hogsmeade. 

"You shall have all the time you need," Voldemort promised, and Harry breathed out a breath he felt like he'd been holding all night. 

"I'm sorry your resurrection was made public knowledge just like that, Voldemort."

"It was only a matter of time," Voldemort replied easily. "In a way, I… feel relief more than anything. And getting to take all of you home… well. I am not one to dabble in sentimentality, but this night has been far from the disaster I feared it might turn out to be."

Harry, who felt like this night had been an utter disaster if he'd ever seen one, could only nod weakly.

"Worry not," Voldemort reassured him. "I take good care of what is mine."

And as possessive as it sounded… it calmed the restless feeling in Harry's gut right down.

Notes:

MoD!Harry is SO 2021.

Chapter 30

Notes:

This chapter has a bit of an interlude-kinda feel and sheds a light, dimmed though it is, on what Voldemort has been up to.

You'll need to read between the lines, but I believe you'll get what I've been hinting at for a while now—in more than one respect :>

They were all decompressing together in the sitting room.

Even though it was May, and therefore objectively warm outside as well as inside, Harry was shivering. Barty had deposited him in front of the fireplace and was getting a fire going to warm him up.

"And you're absolutely sure that you're unhurt?" Barty asked, not for the first time, and Harry nodded once more.

"The only thing hurt was the ribs, and you already took care of those," Harry reassured him.

"That was only a broad range healing spell though," Barty mumbled. "I'm pants with the finer points of healing, but that particular spell does the diagnostics and the fixing all in one—in exchange for a much larger energy output."

"Sensible choice," Harry commented airily and stared into the dancing flames. Some of the spells that had danced across the grounds had had those exact colours: an angry yellow, a deep red… 

"You're… a bit shell-shocked, aren't you?" Barty asked after an indefinite amount of time.

"Shell-shocked?" Harry asked and slowly turned his head around to look at Barty.

"A… condition that soldiers get," Barty told him in a low voice. "Means you saw too much battle, and that you're all dissociated because of that."

Harry considered that before nodding. "Yeah, I think that might be what's going on with me. Sorry."

"Oh, nonono, no need to be sorry," Barty told him quickly. "That's on me, for letting you get into the line of fire."

"You were unconscious," Harry argued lamely.

"Exactly!" Barty agreed. "I should never have gotten into any kind of situation that led to all of it unraveling, and with me unconscious on top! You could have gotten sent to Azkaban, same as me, due to my carelessness!"

Barty looked terrible. Harry groaned when he realised that Barty was feeling responsible for what had happened and forced himself to keep it together just a little bit longer.

"Voldemort mentioned that there's a spell to obfuscate Moody's eye," he told him. "They found Alastor, so he must have told them about it."

"I was pretty proud of all the spells I put on the DADA office that were supposed to keep people out," Barty sighed. "Guess they were no match for Dumbledore if he really put his mind to it. I just wonder how they found out…"

"Ginny Weasley," Harry replied with more than a hint of bitterness in his voice. "She told them about Tom, and they knew that the only other person able to open the chamber was me. It all must have unravelled from there."

Barty balled his hands into fists. "Damn it, I should have thought of that!"

"You can't think of everything," Harry tried to soothe him, "and Ginny will get her comeuppance one of those days."

"Already did," Luna called over to them from the dining room table where Voldemort was taking care of her and Tom.

"You met her?" Harry asked incredulously and got up to get closer to them.

"More like, she waylaid us," Tom complained petulantly while Voldemort was chanting a spell directed at him under his breath. "She was hiding in an alcove near the headmaster's office, and when we opened the door, she knew we were there and… struck. Or tried to, anyways."

"But you're fine?"

Luna glared, an expression Harry had never before seen on her soft face. "For all her posturing, she's still only thirteen years old," the girl bit out.

"She stood no chance against Luna Lovegood with her teeth exposed," Tom laughed softly, but there were deep shadows under his dark eyes.

"She deserved no less than my best," Luna shrugged. "You can't force yourself on anyone; that's just wrong."

Tom really looked sick as a dog, and Harry felt bad that the other boy had been dependent on Ginny for so long without anyone knowing. 

"Alright," Voldemort declared when he was done casting healing spells on Tom, "this calls for reinforcements. Luna Lovegood, with me."

The girl obediently followed Voldemort out of the room and Harry stood awkwardly in front of Tom.

"If there's anything I can do…" he started uncertainly.

"You have your own demons to fight," Tom muttered. "We all need some sleep, and then we can get down to planning or whatever."

"What did Luna do to her?" Harry asked.

Tom looked over to where Barty was still tending to the fire. "Apparently, someone showed her how to do a knee-reversal hex, 'just in case'."

"She's my cousin," Barty argued but his ears were turning a deep burgundy red. "She got it right on the first try though?"

"She very much did," Tom replied, and then his expression darkened. "She also got the Obliviation right on the first try. Was that your doing as well?"

Barty pursed his lips and couldn't meet Tom's eyes. "I wanted her to be able to defend herself," he replied, a little defensively.

"I mean, you're not wrong," Tom admitted with a thoughtful expression. "She really needs to defend herself if she wants to be playing with the big boys."

"Right?" Barty agreed absentmindedly and nodded when he deemed the fire big enough.

Had Luna used an Obliviation curse on Ginny? With his mouth suddenly dry, it took Harry a couple tries to swallow. What had she made Ginny forget? Tom had mentioned that without Tom Riddle, there was no Ginny Weasley because she was too deeply infatuated with him. What would happen if you were to strip something like that from a person?

A small, scheming part of him wanted to find out for himself. Had Ginny felt as helpless as Tom had done for close to two years in the brief moments before the spell had struck true? Had she even known what was coming for her, or was she ignorant as to the nature of Obliviate? He highly doubted Luna could cast that one wordlessly.

He wanted to ask Tom more questions to quell the curiosity brewing in his chest – anything to get away from thoughts about his own feelings, please and thank you – but Voldemort and Luna returned with five steaming mugs that turned out to contain hot chocolate. Harry took his gratefully and curled his freezing fingers around the white porcelain.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

They were all silent as they sipped at their chocolate, and Harry was still kind of glad for a chance to sort out his own thoughts in peace. At least that's what he thought was going to happen except there were so many thoughts and impressions floating around his mind that he didn't even know where to begin sorting.

Dumbledore was still alive, as was most everyone else. That was a good thing. Or was it? It was good that his people were alive, at least. But at least a couple Aurors were dead, and one teacher. 

(Did that bother him? It ought to; those were -had been- human beings. But they'd attacked his friends! Wasn't this war, where everything was allowed?)

Voldemort had wanted Dumbledore very much dead as well, but at least he'd gotten the man's wand. Would Dumbledore return to Hogwarts? Or go somewhere else?

And what about himself? Was it… okay to just stay here? They had the diadem, and Fleur wasn't at the school either, so–

He groaned and buried his face in his hands. 

"Are you going to be okay, Harry?" Barty asked.

"Yeah, it's just… it was all a bit much," Harry answered as dryly as he could manage. "You don't need to worry about me. But you should go to sleep soon, Barty. I don't want to be rude, but you look terrible, and I'm worried about you. You took the brunt of the officials' ire, and… it shows."

Barty looked down at himself. He was still wearing Alastor Moody's oversized clothing, and there were deep cuts in the fabric that promised at least some shallow cuts underneath. He was dirty as well, and he probably realised all of that too because he nodded with a sigh.

"You're right… I'll take a bath, and then I'll collapse into bed."

"I will heal you first," Voldemort said. "Luna, Tom, come with me as well, I shall show you to your rooms."

"You have a room for me, too?" Luna asked with a happy little smile.

"I have a room," Voldemort clarified. "Might as well make it yours for the night."

"I'll take it," Luna laughed and followed obediently with Barty and Tom right behind her.

Harry didn't check to see whether anyone looked back at him and instead kept staring into his mug. It was still full because he didn't feel like drinking it, but at least it warmed his fingers.

He didn't know how much time had passed until Voldemort came back down, but he automatically took the proffered hand when Voldemort beckoned for him to do so.

"Sit with me," the man offered and Harry nodded because he felt too empty to voice a refusal.

They sat in front of the fireplace together, both with their mugs held in their hands, and Harry sighed.

"I'm sorry."

"I told you not to be sorry. Remember?"

Harry nodded, but only vaguely. "Barty says I'm shell-shocked."

"He would know," Voldemort chuckled. "He came too close to his limits tonight. I gave him a dreamless sleep potion; he sleeps very long after taking one of those."

Maybe Voldemort had given Barty those potions during the break, too. That would explain why the man had slept in so much. If it helped, Harry was glad Barty was getting them.

"Are you fine?" Harry asked. 

"More than fine," Voldemort replied easily. "I try not to gloat too much, but I am… incredibly satisfied with the results of this night. It would have been utterly perfect if the old man hadn't gotten away."

"I'm glad," Harry mumbled. "I'm sure that once I get my thoughts in order, I won't be as… down as I am now. But it was just all a bit much, you know? I had to pretend to be the headmaster's perfect little soldier to get him to believe I didn't know about Barty and Tom and it was all just such a mess, Voldemort. I had to hug him!"

"You like hugs," Voldemort reminded him and Harry had to giggle breathlessly.

"But not with Dumbledore!" he argued, still giggling. "Imagine, I hugged both Dumbledore and you. I kept thinking to myself how I was possibly the only person in the world to hug both of you."

"Hm…" Voldemort hummed. "You are not."

"Really?" Harry asked. "Who else? Snape? No, I can't see him actually hugging Dumbledore. Nor you, now that I think about it, oh damn. Hahaha! Some cool undercover Auror, maybe? Grindelwald? Nah…"

Voldemort shook his head with an expression that looked like a mixture between revulsion and amusement. "Gods, no, much simpler than all that. It's Barty," the man explained, and Harry nodded quickly as he remembered thinking how there had to have been more of a story between Dumbledore and Barty than he had been privy to.

"Dumbledore made some allusions… as did you."

"Mh… I find myself protective of Barty these days. You see, during his fifth year, Dumbledore took an interest in him. Even invited him for special lessons in Transfiguration, which, truth be told, Barty really has a knack for. But alas, the old man used those to weasel information about Crouch Snr, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time, out of him."

"That's harsh," Harry commented. From what little he knew and had recently learned about Barty during his school days, the man had been focused on his studies and not exactly popular. So to have the headmaster himself be interested in him? He'd have been ecstatic, and… Harry could relate. 

"Harsher still if you realise that Dumbledore dropped him the moment he had gotten what intel he needed," Voldemort continued.

"What a dick move."

"Hah. It really was a dick move, and I would have resented him even more than I already did if…" Here, Voldemort paused, and Harry looked up to see the man stare into the flames with an almost whimsical expression. "If not for the fact that rejection by both Albus Dumbledore and his own father led a lonely boy right into my arms, more than willing to prove himself."

Harry smiled. It was… it was good to see that Voldemort truly cared for Barty, and not just because of how good he was at what he was doing. It humanised Voldemort even more in his eyes and made Harry bridge what little space still separated them to snuggle into Voldemort's side.

"And here we have another lonely boy looking for comfort," Voldemort hummed, but he raised his arm willingly enough to drape it over Harry's shoulder and chest.

"I'm not lonely," Harry objected.

"At the moment, you feel like the loneliest boy in the entire world. And I cannot blame you."

Harry swallowed, and he couldn't help but sling an arm around Voldemort's waist because he didn't know how else to cope with the storm beginning to brew in his chest. In response, Voldemort only pulled him in a little tighter.

"What happened then?" Harry asked. "Did you mark Barty?"

"Mh, I did," Voldemort confirmed. "Eventually. But not before we became pen pals, him and I. It took me a while to figure out I was dealing with a Hogwarts student who knew too much for his own good and had somehow gotten his hands on classified Auror reports, but once I had it sussed out, I waited for him to make a mistake."

"And he did?"

"Yes. In time, they all do," Voldemort told him sagely. "I began to include money in my letters. Not a lot by Pureblood standards, but enough to set a poor kid up with a nice bit of pocket money. He eventually used it to purchase his own owl, and I had my death eaters chase that owl back to his home during the break when the same bird had come for a second time."

Harry gently shook his head. "So much planning… Why not just ask him to meet you? He might have said yes."

Voldemort stiffened beside him. "Well. I could hardly—I reasoned to myself that there was a reason why my informant chose to stay anonymous, so I had him kidnapped in the name of plausible deniability."

"That's so elaborate," Harry laughed. "And they got him, I imagine?"

"Not before he reversed Rabastan Lestrange's kneecaps, but yes, they got him," Voldemort answered, and Harry could hear the man's laugh reverberate inside his chest. It was a very pleasant sensation. 

"What did he say when he first saw you?"

"He said… well, first of all, I asked my death eaters how a milk-faced boy had been able to batter them like that," Voldemort answered, and Harry was reminded of Barty's bitterness when he had recounted Bellatrix Lestrange belittling him. Had she been there, during that first meeting? "He looked a lot younger than he was."

"And your death eaters couldn't understand how they got bested either?"

"They really could not," Voldemort agreed with a huff of a laugh, "so I sent them away. And then, Barty… well, he looked me in the eye, and he told me that he had been dreaming of meeting me, and that he was beyond happy to have the opportunity to thank me in person."

"Thank you for what?" Harry asked. Hadn't they just been pen pals with Barty providing reports from his father?

"Sensible question, and one I asked him as well," Voldemort hummed. Harry didn't know whether it was consciously or subconsciously, but Voldemort's thumb was beginning to rub circles where it rested against the sensitive flesh beneath Harry's clavicle. "He answered that… hah. He thanked me for providing him with much-needed guidance, and that he was going to become a scholar instead of following in his father's footsteps and striving for a ministry position."

"That's really cute," Harry mumbled, and he felt his eyelids begin to droop.

"Mh. It was… not something I was used to." Voldemort shifted a little so his head was resting on top of Harry's. "His sincerity, and what turned out to be his complete and utter loyalty to me, made me realise that as much as I enjoy people kneeling before me… I much prefer adoration in their eyes as opposed to naked fear."

"I like it when people like me," Harry yawned. "I like it most of all if it's Barty, just like you. Or you. I used to be so afraid of you, you know? And now here I am, snuggling you after a battle where we fought on the same side. That's ridiculous. I'm ridiculous."

"You, Harry Potter, ought to drink your hot chocolate," Voldemort chided him gently. "You are still little more than a ball of nerves."

Harry couldn't argue with that logic, so he obediently accepted his mug when it was floated to him (had he let go of it?) and downed it.

Voldemort let the mug float back towards the table and pulled Harry in close again. This time, Harry could feel the man's breath in his hair, and the movement of his lips when he spoke.

"I do like you," Voldemort told him, and Harry stiffened. "I used to be cross with Barty when I found out about the… depth of his affections for you, but he is no less loyal to me than he used to be."

"Nah, he'd never abandon you," Harry agreed. "He told me he loved me today, you know? And even through all that… if he had to choose between saving you and I, I think he'd still choose you."

Voldemort was quiet for a good long while after Harry's admission. "No," he finally said. "He would offer his own life on the condition that both of us live."

And somehow, that knocked the breath out of Harry. "You're right," he whispered.

"I often am," Voldemort chuckled, and then he pressed his lips into Harry's hair properly. "And now, there's only one left…"

"One left?" Harry asked with yet another yawn. "One what?"

"Ah, just one more important thing to take care of," Voldemort told him absentmindedly. "Azkaban. I need to get my loyal soldiers out."

"Better keep Bellatrix Lestrange away from Barty. I think he might have a grudge."

"Oh, worry not, I shall keep these two far apart from each other. Sleep now, Harry. You are safe here."

"Alright." Harry was more tired than he'd ever been, and Voldemort was warm, and soft in all the right places even though he was all lean. "I like you a whole lot too, you know? You're a lot cooler than I could have ever imagined. Nicer, too. And you smell very, very good."

Voldemort snorted, but before Harry could begin to feel stupid, Voldemort used his second arm to hug Harry properly. A whispered, wandless spell had Harry float up and over only to deposit him in Voldemort's lap. A blush crept onto his face, but he automatically reached for Voldemort's neck and buried his face in the soft skin.

This was so like the evenings he'd spent curled up with Barty in the armchairs, back in the DADA office. Was he supposed to have a bad conscience now? Was this wrong? But this was Voldemort, and Voldemort had only ever been good and fair with both Harry and Barty.

"You have had a very terrible night, Harry," Voldemort's pleasant voice washed over him, and then that pleasant voice turned into an even more pleasant hiss. "You have lost much tonight, but gained so much more in exchange. I will never abandon you. If you ever feel yourself in need of reassurance of any kind, you will come to me. Do you understand that?"

Harry held tighter onto the man's neck. "I understand," he hissed back. "I want to make you proud, and I want to… I want to stay here with you and Barty. Please don't make me leave."

"Sweet boy," Voldemort groaned, "saying what I most want to hear without being prompted. You will make me so proud."

Harry felt like he'd finally managed to say all the right things, and that made the heart of the little boy inside his chest, the one still stuck in the cupboard, soar. They were all so similar, weren't they? As his eyelids were drooping shut, he was pretty sure Voldemort was saying something else, but he was already asleep before he could make sense of the words.

-o-

When Harry woke up, he was in his bed. His own bed. In a house owned by Voldemort, with Barty's room right next door. Before the events of the night could break over his head like a tidal wave, Harry allowed himself to focus on these very important realisations first.

But it was no use. Even though it was light outside, Harry still felt trapped in the darkness of last night. He tried to push away the dark thoughts that threatened to encroach and pushed his palms into his eyes until all he could see were white-hot stars.

"Fuck," he muttered breathlessly and hit his pillow with both his hands when his eyes hurt too much to continue pushing into them.

-o-

Half an hour later, after a very cold shower that saw him cry his heart out, Harry made his unsteady way down the staircase. There were low voices coming from the sitting room, and he was not at all surprised to find that it was Luna and Voldemort who were awake.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Luna greeted him. "Were you able to sleep a little?"

"Uh, yeah," Harry replied and scratched his elbow. He didn't think he would have been able to quiet his thoughts enough without Voldemort calming him down. "What about you? Have you been up long?"

"I don't sleep much," Luna explained. "I like that I can walk around here, just like at home with daddy. I never understood why I wasn't allowed to leave the Tower when the grounds were so beautiful."

"There are people like me on the grounds," Voldemort teased in a low voice. 

"Even more reason to go outside," Luna giggled. "You never told me Voldemort had a sense of humour, Harry!"

"Well, what can I say," Harry chuckled. "I guess it just never came up…"

He met Voldemort's eyes and forced himself to put on a small smile.

Something unspoken must have passed between them because Luna got up and smoothed her skirt down. "Speaking of grounds—I shall go investigate. If I don't return by nightfall, please send a fairy light my way."

She gave Harry a big hug when she passed him and then continued her way, skipping and humming, until the front door closed behind her.

"What a wonderful little creature," Voldemort commented. 

"She's… good." Harry hugged himself. "She's very good. I like her a lot."

Voldemort hummed in acquiescence and Harry walked toward him as if pulled in by a string snapping taut.

"Why do I feel drawn towards you all the time?" he asked before he could stop himself. "I'm… don't misunderstand me, I meant it when I said that I liked you, but… lately, my feet seem to have a mind of their own when it comes to you."

"You simply know where you belong," Voldemort replied cryptically.

"You mean… I belong to you?" Harry asked with a frown.

"Mh. Not quite, no." Voldemort shook his head. "That is no topic for today. How do you feel? Conflicted still? Or have you made peace with your decision?"

Harry breathed out, in, and out again. "I don't regret it. I don't. I just… wish things had played out differently. Without people dying, and having to act so much, and…"

And without it being a big show with way too many spectators. 

"Come, walk with me," Voldemort offered and got up from his chair.

Harry nodded eagerly, glad for the reprieve, and fell into step next to Voldemort. "Are Tom and Barty still sleeping?"

"Yes. Barty needs what rest he can get, and my younger self has yet to learn the benefit of the early bird catching the worm."

"Is he… like you? I mean, were you just like him at that age? Is it weird to see him because of that?"

"I have not had much opportunity to talk with him," Voldemort mused as he led Harry out of the sitting room and into the parlour. "Even still, he has spent many years apart from me. Granted, only the last couple years were among other people, but… even with no interaction, the mind changes."

"So he's basically an alternate version of you?" Harry clarified. "A divergent you, so to speak?"

"Pretty much, yes." They ascended the stairs and made their way up towards the bedrooms. "He could have become like me, once upon a time, but that ship has sailed. We are too different, him and I, and yet we remain… connected."

Harry didn't answer because he knew where they were going and he was excited. Even during the break, he hadn't been inside Voldemort's room—merely his study. He had caught a glimpse here and there, but nothing that could have prepared him for what he found within: a perfectly normal bedroom!

It was so anticlimactic that Harry had to laugh at the absurdity. But what had he expected? After all, the rest of the house also didn't have skulls or– 

He paused. There was the secret torture dungeon. He'd been down there. He'd participated in the torturing.

He forced himself to not think about that dungeon too much right now.

Still. There was nothing… worrying inside the room. There was a decently-sized four-poster bed, much like Harry's own, on the right hand side of the room, and a large wardrobe made of polished wood on the other side. A nice desk was placed by the windows; contrary to the desk in Voldemort's study this one was oriented so you could look outside while sitting at it. It had a few personal knickknacks such as letters, a carved figurine of a thestral, and an ink pot.

There were no bookshelves like in Harry's room because Voldemort had all his books in his study. Other than that, there was only a door, presumably leading to the bathroom, on the left side of the room, and a dresser close to the bed.

The dresser seemed to be why Voldemort had brought him here because that's where he went.

"Your room is very orderly," Harry commented. 

"Everything I own is very orderly," Voldemort answered matter-of-factly while he opened one of the drawers. "I abhor chaos."

When he stood up straight again, he held the diadem from yesterday in his hands. In the warm light coming in from outside, was it afternoon?, it seemed to shine almost supernaturally. Or just, well, magically, Harry supposed.

"Luna says it's Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem," Harry mused. "It's very pretty."

"It is, indeed," Voldemort answered and held it out to Harry. "Tell me what else you think of it."

Harry frowned but took it. "I already held it yesterday," he told the man but inspected the diadem anyways. 

It was very pretty. Was it made of silver? Harry didn't have the slightest clue about precious metals like gold or silver but he had always imagined—but weren't sickles and galleons made of silver and gold?

"Voldemort, are sickles and galleons made of real gold and silver?" he asked.

"They are, yes," Voldemort answered, and when Harry looked at him he had a fond smile on his face. "I used to melt them down and trade the metal with muggles because the material was worth considerably more than the exchange rate. That used to fund my travels."

"Isn't it illegal to destroy money?"

"I am a Dark Lord, Harry," Voldemort clarified. "And while I am… patient with you and Barty, and I suppose Tom and Luna Lovegood as well, I still strive for such things as dictatorship and an upheaval of the old world order."

"So what you're saying is that melting down currency is just part of the sort of person you are?"

"What I am saying is that committing crimes is of no consequence to my conscience because I expect to become the law in under half a decade's time."

"Huh," Harry commented and decided to concentrate on the diadem.

As he'd ascertained before, it was… pretty, and silver. He half wanted to put it on but that would have been embarrassing. Aunt Petunia had always said that jewellery was for girls, and girls only. Still, had Voldemort not been there… 

"Harry," Voldemort said, and Harry stopped with his hands raised halfway to his head. 

"Oh," he said dumbly and felt like an idiot. "I just wanted to see what it'd look like."

"There's a compulsion charm on it," Voldemort reassured him. "No need to be embarrassed. Give it back to me, will you?"

Harry looked back down at the diadem. It wasn't his, and unlike Voldemort, he wasn't about to be the law of anyone or anywhere, so he supposed he ought to give it back. Only… 

"I like the weight of it in my hands," he explained when he found he didn't feel like handing it over. "It feels familiar. I pulled the sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat, you know? Maybe I just really like the founders."

"I heard about the sword." Voldemort sat down on the bed behind him, expression whimsical once more. "Here, hold this, too."

Harry cocked his head when Voldemort handed him a ring he'd been wearing. It consisted of a rough gold band with intricate patterns on it, and a… was that a gemstone? It was black, and roundish. Very aesthetic in its simplicity, with a geometrical symbol on it Harry had never seen before. 

"You have some very nice things," he complimented and turned the ring over with one hand because the other still clutched the diadem and refused to part with it.

"I like to think so, too," Voldemort said. "Say, Harry. If I were to ask you, would you gift me your invisibility cloak?"

Harry thought about that and handed the ring back over. "In exchange for what?"

"You may wish for something. If it is within my power, I will obtain it for you," Voldemort replied and stared down at the ring with a shrewd expression before slipping it back onto his finger. "Interesting indeed…"

Voldemort had given him lots of things by now—material, as well as, huh, philosophical he supposed. Harry had never liked relationships built upon who gave how much, and about keeping track, so he shrugged. "I don't really need anything at the moment. Maybe I can have the cloak back occasionally when I need it? Not that I'll need it often, now that I don't have to sneak around as much. You need it more than I do."

Voldemort looked stunned.

"What?" Harry asked. "It's just a cloak."

"It… I appreciate this gift more than you can imagine," Voldemort admitted with more emotion than Harry could have anticipated. He had grown up as an orphan, too, hadn't he? There probably had been about as many presents in his childhood as in Harry's: exactly none. "Would you go and fetch it for me? There was something I wanted to check with regards to its… capabilities."

"Sure," Harry grinned and returned to his room to get the cloak which was still piled haphazardly at the foot of his bed from where someone must have put it the night before.

When he returned, he giddily handed it over to Voldemort who took it with a bow of his head. Ever since joining Wizarding society, Harry had revelled in the fact that he was able to give people gifts.

"I thank you dearly, Harry," Voldemort muttered and stroked the fabric reverently.

Harry wanted to say that it was no problem, that they were… allies, if not friends, but he didn't get that far because Voldemort did something Harry still got surprised by every time it happened: he got up from the bed, bridged the distance between them and pulled Harry into a hug.

Just like back in the forest, Harry felt something pull from behind his navel like during Apparition—a deep and visceral part of him felt the need to crawl right into Voldemort and make a home behind the bars of the man's ribs.

Quite without conscious thought, Harry returned the embrace as best he could and closed his eyes. Voldemort was warm, and lean, and disconcertingly tall. And Harry desperately wanted to never have to let go.

"You have given me… Gods, Harry, you have given me more in half a year than everyone else has given me in a lifetime."

"It was just a cloak," Harry argued, but he felt a warm shiver run down his back.

"Mh, what about my resurrection?"

"Barty did the ritual…"

"Without you, we wouldn't have been able to procure Dumbledore's blood without him getting suspicious," Voldemort murmured into the stillness surrounding them. "And the philosopher's stone… Imagine: within these walls, I have the most sought-after relic of our time!"

"That was all Luna, though."

Voldemort chuckled quietly. "Ever righteous. To think I thought you my most dangerous enemy!"

"I was literally a baby," Harry chuckled along. "You must have been really different, back then. I can't imagine you stressing over something as stupid as a prophecy now."

"I have done a bit of… soul-searching, I suppose," Voldemort told him with a strange tone of voice. "Humpty dumpty, and all."

"You put yourself back together though?"

"You could say that," Voldemort answered.

"Occlumency is really useful in that regard, isn't it? I've been practising in the evenings like you taught me!" Harry squeezed Voldemort a little tighter because he wanted to, and because he could. "Do you think Barty will get better, too? I've been worried about him."

"With the essence of life, we shall have all the time in the world to repay him for everything he has done for you and I."

Harry stiffened. "That's right," he whispered and leaned back to look up at Voldemort. "You said you're immortal, and with the philosopher's stone, you can make Barty immortal, too!"

"And you as well—not that you need it. You are, after all, the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, right. We both know the media likes to–" Harry groaned in sudden realisation. "Oh no, I didn't even think of… do I even want to know?"

"Fret not," Voldemort told him. "News of my return have spread, as expected, but there are contingency plans for that. My contacts are working on spinning everything in our favour as we speak. As for you… for now, you are poor, abducted Harry Potter."

Harry nodded wearily. "That… makes sense. No one but Dumbledore would know what really happened, and maybe Hermione got it figured out, too, but she… wouldn't tell anyone. I'm literally so sick of being famous."

"The media will be under my control in two months' time," Voldemort comforted him. "Come."

When they arrived downstairs, Tom was in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. He looked marginally better than the night before, and even his hair was immaculately styled as always. Harry half imagined the other boy just got up like that in the mornings without having to do any work.

"You did a thing," Tom said with a shrewd expression, eyes boring into Voldemort's. 

"You know we both do a lot of those, you will have to be more specific."

"We'll talk later," Tom muttered and looked back into his cereal bowl. "I still need a little time to get my bearings."

While they were talking, Harry's gaze moved to the kitchen table where an issue of the Daily Prophet loomed. With a sigh, he decided to face the music and turned the paper over. 

His own face greeted him from the front cover. It was grainy, and obviously taken from very far away, but it was Harry alright, with his back to Voldemort's chest. Voldemort was holding Dumbledore's wand pointed at the kneeling old man, and Harry was looking up at Voldemort with an expression of confused adoration, all while holding onto Voldemort's arm across his chest.

It was, at least, not a magical photograph. Judging by the angle it had to be taken from, namely Gryffindor Tower, Harry strongly suspected it had to have been Colin Creevey. 

"I hate my life," Harry groaned.

"Really?" Voldemort asked with what amounted to an almost cocky grin. "Truth be told, I thought this picture was a perfect illustration of what my new world order will encompass: formerly powerful old men grovelling at our feet."

Harry had to giggle despite himself and looked back down at the paper. "It says 'The Dark Lord Returns—Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, taken hostage after a shocking duel on Hogwarts grounds!'" he read aloud. "I don't look like I've been taken hostage at all… I look utterly infatuated!"

"As well you should," Voldemort said with a decisive nod. "You know what, I think I will capture the photographer and get the originals of this."

"It's a kid from my house," Harry informed him. "Colin Creevey, muggleborn. He's been badgering me for pictures ever since he joined the school. Lately, I have developed a bit of a grudge because he shoots first and asks for permission later."

"That's all the permission I need," Voldemort murmured with a murderous expression Harry didn't feel like getting involved with right now.

"There was also a letter for you," Tom said between bites of cereal and pushed a thick envelope towards Harry

"Maybe Hermione?" Harry said to himself and turned it around. "Oh… Sirius."

He felt sick immediately, but that was when the envelope started glowing and opened itself up to reveal the tell-tale red of a howler.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Harry cursed.

"That definitely should not have gotten past the wards," Voldemort commented dryly and got out his wand (Dumbledore's wand) to take care of it. But then, the letter vibrated violently and exploded above the kitchen table—way faster than Harry was used to from howlers. 

"Harry James Potter," Sirius' disembodied voice reverberated through the room, and Harry gave in to the desire to hide his face in Voldemort's robes so as not to have to actually face the accusations that were surely about to rain down on him.

But then, what followed was: "I am so… so incredibly sorry," and Harry breathed out in relief. Sirius was the only other reasonable adult he knew. If anyone was to understand, it was going to be him!

Notes:

This chapter was mostly written in that weird in-between time of the earliest hours of the morning where conscious thought drifts into too-tired and too-much. I believe it shows in the tenderness of the blossoming connection between a broken man and his prodigal pieces <3

Chapter 31

"Harry James Potter," Sirius' disembodied voice reverberated through the room, and Harry gave in to the desire to hide his face in Voldemort's robes so as not to have to actually face the accusations that were surely about to rain down on him.

But then, what followed was: "I am so… so incredibly sorry," and Harry breathed out in relief. Sirius was the only other reasonable adult he knew. If anyone was to understand, it was going to be him!

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Voldemort lower his wand.

"I should have been there for you in person. I should never have stayed hidden away all year just to protect my own hide!" Sirius continued, voice thick with an emotion Harry couldn't name. "When I heard about what happened last night, even my relief about the rat's trial felt small in comparison. I'm sorry for sending a howler with tons of countercurses and everything, but I had to make sure my letter reached you."

Sirius didn't say he was a lost cause, but Sirius also didn't know what exactly had happened. Or did he? Harry didn't dare hope for too much, but it all sounded like–

"When headmaster Dumbledore told me that the Dark Lord has you under his spell somehow, I… please, Harry, remember that I will be free soon, and that you can come live with me. I'll give you a home, and, and presents, and I'll be the best godfather I can be! Just—please, Harry, give me a chance, and please send me a message."

Harry didn't know how to feel about this. Had Dumbledore gone to wherever it was Sirius was staying? What had the old man told his godfather? 

"What an emotional wreck," Tom commented dryly. "That was the saddest howler I've ever heard, and I heard Corvus Lestrange receive a howler from his dear old grandmother for getting caught forging counterfeit Hogsmeade passes."

Harry saw Voldemort glare at Tom, but he didn't have the energy to be bemused by their antics.

"At least that solves the mystery of Dumbledore's whereabouts," Harry muttered. "He's wherever Sirius is."

"I have no idea where the last living Black heir might stay which makes no sense at all," Voldemort told him. "There has to be a Fidelius involved. Incomprehensibly strong secrecy charm."

Harry nodded in thanks for the explanation. "I think I need to… let that sink in a bit. Let everything sink in a bit. And you wanted to talk to Tom anyways, didn't you? So… talk." Harry mumbled and left the kitchen quickly before anyone might think of a reason to stop him.

They let him leave, so he went back upstairs and hesitated in front of the door to Barty's room. A stolen glance at the clock in the kitchen had revealed that it was already five pm, so really…

Harry knocked softly on the door and let himself into the room. It was not fully dark, but the curtains were drawn and the light of the sun filtered through the heavy fabric. Barty was still knocked out cold in his bed, curled on his side, and Harry was glad to see that his expression was soft and relaxed.

He made his way over to the bed and gingerly sat down on the mattress. Even while sleeping, Barty had dark circles under his eyes, so Harry reached out and stroked the man's hair back from his forehead. He'd have to get another haircut soon.

"You were very brave yesterday," Harry whispered, and Barty stirred faintly.

Harry let his hand travel down so it cupped Barty's cheek and then he bent down and kissed the tip of Barty's nose. That had the man's eyelids flutter, and his blue eyes soon blinked up blearily at Harry.

"Hey," Harry murmured and couldn't help a sappy smile from slipping onto his face. "That was pretty cool how you handled everything."

"I was a hot mess," Barty croaked and cleared his throat. "Ugh, sorry. Potions always dry my throat right up. What time is it?"

"Roughly five pm," Harry replied. "Move over a little."

"Hm?" Barty asked, but he moved quickly once Harry started slipping under the covers with him. "Oh…"

Barty looked torn, but he eventually opened his arms up willingly enough. They shifted a bit and ended up with their legs tangled and their noses and foreheads pressed against each other.

"Is everyone alright?" Barty asked in a low voice, and Harry nodded quickly. "Good. What a relief… What a night! And what about you, Harry? Are you… really fine? And I don't mean that strictly physically—you bore a heavy burden yesterday, and I need to know if…"

Barty's voice wavered, and Harry pulled him in closer. "I'll be fine," he reassured the man. "You took good care of me in Hogwarts, and now it's your turn to relax and get taken care of for a change."

"You saved me as much as I saved you," Barty argued a little petulantly, but he went boneless when Harry started scratching at the back of his neck. "What did my master say? Are we staying here? Did the news get out?"

"We're staying here," Harry confirmed, "and yeah, his return is… it's known, and my 'abduction' as well. I didn't read all of the paper, just the headlines, so I don't know what they know about you."

"I don't care what they think about me," Barty shrugged. "I helped my master return, and he will clear my name in due time. Let them think whatever they want."

Harry nodded slowly. Barty's faith in Voldemort was absolute, and Harry found himself relaxing, too. Voldemort was going to be taking care of things now. Probably with the help of Corbin Yaxley, and Cantankerus Nott, and the others they met during the break.

"He helped me sleep yesterday," Harry admitted because it had been bothering him to keep it from Barty. "He held me on the couch in the sitting room. I… didn't know he was the type to do that, but I needed, well…"

"When he hugged me in the forest," Barty began, voice soft, "I thought that all of a sudden, I had everything I ever wanted, so… I get it. It's fine. I just wish I hadn't been in another body, but… I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth."

"He likes you a lot," Harry shared. "Says you're his most loyal servant, and that he knows you'd give your life for him in an instant."

Barty chuckled quietly. "I suppose that's true," he admitted. "But I won't just throw away my life, don't worry! There's too much I still need to do, especially concerning you."

"About that…" Harry started, unsure suddenly. "About what you said, specifically–"

"No, I'm, I didn't," Barty interrupted and turned to hide his face in the pillows. "I swore to myself that I wouldn't throw it out there just like that, and then I tell you in the middle of a battle! I'm sorry, Harry, that was incredibly selfish of me."

Harry considered that statement for a beat or two before shaking his head. "No, you'd just woken up from being stunned. You didn't know our odds, and you were afraid you'd have to sacrifice yourself for either me or Voldemort. I get that. And I'm… flattered. I just… couldn't say it back then, but…"

He put his hand on Barty's cheek again and waited for the man to look up again from the pillows.

"I love you too, Barty," he whispered and enjoyed watching the man's blue eyes widen in shock and awe.

"No you don't!"

"Do I ever," Harry laughed. "I love you because you're silly, and brave, and smart, and because you've never lied to me. I want to spend all my time with you, and… watch you get all healthy again, and have you there while I find my place in the world!"

"Fuck," Barty whispered, and his eyes went glassy. "You're impossible, Harry Potter, simply impossible."

But then, Barty took hold of Harry's cheek in a mirror image of Harry holding him and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. Harry sighed and returned the kiss with an insistent press of his own lips. The blankets were warm, as was Barty, and for the first time in months, Harry felt like he could breathe properly.

"I love you," Harry said again because he could and because he wanted to, and Barty honest to god giggled worse than he'd ever heard even Lavender and Parvati giggle. "Is that all the stress falling off of you?"

"I can't believe I'm still alive," Barty managed to say between giggles. "I brought you here, safe and mostly unharmed, and everyone's fine. This is the best that things have been since—thirteen years? Fourteen?"

"I love you," Harry said again, Cheshire cat grin making his cheeks hurt. "I… really like seeing you happy like this."

"I love you, too, Harry," Barty replied earnestly.

They stayed like that for a while, trading lazy kisses and giggling about how from now on, every day was pancake day, until Harry left to go back downstairs to allow Barty to get showered and ready for the, well, afternoon.

Voldemort had already left the kitchen by the time he came down, but Tom was still there.

"Here," the other boy said and slid the empty howler over toward him. "There's something else in there. I didn't tell him about it."

Tom looked mischievous enough for Harry to grow weary. "What are you up to?" he asked but reached for the red envelope regardless.

"Me? Oh, I'm just enjoying the ride," Tom shrugged. "Still can't believe I got out, actually, so I might be overcompensating."

"Mh," Harry replied thoughtfully. "Guess we all need to get settled in."

He peeked into the envelope. There was a small, folded-up piece of parchment in there, together with something rectangular wrapped in… was that bubble wrap? With a frown, he unpacked it and was confused as to why Sirius would send him a hand mirror. Maybe it was magical?

He hastened to open the note. 

 

Dear Harry,

I hope this reaches you, too. This communication mirror used to belong to your father. I have the counterpart, and they function much like Muggle phone calls, except you can also see your partner.

To activate it, you only need to solve this riddle and speak the answer aloud: What kind of animal was your father?

Yours,

Sirius

Did he mean his father's animagus form? A stag, then? Sirius expected that to be something only he would know. And the Marauders being animagi had been a secret, so… so Sirius thought Harry was being held against his will?

"Thanks for keeping it," Harry said.

"Voldemort wanted to burn the whole thing, so you should be thankful."

"I am," Harry reassured the other boy and pocketed the mirror for later. "Have you two had your chat? Are you going to be fine with each other?"

"We diverged… very long ago," Tom shrugged. "We'll be alright with each other for the foreseeable future, and once Britain is ours, we can always live on opposing ends of the country. We'll see."

"But then I'd have to travel back and forth really far," Harry complained and Tom snorted.

"What, you really do want to stay with him? And visit me?" Tom asked. 

"Of course," Harry said. "He's… nice to me. Both of them are, actually, and you are nice to me, too."

"Intoxicating, isn't it?" Tom mused, all wistful. "Something for us poor little orphan boys to latch onto, mh?"

Harry met Tom's eyes and wondered about that statement. "It really hurt you, didn't it? Is that why he's done what he did? Because he was lonely?"

"... You better ask him that yourself," Tom shrugged. "I didn't do any of it, so I wouldn't know."

"You killed Myrtle," Harry reminded him.

"I didn't, the basilisk did. Technically. Wasn't even planned that way, buuut I can't say that I was exceptionally sorry or anything." Tom made a face. "I really do need to figure out what I'm doing with my life now."

"Thing is, you're immortal," Harry reminded him. "So you'll have all the time in the world."

Tom's thoughtful expression turned back into the mischievous grin he liked to adopt around Harry. "I guess we do. See you around, Harry."

And with that, Tom left the kitchen and Harry decided to make pancakes for everyone for supper.

-o-

That evening, in his room, he pondered the communication mirror Sirius had sent him. Should he use it? What if it wasn't for communication but an enchanted portkey that would sweep him away from the small manor? With a start, he let it drop onto his desk and took a step back.

What if it really was, and on top of that, what if it was activated by the phrase 'Stag?' Normally, before this year, he'd have tested the theory by himself, but he knew better now. He went to Barty's room and knocked. Barty opened him rather quickly and his gaze softened when he saw who it was.

"Hi," the man said in a small voice and Harry couldn't help but grin.

"Hi, Barty… I need to ask you something about Sirius' letter."

"Oh sure, yes, come in," he said and made an inviting gesture into his room. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Ah, no, it's… you better come," Harry muttered and Barty nodded and followed him. 

Harry led Barty to his desk and pointed at the communication mirror. "Sirius sent me this. He wrote that it's the mirror he used to use to communicate with my father, like with muggle telephones. Says it's activated by a special password, but… I was kinda worried it might be a secret portkey? Password-activated, I mean? Those exist, right?"

"Do they ever," Barty answered. "Quick thinking, Harry. So some lessons from Moody struck true after all, hah. I still don't have a wand since Ollivander can't be trusted to keep a secret to save his life, so I… can't actually cast any diagnostics on it. I could bring it to my master?"

"Do you think he'll take it away from me?" Harry asked worriedly.

"If it's a portkey, he might. He won't keep you away from Sirius, though."

That's what Voldemort had said, Harry pondered. And so far, the man had kept his word, hadn't he? That made Voldemort one of the precious few adults in Harry's life with a perfect track record concerning those kinda things, he realised.

"I'll ask him," Harry decided, "but only tomorrow. Today, I don't want to think about the fallout anymore."

"Yeah, I get that," Barty laughed. "Cmon, we'll corral Luna into playing Exploding Snap and make her bully Tom into joining, too."

-o-

Alas, there was no Exploding Snap happening. With Harry and Luna too young to do magic outside of Hogwarts and Barty without a wand, any game involving wanded magic was out of the question. 

"Can't we ask Voldemort to do a spell that enables us to use magic undetected?" Harry complained because he'd really been looking forward to playing. "He's done it before!"

Barty shook his head. "You can't possibly ask him that now after his resurrection was made public just some twenty hours ago," the man argued. "He's got bigger problems right now."

"Ugh, I guess you're right," Harry whined. "I'm not playing with marbles."

"I don't have enough marbles for all of us anyways," Luna shrugged.

"Oh, did you lose them?" Tom asked with an innocent smile. "Your marbles, I mean? Did you lose your marbles, Luna Lovegood?"

Luna tried very hard not to, but she ended up laughing despite her most valiant efforts. "You are terrible, Tom Marvolo Riddle," she giggled and pointed at him. 

"It's rude to point, Luna," Barty reminded her. "Greengrass blood is always polite."

"Says the guy who incapacitated McGonagall," Harry scoffed.

"All's fair in love and war," Barty defended himself. "And that fight, my dear Harry, was a matter of both."

"You guys are so cute," Luna cooed. 

"I'm not cute," Barty argued.

"You're a lot cuter now than with Alastor Moody's face," Tom told him and to Harry's and Luna's delight, Barty squawked.

"I am not cute," the man repeated. "I'm a big scary death eater."

"I'm taller than you," Tom reminded him.

"Are not," Barty said with a glare.

"Are too."

"Only one way to make sure!" Luna declared and they all turned towards her.

Five minutes later, when Voldemort came into the sitting room, he found Barty and Tom standing back to back, with both Harry and Luna urging the both of them to stop getting on their tiptoes, already!

"And what is all this, then?" he asked, and four pairs of eyes turned towards him.

"We're trying to measure Tom and Barty but–"

"They roped me into this, master, I didn't–"

"Children," Voldemort said firmly, and they shut up. "Tom, stand down. Barty, take those shoes off."

Tom and Barty grumbled, but they obeyed. Harry and Luna pushed down the boys' floofy hair and talked shop until they came to a decision.

"I'm sorry, Barty," Harry sighed. "Tom is a little taller than you."

"Hah!" Tom laughed. 

"Aw well," Barty mused, "at least I won't have to watch you outgrow me. After all, you'll still be growing some more inches."

Harry looked at Tom, close to Voldemort, and agreed silently. Voldemort was still almost a head taller than Tom, and wasn't that a funny image? Voldemort being a late bloomer?

"No sleep for you lot then?" Voldemort asked.

"I slept too long," Barty shrugged. "We'll all get back into a proper sleeping schedule soon enough."

"Mh, I suppose," Voldemort agreed. "Harry, will you accompany me?"

Harry nodded. "Where are we going?"

"Downstairs," Voldemort replied, and Harry felt his heartbeat begin to quicken. "Since you won't be sleeping for some time yet, we have a visit to make."

"Oh, Lucius," Harry realised. "Sure, yes, I'm coming. See you later, guys. Maybe you can think of a game until I get back?"

"We'll think of something," Luna promised. "But I think we ought to try and sleep, maybe?"

-o-

Down in the dungeons, Harry looked up at Voldemort. "Are you going to… release them now? Or kill them, I guess? I mean, you won't ever release Barty's father, right?"

"Crouch Snr is dead," Voldemort growled. "I… forgot myself."

"Oh… does Barty know?"

"Not yet," Voldemort admitted. "It was a… more recent development. The man said something out of turn while not under the Imperius and I had little patience for him after that."

"Did he say something mean about Barty?"

"Very."

Harry hummed in reply. "Okay. So Lucius?"

"The diary – and Tom – are safe. Lucius was careless, but… ultimately, things worked out," Voldemort explained as they were walking. 

They passed Snape's cell, and Harry felt his mouth go dry. "And that means you might let him go?"

"You may decide," Voldemort told him. "You saved the spirit, and you gave him a body, thus absolving Lucius Malfoy of the consequences of his crimes. The man's life rests in your hand."

With that, Voldemort opened the door to Lucius' cell which meant that Harry didn't have time to collect himself before being confronted with a vision of Lucius Malfoy not at his best. Was this another test?

Lucius looked up when they entered, and when he saw Harry, his eyes went wide. All in all, the man looked terrible. His hair, once shiny and straight like Parvati's, looked almost as bad as Hermione's had done in first year. Well, not quite, but… it was bad.

He had never been a broad man anyways, but he looked a lot thinner than when Harry had last seen him at the world cup. Harry's gaze hardened when he thought back to the muggle family the Death Eaters had paraded around in their night wear. The little boy spinning high up in the air… 

Harry hardened his heart and met Lucius Malfoy's eyes with a hard stare of his own.

"Harry Potter?" Lucius asked, mystified. "You caught him, my Lord?"

Voldemort stayed quiet.

"Shut up," Harry growled, and Lucius frowned in confusion.

"What–"

"I said, shut up," Harry repeated, more firmly. "You were at the world cup. Did you take part in the muggle torturing?"

Lucius looked to Voldemort for help, but Voldemort only raised an eyebrow in a 'get on with it' sort of attitude.

"I'm… I did," Lucius admitted. "I wasn't the one to float them up into the air, but I… suppose I was a willing-enough participant. My lord, what…"

He clearly had no idea what was going on, or what was expected of him, and Harry greatly enjoyed having the cruel, sophisticated man at his mercy for once. "That was not a nice thing to do," Harry said.

"No I… suppose it wasn't," Lucius replied, still with that confused expression on his face. 

"We met Draco, back in that forest. He told us, all smugly, to be careful… seemed like he knew what you were up to. Don't you think you should keep your child out of stuff like that?"

At the mention of Draco's name, an emotion Harry had never seen before on the man appeared on Lucius' face. It was… pain? Regret? Something that seemed to be hurting him a whole lot, at least.

"Draco," the man repeated hoarsely. "Is he well?"

"Imagine if Draco was where you are now," Harry said. "What would you say to him?"

Lucius didn't answer. Instead, he looked even more downtrodden than before. "Potter, please—my son, is he well?"

Did he want to tell Lucius about his family? He had never liked the man, but he'd also never seen him in a situation where he could feel sympathetic towards him before this. But now Lucius was a prisoner, and if this was the only sort of scenario where Harry could feel sympathetic towards Lucius Malfoy…

And what was being tested here, anyways? His judgment? How much pity he could muster up for people?

"Your wife is very resourceful," Harry finally decided to say. 

"She is a Black," Lucius answered with a tremble in his voice.

Harry didn't say anymore and they were silent for a bit. When Lucius' eyes began to stray towards Voldemort once more, Harry felt irritation begin to travel up his spine.

"Draco's always been a right prat towards me and my friends," Harry said with force. "You know, I think he gets most of that from you."

When Voldemort still didn't intervene, Lucius must have realised that it was, indeed, Harry alone he was dealing with. "He was raised to look down on muggles, mudbloods and blood traitors, I won't deny it. And yet, my offenses are not his. He is still young—with the right sort of discipline, he would surely fall in line with… with whatever is going on here."

Lucius was shackled to the wall much like Snape was. His hands, normally animated when he talked, hung down limply. Harry didn't like seeing them this way because it made Lucius look even sicker, even less than himself, than he already looked.

"Can you free his hands?" Harry asked. "Just as long as we're down here."

Voldemort waved his hand, and the shackles fell open. Lucius hissed when his arms fell to his sides, and he seemed too weak to raise them again on his own. 

"What are you doing here, Potter?" Lucius asked. His earlier confusion had given way to the faintest sliver of hope upon being freed, and Harry wasn't sure yet whether he liked that. 

"I really don't know," Harry answered, rather truthfully he would wager. "I think this is a test, and… well, I suppose… mh, I guess? Yeah, why not. You can help me."

"Help you?" Lucius asked, and he sounded almost eager.

"So, see, I changed sides? I'm with him now," Harry answered and nodded towards Voldemort. "This, me meeting with you, is a test, I think. I don't know what I'm supposed to be learning here, so you can help me."

"Okay…" Lucius replied, and then firmer, "okay, I can… I will try my best, mr Potter."

"You can call me Harry," Harry told him. "I'm no mister—at least not yet. I think… I'm here to decide your fate. What do you think you deserve?"

Lucius' lower lip trembled. Harry really rather hoped Lucius Malfoy was not about to start crying because he was not ready for a grown man that was not Barty to cry in his presence.

"I'm… I want to say I deserve mercy," Lucius answered and licked his lips nervously. "But I also know that my wrongdoings have been great, and many. I gave away something I should have guarded with my life, and I pleaded innocent when I shouldn't have."

"No, I don't think the pleading innocent thing is what irked him," Harry shrugged. "It's how you denounced his name and didn't use any of your undoubtedly massive resources to track him down."

"I was afraid," Lucius answered quickly. "My son, he was so small, so I never… I did it for him, so he could grow up in peace."

"And then you raised him to be a spoiled brat," Harry reminded Lucius dryly. 

"I have… never been humbled before, Harry," Lucius admitted, and the intense look in his eyes he'd paraded around before was back—if differently. "Never before, never like this. In shackles, away from my family, hungry, cold—I've never experienced these things before. I realise I've been spoiled, too, and that I was lucky to be born into a family as rich and respectable as the Malfoys."

Harry didn't doubt that Lucius had been humbled, but had he been humbled enough? Was he just saying what he thought Harry wanted to hear? Did Harry himself even know what he wanted to hear?

"If you had met my friend Hermione at the world cup… what would you have done? Don't lie."

"I would have…" Lucius looked from Harry, to Voldemort, and then to the ground. "I don't know, I don't know what I would have done then, and I don't know what I would do now. If she was here right now, I would, I'd probably ask for her forgiveness and promise her that my son was about to become a better person, as well. My Lord—are we nice to the mudbloods now?"

He looked helpless, and desperate, and Voldemort sighed when he stepped out of the shadows he'd stepped back into. 

"We are not, Lucius," he explained, voice as patient as you would make it towards a small child. Or maybe a dog. "At least, not in the charity and goodness kind of way. We are civil now. Corvus and the others have accepted that notion quite easily."

"I can accept that too, my Lord," Lucius was quick to reassure him. "I can be whatever you want me to be!"

"Mh, I have no doubt, my slippery friend," Voldemort muttered. "As it stands, I let go of my resentment towards you. I have become… indifferent towards your fate. Harry, what would you have me do with him?"

Harry didn't know. Would he fail the test if he asked Voldemort to pardon Lucius and let him return to his family? Because that's what people expected of bleeding-heart Harry Potter? But he wasn't about to sentence a man who had been trying to save his own hide from the ministry pyres to death, was he? Harry remembered there had been raids on the homes of Dark families.

"Do you love your wife, Lucius?" Harry asked because he didn't know much about Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, except that she was resourceful enough to try and hire a lawyer for her cousin Sirius so her and her son might be safe from Voldemort behind the Black family's wards.

Lucius cracked. Harry could see the exact moment he did, and he felt a strong urge to curl into Voldemort's side when some stray tears started rolling down Lucius' gaunt cheeks. He'd never made anyone cry on purpose.

"I love her very much," Lucius whispered with a terribly hoarse voice. "If I—please, whatever you decide, my Lord, allow me to see my family one last time…"

"I don't care," Harry spat, and Lucius shrunk back against the wall. "Not you, ugh, I mean—Voldemort, I don't care if you think I'm a bleeding heart or whatever, but I'm not going to sit back and let a man be murdered when his dying wish is to tell his family how much he loves them. Make him—make him sign a vow or something, or take his money, I don't care, but I'm not, I'm not like that, even if you think I'm weak."

To Harry's surprise, Voldemort smirked at him and turned to Lucius afterwards. "As you wish. Rise, Lucius."

Lucius rose with a gesture of Voldemort's, quite unsteady, and stared at the both of them with wide eyes.

"Is this a trick?" he asked and held onto the wall for support. 

"No," Voldemort said coldly. "You can thank whatever Gods you pray to that Harry Potter learned empathy in a house of sociopaths. Come, you are free to leave and go home. Barty will fetch your things."

"Barty?", Lucius repeated quietly in confusion. "Exactly how long was I…"

"Little more than four weeks or so," Harry explained. "Barty's not dead. It's a long story, but he's literally the best, so… yeah. Come on."

Lucius followed them up the stairs like a ghost. He seemed entirely out of his wits, and Harry couldn't blame him.

"You will come with me, Lucius. There are documents you need to sign before your release."

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius replied mechanically, but before following Voldemort, he turned to Harry. "I am sorry, Harry Potter. For… doubting you. Trying to, to hurt you, and—you have proven to be much more than I'd ever have guessed. I won't forget this. I'd be dead without you."

"Draco's a prat, but no one deserves to have a parent who loves them taken away," Harry mumbled. He was uncomfortable both because he had to think of Barty's less than stellar dad, and also because Lucius Malfoy being nice and grateful was… weird.

"I won't forget this," Lucius repeated, and then he followed Voldemort into his study.

-o-

"I didn't know Lucius could be this nice, you know?" Harry shared with Barty that night. "I mean. Part of him was just being opportunistic? But still. I think he got appropriately humbled."

"I've never seen his hair look this terrible," Barty mused. "He was… he looked shell-shocked too, but in a prisoner of war kinda way."

"Do you think he'll change though?"

"Not fundamentally maybe, but he will be thinking about how close he came to dying at my master's hand." Barty took Harry's hand in his. "But now, we should try and sleep. And Harry? I'm proud of the decision you made. You could have told him to kill Lucius if you'd wanted to suck up, but you're not a suck-up. He needs those sorts of people this time round."

"Thanks, Barty," Harry grinned. He felt relief, above all things, that he hadn't fucked up, and also about the fact that Sirius' cousin would be holding her husband again right now.

-o-

Even later that night, Harry knocked on Voldemort's door. It opened for him on its own, and he found the man at his personal desk.

"I hope I didn't wake you."

"I rarely sleep," Voldemort explained and motioned for him to come closer.

"Is it because you were a wraith for so long?"

"The immortal need no sleep. I enjoy the luxury of sleep from time to time, but I have no physical need for it."

Harry thought that that sounded wild and terrible at the same time. He couldn't even imagine not sleeping every night, even if there were nightmares from time to time. Still, he hadn't come here just to check on Voldemort's bedtime.

"I couldn't sleep, so I figured… I got this mirror from Sirius?"

He handed it over and explained about the password. Voldemort indulged him and took the mirror. The man used lots of spells on it that Harry didn't know, and then he gave it back.

"It is just as he says," Voldemort explained. "Sirius Black is many things, but I have never taken him for a liar. There are neither curses nor other sorts of spells on this except for the communication spellwork."

"Can I… try calling him?"

"Why ever not?"

"No I mean… Can I try calling him here? With you here, I mean? I…" Harry shuffled his feet. "I'd feel better if I wasn't alone."

Voldemort's eyes widened, but then he nodded. "I see. Yes, that can… certainly be arranged. It is late, but he may yet be awake. Azkaban tends to fuck with one's sleeping schedule, as they say."

Harry agreed with a heavy heart and went to sit with his back against the wall next to Voldemort's bed. There was nothing conspicuous behind him when he checked the mirror, so he smoothed his hair down one last time and held his breath before saying:

"Stag!"

Nothing happened. 

"Oh. Uh. Uhm. Prongs?"

The mirror flickered to life. Harry could no longer see his own face. Instead, he saw a canopy, and maybe a lamp?

"Oh Merlin, finally," a familiar voice exclaimed, and then a very sleepy-looking Sirius Black came into view.

He took the mirror in his hand, and the mirrorworld shifted on its axis. When a magical light went on above his godfather, Harry could even make out more detail. Sirius' hair was as unkempt as Harry's own notoriously was, and there was a distinct sort of bleariness to his gaze. But all in all, Sirius' cheeks weren't as hollow, and his eyes no longer held that crazed sparkle like a year ago.

"I can… call back later?" Harry offered.

"Oh no, oh nonono, now is fine, Harry, now is literally so fine," Sirius reassured him hurriedly. "How are you? Where are you? Are you fine? I can come get you, I don't have a wand but I have Buckbeak and I can be anywhere in just, the blink of an eye."

"Sirius, calm down, I'm fine," Harry laughed. "Really, I am. There wasn't… look, I'm not a hostage. I am here of my own free will, even if it's… I know it's complicated, but it's good here. I'm at home here."

Sirius buried his face in his free hand, and when he looked up again, he looked close to tears. " I should have been there for you, Harry. Fuck, I should have fought tooth and nail to get a trial back then, and then I should have adopted you when you were a baby. All just so you'd never have needed to flee to, to… I can't even say it ." Sirius sighed, a great big heavy thing, and Harry felt his stomach begin to hurt a little. 

"I'm… I didn't flee. They wanted to hurt my friends, Sirius."

"Barty Crouch Jr is your friend, Harry?"

"He is," Harry admitted and refused to feel ashamed about it. "I've… known about his identity for some time. I know about a lot of things, actually, and I didn't walk into any of it blindly. I'm not a victim, so you don't need to feel sorry for me."

"Harry," Sirius said, sterner than Harry had ever seen him. "Do you realise the Dark Lord killed five people yesterday?"

Harry refused to pale at that statement. He'd known about at least three of them already, after all. "They would have gotten Barty Kissed, Sirius!" Harry insisted. "You know what that means, don't you? Voldemort likes Barty, so of course he moved heaven and earth to save him. And also, they wanted to capture him and Tom, too, and they would have made an example of them, you know that."

"So you're saying the Dark Lord killed in self defense?" Sirius clarified and Harry nodded. "Oh Harry… no, it's fine for now, it's fine, we'll cross all the bridges once we get to them. What are you going to do now? Are you planning on… staying with them?"

"I have my own room," Harry said, "and I'm allowed to get food whenever I'm hungry. Barty is going to tutor me, and then I'll sit my O.W.L.s and my N.E.W.T.s. I won't be slacking off or anything!"

"It's… not the slacking off I'm worried about," Sirius muttered. "Are you… can we meet? You're allowed to leave whenever, right?"

Harry wanted to look at Voldemort for confirmation, but he thought better of it. Wouldn't do to give a wrong impression. "I can leave whenever I want. Thanks to the tournament, I'm of age, and I'm not a prisoner here."

Sirius stared at him. "The contract? Ah, of course… that's actually very clever. But that's good news. Spectacular news, even! My trial is five days from now, so we might… we could meet up the day after? There's no way I'm not going to be exonerated after Pettigrew got sentenced for life."

"To Azkaban?" Harry asked with a shudder.

Sirius eyes darkened. "They wanted to have him Kissed, but I had my lawyer intervene. No one deserves that, Harry."

"Not even Voldemort?" Harry asked bluntly.

Sirius looked pained and couldn't meet his eyes. "Look, Harry, I… literally only know him as the boogeyman and the guy who killed my best friend and his wife. I'm… I understand you have your reasons, but you can't just expect me to–"

"There was a prophecy."

"Eh?"

"A prophecy," Harry repeated. "I only know parts of it, but Dumbledore knows the whole thing."

"Dumbledore?" Sirius asked in a dangerously low voice.

Harry drew in a big breath and gave Sirius a brief overview about the prophecy as far as he knew it, Dumbledore's and Snape's involvement, and his own disappointment about the whole matter. And also, how he couldn't fault Voldemort for feeling threatened by a prophesied nemesis?

Sirius was quiet as he listened, but Harry watched a storm brewing behind the man's grey eyes. "Harry, I'm going to have to cut this conversation short—there's someone I need to yell at before I throw them out of my house. Please keep in touch, yeah? There's always a place for you here. I have a room and food, too."

Harry nodded. "Uhm, thanks. I mean it, Sirius. Thank you."

With that, the communication mirror went blank. Harry blinked, and then he looked up at Voldemort and cocked his head.

"Never thought Sirius Black, of all people, would be a good role model," Voldemort admitted with a quizzical expression. "Was this conversation what you needed to hear?"

Harry felt a grin stretch across his face, and he nodded. "You know what? I think it was."

"Then off to bed with you," Voldemort urged. "I will have you well-rested tomorrow."

"Can I hug you before I go?"

Voldemort actually rolled his eyes at that, but he got up from his chair and held his arms open for Harry anyways. "Can I expect more of that in the future?" he asked when Harry scrambled up from the floor and rushed to hug him.

"Definitely," Harry nodded. "And you know what? I think Barty really wants another hug, too, but he's too shy to ask for one."

"Is that so?" Voldemort asked. "Well, I shall see what I can do about that…"

"He really likes you."

"I know he does."

"I really like you, too." Harry felt a little light-headed after his conversation with Sirius. Maybe it had to do with the load that was now finally off of his mind? "Don't listen to me. I'm being ridiculous."

"You liking me is ridiculous?" Voldemort asked and Harry was halfway to panicked reassurances before realising Voldemort was teasing him.

"You're terrible."

"I am a Dark Lord, Harry," Voldemort shrugged. "Being terrible is part of the job description."

"I'm leaving now."

Voldemort snorted and shook his head. "Goodbye, Harry, and do sleep well. I will leave in a few hours—it is Monday, and there is work to be done if I want to rule this country. Can I leave the rabble in your hands?"

"I'm in charge?" Harry laughed. "We'll just establish a democracy while you're gone."

"I hope you will be able to deal with my absence for a workday without overthrowing my autocracy in my own home," Voldemort sighed. "Sleep now."

"As you please, your majesty," Harry winked and stuck his tongue out when Voldemort narrowed his eyes.

Harry ran from the room, cackling, amid Voldemort ranting about precocious prophecy boys and being disrespected in his own house.

____

 

"Lucius?" Narcissa asked with tears in her eyes. She was clad in nothing but her nightshirt and a dressing gown when she opened the main door, and Lucius felt like crying all over again.

"Narcissa," he whispered from the doorway, and she rushed forward and hugged him even though he still wore his month-old clothes and probably smelled worse than a whole family of red-headed—well. None of that now. Civil, he reminded himself.

"He let you go?" she asked, tears in her eyes.

"No… He would have killed me. Harry Potter asked him to let me go, so he did."

Narcissa sobered and eyed him warily. "What are you…"

"I am bound by many vows, Narcissa, but I can alleviate your concerns—we are safe. Draco is safe, you are safe, and I am… on probation."

For a brief moment, he was afraid the unshakeable fortress that was Narcissa Malfoy was about to start crying for real, but then her gaze hardened.

"You will be taking a shower, Lucius Malfoy, and then you will write your poor son a letter."

"Yes, dear," he said and felt his heart swell. "I promise we are doing things more… your way from now on."

"Finally!"

Notes:

I've been SO productive since I last updated this around two weeks ago, so here's a bit of advertising for my own stuff :>

I uploaded a very hot, explicit Fenrirmort oneshot set during the beginning of the First Wizarding War here.

Then there's a sweet but also mature-rated Bartymort oneshot here.

Chapter 32

Notes:

Very quick disclaimer: I don't condone the sorts of relationships portrayed in this work of fiction. This story is purely that—a work of fiction, which is the only place where I accept age differences like this. Thank you for your attention :>

Cw: more character deaths

Harry found Luna and Tom in the kitchen. To his surprise, and his mounting horror, they were trying to cook breakfast. Unfortunately, it seemed like neither of them had ever done anything of the sort in their life.

"And you thought that if you just added flour and eggs and milk together randomly, you might get pancake dough?"

"Sugar, too," Luna assured him.

"I had hoped our intent would guide our hands," Tom sighed. "Alas, cooking is nothing like Potions. Our concoction produced sad little bread cakes."

"Please make us pancakes again, Harry!" Luna asked with a helpless sort of smile.

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, I will, but you need to clean up after yourselves," he demanded. "Voldemort said I was in charge while he's gone."

"He what?" Tom asked with an expression that spoke volumes about how much of a load of bollocks he thought this was. "If anything, I should be in charge. Or Barty, because he's the oldest."

"Technically, you're the oldest," Luna reminded him while she got started with cleaning up all the bowls and kitchen utensils they'd used.

"That's a very soft technically," Tom snorted. 

"Barty doesn't want to lead anyone," Harry told them.

"No, that's fair," Tom agreed. "He's too much of a follower… so it's between you and me."

Luna looked over to them. "How about we all just try and get along while father's gone?"

"Father?" Tom and Harry repeated in unison. 

"Absolutely not," Harry said flatly.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Tom mumbled and stuck out his tongue as if he was about to retch.

"You're both babies," Luna laughed. "Come on, Harry. Pancakes!"

"Alright, alright," Harry grinned and got out a fresh bowl. "Talking about, well… What about your father, Luna? Your real dad, I mean. Isn't he worried?"

"Oh, daddy doesn't read the Prophet, so he probably doesn't even know." Luna shrugged. "I'll go home soon and tell him I'm fine."

"But… won't the school contact him?" Harry asked. "Or the ministry? The Aurors, for example?"

"He doesn't open his mail," Luna sighed. "He sends me big packages with all his mail from time to time and I sort through it? It's not ideal, but we're working on it."

"Sounds like Luna is the adult here," Harry stage-whispered to Tom. 

"Let her handle the responsibilities."

"Hear, hear."

"Oh, you are terrible," Luna chided them, but she laughed freely.

-o-

After they'd eaten, Harry made his way up towards Barty's room and surprised him with breakfast in bed. 

"I talked to Sirius last night," Harry shared when he was curled up with his back towards Barty.

"Oh?" Barty inquired and washed his pancakes down with some orange juice. "And it was… good? You don't sound, well, conflicted or anything."

"I told him about the prophecy," Harry shrugged. "That seemed to put some things in perspective I guess. He wanted to throw Dumbledore out right that instant."

"Yeah, the old Black townhouse wasn't a fitting place for that man anyways," Barty shrugged.

"Black townhouse?" Harry asked with a frown. "How do you know where Sirius is staying all of a sudden?"

Barty stilled beside him. "Strange… I feel like I've always known where he would have most likely stayed?"

"Oh! Voldemort mentioned something about a Fidelius?"

"Ah, figures," Barty nodded and continued eating. "You need a secret keeper for the Fidelius. They're the only one who can tell others about the hidden something, be it a house, or an object, et cetera. Sirius must have broken the Fidelius in order to get rid of the headmaster? Maybe one of them was the secret keeper."

Harry hummed to signal that he'd understood. So Sirius had trusted Dumbledore, same as him, and then distanced himself from the headmaster? Harry allowed a vague sense of hope to take root in his heart. Maybe… just maybe, things with Sirius wouldn't be a complete disaster?

"When I let Lucius go free," Harry told Barty next, "I took pity on him, I guess. Draco's a pain, but I can't take a father away from someone, can I?"

"I suppose not, if that father is nice to them?" Barty mused, but he'd stopped eating again.

Harry refused to think about how Barty's father was already dead without Barty knowing and turned around to look at him. "Voldemort said it didn't matter to him what I decided, but I can't help but think it was a test anyways?"

"And what are you afraid of?" Barty asked and continued eating.

Harry thought it was unfair how insightful that statement was. What was he afraid of? Of Voldemort liking him less? Voldemort knew Harry was the sort of person to want to be nice to people in general, especially people he knew, so this wouldn't have come as a surprise to him.

"I think I want him to consider me… capable?" Harry thought aloud. "I want him to think I'm, like, cool, I guess?"

"But he does."

"Does he though?" Harry sighed. 

"Welcome to my world for the last… seventeen years?" Barty laughed and put his by-now empty tray on his bedside table. "I've wanted him to like me ever since I first started exchanging letters with him. So when, after I'd already just about given up hope, he came to free me from my father…"

"Oh Barty," Harry muttered and got to his knees so he could pull Barty into his arms. "I'm… I have to admit that I'm starting to realise why you've, why he's…"

Harry couldn't quite put his thoughts and feelings into words. He grumbled in frustration and simply hugged Barty tighter.

"Bunch of smitten idiots we are, hm?" Barty asked self-deprecatingly. 

"Don't put yourself down for that," Harry told him because his tummy was beginning to feel all strange like when he was about to have a Quidditch match. "We're both, I mean, we've both been… we've both lost a lot, and, and been put down a lot by others. So it's normal for us to hold onto people who treat us—better."

"Even if they're violent mass murderers who want to overthrow the government?" 

"Especially then!" Harry argued heatedly even though part of him knew he was preaching to the choir. "If someone is, uh, really hard on themselves, like Voldemort is—which he is, because he's always been an over-achiever—and they like you, that means that you are, I don't know, worthy? You passed a test, of sorts, even though it's not strictly speaking a test or anything."

Harry shut up because he noticed he was beginning to ramble. Barty laughed a little and leaned back to look at him properly. 

"I feel like I'm looking into a mirror and seeing myself when I was your age," Barty admitted. "And… I don't think I changed much. Not that I've had much opportunity to, in any case, but I was… I understand what you're saying. I think. I hope?"

Harry looked to the side and blushed. Were they really, one day after telling each other that they were in love with each other, talking about their mutual crush on Lord Voldemort, of all people?

"So you also…" Harry started and stopped again when his voice began to tremble. "You like him? Like, like like him?" 

Barty blushed up the roots of his blond hair and he couldn't meet Harry's gaze. "Harry, I… I'm sorry if–"

"No, I'm, I mean," Harry floundered, and he felt like he had to be at least as red in the face as Barty. "I said also, didn't I?"

"So you also–"

"I mean–"

They were talking over each other and both stopped in mortification. 

"I've never talked to anyone about this," Barty mumbled. "There were… rumours? And there was a sort of rivalry between Bellatrix Lestrange and me, back then, concerning my master's attention, but…"

"Isn't that weird? How we both like each other but also him?" Harry asked. 

"It's… not unheard of," Barty mumbled. "Totally and utterly unorthodox, of course, but… that's par de course for us, isn't it?"

"How old was he again?" Harry asked. 

"He was born in the late 1920s."

Harry gave himself time to consider that statement. Voldemort was… old. There was no way around that elephant in the room—but he looked younger, and he was immortal. So Harry and Barty would keep aging, and who knew, maybe at some point in the future… 

"What a mess," Harry laughed, a little desperately. 

"It'll all be fine," Barty was quick to reassure him. "We don't have to do anything at the moment except, well, live in it, I guess? Living in the moment, I mean. Things are good, and we deserve things to be good for a time."

"Yeah, you're right," Harry agreed and wracked his brain for some way to change the subject. He ended up asking: "Will you show me your arm?"

"You mean the dark mark?" Barty asked and looked down at his left arm.

"No, the other one," Harry clarified. "The one you… sacrificed."

Barty nodded grimly and waved his left arm over his right one. Harry had not yet taken the time to examine the silver appendage before, so he hesitantly reached out and let his fingers caress over it.

"It feels just like skin," he mused. "It's warm, too."

"You've held my hand before," Barty reminded him but Harry shook his head.

"Maybe, but not without the glamour. I thought the warmth and the softness was a part of it, I guess?" He let his fingers examine the not-skin, and if he concentrated really hard, it felt like magic was thrumming beneath the surface. "Does it bleed? No, that's a weird question, I'm sorry!"

"Don't worry," Barty reassured him. "I asked him about it, actually. It's a prosthetic charm, so there's not much mystery about it. It functions like a normal limb does, except for the fact that it's comprised of… condensed magic? You couldn't use a spell like that on a muggle and expect it to stick. Even so, the caster needs to renew his magic, too, from time to time."

"I love magic," Harry grinned.

Like this, in a magical household with magical people around him, Harry felt like he was getting back the childlike sense of wonder for all things magic that he'd lost at some point in his second year at Hogwarts.

"The arithmancy behind it is really quite special," Barty mused and then looked intently at Harry. "I could give you a brief introduction to Arithmancy today, what do you think?"

Harry thought that that was an amazing idea because it'd be both cozy and comfortable to learn from Barty one-on-one and to study a field both Barty and Voldemort seemed to be into.

-o-

When Voldemort returned that evening, all four of them were huddled around the big dining table. In front of Harry was a big square piece of parchment that had four sets of handwriting on it.

Luna had started Arithmancy this year, and Tom was much like Hermione in that he apparently was good at every subject there was, so they, too, had wanted to join in teaching Harry.

So when he looked down at his first formula, wonky though it was, he felt pride swell in his chest. Magic was awesome.

"Is this the democracy you have been warning me about, Harry?" Voldemort asked.

"No, Luna's in charge," Harry grinned.

"I don't know how it happened either," Luna admitted, "but I've been a benevolent queen in your absence."

Voldemort looked torn between amusement and exasperation, so Harry stood and walked over to give the man a big hug. "Have you taken over the ministry yet?"

"Even I need more than one day," Voldemort muttered, but he put a hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed it. 

"We're going to visit my father tomorrow," Luna told them.

"We?" Voldemort asked.

"Tom is coming with me to keep an eye on me," Luna explained.

Voldemort looked at Tom, and they had another one of those unspoken conversations. "You will take the cloak, and you only take it off when the coast is clear."

"I'm not in a hurry to get chained up again," Tom scoffed. 

"Luna's been a hostage once," Harry reminded them. "Please take care of her, Tom."

-o-

With Tom and Luna gone the next day, it almost felt like an extension of the break when it was just Harry and Barty. It felt different in the way that Harry missed more people than just Voldemort which was a strange notion to comprehend for someone who had, so far, missed only Ron and Hermione over the breaks. So it came as a surprise when, around noon, Voldemort returned from what Harry liked to call work.

Barty and him, camped out on the couch with Nagini and a bunch of books, greeted him enthusiastically. 

Voldemort looked a little conflicted when he started speaking. "I had some… contacts retrieve your belongings."

Harry's eyes went wide when the man got his shrunken trunk out of a robe pocket and let it revert back to its original size.

"My stuff!" he grinned and crawled out from underneath Nagini and the blanket.

"Your owl has apparently gone missing yesterday, so I assume it is on its way here," Voldemort explained. 

"Hedwig is a smart girl. She always finds me," Harry told him while he opened his trunk and saw that even his satchel and his potion kit was there. "Who are your contacts? You'd need Gryffindors to get my things, wouldn't you?"

"Money has always been a very powerful negotiation tool," Voldemort told him smugly. "Theodore Nott has been busy. Apparently, a red-haired pair of twins is in dire need of funding for… something, and they were all too eager to throw their morals overboard when faced with a bag full of galleons."

"Fred and George?" Harry asked and snorted. "They've always been way too ambitious for Gryffindor. I think they just wanted their mum off their backs and bullied the hat into making them lions."

Even the map was there, and Fred and George knew what kind of damage it could do in the wrong hands. How much money had Theodore offered them?

"There was little left to salvage from the Defense classroom, Barty," Voldemort said. 

"If I go the rest of my life without seeing an unmarked essay or a foe glass, I'm golden," Barty snorted. "You got Luna's things though?"

"I did," Voldemort nodded. "Theodore paid off a Ravenclaw student. Edgecombe, I think? Daughter of a ministry employee."

"She'll be glad to have them back," Barty said and stroked over Luna's trunk next to Harry's. 

On closer inspection, Barty was stroking over the dangerous-looking locks he had gifted Luna with early on.

"I taught you to charm locks like that in your sixth year, did I not?" Voldemort mused and cocked his head to the side. 

"You did," Barty admitted sheepishly.

Harry didn't like thinking about the fact that Barty might have had to face the same problems Luna used to have.

"You don't need locks anymore," he was quick to tell Barty. "Neither do I. No bars in front of the windows, no cold soup, and no more pans to the face. Oh my God, I will never have to see the Dursleys ever again!"

That sudden realisation, even though it was one he'd entertained before, came crashing over Harry's head like a wave and he couldn't help but laugh like a maniac.

"I am never going back to the Dursleys!" he exclaimed again. When he looked at Barty to share his joy, he expected the man to laugh along—instead, Barty looked… murderous.

"Pan to the face. Yes." Barty looked intently at Voldemort. "Master, if there is one wish–"

"Give me half an hour," Voldemort said and turned on his heel before stopping in his tracks. "Ah, no, you better come."

He was talking to Barty, not Harry, and the man nodded quickly.

"Are you…" Harry started, unsure. "You're not going to kill the Dursleys, are you?"

"I will tear them limb from limb for daring to lay a hand on what is mine," Voldemort hissed, "and when I have had my fill of revenge, they will be dead. Come, Barty."

"Will you be alright, Harry?" Barty asked, and Harry nodded with his heart beating incredibly fast.

He didn't want to come and watch, but thinking about uncle Vernon's body and his big hands that liked to choke and shove no longer being attached to each other made him more giddy than he had ever expected of himself. 

Ten years. Ten years of feeling like he was to blame for everything that was wrong in this cursed household.

"Voldemort?" he asked, and met those piercing red eyes with no fear. "Make them suffer."

Voldemort's answering grin was diabolical. Barty hesitated briefly, but then he nodded and squeezed Harry's shoulder before hurrying after his master.

"You will take my yew wand, Barty," Voldemort said as they were making their way to the foyer. "I want you to–"

Harry couldn't understand any more through the ringing in his ears. Uncle Vernon was a big man, and Harry remembered how terrified he'd been at five years old when the heavy pan had slipped from his fingers and spilled hot grease and bacon on the tiles.

But Voldemort was taller than uncle Vernon, even if he weighed maybe a quarter of what his uncle weighed. Realistically speaking, Uncle Vernon had been more of a boogeyman to Harry growing up than Voldemort had ever been. Would the Dursleys have continued to abuse him like they'd always had if not for Voldemort and Barty taking care of things now?

Would he have had to return there again during the summer if Sirius had still been under Albus Dumbledore's spell? Just for a couple weeks, my dear boy.

Harry balled his hands into fists and felt himself start to tremble. He had magic, he was strong, but he hadn't even been allowed to defend himself from these—these inferior beings. The ministry had shackled his powers and allowed him to get beaten, punished and starved. Where was the logic behind that?

"You are trembling," Nagini hissed and slithered closer to him. Harry flinched because he had forgotten that he wasn't alone.

"Voldemort and Barty are going to kill my family," he told her. "My aunt, my uncle, and my cousin were… not very nice to me."

She cocked her head, and it looked a little too human to be all snake. Not for the first time, Harry wondered whether she was magical. 

"Voldemort is good at killing," she told him. "He'll take care of them."

"I'm sure about it," Harry said grimly. "They deserve it."

-o-

When Barty and Voldemort returned, Harry was waiting with bated breath. He bounded into the foyer when the doors opened and looked expectantly from one to the other.

Part of him had expected Barty to look conflicted, but the man looked just as grim as Voldemort.

"It is done," Voldemort said simply. "Privet Drive is obliterated beyond repair. Not a shingle is left."

"We talked to them," Barty added. "I've never… I knew most muggles were vile, but that?"

Voldemort smirked. "Dear Barty couldn't help himself. He used fiendfyre and let it roam a little more freely than I, personally, would have done, but who am I to complain that he is finally coming into his own?"

"When you say Privet Drive…" Harry started and let it hang there.

"I destroyed the whole street," Barty spat. "Scrawny little orphan kid spending all summer doing yard work while bandaged up and the blood child drinks milkshakes and hits him in the head? The neighbours knew, Harry. Everyone failed you—not just the wizards who put you there, but also the filthy muggles who turned a blind eye!"

Harry remembered that day. Just like back then, he felt red-hot shame wash over him. He'd been on his hands and knees in dirty, too-large clothes, and the thorns had stung his bare hands something fierce.

Unbidden, the face of his uncle – too large and with too many teeth – appeared before his inner eye. With what he could do now, no muggle on that street would have possibly been able to be the slightest threat for him anymore. So why were they able to make his life hell while he was younger and unable, or not allowed, to defend himself?

"I'm stronger than they ever were," Harry hissed furiously. "Even after I started attending Hogwarts, I wasn't allowed to defend myself! That's bullshit, Voldemort. I was hungry!"

Harry wondered why his eyes stung. His vision was getting blurry, and he wiped furiously at his eyes only for his hands to come back wet. Great, so he was crying again. But the starving had been painful, and humiliating, and he still remembered the feel of a stomach so empty it felt like a black hole had taken root under his heart.

"Harry…" Barty said softly, and Harry could see a storm brew behind Voldemort's red eyes.

"They are dead now," the man said in a tightly-controlled voice. "They were flayed, and dismembered, and ultimately burned in the flames of hell. Only ash remains."

"Thank you," Harry whispered. His hands were balled into fists at his side, and he was trembling all over. "I hate being hungry."

"You shall never go hungry again," Voldemort promised and closed the distance between them. "No part of me will suffer at the hands of muggles, or anyone else."

"Part of you?" Harry asked and looked up at Voldemort.

Voldemort's cool hands took a hold of Harry's face, and his thumbs wiped at the hot tears staining Harry's cheeks.

"Harry, we need to talk," Voldemort said sincerely, and Harry nodded breathlessly. 

"Master, what…" Barty started and Harry looked over towards him. The man looked a little lost, on the outskirts, and Harry held out a hand for him.

Barty took it and stepped closer, but he still looked unsure. 

"Nothing bad is going to happen," Voldemort said. "To neither of you. What I need to tell you, both of you, is of personal importance to me, and thus to all of us."

Harry met Voldemort's gaze again. There was no tell-tale tingle of Legilimency, but Harry still felt like there was a connection between them. Was it about the wands? About the, about the pull he was experiencing? Was there more to it after all?

"You've been keeping secrets," Harry whispered. "Big ones, too."

"Mh, you can say that," Voldemort admitted. "Come, I am not having that conversation while standing."

-o-

They ended up in Voldemort's study. The man got a fire going in the fireplace with a flick of his wand and made both Barty and Harry sit on the settee. Voldemort himself sat down on an armchair with his back to the fire, and even though it was still a little light outside, his face seemed to be veiled by shadows. 

"Voldemort," Harry started, voice guarded. "Is this… are you sure now's the right time?"

"There is no right time," Voldemort said simply. "I am not going to insult either of you by asking for a Vow. Barty, you have proven your boundless loyalty time and again, and you, Harry, are… you will understand it soon."

Harry frowned. How had they gone from killing the Dursleys to Voldemort sharing secrets that seemed to make even the Dark Lord himself grasp for words?

"You have…" Voldemort started, but then he shook his head. "Harry, when Barty told you about his real identity—were you mad at him for keeping things from you?"

Harry considered that question carefully and reached for Barty's hand. "No, I wasn't. I understood why he had to do what he did."

Voldemort nodded, and Harry was relieved to feel Barty squeeze his hand in return. 

"I, too, have kept something from you," Voldemort explained. "As you are well aware, my immortality was not connected to the philosopher's stone until recently."

"Right," Harry agreed easily. "So you're going to tell us what makes you immortal?"

"... Yes." Voldemort leaned back in the armchair and sighed. "There is… a ritual so foul and dark that to perform it, your very being gets corrupted."

Barty sucked in a sharp breath beside him and Harry, too, felt his heartbeat begin to quicken. Had Voldemort, then, performed this ritual? 

"You're joking," Barty gasped. "Surely not the—you didn't!"

"I did," Voldemort said. "And I did it again, and again, and again, and again. And finally, without meaning to, I did it again."

Harry frowned because he had no idea what was going on, but he knew from the fact that Barty had gone eerily quiet beside him that it wasn't good.

"You made… six?" Barty clarified.

"I would have made seven," Voldemort answered, and Barty hissed in irritation. 

"But you're smart, master! Surely you realised that—why would you do that to yourself!?"

"You never knew me without, Barty," Voldemort said, and Harry held up his hands. 

"Hold up, what's… going on here? Six what? What did you do?"

Voldemort held Barty's gaze for a beat longer, and then he turned his piercing eyes towards Harry. "The ritual I mentioned is used to make what is called a horcrux. You commit murder, which is one of the greatest and most terrible sins you can commit, and it… changes something about yourself. Your very soul twists and becomes, well. Some might call it tainted, or brittle, but I like to just call it dark."

Was Harry's soul dark too, then? He had killed Quirrell in self-defense, and he had delivered Filch to Tom, so that was like being an accessory to murder?

"After committing murder, you perform the ritual I mentioned, and you split your soul," Voldemort continued, quite matter-of-factly, but Harry felt his eyes almost bulge out of his head.

"You split your soul?" he asked, horrified, before he realised the even greater revelation. "We have souls? That's like, scientifically proven?"

"Harry, dementors suck out people's souls," Barty reminded him, and Harry began to feel a little stupid before shaking his head.

"No, but—what are souls even? And why would you split it? What?"

Voldemort leaned forward and put his hand on Harry's knee. "Look into my eyes, Harry."

Harry, heart beating somewhere in his throat instead of inside his chest, obeyed and looked into Voldemort's eyes. 

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked. 

"Let me inside your mind," Voldemort… well, it wasn't an order. Rather, it was a request, and Harry had a hard time with refusing those from the man. "You are troubled, and being inside your mind allows me to share what I need to share while ordering your thoughts at the same time."

"Yes," Harry answered quickly. He had seen Voldemort perform Legilimency on Barty, so it wasn't dangerous if done by a true master. And he had no secrets he wanted to keep hidden, did he? Well, there was the little nagging feeling inside of him that insisted that Voldemort's lips looked incredibly soft and kissable but—

Voldemort's gaze became even more intense than Harry had ever seen it. From his Occlumency meditations in the evenings, he had a pretty good grasp of where his mind extended nowadays, so he could feel Voldemort's presence when it stroked along the tentative walls Harry had begun to build up.

"You have built these well," Voldemort mused.

The man was corporeal all of a sudden, and Harry looked down at himself only to find that he, too, had a body here.

"I didn't know minds could do that," Harry admitted.

Voldemort, standing right outside the wall to Harry's mind, hummed in acquiescence. "There is still much to research. Will you let me in?"

Harry had to adjust his… eyesight, in a way, in order to be able to see the walls that were keeping Voldemort out. They were sturdy, wooden things, but they looked to be clobbered together by someone who'd never worked with wood before in their life. Without knowing how, Harry remembered there was a loose log somewhere in front of him, and he pushed it aside a little to make room for Voldemort to slip in.

"This is very disconcerting," Harry muttered, and he followed Voldemort deeper into his mind.

"I agree," Voldemort chuckled. "Ah, so you chose Hogwarts?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I did," Harry answered when they found themselves in the foyer of the castle. "I thought it was easiest to sort things in here since Hogwarts is what I know best."

"Clever," Voldemort complimented, and Harry felt himself blush. Did his blush translate into his mind's projection of himself? He raised a hand to his cheek and found it… not particularly warm or anything. It didn't even feel like a cheek or anything—more like he was just touching matter, in a way.

"Do I look like I do outside at the moment?" Harry asked. "My age, I mean. My clothes are the same."

"You look the same," Voldemort answered, "as do I, which is… rare, all things considered. Most people who manage to materialise themselves in their mind space look different."

"What does Barty look like?" Harry asked.

Voldemort hesitated, but then he answered anyway. "Barty looks about eight years old."

That sounded adorable. Once he was learning Legilimency, Harry thought he might ask Barty to be allowed to take a look inside his mind and meet child Barty. "What are we doing here, then? Can you show me things in here?"

"We are… looking for something," Voldemort said. "Something that has been with you for a very long time. Something which, if left alone when I tell you more about the secrets I have been keeping, might… strike back."

"Something about the horcruxes?" Harry asked. "So you split your soul, and then… you needed somewhere to put them?"

"Yes. The first horcrux I made was the diary."

"Oh course, Tom!" Harry exclaimed. "That's why he's like you... That's where you two diverged, isn't  it? He's not a spirit at all—he's a horcrux!"

Voldemort nodded. "Yes. He started out as a horcrux. And after him, I made many more. I fashioned the cup of Helga Hufflepuff, the ring of Salazar Slytherin and the diadem of Helena Ravenclaw into horcruxes."

"No Gryffindor?"

Voldemort laughed. "Even those three heirlooms are worth more than any ordinary witch or wizard will earn in their lifetime, Harry."

"But you're not ordinary," Harry said firmly. "You're the strongest wizard there is, aren't you?"

"Mhh… Maybe. As it stands, an heirloom of Godric Gryffindor's has yet eluded me."

"So you split your soul four times?" Harry asked. "Is it half every time? Or just a small piece?"

"Those matters are difficult. I will tell you more about the technicalities later on if you so desire, but first things first: I made many horcruxes, and the drain on my soul was a drain on my sanity." Voldemort looked… pained, in a way, but the expression looked a little hazy on his conjured mind-face. 

"Barty said you were different this time around… Voldemort, what do horcruxes do? How do they make you immortal?"

Voldemort pinned Harry in place with a stare. "As long as a piece of your soul is contained within a vessel of your choosing, the main soul cannot go on to the afterlife. You are bound to this mortal realm, and you can only leave it when all horcruxes are destroyed and you are killed."

Harry tried to wrap his head around this new information. "But that means… Was that why you were a wraith? You were a, a main soul floating around because your soul pieces tethered you to, well, earth? That's wild. But souls aren't meant to be splintered like this, are they?"

Voldemort was quiet for a long time. "They are not."

"And that's why you were all reckless and insane?"

It made Voldemort visibly uncomfortable to admit it, but Harry didn't feel much pity. If the man had splintered his soul like this, he must have known what he was getting himself into.

"It was."

"Why is all this a secret? So people don't know you have horcruxes?"

"Yes."

"But they wouldn't know what they were, right? And you could hide them, too."

"I did."

"So… oh, no, wait. You mentioned a ring. Is it that ring? The one you're wearing? That's not a good hiding spot, Voldemort!"

Voldemort sighed and looked away. "There are… ways in which to repair your soul," he continued his earlier explanation. "Truth be told, I became a casualty of my own hubris by breaking myself into more pieces than is humanly endurable."

"And you need help repairing your soul?"

There was another pause. Voldemort looked… pained again and Harry narrowed his eyes in thought. For Voldemort to exhibit his own imperfections like this… 

"You already did it," Harry whispered. "That's what Tom was talking about in the forest, and that's why he didn't want to join you at first…"

"Barty's lessons paid off well, indeed," Voldemort muttered. "Yes—Tom was incredibly afraid I might try to absorb him, or simply put him back into another vessel. I swore an Unbreakable Vow that I would do no such thing, and that's why he agreed to leave Hogwarts and stay with me. The other horcruxes that I could get my hands on, though… Well, I might tell you more about it later, but rest assured I suffered greatly to restore myself. And yet, there are still more horcruxes to take care of."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. If you had to commit murder to make a horcrux, he shivered to imagine what you had to do to restore your soul? Maybe save the life of someone you didn't like? But that sounded unnecessarily convoluted to Harry, so he discarded that idea.

"Even more horcruxes?" he asked instead and remembered Barty being horrified at the number six. "Voldemort, you can't go around splintering yourself like that, even if you're afraid of dying! Two would have been enough, wouldn't they?"

"They will be," Voldemort promised darkly. "But until then, one yet eludes me. It was hidden well, but not well enough, for one of my followers managed to retrieve it and hide it from me. Sirius Black's younger brother: Regulus Arcturus Black."

Harry remembered Voldemort descending on the sitting room and cursing Regulus Black's name. Had this been when he'd found out that his horcrux had been taken?

"But it's not destroyed?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Horcruxes cannot be destroyed by just any random spell. I can… feel their presence, too." Voldemort extended a hand towards Harry. "Come, let us walk."

Harry didn't have to be told twice. He hurried to Voldemort's side and took hold of the man's arm with both of his. "So we're going to retrieve it, and you're absorbing your soul piece back into yourself?"

"Ideally, yes."

Harry let Voldemort lead the way down into the dungeons. Was there a Slytherin secret hiding down there Harry didn't know? 

"But you said two will be enough. There's Tom, and there has to be yet another one, right?"

"There is."

Voldemort was getting ever more tight-lipped. Harry wondered what the problem was. Maybe the man had stolen something and thought Harry would think less of him? But Harry knew about all the murdering, and that was a lot worse than stealing, wasn't it?

"So what is it?" he asked.

He wondered where they were going. There were only two places he knew in the dungeons: the Potions lab and the Slytherin common room, and the direction they were taking led to neither of these destinations. In a way, Harry was surprised there even was a path here.

"How do you know where we're going?"

Voldemort looked down at him. "I do not. I only know this is the right way because this corridor does not exist within Hogwarts."

That was stupid. Why did it exist within Harry's mind then? He wanted to ask how this was possible, but the corridor ended abruptly some twenty feet in front of them. Harry swallowed audibly and would have taken a step back if Voldemort hadn't held onto him. 

The door waiting at the end of the corridor was both small and terrible.

"My cupboard," Harry muttered. "Why is the cupboard here?"

"You tell me," Voldemort said with a challenge in his voice.

The book he'd read about Occlumency had mentioned that most people would find nooks and crannies within their mind space that they themselves hadn't put there, Harry remembered. Was this one of those nooks then? What had the book said were the reasons for those…? Childhood trauma, for one. He made a face. Of course his childhood trauma would manifest itself into the cupboard under the stairs.

He let go of Voldemort's arm and strode over towards the cupboard. The Dursleys were dead. Very dead. Pulverised, even, just like Barty had promised him way back when, so there was nothing inside this cupboard that Harry would have to be afraid of anymore.

With a force of will, he flung the door open and stuck his head inside. The single naked light bulb he remembered hung down from the low, dusty ceiling and illuminated a small body huddled into the far corner.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, because while the boy had dark hair like him, it was the wrong colour, and the texture of it was all—

"Tom?" Harry asked before he knew what he was going to say, and the little boy looked up at him with wide, brown eyes.

"You're here," the child said slowly. "I didn't think you'd come. Did you like my gift?"

Harry felt his mouth go dry and he lost his balance. His knees hit the ground, as hard as the mindscape allowed, and he buried his face in his hands when a dark realisation crashed over his head like a storm flood.

"It's me," he whispered in a horrified voice. "I am the last horcrux."

When he looked up at the towering form of the adult Voldemort, the man looked down at Harry with an indecipherable expression. "I ask only that you forgive me."

Harry felt his brain go numb because he realised the strange expression Voldemort was wearing was beginning to morph into one of sorrow, and of a grief and longing so bone-deep that the man was beginning to tremble.

"Please come home, Harry."

Notes:

*tiny whisper* inappropriate

Chapter 33

Notes:

Please mind the updated tags <3

Harry's world felt like it was crashing down.

In truth, he half expected the mindscape around him to crumble and fall until they were engulfed in the rubble of the castle.

No such thing happened. He was still as corporeal and unharmed as before, and Hogwarts stood like she'd always had.

Harry could feel two pairs of eyes on him—both so similar, both so familiar.

He was a horcrux. What did that even mean? Was he a horcrux the same way the Tom from the diary was a horcrux? No, that made no sense! So the small version of Tom that had been hiding away in his cupboard was… an entity separate from him?

Harry felt his head begin to spin, and the ground beneath him felt like being on a boat in turbulent waters with how everything buckled and swayed.

"Harry," Voldemort said, and a strong hand grabbed his shoulder. "Look at me."

Harry felt like he was drowning, so he clung to the stability the arm promised and looked up at Voldemort. There were cracks all over the castle walls around them now.

"Am I you?" Harry asked with a voice so tiny he hardly recognised it from himself.

Voldemort's expression softened a little. "No," the man answered and pulled him to his feet. "You are… part of me, but you are not the same as Tom, if that's what you're afraid of."

Harry nodded shakily and let himself be pulled. He was not the same as Tom. Tom had mentioned they were similar on more than one occasion though, hadn't he? He must have known…

"Tom knows," Harry ground out.

"He does," Voldemort agreed, "but only because I told him."

"Does Barty know?"

Did it make a difference whether Barty knew? Harry paled. Barty didn't know, of course he didn't. He hadn't even known about Voldemort having horcruxes until earlier. But then… 

"Is that why he likes me?" Harry asked with a hint of panic before Voldemort was able to answer him. "He loves you, he always has, so what if he only likes me because I am your horcrux?"

A shadow seemed to pass over Voldemort's face, and the man actually took a step back. "Harry–"

"Don't you start patronising me now!" Harry demanded. "This is serious!"

Voldemort massaged the spot between his eyebrows with a couple fingers and closed his eyes. "Harry, I know this is all a bit much, but–"

"A bit much?" Harry repeated. "A bit much? Voldemort, you've just told me my whole identity is a lie! Where do I even start? Where would I be if not for that… that horcrux business. Who would I be?"

Harry felt a full-on panic attack coming his way—or at least what he thought a panic attack might feel like. Could he even have one while inside his own mind?

"You need to relax," a small voice said, and Harry was startled enough to fall off his panicked train of thought. "I have been here almost all your life."

Harry took a step away from Voldemort to watch the horcrux child emerge from the cupboard and stare him down. "And what do you mean by that?" Harry asked. "There's no me without you?"

"Precisely," the horcrux agreed. "I didn't spend all this time with you only for you to lose your mind once we met, you know? I've been good all this time. I stayed in my cupboard."

Harry frowned unhappily. "Did I send you to the cupboard?"

"I don't know. It's just where I am."

"You… mentioned a gift? Were you talking about my ability to speak Parseltongue?"

The child scoffed. "That's old news! We've been able to speak Parseltongue ever since I got here." 

The child was dressed in old-fashioned clothes with short trousers that Harry vaguely remembered were called knickerbockers. It was adorable, in a way, but the calculating glint in those intelligent, brown eyes gave him an inkling of the fierce intelligence contained within the small body—so much like Voldemort's own.

"Then what are you talking about?" Harry asked.

"I gave you the ability to shield your mind," the child explained. "You've always kept a tight leash on me, but back when we had to deceive Dumbledore to ensure our continued survival, you finally let me help you."

Oh. So that calculating coldness he'd felt during his act had been the horcrux' influence? That made sense. The Occlumency book he'd been reading had been adamant about explaining that to get even passable at the art took months if not years of dedicated study by an adult wizard.

"I'm… Thank you," Harry said sincerely. "You saved me back then, and you saved Barty's life."

"He's good for us," the child shrugged, but he had begun blushing at Harry's compliment.

That was nice. That was good. Harry felt himself calm down. This miniature version of Voldemort was just a kid, and Harry had been keeping him locked up in the cupboard, so how much influence could he have wielded?

"You became like me…" Harry muttered. 

"Harry," Voldemort said cautiously from beside him, and Harry acutely remembered that the man was also still there. "I chose to be different this time around because… because you showed me that a part of me could, with your help, become… better."

Harry swallowed uneasily. "I'm sorry for shouting at you, Voldemort. I understand why you had to keep it a secret at first."

They stood in front of each other kinda awkwardly, and Harry didn't like it.

"What did you mean, come home?" he decided to ask. "I'm… I live at your house, don't I?"

Voldemort looked frustrated, and a little constipated, and he shook his head. "Now that you know, we ought to leave your mindscape. Barty must be worried."

"Oh! Oh yes! He's gotta be worried out of his mind," Harry realised. "Hey, Tommy, no need to stay in the cupboard, okay? You can… roam around I guess? Just try not to break anything, okay?"

The child cocked his head. "Tommy…?"

"I can't call you Tom as well, can I?" Harry shrugged. "With Voldemort's alias being Thomas, everyone will be confused if we aren't conscientious with our labels."

Voldemort rolled his eyes, but he looked fond—as he often did with Harry. Was all this just because Harry was his horcrux? And Barty… Harry felt a terrible headache coming, so he decided he needed to get out of his own head now.

The horcrux child nodded as if he knew what Harry was thinking. Without knowing where he got the knowledge from, Harry surged forward and grabbed Voldemort's lapels. With a firm grip on the man, Harry threw himself back as if he wanted to throw Voldemort onto his back, and they both jolted back into their bodies.

"What the fuck, Harry," Voldemort cursed and held his head. "Did the child tell you to eject me like this?"

Harry was taken aback. "I think… no, I know he's cross with you for leading me on."

Voldemort barked out a grim laugh, and he made to say something, but they were interrupted.

"What was that?" Barty asked with a strained tone to his voice. Harry and Voldemort both turned towards him. "You've been staring at each other for three hours!"

That surprised Harry. From the looks of it, it surprised Voldemort as well, and the man massaged his temples and closed his eyes. "Barty, there was something I needed to show Harry in his own mind."

"Oh, I know," Barty answered with a frown. "I had enough time to sort through all the implications, and though Hogwarts is sorely lacking in the critical thinking department, I can think rationally. I worked out that the last horcrux you made, the one you didn't mean to make, was Harry. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, that is true," Voldemort admitted after a pause. 

"So I fell in love with your horcrux?" Barty asked tonelessly. 

"Barty," Voldemort started, but Barty shook his head. 

"No, master, how could you let me? Have I been lying to him all this time?"

"He is as he always was," Voldemort argued with a glare. "For better or worse, ever since that fateful night, Harry Potter has been a part of me. Without the horcrux, I know not what would remain of him."

Harry was awfully reminded of how Tom had talked about Ginny. Was this the nature of horcruxes then? Did they corrupt everyone and everything around them?

"Is this why everyone hates me?" Harry asked. "Because horcruxes are… evil? Is that why I don't have friends, and why everyone at Hogwarts was so cold towards me time and again?"

"They are not evil," Voldemort explained, hands moving to form a sphere breaking apart as he did so. "They are… not whole. The nature of soul magic is, as of all things, grey. Do you remember that lesson I taught you?"

Harry nodded, if vaguely. "I'm… I remember, yes. I don't want to be mean to you, Voldemort, but, but…"

"I know, I know," Voldemort sighed. "I should have told you earlier, just like Barty did. But until I had all of them back, I just… could not. And to stop with the lies altogether… I was not 'at work' these past couple days as you so aptly put it. I reunited with the horcrux contained within the diadem yesterday, and it is only because I have been through this process two times now that I was not knocked out cold for hours at a time."

"You reunited with your horcruxes?" Barty asked, flabbergasted. "That is possible?"

"I am living proof," Voldemort answered shortly. 

Barty looked torn between adoration and concern, and there was also still a hint of hurt. Harry got that mixture, he really did, because he, too, felt the same.

"Barty," Harry asked, and held his hand out to the man. "I'm still me?"

Barty's gaze immediately softened. "Oh, Harry, no, nonono, even if you—even if there is a horcrux inside you, you're still my perfect, impossible boy, okay? I love you, I do, and I always will, you hear me? If there's a part of my master's soul within you, that… only makes me love you more."

Harry thought that was terribly sweet, but also a little concerning. It didn't serve to alleviate any of the concerns he had towards not quite being himself, but he decided to take it for now.

"I understand," Harry replied quietly. "I do, it's just… does everyone I know have so many big secrets?"

"It's in our nature to try and protect those we care about, I guess," Barty told him with a sad smile. "I'm sorry for having deceived you back then."

"No, I get it," Harry reassured him again. "I understand that sometimes, you have to keep things from people. Hell, I kept my allegiance from Hermione until I damn well couldn't anymore, didn't I?"

Barty laughed a little, all quietly, and shook his head. "What a bunch of misfits we are," he muttered. "No offense, master."

"None taken," Voldemort was quick to reply. "I am not ashamed to admit that had it not been for my raw power, and my willingness to fight tooth and nail for the position I found myself in during my later school years, I, too, would have taken my lunches alone—in fact, I actually used to do so for the first years of my education. But then, I am a natural leader, and the two of you are… not."

It didn't feel like an insult; merely an observation. Harry, even though he had joked about overthrowing Voldemort's reign in his own home, didn't have any interest whatsoever in leading anything, so he was glad that Voldemort filled that role so well.

He frowned in thought. "But then what did you mean by coming home?" he asked again.

Barty looked confused, whereas Voldemort looked torn. 

"Master?" Barty asked cautiously and squeezed Harry's hand tighter. "I have nothing but admiration for you, but if you plan on reuniting with… with Harry like with your other horcruxes, then I'll have to, I'm going to–"

Barty still had Voldemort's yew wand from earlier, when they had obliterated the Dursleys and Privet Drive, and he unsheathed it now from the holster on his arm. To Harry's surprise, Barty actually pointed the wand at Voldemort with a trembling hand.

"Barty," Voldemort said immediately in that authoritative voice he sometimes used on the man. "You will lower your wand."

His voice brooked no argument, and even though he hadn't so much as explained himself, Barty seemed unable to do anything but obey. Seeing Barty so obedient made Harry's breath hitch a little, and when he looked back at Voldemort, the man was already looking at Harry with an intense stare. Voldemort turned his hard gaze back on Barty next.

"Give me that wand."

Barty didn't hesitate. He handed the wand over the low table to Voldemort. 

"Master, I–"

"Silence," Voldemort commanded. "You will kneel before me."

Barty swallowed, but he got up after squeezing Harry's hand one more time and rounded the table to kneel next to Voldemort's legs. Without warning, one of Voldemort's hands shot out and grabbed a handful of Barty's hair. "You do not raise your wand at me, Barty. Do you understand?" Barty hissed in pain when Voldemort gripped his hair tighter. "Do you?"

"Yes, master," Barty ground out. "I'm sorry, master."

"I have become too lenient with you, have I not?" Voldemort asked harshly. "You do not do well with freedom."

"Voldemort, what are you doing?" Harry asked, alarmed. He had half a mind to draw his own wand and protect Barty, but Voldemort didn't look murderous—merely… strict?

"I killed your last remaining relatives for laying a hand on you, Harry, and Barty was there with me," Voldemort explained without breaking eye contact with Barty. "I destroyed part of my school to free the two of you from Albus Dumbledore's clutches without knowing whether I could rebuild it. I revealed myself to the world for your sakes', and you think I want to absorb Harry Potter and have him cease to be, Barty?"

Voldemort's voice was cutting in its acerbity, and Barty tried to shrink back but couldn't because Voldemort's grip on his hair was unforgiving. "Master–"

"Never raise your wand against me again, Barty."

"I promise, master, I promise, please–"

"Harry is a part of me, and I will never harm a hair on his head, do you understand that?"

"I do, master, I swear–"

"He will be on my side through the ages because as my horcrux he, too, is immortal." Here, Voldemort looked over at Harry and glowered. "I take very good care of my things."

Despite things he'd been told in the past, by Hermione in particular, about objectification and the like, Harry felt a flame of… something stir in his body at Voldemort's blatant possessiveness, like he often did when the man used that particular rhetoric.

"Oh," Barty whispered, and it sounded so tiny and so broken that Harry broke eye contact with Voldemort to look at him. "You'll… I mean. Of course you'll be immortal together."

It only truly registered in Harry's mind when Barty stated it so bluntly: He was immortal because horcruxes were (mostly) indestructible. Did that mean he wouldn't age? Or age slower? Was that why he was so small for his age? By the gods. Immortality!

Oh, but Barty wasn't a horcrux… Finally, things clicked into place, and Harry made eye contact with Barty. "We have the philosopher's stone," Harry reminded him. "I won't let you die if I'm immortal, Barty."

Barty looked to be on the verge of tears. In fact, now that he thought about it, Barty had looked to be on the verge of tears ever since he'd raised his wand against Voldemort and Harry mouthed an "oh" when he realised what Barty's problem might be.

"Oh my God, Barty, you can't choose," he blurted out. "I mean, you feel like you need to choose between Voldemort and me? You don't need to! We're not enemies, him and I, you know that. I told you I—you know I respect him dearly."

"I can't lose either of you," Barty whispered. "Master, I'm so sorry, I thought… I was an idiot, and you had to be cross with me again."

"I know you need a firm hand," Voldemort muttered, but he didn't let go of Barty's hair. "And I can provide it."

He sounded endlessly patient again, and Harry felt his frustration grow. The way Voldemort looked at Barty—all stern, but also… so full of care? For the first time, Harry felt like all three of them were dancing around the elephant in the room, but the atmosphere was too delicate, the understanding they were about to reach too recent, to acknowledge it.

"We will make him immortal too, won't we?" Harry asked instead. 

"Mhh," Voldemort hummed. "In Ancient Egypt, pharaohs had their dearest slaves buried alongside them so they could serve them in the afterlife. It is only fitting that someone as immortal as I has an immortal slave to take care of my needs."

Harry's mouth went dry. Watching Voldemort and Barty like this, with Voldemort all benevolent but almighty ruler, and Barty willing but terrified in the face of so much greatness, he couldn't quite decide whom he wanted more. 

"Oh bugger," he muttered under his breath and frantically thought of something to say. "He's… not your slave though?"

Voldemort laughed and grabbed Barty's left arm with his free hand. He held it up and pushed the man's sleeve down with his magic to reveal the Dark Mark right where Barty's wand holster ended—still pale and a stark contrast to the brown leather of the holster. Voldemort hesitated, but only briefly, before he pressed his thumb into the middle of the tattoo.

Barty's head sagged forward, and Harry could see him grit his teeth. He wondered if whatever Voldemort was doing hurt?

"I am reactivating the Dark Mark," Voldemort explained. "Now there can be no doubt I have truly returned. The mark is based on a slave bond of old—though less restrictive in most cases."

"So all of them are your slaves?" Harry asked and felt his eyes go wide. "Everyone who bears the Dark Mark, I mean?"

"Yes," Voldemort answered and caressed the darkening snake on Barty's arm with his thumb. "Some more than others."

Slavery was bad. History class back in muggle elementary school had said so, and house elves being enslaved against their will was also bad according to Hermione. But to become a slave willingly..? Harry considered the Dark Mark. Not everyone would have taken it voluntarily. He couldn't see Lucius Malfoy doing so, in any case, and that was already one too many, right?

But Barty… he had his head bowed as much as he could with Voldemort's hand still holding onto his hair, and he certainly didn't look unhappy about being oppressed.

"I'm sorry I doubted you, master," Barty said quietly. "I shouldn't have. You are, like always, correct."

"But then what do you mean?" Harry asked.

Voldemort let go of Barty's hair, and of his arm as well, and Barty slumped forward with a bit of a grimace until his forehead collided with the side of Voldemort's thigh. Harry briefly entertained the notion of having his hair pulled but decided rather quickly that he'd rather try and pull Barty's hair like that instead.

"What I mean, Harry, is that you belong with me," Voldemort explained, but somehow… Harry could tell the man was searching for words he didn't have. 

"But I am?" Harry clarified. "With you, I mean? I told you, I live here."

Voldemort groaned in frustration. "When I… think of a perfect world, I… no. Remember the Mirror of Erised?"

"Of course I do," Harry said uneasily because Quirrell burning beneath his hands was not his fondest memory.

"If I were to look into it right now, I would see myself as I am now, except I have absorbed the locket horcrux back into myself as well. Tom is there, too, doing his own thing but only an arm's length away, and you, Harry, stand beside me. And like that, I am whole again. I would never take my soul out of you, but if I feasibly could, I would eat you up and have you live within my rib cage so I can always keep an eye on you."

Harry stared. He didn't know what kind of declaration this was, but it definitely was one, and he felt… beyond touched?

"Is that why I'm always drawn to you?" Harry asked. "No, it has to be. You're only complete when I'm there. That's why you like keeping me close."

"The whole longs for the part just as much as the part longs for the whole," Voldemort mused with a small quirk of his lip. "Ah, but worry not, Barty. In my mirror vision, you would be right where you are now—right where you belong."

"At your feet?" Barty asked from where he was still leaning heavily against Voldemort's leg.

"Precisely," Voldemort all but purred, and Harry couldn't help but get up and move around the table.

This time, he didn't hesitate before plopping himself down—but he kinda lost his nerve and settled on the armrest instead of on Voldemort's lap. Apparently, that wasn't enough for the man though because he pulled at Harry with hands and magic until he toppled over and landed on Voldemort's lap anyway.

"And that is what you want?" Harry asked and put his arm behind Voldemort's neck to hold onto the man.

He managed to sound a lot more confident than he felt, and Voldemort's eyebrows rose. "Getting cocky, are we?"

"Comes with the company," Harry laughed and put his other hand on Voldemort's chest—warm, firm, human.

"Mh," Voldemort allowed, "I've never done well with authority."

The unvoiced implication that Harry was, in a way, just like him, wasn't lost on Harry. Like this though, so very close to Voldemort, he found he didn't much mind being a part of something, or someone, this great.

"And?" Harry asked again, and he dared make eye contact with Voldemort from this up close.

The man's red eyes, reserved and closed off more often than not, shone now as if illuminated by a light from within. "And what?"

"Is this to your liking?"

"Ah, yes," Voldemort answered with a smug sort of grin. "Everything is as it should be."

Harry felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as well until he was grinning, and he quickly ducked his head. "That's good. That you like it, I mean, because I like it, too. And… you. I like you, too."

"I can tell," Voldemort replied before breaking eye contact.

He looked down at Barty who was still kneeling next to Voldemort's legs, and his own legs as well, he supposed, and Harry frowned. Did he like this? Having Barty kneel like that?

"Barty," Voldemort said, and Barty looked up obediently.

There was a flush on the man's cheeks, but he looked conflicted. To Harry's (and Barty's) surprise, Voldemort reached out and grabbed Barty's chin. It wasn't tender, but it also wasn't bruising. Harry would have described it as possessive, which seemed to be something Voldemort was big on.

"Are you afraid of me stealing your little treasure, Barty?" Voldemort asked, and his voice was sweet as honey. "Do you think I am that kind of person?"

Barty trembled in Voldemort's grip. His hands were clutching the fabric of his own robes over his thighs, and he could meet neither Harry's nor Voldemort's gaze.

"No, master," Barty whispered. "You are good, and just, and I… trust in your judgment."

"What do you think, Harry?" Voldemort asked in Parseltongue. "Could you get used to people kneeling to you?"

Harry considered that question. He also wondered why Barty was not allowed to know what they were talking about. Was this another test? But for him, or for Barty?

"This is Barty," Harry answered slowly, "not people. I could get used to Barty kneeling in front of me if that's what he likes, but I don't think I want to force people to kneel? That's… that's unfair, isn't it?"

"Is it unfair?" Voldemort asked and wrapped an arm around Harry's waist to hold him close and whisper in his ear. "Or is it just the natural order of things?"

Harry shivered, and he felt goosebumps rise on his arms and neck. "The natural order of things?"

"We are immortal, you and I, and I am the most powerful wizard in the world. I wield a legendary wand, and my followers will be ever growing in numbers from this day onwards," Voldemort hissed gleefully. "Am I not more than any other wizard? Is that not why people revere me and fear me in equal parts?"

Terrible, yes, but great. 

Harry trembled, but then he made himself stop—he sighed and let his body relax. When he allowed himself to sag back into Voldemort's embrace, he let his head loll onto the man's shoulder to stare at the white, stucco ceiling.

"That's not why Barty likes you though," Harry told him. "That's not why I like you either. We like you because you care for us, and give us a home, and because you're funny in a dark humour kinda way."

Voldemort scoffed. "Only the two of you would argue that me being nice to them is the reason for your… fondness for me. Everyone else rightfully thinks me a monster."

"But you're not," Harry argued. "You're a man. You're made of blood, flesh and bone like the rest of us—I was there, I know it's true. I feel your heart beating, and… since I'm a part of you, I know you're capable of love. As… cliché as that may sound."

Voldemort laughed, but it wasn't mocking. Rather, he sounded amused, and a little self-deprecating. "To think a part of me has such wisdom in these matters." 

"Wisdom? I'm flying by the seat of my pants," Harry laughed. "I've never loved anyone before Barty, so I'm really just a novice."

"Harry," Barty whispered hoarsely.

Voldemort was still holding onto Barty's chin, and the man shook his hand a little to make Barty look up at them.

Barty's blue eyes were wide. He looked… fearful, but in an anticipatory way.  Harry noticed that Barty's pupils were wide, too, and his breathing was a little ragged.

"Are you afraid of Voldemort, Barty?" Harry asked.

"I'd be a fool if I wasn't," Barty replied with a small laugh. 

"And are you afraid of me?" 

Barty stopped his nervous laugh and swallowed. He tried moving his head, but Voldemort's hold on his chin was unforgiving. Barty looked very handsome like this, Harry decided—a little desperate, very flushed, and altogether just… nice to look at.

"Sometimes, when you're both together, I'm…" Barty broke off and seemed to look for the proper words. "Sometimes, I'm afraid of both of you. Especially… especially now, because the implications–"

"I enjoy your fear, Barty," Voldemort said in his smoothest voice, "but much more than that, I enjoy your reverence for me. Do not fear my every word and deed. I am strict with you, but only because you ask it of me again and again."

"I want to be better," Barty replied—rather cryptically, Harry thought.

"Better than what?" he asked.

"Not better than," Voldemort explained for him when Barty began to struggle. "Better in general. Barty longs to be enough, is that not right?"

"Enough for what?" Harry demanded to know because while a picture was beginning to form inside his head, he still felt like a couple pieces were missing to complete it.

"For you," Barty admitted quietly, and Harry frowned.

"But… I told you that I love you, didn't I?" Harry reached out and put his hand on Barty's cheek. Voldemort's and his own hand were touching each other on Barty's skin, and Harry's fingers twitched. 

Barty bit his lip, and Harry liked seeing that. "I mean, for both of you," Barty clarified, and oh, yes, Harry was certain he understood now, especially with how Voldemort hissed and drew his hand back as if burned.

"Don't be mean," Harry chided him. "Barty has only given a voice to something we've discussed before."

"You what?" Voldemort asked, and for the first time, his voice sounded as high and breathy as it had while he'd been in that miserable golem form.

"We talked about this," Harry doubled down. "Only recently but… you know he loves you."

He added the last part in Parseltongue because Barty was sure to splutter and argue in mortification.

"I do," Voldemort admitted after a brief pause to seemingly collect his bearings. "I have known for… a while. That knowledge is what made me leave the relative safety of Albania. I knew that of all my followers, Barty never once renounced me, and never would."

"I told him that's why you came," Harry hissed and relaxed further back into Voldemort. "I told him you wouldn't have come back for anyone else. He was your only chance."

Barty shook his head. "It's… disconcerting for you to switch languages like this. I'm only getting half the information, and…"

"You get what I give you," Voldemort said, almost absent-mindedly, and Barty nodded his head faintly.

"Yes, master."

Harry's heartbeat quickened again. Voldemort's arm was still slung around his waist, and since his own arm was around Voldemort's shoulders and his neck, Harry pulled the man in closer until their cheeks touched. It felt incredibly intimate, but Voldemort was warm, and solid underneath him, and for the first time… Harry allowed himself to want that.

He wanted to be this close to Voldemort, and to have Barty kneel at their feet with his eyes full of love and loyalty.

So what if he was a part of Voldemort? The time he'd been without the man had been merely a small part of his life, and in the grand scheme of his dawning immortal life, that first year alone would mean nothing.

Immortality…

He became acutely aware of Voldemort's breath next to his ear, so he turned his face around to the man. Voldemort turned to face him as well, and Harry nervously licked his lips.

"What is going on in that head of yours, Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked.

"I am a part of you," Harry whispered into the negative space between their lips. "And I've finally realised what you mean by coming home."

"And what–"

Despite his heart threatening to burst from his chest with anticipation, Harry leaned forward and kissed those soft lips he'd been dreaming about more and more lately.

"Oh fuck," Barty whimpered from where he was kneeling, so Harry instinctively moved his hand from the man's cheek to his hair to pull at it—an echo of Voldemort's relentless grasp.

Voldemort, for his part, seemed to have gotten over his initial shock because with an uncharacteristic growl, he grabbed both sides of Harry's face with his large hands and deepened their kiss so forcefully that Harry's breath was knocked straight out of him.

Kissing Voldemort, Harry decided, was like everything he liked about the man, only more. Voldemort made him feel small, and safe, and not for the first time, Harry realised that these two men had done more for him in the past year than everyone else combined in all the years that he'd spent alone before meeting them.

But more than anything, kissing Voldemort was like standing in the eye of the storm. No matter the destruction that raged around them—here, within Voldemort's arms, he was going to be safe because Voldemort was the storm.

They parted, and Harry gasped for air. "Fuck," he muttered, and then again, "fuck."

Voldemort's pupils, black in a sea of red, slits though they were, were blown wide. 

"Mh," Voldemort hummed like the cat that got the cream and pinned Harry's gaze in place with an intense look. "Now watch me."

Harry watched from the corner of his eye how Voldemort reached for Barty. When a large hand closed over his own, still clutching Barty's hair, Harry heard Barty whimper again when Voldemort's long fingers buried themselves in his hair as well.

Voldemort pulled, and Barty let himself be pulled until he had to lean on an armrest with both hands. Barty and Voldemort's faces were close to each other, too close, but Voldemort was still looking at Harry.

Fuck. He was asking for permission, Harry realised, so he nodded breathlessly. "Do it, yes," he whispered. "He wants to be devoured by you, so… devour him."

Voldemort's grin turned almost feral, and when he finally turned away from Harry, his eyes met Barty's. The other man looked frightened, but in a good way, Harry supposed, and Voldemort crashed their mouths together.

Barty whimpered into the kiss, and Harry couldn't take his eyes off the way Voldemort's teeth pulled at Barty's bottom lip. 

"Yes," he found himself whispering, because Barty deserved to have this, and because apparently, Voldemort liked them enough to entertain the notion of kissing both of them, and then actually following through. 

Harry made to let go of Barty's hair, but Voldemort's hand over his only tightened its grip. So Harry watched Barty melt into Voldemort, and he was reasonably sure that if Voldemort asked Barty to share Harry's promised space inside his ribcage, he would have agreed in a heartbeat.

When they, too, parted, Barty's lips were red. Redder still was his face, and his eyes were hooded in a mixture of pleasure and worship.

"If that's what you call devour," Harry grinned, "then I suppose you need more practice."

Voldemort hummed in response. The man's lips were pinker than usual, and his pale cheeks had some colour to them. "I suppose I do," he muttered darkly. "So is this what you truly want, Harry? And you, Barty? I am not a… kind man, nor am I forgiving. I expect great things from myself, and in return from those close to me as well."

"If helping you take over Magical Britain is what it takes to get more kisses like that, I'm in," Harry agreed instantly. 

He had kissed Voldemort. He had kissed Voldemort, and the man had reciprocated and wanted to do it again.

"Seventeen years, master," Barty whispered. They'd let go of his hair and he was back to kneeling, but he was looking up without being prompted this time. "That's how long I've been waiting for this moment. I'm, I want this, I've always wanted this—I'll burn down the world for you, either of you, if that's what it takes to keep you."

Harry felt his heart burst with love for the silly man kneeling in front of him. "You already started today, Barty, and I love you for it."

"I love you too, Harry," Barty replied earnestly, and Harry leaned down until they could share a sweet, slow kiss between them—all soft lips, and gentle caresses. 

Voldemort's arm tightened around Harry's waist when they parted, and his other hand engulfed the side of Barty's face.

"Then it is decided," the man said with a voice so dark that if Harry hadn't known what they were talking about, he would have guessed that Voldemort had just completed some kind of dark magic ritual. "Never once ask to be free of me completely, because I will oblige you."

He looked at Harry and Barty in turn with a stern expression, but all Harry could see was little Tommy in his knickerbockers with his wardrobe on fire.

"I won't ever abandon you," Harry promised, and because he'd decided to embrace the part of him he hadn't known about, he added: "We are one, you and I. You won't get rid of me that easily."

"For what it's worth," Barty continued from where Harry had left of, a little self-conscious, "thirteen years someone else's slave have taught me that I want to serve no one but you, master. Say jump, I jump. Say fight, I fight. Say die… and I will. I'm yours—I've always been yours."

"You won't die," Harry declared. "Not ever. He'll never tell you to die, and I promised to protect you."

"I will not tell you to die," Voldemort agreed. His expression was still hard, but Harry had an inkling that if the man wasn't playing at being strict and in control right now, he just might become overly emotional. "You may not be a part of me, Barty, but you belong to me nonetheless. I will not let you go."

"Thank you, master," Barty replied with a suspiciously wobbly voice, and he had to avert his gaze and rest his forehead once again against Voldemort's thigh.

If Barty needed a bit of a cry, Harry was one hundred percent down to let him have it and turned to Voldemort instead. "You look pretty hot, you know? Like. Proper handsome. I've been dying to tell you that."

Voldemort's lip did that thing where it curled up at the edge, and then he took Harry's face in his hands, pulled him in close, and kissed him again.

"Why thank you, Harry," he purred when he let Harry breathe again. "It ought to go without saying, but I would touch neither of you with the intent to give pleasure if you were not pleasing to the eye."

And that, Harry supposed, was as far as Voldemort was able to go to call Barty and him handsome for now. And really? It was enough. 

He laughed, and then he leaned forward to steal another small kiss from the man.

"I won't make you regret this," he promised.

Voldemort inclined his head and held Harry's gaze. "I know you won't, my little horcrux."

Chapter 34

Dinner that evening was going to be quiet, Harry supposed.

In the evening, Tom briefly Apparated home to get a change of clothes for himself and inform them that he was staying at the Lovegoods' place until the next day.

Apparently, Luna's dad had been informed of the recent turn of events after all, and was in a bit of distress.

The ensuing discussion between Voldemort and Tom about just why Tom thought it was his place, or his duty, to lend a helping hand, was one Harry would have liked to have been privy to. Alas, the two variants had that conversation alone after an initial battle of wits out in the open.

Apparently, it ended with Tom "winning" because the boy was leaving again, but Voldemort didn't look particularly mad about it.

"Why don't you want him to leave?" Harry asked. "Out of anyone, you yourself ought to know what you are capable of."

Voldemort huffed. "I know my limitations, especially as they were back then. Albus Dumbledore is still out there, and even without the wand I took from him, he is still a dangerous foe for my sixteen-year-old self."

"Tom isn't just your sixteen-year-old self anymore though," Harry reminded Voldemort. "He's… he's different than you were back then."

"While that might be true, he will still lose to Dumbledore," Voldemort grumbled with a wave of his hand. "I cannot take any more chances with that man—I need to kill him."

"Won't he be at Sirius' trial on Friday?" Harry asked. "Maybe you can kill him then?"

Harry felt a brief moment of disconnect when he realised just what he was suggesting. A time and date for killing someone? Really?

"Look at you," Voldemort smirked because of course he'd noticed Harry taking all his morals in his hands and throwing them down into a ditch. "How nonchalantly you talk about me murdering your old mentor."

But surprisingly, that was not what Harry found himself getting angry about. He glared at Voldemort. "Mentor?" he repeated with disbelief sharpening the tone of his voice. "That man is no mentor of mine, Voldemort. He doesn't deserve that title!"

Voldemort hummed in understanding. "To be honest with you, I am… astounded by the fact that for all his being a teacher, he never taught anything. He has had students he favoured over others, but there was never–"

"He never had a Barty?" Harry asked. "Or, who was that other one you mentioned? Evan Rosier?"

Voldemort nodded. "Yes. Or Bellatrix Lestrange, but we must not mention that name around Barty of course lest we wish to suffer his wrath."

"Isn't that stupid? All that knowledge, lost to the times. And he even had Barty, if briefly, right? I can't imagine Dumbledore didn't see his potential."

Instead of answering, Voldemort went over to the dining table, already set, and uncorked a bottle of a wine that just from the label alone looked incredibly expensive. Then again, maybe that was just all wine bottle labels.

"His loss is my gain," Voldemort said quietly and sniffed at the contents of the bottle. 

Harry nodded in agreement and allowed himself to ogle a bit while Voldemort was occupied with the wine bottle. The man was tall, that much Harry had of course known about since the beginning. But he was also, despite his tallness, graceful. Like a snake, his mind supplied, and Harry was beginning to think of those stray thoughts as maybe Tommy's influence.

The dark robes he was wearing, open overrobe going down to just slightly over his knees, only accentuated the long, hard lines of the man's body. He was broad-shouldered, but his hips and waist were slim, and Harry grinned and ducked his head because he felt giddy that someone as… conventionally attractive as this would even look at him.

And his face. Voldemort was all high cheekbones, and strong jaw, and those expertly styled brown curls framed his eyes just right. Those eyes, especially, were a source of much woe for Harry nowadays with how he couldn't focus on anything else when Voldemort was looking at him.

"Like what you see?" Voldemort asked and Harry had half a mind to splutter and blush.

But he had kissed Voldemort, and Voldemort had kissed back.

"Very," Harry replied with just a hint of a burning sensation on his cheeks. "I told you—you look… good. Very good."

Voldemort chuckled and set the bottle back on the table. When he made his way over to Harry, it honest to God looked like a tiger on the prowl or something even though the man was just walking.

Upon reaching him, Voldemort put his hands on Harry's shoulders and waited for him to look up. "Look as much as you want," Voldemort told him in a dark voice. "What is mine is yours."

Harry trembled. It hadn't been three hours since their… declarations to each other, but even in that brief amount of time, Voldemort had changed. He had become touchier than before, with both Harry and Barty, and Harry found he didn't mind one bit.

The butterflies in his stomach agreed violently and fluttered against their flesh prison as if they wanted to tickle him to death. Also, it was probably time to stop with the shitty metaphors again.

"I want to do more than look," Harry admitted, and he got on his tiptoes to lean up and press a kiss to Voldemort's lips.

"Mhh," Voldemort hummed into the chaste kiss and let his hands stroke from Harry's shoulders down over his upper arms until they grabbed his waist and pulled him in. "Yes. I could get used to that."

"You should," Harry whispered, and he let himself sink back down to his feet.

Instead of letting go completely, Voldemort kept one hand on Harry's shoulder. "Come, Barty has been taking longer than usual to prepare dinner."

Probably because he's a hot mess right now, Harry thought. The man had asked to be allowed to prepare dinner on his own this evening for a chance to order his thoughts, and Harry had readily obliged him. What had to be running through Barty's mind? Disbelief? Happiness? Maybe jealousy?

To his own surprise, Harry found he didn't feel any jealousy at all—at least not yet. He simply wanted both of these men, and to be wanted in return. As far as he was concerned, for the time being, that was enough. 

In the kitchen, Barty had several pans and pots going at once, and everything smelled delicious. He was so engulfed in cooking he didn't even notice their approach from the back, and Voldemort bade Harry be quiet with a finger to his lips.

Grinning, Harry watched Voldemort sneak closer, mischievous smirk on his face, until he was right behind Barty and cleared his throat. To Barty's credit, he didn't drop anything. Instead, he turned around quickly and looked up at Voldemort with his eyes wide.

"Hello, master," he greeted with a shy smile and gestured at the food behind him. "I'll be done soon, just ten more minutes."

"That… smells delicious," Voldemort complimented and reached out to put his hand on Barty's shoulders after he'd surveyed the soon-to-be feast. "Beef Wellington with mashed potatoes and roasted brussels sprouts, Barty? Sentimental fool—and you call yourself a death eater."

Voldemort was laughing as he talked, and Harry snuck closer too. "What's sentimental about Beef Wellington?" he asked.

"They served this exact meal during my first night at Hogwarts," Voldemort explained. "I told Barty about how even decades afterwards, it remained my favourite meal. He promised to cook it for me on a special occasion. So, Barty, what is the occasion?"

"Oh, just the fulfillment of all my hopes and dreams in one fell swoop, nothing much," Barty shrugged nonchalantly, but his shy grin was infectious enough to make Harry giggle.

Before the man turned back to the food, he squeezed Voldemort's hand on his shoulder. Despite Barty's best efforts, Harry could tell the man was still tense, so he went over and hugged him from behind.

"I love you," he muttered into the fabric of Barty's simple, grey robes.

Barty put his hand over Harry's and squeezed it. "I love you, too. Now, I need to drain some potatoes."

Harry let go and stepped back next to Voldemort. He hesitated briefly, but then he leaned against the man's side, and Voldemort moved to put an arm over his shoulders.

"He's adorable," Harry hissed. "Grown men are not allowed to be this adorable."

"I am afraid I am beginning to see what you mean," Voldemort admitted. "Come, he needs some more time. I will pour the drinks while we wait."

-o-

Barty joined them with all the food floating next to him soon enough. He settled everything down on the table with a wave of his hand and then took his place to Voldemort's right. 

They cheered to themselves, and Harry nipped at the wine glass he'd argued Voldemort into giving him. Immediately after sipping, he made a face and pushed it away from him because it was so bitter.

"Okay, okay, you were right," he sighed and grabbed the bottle of butterbeer Voldemort had put on the table, just in case.

To his credit, Voldemort did not gloat. Then again, that might have been because he was busy eating faster than Harry had ever seen him eat. He hadn't been lying about this being his favourite food!

When they were done eating, Voldemort looked over at Barty with a calculating expression. "Due to this being a special occasion, I have a gift for you."

"Oh?" Barty asked, intrigued. 

Voldemort took his yew wand from a pocket somewhere and held it out to Barty. "You used it well, and I have no more need of it. If you want it, it is yours."

Barty nodded vigorously even before Harry had fully registered what Voldemort had said.

"Yes, master, I would like that very much," he professed. "And… I swear I will never point it at you again."

"I am sure you will, in some way or another," Voldemort mused, "but never maliciously. Eternity is a long time, after all."

Harry saw Barty swallow. "So you really want to use the elixir of life on me, master?"

"Who else? Everyone else I care about already is immortal."

Barty nodded, expression guarded but thankful. "I… appreciate this more than you can imagine. Or, knowing you, you probably can."

"Indeed," Voldemort agreed with a smirk.

-o-

That evening after dinner, Harry decided to try and call Sirius again. He wouldn't be able to share the day's events with his godfather, of course, but he supposed it would be nice to see a friendly face and maybe get some distance from the events of the last week.

"Prongs," Harry whispered from where he was leaning against the headboard of his bed, and the mirror flickered to life almost immediately. 

"Harry!" Sirius greeted him enthusiastically. "You look good! Are you good?"

"Thanks, Sirius, I really am," Harry answered quickly. "It's nice not to share a bathroom with four other boys for an extended period of time."

"I do not miss the days of dorming," Sirius laughed. "Just two more days, eh, kiddo? Just gotta get Wednesday and Thursday over with, and then I'm a free man. I mean, hopefully—you never know."

Harry shook his head. "No, you will be. I made sure of it."

"You made—oh. Oh, no, I get it. Okay, yes." Sirius looked nervous, all of a sudden, and Harry couldn't fault him. He'd basically admitted to being allowed to ask for favours. Big ones, too.

"How much of the trial, apart from revealing Pettigrew was… ah, no. I don't think I want to know. What I do want to know is what fresh hell Lucius Malfoy crawled back out of?"

"I let him go because he loves his family," Harry muttered.

And that, as they say, was it. Harry could watch in real time as the nervous tension rolled off Sirius' shoulders. "Of course you did," the man laughed, and there were tears in his dark eyes. "You're still you, aren't you? Brave little Gryffindor, just like me!"

"You stood up to Dumbledore then?" Harry asked. "I bet he wasn't happy about you wanting to choose your own fate."

"Hah, no. He was, in fact, so furious I thought he was about to hex my head off. Sirius Black, how can you live with yourself if you don't support me in my and our country's hour of need?" Sirius wheezed in a generic-old-man voice. "Told him to fuck right off outta my house. Where was he when I needed him!"

"Welcome to my world," Harry muttered. "Look, Sirius, I need you to humour me, okay? Imagine if… imagine if Voldemort had survived back then, right? And when he freed all his captured death eaters from Azkaban, he took you with him too, just because he could. And, uh, afterwards, they nurse you back to health, and they give you a home, food, and like, everything you need?"

Sirius looked very sad when Harry was done describing his little scenario, and Harry bit his lip. 

"Sorry, Sirius, I–"

"No, no, it's just… being totally honest here? Even if it had been Snivellus coming to save me from that place, I would have kissed his feet and followed him outside like a good boy. I know what you're going through, what you did go through at Lily's sister's place, and I… I get it."

Harry let those words wash over him and felt a burden lift from his shoulders that he hadn't known he'd carried. Vindication, Tommy supplied helpfully, and Harry grinned fondly.

"Speaking of Snivellus…" he said. "He's… I know where he is. He's a prisoner."

"I don't care what happens to him," Sirius said with a hard glint in his eye. "Don't tell me where he is, or how he is. Once I see his obituary, I will drink a toast in honour of whoever ended his miserable existence."

That was harsh. Harry noticed the minute it registered in Sirius' head, and the man backpedaled faster than Harry had ever seen anyone backpedal.

"No, Harry, no, forget what I said," Sirius said in a high-pitched voice that made Harry giggle. "Stop laughing, I'm being serious here. I do not condone murder."

"Even if it's like, Pettigrew?" Harry asked with a challenge to his voice. 

Sirius pointed at him, and then the man waggled his finger accusingly. "Well played, Harry Potter, well played. I am not commenting on that, because I am not a corruptor. I am a corruptee, as evidenced by the haunted abode full of dark and terrible magicks that I'm forced to reside in!"

Sirius turned the mirror over to show Harry a vision of a perfectly normal if slightly dark and dusty drawing room.

"It looks nice?" he commented.

"Ah, the bleak and dreary atmosphere doesn't translate well over mirror. I'll have to show you in person, one of those days. But take this, for example–"

Here, Sirius held up a candle holder from the table in front of him. The minute he turned it on its head, a great blast of fire shot out from beneath, and Harry gasped.

"See? And I found that out the hard way!" Sirius complained as he trampled out the fire remnants on his rug. "I can't wait to have a wand again after Friday. I already booked an appointment at Ollivander's."

Watching Sirius with the dark artefact, Harry felt his face heat up with the realisation that Regulus had been Sirius' brother. What if…! Barty had commented that Sirius might be in the old 'Black townhouse', so maybe Regulus had lived there, too.

"So… this is where you grew up?" Harry asked. "Must have been weird to grow up like this."

"I mean, not really?" Sirius shrugged and turned the mirror back around so it showed his face instead of the dreary drawing room. "Until I came to Hogwarts, this was all I really knew, you know? But your dad and the others, they showed me that life could be so much more fun than boring dinner parties and complaints about this, that and the next muggle."

"Yeah, I can imagine," Harry laughed. "Maybe I can come visit you there sometime? I'd like to find out some more about you."

Sirius looked beyond thrilled, and Harry told himself that he was only half-lying. He might have ulterior motives, but he also really wanted to meet Sirius, and to get to know him better. Now he only had to persuade Voldemort that letting him into the lion's den was a good idea.

"What about Lupin?" Harry asked to take his mind off his bad conscience. "Have you been in touch with him?"

"Oh, Remus? Sure!" Sirius grinned. "We've exchanged some letters, met up a couple times here and there. Why? You miss him?"

Harry couldn't help his face closing off. "Well, not anymore."

Sirius frowned in confusion, and the way he cocked his head reminded Harry of a dog. "What do you mean?"

"It's a bit of a sore subject, you know?" he admitted. "When Lupin was my teacher, he gave me special lessons so I could defend myself against the dementors, but he never… I never knew he knew my parents? Or you, for that matter. I just thought… someone liked me for myself and saw my potential? But it was probably just him trying to do my parents a favour. And then, after third year, I didn't hear anything from him, and believe me, I tried. I sent him two letters, heartfelt ones, and I didn't so much get a 'Sorry, I can't do this, Harry.' back."

He noticed his own voice getting louder, and faster, and he had to get up from his bed and start pacing so as not to get overwhelmed by his own frustration.

"Shit," Sirius cursed emphatically. "No, yeah, I get how that's… wow. We didn't, I mean, we talked briefly about you, and he said what a good student you were, but I never knew he never…"

"Well, yeah, he didn't," Harry emphasized again. 

"Ahh, I'm sorry, Harry," Sirius sighed. "With Remus, it's tricky, you know? He's… a good man, but he's steeped so deeply in a pit of self-loathing because of that stupid curse that, well."

"I literally have a curse scar on my head and everyone knows my name. I was branded the Heir of Slytherin in second year because I can talk to snakes. Sirius, I know about adversity, and I still manage to take care of people close to me."

Sirius' grey eyes bored into his, and Harry wondered whether Sirius, too, knew Legilimency. "Damn, kiddo. You grew up, this past year. You're… I know it sounds stupid, but you, ah, matured? Please don't be too hard on Remus—he's already hard enough on himself."

Harry thought of rose-coloured spectacles and didn't feel like taking the last link to the past that still remained for Sirius—apart from his dead best friend's son. "It's just… I would have liked to have someone reach out before I went to Hogwarts, you know?"

Sirius snorted. "Yeah, I only met Lily's sister once, at your parents' wedding, but… she was a piece of work, alright. You mentioned how they treated you badly in your letters, so maybe… we could get a muggle lawyer and send them to muggle prison or something?"

Harry glowered and shook his head. "No need."

Sirius paused. "What's with that dark look?"

"Someone else already took care of it earlier today."

"Harry…"

"Voldemort and Barty pulverised the whole street with fiendfyre." Harry was surprised by how cold he sounded when he said it. "Uncle Vernon beat me with a pan, and I'm so short for my age because they starved me—and that's just two of many unforgivable instances of, well, abuse they put me through. I don't regret allowing my friends to kill for me."

"Wow. Okay. I just… okay." Sirius fell silent and stared off into the distance. He looked to be deep in thought, and they were silent for a long while. 

During their verbal ceasefire, Harry's thoughts raced a mile a minute. He was once again reminded of slippery slopes and how difficult it was to crawl back up once you'd slithered down.

"Do you think I'm a bad person, Sirius?" Harry asked eventually because that silence was very telling. 

"Uhm," Sirius hummed awkwardly. "I don't think you're necessarily a bad person? I mean, you didn't go there and kill your family and a bunch of muggles in cold blood yourself, right?" 

Harry sighed. "So you think Barty and Voldemort are bad people."

"Harry, Voldemort is literally a mass murderer, and Barty was imprisoned for torturing two people into insanity."

"Barty says he did a lot of things, but not that," Harry argued, because he didn't like the idea of a ruthless torturer Barty, and he didn't want others to think of him that way either.

Sirius massaged the spot between his eyebrows, and Harry had to think of Voldemort doing the same motion. He blushed a little because thinking of Voldemort made him remember what happened today and–

"Look, Harry, I'm just… you changed, okay? Not that I knew you well or anything, but… don't become like them, okay? Try to stay the sweet boy that I know you are."

Harry nodded and made an effort to smile at Sirius. How was he supposed to explain that he literally was them, or at least part of one of them, and that Barty, too, was very, very sweet if you got to know him.

There was a knock at the door and Harry saw Sirius perk up from the corner of his eye.

"Come in," he called out, and smiled when he saw it was Barty who was holding a glass of water and a bowl.

"Hello, Harry," Barty greeted him. "I brought you a glass of water and a snack since all our sleeping schedules are still kinda wonky, and I—oh, sorry, are you talking to Sirius?"

"It's fine," Harry shrugged. "I'm only arguing with Sirius about the dichotomy of good and evil, and about how most matters of morality are on a greyscale. You see, some people can be wanted criminals and still be kind enough to provide their little allies with a bedtime snack."

"Harry, I'm not saying Barty isn't a good dude or anything," Sirius protested. "Here, give him that mirror. I've known him longer than you."

Harry took the glass of water from Barty and simply handed the perplexed man the communication mirror. The bowl contained a sliced-up apple, and he took that, too, before moving to sit at his desk.

"Hello, Barty," Sirius said in a voice that wasn't as warm as the one he used with Harry.

"Sirius," Barty greeted right back, "I hope things are good with you—or at least as well as they can be, considering the circumstances."

"They've been worse," Sirius allowed, and Harry snorted quietly. "You look terrible."

"Why thank you, I try," Barty replied snarkily. "You've looked better, too. I suppose Azkaban just does that to you."

"Bah, don't name that place," Sirius spat. "So what's the deal here? Man to man. What does that Dark Lord of yours plan with my godson?"

"I am still right here, Sirius," Harry reminded him.

"It's fine, Harry, I can handle him," Barty laughed. "The Marauders could never harass me back then, and they have no power over me now. My master plans to provide Harry with whatever material needs he may have in exchange for his social influence for his campaign to gain control of the ministry."

He made it sound like a very professional business relationship. Harry had a brief vision of Barty as the one to face the press under Voldemort's new rule, and he remembered that thought for later.

"He wants Harry's considerable influence in exchange for room and board? Harry, that's a bad deal!"

"I like living here."

Harry heard Sirius grumble to himself before continuing. "How long has he known you, Barty? The real you, I mean."

To his credit, Barty looked to Harry for permission, and Harry granted it with a shrug while he continued eating his apple. It was just this side of crunchy with the faintest hint of a sour taste.

"Since shortly after the second task of the tournament," Barty answered.

"Since the—but that's hardly been three months! Harry, you don't even—Barty, give him back that mirror!"

Harry received the mirror with a growing uneasiness in his stomach so he pushed the bowl away. 

"Sirius, Barty has been nice even while posing as Alastor Moody," Harry tried to reassure the man. "I've only known you in person for a couple hours, you know? I know I can trust Barty, and Voldemort too."

Harry watched Sirius go through all five stages of grief that Hermione had told him about in real time before the man visibly deflated. "I know, Harry," he muttered tiredly. "I should have been there. Remus should have been there, too… there were so many people who failed you, and I'm… I'm so incredibly sorry it had to be those two, of all people, who finally showed you some kindness."

Barty, who wasn't in the line of vision of the mirror, took a step back. He looked miserable, and Harry got it. Somehow, the defeated way in which Sirius had said it made it sting even worse.

"Please don't be mean to my friends," Harry said in a voice that came out harsher than he intended. "I carved out a place for myself, and I won't have people who are dear to me put down, okay? Even if you disagree with them."

Sirius returned Harry's hard stare with a sad smile. "That's fair, Harry, and I apologise. I have a lot to atone for, I know. I know I put my foot in my mouth a lot, Barty can assure you that it's always been this way, but… I like to think my heart's in the right place, yeah?"

And that was the problem, wasn't it? As far as Harry could tell, Sirius was a genuinely good person, and he was a little sad he couldn't have it all. Maybe, after Voldemort was properly in power, Sirius would understand..?

"I won't forget that," Harry promised, "and I do want to meet you and build a relationship. I'm not in some… ivory tower or whatever."

"Okay," Sirius said and slapped a smile on his face. "Things are transitioning, I can see that. Please keep in touch—I always have an open ear for you."

"Thanks, Sirius. Let's meet up soon!"

"I'd… like that a lot. Good night, Harry."

"Bye, Sirius."

Harry deactivated the mirror and sighed down at it before opening a desk drawer and dumping the artefact in there.

"I think he's trying really hard not to judge me and failing miserably," Harry muttered and buried his face in his hands.

"I'm afraid you're right."

Barty came over to him and held his arms open. Harry got up from the chair and wrapped his arms around Barty's neck so he could hide his face in the pale, warm flesh of the man's throat.

"When are you planning on meeting him?" Barty asked.

"Soon," Harry answered. "The locket is probably somewhere in that townhouse."

Barty stilled against him. "Is that why you were nice to Sirius? Because he might have the locket?"

"Yes? No. Maybe a little?" Harry couldn't answer this question honestly because he didn't know the answer himself. "I like him. I just… I don't think he likes me much anymore. And he said you looked terrible, which is a lie, because you're beautiful."

Barty snorted. "I'm not. I might accept handsome on a good day, but I'm not beautiful."

Harry leaned back and eyed Barty warily. "Have you seen yourself? That new hairstyle with the sides a little shorter suits you a lot, and you have these wonderful blue eyes, and that nice smile, and that dimple on your right cheek is adorable, and–"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Barty laughed. "The most beautiful young man on the planet thinks I'm a catch, I'll take that."

Mollified, Harry snuggled back in. "About today," he started, a little unsure, "that was all fine with you? Voldemort's… he's pretty harsh with you, isn't he?"

Harry could feel Barty's pulse quicken under his nose, and the man's skin felt warmer. "Uhm… About that," Barty mumbled.

"It's okay if you like it when he's all strict," Harry told him. "Truth be told… I liked him being strict with you, too. I wouldn't want my hair pulled like that, but, eh, I did quite enjoy pulling yours?"

"Haaah, okay," Barty chuckled nervously. "I mean, like you said—you're part of him, so… yeah, okay. Okay."

In particular, Harry had enjoyed the power he'd felt with Barty as… obedient as he'd been. He still wasn't sure about his stance on making people kneel against their will, but if they wanted to kneel?

Harry leaned back a little and positioned his lips right next to Barty's ear. "Would you kneel for me, too?" He asked, and he could practically feel Barty's knees turn to jello with how the man shivered.

"Harry–" The fingers on his waist twitched.

"On your knees," Harry commanded in the same tone of voice Voldemort had used, and Barty went down, head bowed.

Harry could nevertheless see the exquisite blush on Barty's cheeks. That much obedience filled something cold and empty in his chest, something he'd never quite noticed before, with a heady kind of warmth. Was this also the horcrux' influence? Was this the price he paid for allowing Tommy free reign over his mindscape?

Harry reached down and let his fingers card through Barty's blonde hair. Now that the man had been himself for a couple days again, it was regaining some of its shine and looked more like Luna's hair in colour as well as texture by the day. 

"Harry," Barty whispered, desperately, and Harry obliged him by burying his fingers deep in the man's hair and pulling his head back enough to give Harry easy access for a kiss.

To Harry's delight, Barty groaned into the kiss as if he was in pain. That made Harry try the thing Voldemort had done where he'd lightly pulled at Barty's lower lip with his teeth, and he was rewarded with another strained groan. 

When he pulled back, Barty looked up at him all greedily, and Harry grinned. "I could very much get used to this." 

Barty nodded dreamily, but on top of looking very handsome with his lips all red and his hair mussed up, Harry noticed he also looked beyond tired, and that he was putting up a heroic facade.

"For now, you should go to sleep," Harry whispered against the man's lips, and Barty sighed.

"I should. I haven't told you yet, but my master provides me with more potions than the one for dreamless sleep. They are supposed to heal my body from the ordeals of the last decade, and… they pretty much knock me out. I should drink them and go to sleep to let them do their thing."

Harry smiled widely. "That was an excellent idea by Voldemort. I hope they help make you feel all better soon."

Instead of answering with words, Barty leaned forwards and hugged Harry's stomach very tightly. 

Harry patted Barty's hair and grinned to himself. "I love you too."

-o-

When Harry knocked at the door to Voldemort's room half an hour later, Barty was probably already fast asleep. Voldemort opened the door himself instead of calling him in, and Harry smiled up at him.

"We need to talk," he said, and a hint of worry passed over Voldemort's face. It was hidden as quickly as it had appeared, but Harry chuckled indulgently anyway. "Not to worry. I might know where your last horcrux is, and I know how to get it."

Voldemort's eyes widened, and he bade Harry inside with a gesture. "Do tell. I have not been able to locate it and I was beginning to think…"

"It's in the Black townhouse," Harry answered confidently. "I talked to Sirius earlier, and he said it's chock-full of dark artefacts."

Voldemort looked calculating, but then his stoic expression morphed into a smirk. "You continue to astound me."

"I aim to please," Harry grinned, but then his expression darkened. "I think Sirius is… I think he thinks I'm a lost cause? I told him about the Dursleys, and, well. He agrees that lots of people failed me, but I feel like he doesn't like the direction I've taken in dealing with that?"

Instead of answering, Voldemort reached out for him. Harry let himself be pulled along to the man's bed and readily climbed into it when Voldemort kept pulling him. They ended up both leaning against the headboard with their backs, with Voldemort's arm slung across Harry's shoulders. Voldemort buried his nose in Harry's hair, and Harry found he really liked how touchy the man had gotten since their kiss.

If anything, it helped soothe a feeling of restlessness he'd never quite been able to shake off.

"It might be there. You ought to go there before the trial—before Sirius Black gains access to a wand."

"You think he'll attack me?" Harry clarified. 

"I think we ought to be careful," Voldemort replied. "As much as you trust him… He might feel like he is doing his duty as your godfather by kidnapping you right back. I have never quite understood that man, so I cannot be sure."

Harry snorted because Voldemort not understanding how someone worked seemed funny. Then again, Sirius was a bit of a mystery, wasn't he? A Black, a Gryffindor, a rebel, a friend… 

"So you're coming with me?" Harry asked.

"Mhh, no." Voldemort buried his nose deeper into Harry's hair. "The Black family wards are ancient and powerful. They will not like me with the intentions I bring. I shall send Barty with you, concealed under the cloak."

"Barty hates invisibility cloaks," Harry reminded the man.

"He will wear it if I ask it of him. Besides, he has Black blood on his father's side so the wards will be more lenient."

Harry nodded slowly. "No, that's probably the best way to do it then? I'll talk to him about accompanying me."

There was little to be said afterwards, so Harry allowed the silence to drape over them like a heavy blanket. Voldemort was a warm, solid presence beside him, and Harry snuggled in a little closer.

-o-

Apparently, the events of the day had left Harry beyond tired because when he woke up, he was still in Voldemort's bed.

A great sense of mortification washed over him, but he needn't have worried. In the harsh but beautiful light of the early morning sun, Voldemort was sitting at his desk with a quill in his hand. 

He was looking out the window, maybe deep in thought, and Harry wrestled his glasses on his nose to see the man properly. Voldemort had a nice profile, and Harry snuggled deeper into the blankets because they smelled like Voldemort.

How could he have fallen asleep here? Had he let his guard down this much? It had taken him ages to fall asleep in the Dursley household, and even at the Burrow, he'd lain awake for hours at a time before he'd been able to turn off his fight or flight response.

Was he really this lost to the man?

"Sleep well?" Voldemort asked without turning his way and Harry grinned.

"Better than I remember in recent times," he answered.

Voldemort frowned and cocked his head the slightest degree to the left. "You may come here whenever you have trouble falling asleep. I believe I told you I hardly sleep? You may use the bed while I write my correspondence."

I'd rather have you in here with me, is what Harry thought but didn't say. He wanted Voldemort, and he wanted Barty, too, but it was only a vague sort of want, and he didn't think he was remotely ready for anything that involved any amount of taking off of clothes. 

"I appreciate that offer," Harry muttered quietly and cocooned himself deeper into the blanket. "After breakfast, I'm calling Sirius. I'm getting the locket for you—today."

Voldemort perked up, and Harry couldn't fault him. It had to be delirious to get part of yourself back—especially so if it was tied to your own immortality. 

-o-

In the end, it didn't take a lot of work to persuade Barty to wear the cloak. The mere prospect of getting to protect Harry while also reclaiming a piece of his master's soul was enough to make Barty vibrate with excitement.

"You will be very careful," Voldemort repeated, not for the first time.

"Yes, master," Barty replied, and Harry could tell there had to be a concentrated effort behind the scenes not to roll his eyes at least a little. "I am an accomplished duelist, and Sirius doesn't have a wand."

"It is not Sirius I am worried about."

Voldemort ended up delivering Harry and Barty into the small park across from Grimmauld Place and waited, unglamoured, for Harry and an invisible Barty to make their way to house number twelve.

The townhouse, as Sirius had warned, was a dreary affair. It was at least three stories high, maybe even with an attic floor, and judging by its atmosphere, it wouldn't have been amiss in Knockturn Alley. 

"Lovely," Harry murmured, but he couldn't help but grin anyways. This was where Sirius had grown up, so it was a piece of his own history as well.

What Harry hadn't expected was for Sirius to throw the door open quite as forcefully as he did. The man stormed out and took the steps leading down from the front door three at a time before crushing Harry in an enthusiastic hug.

"I'm so glad you came, Harry," Sirius told him earnestly and Harry returned the hug just as tightly because he was a master at hugging by now.

"Me too, Sirius, believe me."

Sirius held Harry by the shoulders, an arm length away, when they were done hugging and inspected him as if looking for damages. 

"And you're fine?" Sirius asked. "Really, truly fine? Because while I'm still technically a convict, I have ways to… save you, if you need it."

Harry shook his head. "I don't need saving. I'm already saved."

With that, he turned back toward Voldemort and raised his hand with three fingers extended upward—their agreed-upon signal that Harry felt like things were going to be fine. He got the same sign in return, and then Voldemort Apparated away.

Barty had to have seized the moment as well and entered the Black townhouse while the door was open, so Harry let himself be led inside by Sirius.

"He looks just like back then…" Sirius muttered as he closed the door and stayed facing it. 

"Voldemort?" Harry asked. "He is immortal, you know?"

"Yeah, no, I'm… I'm getting that impression," Sirius sighed and turned toward Harry. "But he's nice to you? No… torture? No abuse?"

"I would choose him over the Dursleys any day," Harry answered quickly. "I've never been better."

"And Barty… I only knew him peripherally. He's okay, too? Not menacing because you technically killed his beloved Dark Lord or anything?"

Harry had to suppress a smile. "It's literally all good, Sirius. For the first time, it feels like I'm living outside Hogwarts and not just… biding my time."

Sirius still looked conflicted, but Harry knew it was only natural. So when Sirius proposed a little tour, Harry agreed easily and followed like a good little duckling. Like Sirius had said, it was an old house with many questionable objects cluttered throughout. Harry kept his eyes peeled for the locket Voldemort had drawn for them and trusted that Barty would do the same.

When they sat down in the kitchen for tea and some biscuits, Harry allowed himself to relax. Sirius was… fine. He was nice, a little witty now and then, and he tried very hard not to make Harry feel guilty for his choices.

He'd spoken to Voldemort about this and wondered who'd been coaching Sirius like this. Voldemort proposed Sirius might be seeing a mind healer which Harry had found a very sensible idea. Both Harry and Voldemort had proposed the same idea to Barty only to be met with excuses but he wasn't yet done on that front.

"And you live here all on your own?" Harry asked quietly. "Except for that crotchety old house elf, I mean."

"I mean, the headmaster stayed here for a bit. And there was, well… sometimes, there were a couple others but I'm really not, you know. Remus comes by sometimes, as does my solicitor. That's gotta be enough for now."

"No more Order headquarters?" Harry asked innocently.

Sirius eyed him shrewdly. "I'm in the process of getting rid of one big target on my back. I don't need another."

"You're being very sensible," Harry nodded.

The last thing he needed was for Sirius to join, or rejoin, what Barty had called "The Order of the Phoenix" and which, apparently, his parents and all their friends had been members of.

"If you're on the Dark Lord's side, I can't stand with Dumbledore," Sirius declared and stared into his mug. "You're all that's left of—I just can't."

"What does Lupin say to that?"

"That doesn't matter here, pup," Sirius sighed, but Harry perked up.

"Please don't call me that," he asked politely. "You called me that in a letter, too, and… I don't appreciate it, I'm sorry."

"Ah, no, that's fine, I'm just. Must have spent too much time as a dog—it certainly feels good to be fully human again."

"Feels like waking up?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"It's how I feel, too. No more walking on eggshells, no more empty stomachs."

What a miserable world, Harry thought. To think everyone he knew had been unhappy in one way or another until so very recently!

"He'll make it better," Harry promised. "He said he'd make all of it better."

Sirius merely returned Harry's gaze a little awkwardly. "I'm sure he will, in one capacity or another."

Harry wondered whether Sirius had broken things off with the Order because of him. What would happen to Sirius if he was caught between the two fronts? Harry decided he wouldn't let that happen.

"So you're really going to be staying with him? With Voldemort, I mean. For, uh, the foreseeable future?"

"I am getting tired of repeating myself, Sirius." Harry said with force because he felt that Sirius should have understood it by now. "I'm staying with Voldemort and Barty, and that's not changing anytime soon."

Sirius made a face and threw something on the table between them. As far as Harry could tell, it was a simple bracelet made of some kind of shiny metal. "Dumbledore gave me this. Said that if you came here and refused to renounce Voldemort, I was to put it on you. Can you imagine? Why would I force you if you didn't want to? That's no better than being a prisoner, and heaven knows you've spent enough time with your so-called family to know a prison when you see one."

Harry's blood had cooled considerably the second Sirius had explained what the bracelet's deal was. He was probably imagining things, but the cold metal seemed to reflect the light ominously. 

"I appreciate you being upfront," Harry forced himself to say even though he had a major case of tunnel vision going on. 

"Dumbledore lost some allies to Voldemort already," Sirius explained. "You know he killed Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Sturgis Pod–"

"These people don't mean anything to me," Harry interrupted. "I knew none of them. They were going to give Barty to the dementors! I broke the law to free you from the dementors, Sirius, why should Voldemort saving Barty be any different?"

"We're talking about killing people versus helping a convict escape, Harry," Sirius sighed. "It's… those are different degrees? I mean, I'm one to talk. At your age, I wouldn't have wanted an old bloke like me telling me how to run my show… but it's, Harry, it's murder."

"I know Voldemort is a murderer," Harry replied, "and I know it's selfish, but I don't care. He has his reasons, and I don't question those. I know he won't ever do anything to hurt me intentionally."

Voldemort might as well carve out a piece of his own flesh, Harry thought. Why should faceless, nameless people matter to him when he had never mattered to people even though everyone knew his name?

"Nymphadora Tonks was my cousin," Sirius said, and Harry made a conscious effort not to be affected by that. "Didn't know her well, what with Azkaban and exile and everything, but… she was still family. She was on track to become an Auror. Metamorphmagus. Hufflepuff. She was a good, young woman."

Harry carefully let his face go blank. "I'm no cold-blooded murderer, Sirius, but I will protect what is mine. Please don't try to sway me with these sob stories."

Sirius nodded slowly. "I get it. I know it's hard to—I mean, he even got Reg on his side, and I like to think of Reg as having been a pretty great guy, all things considered. And he got Peter, too, and so, so many others. Voldemort is a different beast entirely. Too charismatic for his own good, that bloke. Proper handsome, too."

Harry schooled his features into nonchalance. "I suppose there are people who'd take that into account when choosing their allegiance."

Thankfully, they managed to change the subject after an awkward silence. Harry told Sirius about school, and Sirius told Harry about how reintegrating into society went for him. The minute they'd stopped talking about allegiances and politics, Harry started liking Sirius a lot more. He was witty and sarcastic, and he managed to make Harry laugh a lot more than he'd expected.

Harry supposed that, in another world, they may have gotten along like a house on fire. Here, though, having this sort of unspoiled conversation felt like the letters they exchanged: censored, safe, and filtered.

He just hoped Barty would be successful in locating the locket. 

"I appreciate you opposing Dumbledore for my sake," Harry finally said. "I know it can't be easy, what with you only just having gotten out of prison and all, but… I think you're doing the right thing."

Harry didn't know whether that would lift some of the burden on Sirius' shoulders, but the man managed what looked like an honest smile.

"Thanks, Harry. I feel like an idiot most of the time, but I genuinely try my best."

When they said goodbye a little while later, Harry felt like maybe, he could eventually have it all. Sirius really was trying very hard, and once Voldemort was in power, Sirius would see that Voldemort was going to do the country some good.

Harry arrived back in the park at the agreed-upon time. Voldemort was already waiting for him and raised one eyebrow at his approach.

"You are well?"

"Well as can be," Harry shrugged. "Sirius is not okay with my decisions but he doesn't want to push me away."

"Mh. Barty?" 

"Here," Barty replied quietly from under the invisibility cloak, and Voldemort Apparated them all home.

Once they were safe, Voldemort turned expectantly towards Barty who shrugged off the cloak. The second the cloak came off, Harry could tell Barty looked apologetic. 

"I'm sorry, master," he said. "I searched everywhere I could reach, but I couldn't locate the locket anywhere. Maybe Regulus hid it really well."

Voldemort deflated a bit, and Harry felt his insides twist a little.

"I was sure it was going to be there," Harry apologised quickly. "Sorry I got your hopes up."

"No, Barty might be right," Voldemort replied. "It might be hidden more skillfully than we had imagined."

They left it at that. Barty gave back the invisibility cloak with thinly-veiled disgust and excused himself rather quickly. 

"Maybe we shouldn't have made him wear the cloak," Harry mused.

"Mh, maybe," Voldemort agreed. "We shall see. Is your curiosity regarding your godfather thoroughly satisfied then for the time being?"

"Yeah, thanks," Harry grinned. "Can we go to his trial? You and me, I mean, and maybe Barty if he wants to come?"

Voldemort regarded him intently, and Harry easily met the man's gaze. "I think, my dear Harry, that you and I out and about in the ministry is a wonderful idea. Please excuse me while I set some things in motion."

Harry watched Voldemort leave with a heavy heart. He would have really liked to have gotten the locket for him this easily for a change… 

To clear his head, he headed off in search of Luna or Tom because they ought to have returned from visiting Luna's father by now.

Chapter 35

Notes:

Is this chapter one of my favourites? Funny you ask that! Why yes. Yes it is! :D

On the evening before Sirius' trial, Harry was anxious. Voldemort had assured him that it was going to be fine more than once, but Harry still couldn't quite shake off the nagging feeling that things had never quite worked out for him this easily—so why would that change now?

On a whim, he decided to seek out Barty and get some cuddles, but neither Barty nor Voldemort were in their rooms. They weren't in the kitchen either, nor the sitting room where Luna and Tom were curled up together in front of the fire.

"Have you guys seen the others?" he asked when Tom looked up from his book at Harry's approach.

"I've seen neither hide nor hair of them since dinner," Tom shrugged.

"Same here," Luna added. "Maybe the dungeons?"

Harry hummed thoughtfully and wandered from the sitting room. The dungeons… Maybe they were with Snape? Barty's father was already dead but maybe Voldemort had other prisoners down there that Harry didn't know about. 

Taking a page from the Luna Lovegood book of thinking happy thoughts, Harry skipped down the stairs to the dungeons and grinned to himself when he'd reached the bottom. There was no ominous screaming going on, so probably not Snape. Or maybe the doors were warded so as not to let out noise?

Harry pressed his ear against the cell he knew housed Snape, but he couldn't hear anything. Part of him wanted to visit the dour man, and yet another part urged him to move on. Dead people weren't good companions to spend time with, and Snape wouldn't leave this place alive.

There was nothing else down here he hadn't seen so Harry went upstairs again. Ah, but… he hadn't checked the study, had he?

He went along the corridor and found that, as usual nowadays, the door was only partially closed. There were low voices coming from inside, and Harry's breath hitched. He was good at sneaking, and he hadn't done it in quite a while… 

When he crept closer and looked through the crack in the door, he could see both Voldemort and Barty. As always when it was just the two of them, Barty was kneeling, and Harry found that quite intriguing. He wondered, not for the first time, just how deep Barty's devotion to Voldemort ran.

"–thinking of little else," Barty finished. "And how could I? I never thought that you'd… I mean, I had hoped, but, you know? Things like this don't happen to people like me."

"Oh?" Voldemort asked and met Barty's gaze steadily. "And what kind of person are you?"

They were both in profile to him, and Harry's mouth ran dry when he could see the long line of Barty's throat bob when he swallowed.

"I'm… just me, master," Barty answered kind of helplessly. "I don't, I just… Basking in your greatness has always been enough. Just so, but it was, and now you went and shook up the shaky equilibrium by kissing me."

"What equilibrium are we talking about here, Barty?"

"That of my soul? I don't even know."

Harry held his breath when Voldemort reached out for Barty and put his hand on his cheek. 

"You never could look away from me for long, could you? Tell me—how long have you been lost to me?"

Barty tried to duck his head, but Voldemort's hand kept him steady. "You have always been my sun, and I would rather burn my eyes out than to stop looking at you. And finally, I can tell you how mesmerisingly and otherworldly beautiful you are. No, don't look at me like that, you are!"

"You have always been… colourful in your compliments for me," Voldemort chuckled, and his thumb stroked Barty's cheek. "Then tell me, Barty, if you are so devoted—why did you lie to me?"

Voldemort's expression didn't change, but Barty's very much did. Harry watched Barty practically freeze where he knelt, and his mouth fell open just enough to show a hint of a pink tongue.

But when had Barty ever lied to Voldemort? Was he even able to do that? And… why?

"Master–" Barty started, but his voice quivered and broke.

"Mhh. Will you give it to me?"

Barty looked crestfallen. "Master, I never meant to…"

"And yet you hid it from me," Voldemort muttered in a soft, low voice. "Tell me why. What did it promise you?"

"I can't do this," Barty whispered and Harry had to strain his ears to be able to hear him. "Please at least be angry! I deserve it!"

But Voldemort merely continued calmly looking at Barty in that intense way he sometimes had. "Is this not more punishment for you than any Cruciatus curse could be? I am disappointed, Barty."

"Fuck," Barty whispered, and he tried to pull away. Voldemort's grip seemed to be relentless, though, so Barty only cast his eyes down.

"Give it to me, and then we talk."

Harry couldn't hide a gasp when Barty shakily reached into an inner pocket of his robes and pulled out nothing else but the fucking locket Voldemort had drawn for them. 

Voldemort's eyes flickered over to Harry when he gasped, but with Barty's eyes transfixed on the locket reflecting the setting sun outside, he didn't notice it. Harry met Voldemort's eyes steadily, and Voldemort inclined his head almost imperceptibly before turning back to his servant. 

With Voldemort's focus once more on him, Barty reached out and handed the locket over. Harry held his breath when the long fingers of Voldemort's free hand closed around Barty's outstretched hand and trapped the locket between their palms.

"I will not ask again: what did it promise you?"

Barty hesitated, and when he spoke, he sounded unsure. "He told me—the minute I found it within a glass cabinet, I was lost, master. I felt elation at having found it, but…"

"When you first met Tom, he took possession of your body with little resistance almost instantly."

"... Yes."

"I already knew you were weak against them, Barty—I merely failed to see the extent to which it was true. What did the locket do?"

Barty swallowed again. "He, I mean, it told me that–"

Barty broke off and finally tugged free of Voldemort's hold. When he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders started shaking and Harry felt his insides twist. He didn't like seeing Barty like this for obvious reasons but he felt like it wasn't his place to intrude. To be fair, it wasn't even his place to listen in but Voldemort hadn't yet sent him away.

"Master… it told me it could—that it was one of the last ones you've made, of the horcruxes, I mean, and that it could tell me… it could tell me about how to please you better? How to be exactly what you want me to be, need me to be, if only I kept it from you." Barty wrung his hands and still couldn't meet Voldemort's eyes. "I had planned on simply using it for a little while, learning what I can, and then presenting you with it, but…"

Voldemort sighed and leaned back in his armchair. "The locket has ever been the most… opinionated of my soul pieces. And since Tom exists, that is saying something."

Barty didn't even seem to register what Voldemort was saying. He looked miserable, and a bit vacant, too, with how he was staring at the ground like a lost duckling.

"Look at me, Barty," Voldemort demanded.

Barty looked up. 

"What were you planning on doing after you became aware the locket had taken control of you like that?"

"I… I think I was waiting for you to notice it. Me having it, I mean. I couldn't—it told me not to tell you, and he's you, and that was a direct order!"

"You are not lying now," Voldemort hummed thoughtfully. "Is the spell it had on you broken, or are you fighting with all you have not to take it from me again?"

Barty considered that for a moment. "I would really like him—it back but I would never take it from you, of course."

Voldemort handed the locket back, expression all business-like, and Barty caught it just in time. He looked utterly befuddled, which was the same expression Harry felt he had to be wearing as well.

"Give it back," Voldemort demanded once more, and Barty handed it over without hesitation this time.

Again, Voldemort handed the locket over, but this time by hanging it around Barty's neck. Then, he leaned back and waited. Harry frowned, utterly confused, but he soon realised that instead of watching Voldemort, he ought to look at Barty instead because the man seemed to be struggling internally with how his lower lip quivered.

Was Voldemort testing something? Was this really the right time for this? But then… he supposed Barty deserved some kind of punishment, even if his guilt seemed to be debatable.

Again, Harry was painfully reminded of how he, too, was a horcrux.

"Take the locket off and give it to me, Barty." 

This time, even though he wasn't as bewildered anymore as during the first test, Barty was quick to take the locket off and give it back. Voldemort took it back with a steady hand.

"You are mine, Barty," Voldemort said in a low voice. "Mine to do with as I please. That is your place in the world, and that is how you will serve me best. Do not listen to echoes of myself giving promises they cannot possibly keep," Voldemort threatened Barty with his eyes narrowed into slits. "My word is your law. Did you not tell me this, every time I asked?"

"I just don't think I'm… how can I be enough for either of you, let alone together?" Barty shook his head. "It's too much, master. I feel, I feel like–"

"When you are adrift, you come to me," Voldemort said forcefully. "When you have questions, you come to me. When you want to be praised, you come to me. And when you deserve punishment…"

"I come to you," Barty muttered in a low voice when Voldemort let the statement hang. "I am sorry, master. I need some kind of, I don't know. A reason? Why me? Is it because I come as an attachment to Harry, or..?"

Voldemort chuckled darkly, and when Barty looked up, Voldemort grabbed both sides of the man's face and leaned down to snog him to within an inch of his life. Barty made a sound of—well, it obviously wasn't one of protest, but it was at least a surprised squawk.

Harry watched, quite in awe, as Voldemort pulled insistently enough to make Barty get up from his kneeling position. But instead of simply wanting to lean back, Voldemort's plan turned out to be even more nefarious: he straight up pulled Barty into his lap so he was straddling Voldemort's thighs, and then pulled him impossibly closer to kiss him with as much abandon as Harry had ever seen anyone employ.

He felt his mouth run a little dry because seeing the two men he was, the two men who were his—his thin shirt felt a lot hotter than it had felt a moment ago.

In the beginning, Barty had still tried to pull away (if vaguely), but when Voldemort stayed insistent and demanding, Barty melted into him and kissed him back just as fiercely. Harry had heard the expression 'like a man drowning' before, and it seemed pretty apt here.

"Master…"

"Mhh?"

"That was not enough punishment for my transgression, back then. I can't just accept that you want to kiss me instead of torturing me."

Voldemort laughed quietly. "Oh Barty. I was less than a shadow of a threat for almost a full year. You were under Albus I-forgive-everyone Dumbledore's crooked nose for all that time, and you fell in love with my greatest nemesis. Did it not once cross your mind to betray me?"

"What?" Barty asked incredulously. "Of course not!"

"And you took the locket for yourself because it promised to teach you how to serve me better?"

Barty nodded slowly, and then his eyes widened in recognition. "You're saying there's a pattern there."

Voldemort snorted in disbelief. "Yes, Barty, I am saying there is a pattern there. I know you love me, have loved me for over a decade, and yet I have done little with regards to you personally to warrant such affection."

"But you saved me!" Barty argued. "You gave me a purpose, and a new family, and you gave me back my freedom, and my life."

"And you gave me your devotion, your love, and resurrected me into this body you are currently shaking rather vigorously."

"Oh shit, I'm sorry."

Harry had to hold his hands in front of his mouth to keep from giggling and destroying the moment.

"Of all my followers, Barty, you have proven to be true to me in word, deed, body and soul. And also, you have… very much grown into your features."

Barty made a bit of a keening sound. "Ho-kay. You kissed me, twice now, so I already kinda guessed you didn't find me repulsive or anything of course, but… Thank you, master. You have made me… beyond happy. I… I love you. I love you. Oh fuck, I can say it now. I love you! And if there's ever anything I can do for you, anything at all, please never hesitate to tell me. I may be weak to your horcruxes, but I am weakest to you, most of all."

"Mhh," Voldemort hummed in acquiescence, and with his eyes hooded. "For starters, I would be quite satisfied with another kiss."

Barty seemed eager enough to follow that request, and Harry was left wondering how people could really think Voldemort was a heartless monster when he could make Barty make these wonderful noises?

With a grin, he left them to it, pulled the door a little more closed and went back up to his room. 

-o-

The ministry's foyer was bigger than Harry had expected. He'd imagined something in keeping with Gringotts which he'd already considered pretty grand, but the ministry was huge. He sidled up a bit closer to Voldemort and tried not to gawk too much at the decor and all the people.

It was packed. News of Sirius' trial had even managed to overshadow Voldemort's return for the last couple days. At least in the papers. Harry, isolated as he was at the moment, had had a hard time getting a feel for the overall reception of the news of the battle at Hogwarts over the last week. For the first time in a long while, he'd been looking forward to getting out.

But now, with people staring at them as if they'd escaped from a circus, he wasn't entirely sure he should have come. He handed his wand over to registration with trepidation, and the young wizard doing the honours handed his wand back with obviously shaking fingers.

"Here you go, Mr Potter. Sir?" The clerk held his hand out to Voldemort next and flinched when he was handed Voldemort's alibi wand. "And Lord Moregrave, I see. Splendid. Have a good day."

He seemed very relieved to be done with them, except Voldemort stepping to the side revealed Tom, Barty and Luna who had insisted they come with at all cost. Well, Tom and Luna had. Barty had to be persuaded to come, but Voldemort had argued that Barty's coming along under his real identity would give Voldemort a good idea of where he stood, influence wise.

After they, too, had been processed, there were definitely eyes on them.

"You registered me as Tom Moregrave? Really?" Tom asked and rolled his eyes. "Shall I call you father next?"

"We talked about this," Voldemort replied in a low voice. "The old name is dead, and this one will become our new legacy."

"You sound like an old man," Tom whispered back and Voldemort merely snorted disdainfully even though he looked amused.

It took walking through half of the foyer before Harry noticed that they had formed a vague shield around him as they navigated through the crowd. Voldemort was leading them, Tom and Luna were to either side of him, and Barty brought up the rear. Voldemort's presence alone was enough to part the people around them, thankfully, so they made it through quicker than he'd expected.

"Are you expecting an attack?" Harry asked no one in particular.

"Constant vigilance," Barty piped up from behind him, and Harry giggled before he remembered that by now, the real Alastor Moody might be out and about once more.

Gods, but they really needed that eye back.

"How come no one attacks us, master?" Barty asked when they had reached the elevators. "I mean. They all know who you are thanks to the articles. Most probably recognise me as well…"

"Look around, Barty," Voldemort invited him and made a gesture towards the foyer with its ugly fountain and mass of people who hurried along as fast as they could. "So many people, yet not one spine among them. Who of the rabble do you expect to face Lord Voldemort head on?"

Voldemort's voice carried, and the people closest to them flinched. They were all ordinary people. Their faces were unhardened by war, or struggle, and Harry could see in their expressions how some of them briefly considered doing something but decided against it just as quickly.

"They're just like muggles," Harry realised suddenly. "They're muggles who can light a fire with a word and a swish of their wand…"

Voldemort smirked down at him. "Now you are getting it," the man said softly. "The average witch or wizard is no fighter. You, as you are now, have battled more than any ordinary man or woman ever will in their whole life. Magical Britain is weak, Harry."

Harry nodded slowly. "I see. Even the Aurors?"

"Painfully weak," Voldemort replied.

A young man stopped upon having heard their exchange, and for a second, Harry thought they were going to be met with some adversity after all. Instead… 

"It's good to see you're back," the young man said and bowed his head respectfully. "Everything is prepared as you specified, my Lord Moregrave."

"Much appreciated, Mr Davis," Voldemort answered just as an elevator opened for them.

The courtroom where the Wizengamot met was vast. Harry stayed close to Barty when they entered because he'd been briefed by Voldemort that Barty had been sentenced in this very courtroom as well, fourteen years ago. Harry knew Barty didn't do well with reminders of Azkaban, so he whispered reassurances because he knew they couldn't hold hands here.

All heads swivelled into their direction when they stepped out from the short tunnel leading into the chamber proper and Harry carefully kept his expression blank as they ascended the dais on the side towards a free row of seats. 

Like agreed on before coming here, Harry sat to Voldemort's left, with Barty on his other side. Tom and Luna sat to Voldemort's right, and still, everyone was watching them. Harry got majorly uncomfortable but forced himself not to fidget.

"Is this where they torture the poor souls with all them dementors before they send them off to hell then?" Luna asked conversationally. "I never once liked them, you know? The dementors, I mean. I'm not usually in favour of the death penalty or anything, but I think the dementors ought to be put to rest."

Harry didn't know whether this had been rehearsed, but the atmosphere around the room changed as the spectators crowding the seats around them changed their focus onto Luna.

"You are quite right," Voldemort hummed. "I have little love for eldritch abominations of their kind, and I should very much like to see them dead as much as the next wizard. I think I will have some of my acquaintances look into it."

"My Lord Moregrave," a familiar voice drawled, and Harry looked over to see Corban Yaxley walk up to their row of seats. "Good to see you back in Britain. How did your time abroad suit you?"

Now that had to have been rehearsed. Harry felt his mask of bland indifference slip and he snorted a little. Leave it to Voldemort to be a dramatic little shit.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Harry and Harry could see the man's lips curl up into a small smile before he turned back to Yaxley.

"Mr Yaxley, it is good to be home on British soil," Voldemort replied genially. "Why imagine, it feels almost as if I never left in the first place."

"How do you expect today's trial to go, my Lord?"

Voldemort waved his hand dismissively. "Please, anything but a full acquittal would be a slap in the face of due diligence everywhere. This right now is an opportunity for this court of law to make up for the transgressions committed by a man driven by hate and prejudice: Bartemius Crouch Snr."

Yaxley wanted to say more but they had timed it so they wouldn't have to wait long in the spotlight before the trial started. When a set of great doors parted and spewed forth the mauve-coloured robes the members of the Wizengamot wore, the attention shifted once more.

Yaxley winked at Harry before sitting back down next to someone Harry didn't recognise. Harry did recognise some of the dignified Wizengamot members. There was Lord Lestrange, and Lord Mulciber, and he recognised Lucius Malfoy, of course.

"The mauve clashes terribly with his hair," Tom muttered. 

"Do you remember how Abraxas used to complain about the colours?" Voldemort commented with an almost fond smile on his face and Tom snickered. 

"He looks good," Barty commented idly. "A lot better than when you let him go, anyways."

"That would be his wife's potions hard at work," Voldemort replied.

Harry had never seen Voldemort quite this sort of relaxed. There had to be potential enemies all around them, and yet… Voldemort looked to be completely in his element. He had his legs crossed, and his hands folded on top of them. His alibi wand hung limply from his grip, and Harry wondered how the man could be so sure no harm was going to befall them.

But then, he actually looked. There were several men and women of various ages posted around the perimeter. There were no discerning characteristics denoting them as members of the same organisation, but they all had the same look. Hungry. Watching. Waiting. 

Were they on their side? Were they looking out for them?

"How did he do that with such short notice?" Harry whispered to Barty and indicated the room at large.

"He has a way with people," Barty answered quietly, but not quietly enough to keep the people around them from hearing. "The tiger has no natural predators in the jungle, you know?"

Harry supposed that was true. No one here was a match for Voldemort, and with Dumbledore having been beaten and stripped of his fabled wand (even though nobody knew the last part, of course), Voldemort was arguably the best duelist out there.

At the rear of the Wizengamot procession, Dumbledore, Fudge and the other heads of departments entered the arena as Harry liked to call it. Immediately, as if honing in like a muggle missile, Dumbledore's hard gaze found their little group and Harry met the old man's stare without fear.

Dumbledore's blue eyes widened behind his half-moon spectacles, and Harry inclined his head politely in a way that he hoped was casual enough to outsiders but had to be insufferable to Dumbledore himself.

Voldemort strategically chose that moment to lean very close to Harry's ear and hiss something to him: "Remember, Harry: Barty really likes to have his hair pulled."

Since he'd expected anything but this, Harry couldn't help but snort loudly and clasped his hands in front of his mouth in mortification before glaring at Voldemort. "How dare you!" He accused the man but couldn't hold back his laughter. "You are a pest."

"I keep telling people that," Tom concurred, "but do they listen?"

"I listen," Luna shrugged.

"Well, of course you do," Tom said almost irritably. "You're special, so you being sensible is nothing to write home about."

"You're a silly boy, Tom," Luna giggled. "Oh, daddy arrived! Let's go say hi."

She grabbed Tom's hand and pulled him along to Xenophilius who'd just now entered the courtroom through the press entrance with his wand stuck behind his ear just like Luna often wore it. To Harry's eternal surprise, Xenophilius hugged first Luna and then Tom, and Tom let him.

"Well," Voldemort commented dryly, and then he turned back to Harry. "Glad to see Tom finding his footing in this world."

Harry grinned in response, and when he looked back down, Dumbledore still stood where he'd stopped earlier. There was a most peculiar expression on the old man's face, and Harry thought he looked… tired. Or maybe that was just him still being hurt from fighting Voldemort and losing badly.

"I don't know how I ever liked him," Barty muttered.

"You did not," Voldemort commented. "You merely liked the position of power he was in. You were born a follower, and with no one to follow, you were lost and clung to whatever sorry caricature of a leader crossed your path."

That sounded about right to Harry, but he refrained from saying so. Instead, he pressed his knee against Barty's and was rewarded with the man's knee pressing back.

In the end, even Dumbledore had to take his seat. To his credit, when the old man opened the trial, his voice didn't quiver the slightest bit, and he looked just as strong and wise as he had first appeared to Harry all those years ago.

But the façade was cracked, and Harry had seen behind the veil. He smiled. Dumbledore was no match for this new and improved Voldemort.

After the opening statement, a smaller set of doors opened and Sirius walked in with his solicitor. Harry recognised him as the same man Narcissa Malfoy had talked to in Diagon Alley, weeks ago by now, and he had to commend her drive. In the end, she had gotten what she wanted, but since that basically boiled down to herself and her family being safe, he couldn't find any fault in that. Especially since it came with even more support for Sirius. 

Sirius looked up at Harry after he'd sat down in a positively torture dungeon type kind of wooden chair and waved at him. Harry waved back enthusiastically and gave Sirius a thumbs up. Briefly, he wondered whether the people (and maybe Dumbledore in particular) would think that Sirius was, after all, an agent of the Dark Lord seeing as Voldemort could now be seen actively supporting him.

Then again, what did that matter? Sirius was going to be free, and Harry was going to make damn sure he would stay free as long as he didn't oppose Voldemort openly.

-o-

"I can't believe they didn't even check his arm back then," Barty complained after the trial as they were waiting to leave to avoid the masses of people filing out. "That's literally the first thing they checked when they caught me."

Harry looked around them. "How many people in the room today had your mark?" he asked Voldemort.

"More than two dozen," Voldemort answered quickly. 

"He doesn't mark everyone," Barty explained helpfully. "Only the big fish, or those he thinks are at risk of running away."

"What were you then?" Harry asked teasingly and laughed when Barty made a show of being affronted.

"He was a special case," Voldemort drawled, his posture relaxed. "And he remains a special case."

Harry thought it spoke volumes of Barty's progress in Occlumency how he didn't flush red to the roots of his hair. There was merely the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks.

"Harry!" 

The masses were slowly clearing, and when Harry turned, he could see Sirius running up the stairs three steps at a time with his long legs. Harry jumped up to meet him halfway.

"You're free!" Harry grinned and hugged Sirius back fiercely when he was enveloped by the man's strong arms.

"I'm finally, officially, one hundred percent innocent and pure once more," Sirius agreed, and he sounded quite choked up.

"You deserve this, and you also deserve the reparations the ministry has to pay for your false incarceration." Harry leaned back and looked up into Sirius' eyes. "So how much exactly is 100,000 galleons?"

"Not enough to pay for years lost, but I won't get them back either way," Sirius sighed. "Rest assured I will give away half of it to a werewolf organisation paying for food and shelter for those werewolves who can't afford it, and the other half to a charity that pays for the cost of muggleborn kids attending Hogwarts."

Here, Sirius gave Voldemort the stink eye and Harry giggled. "Sirius, he's an orphan," Harry explained with no small amount of mirth. "Chances are, he was a recipient of that very trust fund when he was a kid. So… congrats. Maybe you'll sponsor the next Dark Lord if you're lucky."

"Aw, come on," Sirius huffed with exasperation. "Are you being serious? You can't be, I'm not an idiot. Then again… Of course he'd be just like you. Stupid fucking prophecy."

A large hand landed on Harry's shoulder, and Harry grinned up at Voldemort. "Now, Harry, must you air my dirty laundry quite so publicly?"

"You're still the heir of Slytherin," Harry argued.

"Voldy," Sirius greeted, voice tight, and Harry snorted in disbelief.

"Voldy, really?" he asked.

"I'm not calling him Dark Lord, or any of that You-Know-Who stuff when he's got my godson under his roof, Harry," Sirius bristled. "So. Voldy. Your henchman back there said you're using Harry's fame in order to gain credibility and goodwill."

"I did not say that," Barty called over.

When Harry looked around Voldemort to see Barty, he noticed how many pairs of eyes were upon them. And once he'd started noticing, he couldn't stop. From the members of the Wizengamot to spectators and reporters—they were all looking at Sirius and Voldemort. (And himself, too, he supposed.)

Hadn't Voldemort called this excursion an opportunity to see where he stood? Not for the first time, Harry wondered how Voldemort's first rise to power had gone. Had he been a charismatic political leader? A nightmare vision of a Dark Lord? And what path would he be choosing now?

He probably wasn't the only one wondering about what path the man was going to be taking now.

"Mr Black–"

"Sirius. Mr Black was my father."

"Sirius," Voldemort adopted easily. "I believe we both have Harry's best interest at heart. In the name of cooperation, I ask you for civility in our conduct towards each other."

Sirius looked as if he'd bitten into a lemon but didn't want anyone to know he'd bitten into a lemon and was therefore being exceptionally brave about it.

"I can do civil," Sirius pressed out, "but there's one condition: I want you to apologise for killing my best friend and his wife."

Harry wanted to strangle Sirius. Was this the time? Was this the place? 

And yet, Voldemort looked unperturbed. "I am sorry I had to kill two promising young wixen in order to eliminate a prophesied threat. Had I known then what I know now…" Voldemort shook his head and pulled Harry closer. "Lily and James Potter were good people, and they should have lived. Harry? We will get the prophecy that was spoken to Albus Dumbledore fifteen years ago from the Department of Mysteries and finally do away with all pretenses."

"There's a hall of prophecies?" Harry asked quietly, but then he saw Sirius' expression.

Sirius looked utterly conflicted. His eyes were hooded, and he was trembling. "They were very brave, weren't they?" he asked.

"The bravest." Voldemort looked very solemn. "Perfect little Gryffindors, right to the end."

"Fuck bravery," Sirius barked, and the harsh sound reverberated in the quiet courtroom. "See where bravery led me? Innocently imprisoned for over a decade, my best friend dead—fuck bravery! Fuck!"

Sirius' hands were balled into fists, and Harry was just thinking about offering a comforting hug when suddenly—

Voldemort's head flew to the right when Sirius' fist connected violently with his jaw. Immediately, Voldemort's hand was in the air. Harry thought he'd strike back, or curse Sirius, but Harry only realised belatedly that three people in their direct vicinity had their wands trained directly onto Sirius' head.

"Master!" Barty called and was beside them in an instant, too, but Voldemort took no heed of anyone but Sirius.

"Was this not bravery as well?" Voldemort asked with the sort of rasp that made it almost sound as if he was lisping. His lip was split, and a thin trail of blood ran towards his chin and drip-drop-dripped to the ground.

"No, it fucking wasn't," Sirius hissed back. "That was revenge, and it was the least I could do for James!"

It seemed as if the very air was being sucked out of the room with how unbelievably quiet everything was.

"Well," Voldemort huffed, and then, in the time it took Harry to blink once, the man had struck Sirius' cheekbone strong enough to split the skin and make the other man take three wobbly steps back. "And this was for Harry because you lost your head and he had to grow up among the worst of the dregs of muggle society."

Sirius held his cheek, and his face was contorted with pain and a bit of… something else Harry didn't recognise. "You utter bastard."

"My parents were married."

"Hah!" Sirius finally barked out a laugh and grinned at Harry. "Maybe he's not so bad after all."

"You literally hit each other in the face," Harry reminded Sirius with disbelief making his voice sound higher. "What the fuck, Sirius?"

"It's complicated," Sirius explained with a shrug, and then he held his hand out for Voldemort to shake. "To civility."

Voldemort shook it, and the two men smirked at each other.

Harry shook his head because he felt like he'd missed quite a bit of context.

"Don't worry, Harry, it's a men will be men thing," Tom explained from where he was leaning against the railing with Luna by his side.

"I'm a man!"

"You're a boy," Voldemort corrected him.

"That's not what you said when you kissed me like your life depended on it," Harry snarked to get back at Voldemort for making him blush earlier. 

Unfortunately, Voldemort's Occlumency kept him from making a complete fool of himself, but he did level Harry with a withering glare.

"I can understand Parseltongue," Tom reminded them with a neutral expression that looked just the slightest bit strained. "You do realise that, right?"

Harry simply started giggling because Sirius and Voldemort did not want to kill each other right now and everything else was unimportant. 

Luna took a step forward. "Daddy knows this amazing café just down the street. Maybe we should take this somewhere more private?"

"It's a muggle café, isn't it," Sirius theorised with a shit-eating grin.

When Luna nodded, Harry immediately turned to Voldemort with his best puppy dog eyes. 

"Oh for the love of–" Voldemort muttered and started walking. "Lead the way, Luna, before I remember I have an image to uphold."

Chapter 36

Notes:

AIGHT, this is not a drill, we're going live, people!

I know it's been an eternity and a half but work has been hard. Worry not, this story shall be finished!

Special thanks to ForgottenDreamofFlames for reading through the story and sharing their insightful comments with me which made the flame burn bright again, and to slyfoxygrin whose bookmark notes for this fic had to be split up into like, 6 parts. I copied them all into a document, my dude, and I read them whenever I'm sad.
Last but not least, thanks to my friend jenny for giving me the final push, and for giving this a completely altruistic read-through <3

"Are we really going to a muggle café, master?" Barty asked doubtfully. "I've never been, and frankly–"

"It will be very good," Luna promised. 

They emerged from the courtroom and it was probably only the quite honestly sinister aura Voldemort was exuding that kept the reporters at bay.

When they waited in front of the elevators, Voldemort took a hold of Harry's shoulder and leaned down. "Before we leave, you need to retrieve the prophecy."

Harry nodded uneasily and they made their way down into the Department of Mysteries instead of up into the foyer. Or rather, they merely reached a corridor leading toward that department, what with the DoM being kind of a secret and a big deal all in one. 

"Someone will be waiting for you," Voldemort told him and Harry's blood turned to ice.

"You're not coming?" he asked in a shouted whisper. 

Voldemort pursed his lips and reached out to grab Barty lightly by the back of the neck. "The Department of Mysteries is a dead-end, Harry, and my little servant here still has a warrant on his head. I fear there is a horde of rather… unpleasant individuals who would like nothing more than to give him a kiss. I cannot leave him alone while we are in the ministry."

Harry remembered the bright light starting to emerge from Sirius' mouth when the dementors had overpowered them a year ago and swallowed heavily against the dread threatening to cloud his mind. Sirius was exonerated now, and Harry wasn't going to take any chances with Barty until Voldemort's power was absolute.

"Alright, I will go alone. No, Luna, please. I need you to keep an eye on them for me."

Luna, who'd already opened her mouth in protest, closed it again when she considered his words. "You may have a point there. The Wrackspurts have been going crazy here all day. All over the ministry, actually. Lots of people making lots of important decisions…"

"I'm going with you," Sirius said decisively and Harry turned towards his godfather in surprise. "No warrant on my head, not anymore, and I'm sure as hell not keeping an eye on old Snakeypants over there."

Harry still thought Sirius was being way too flippant about Voldemort, but then they had just punched each other in the face. 

"I'd appreciate the company," he admitted, and if he didn't know better, which he didn't, he could have sworn Sirius was giving Voldemort the stink-eye.

"Be good, Harry," Voldemort drawled instead of acknowledging Sirius' posturing and Harry watched on with a heavy heart as Voldemort, Barty, Luna and Tom filed back into the elevator. 

"Well," Sirius shrugged, "better go get that prophecy then, eh?"

-o-

The Hall of Prophecies was quite a bit larger than Harry had anticipated. He wondered just how long the ministry had been collecting prophecies here, and how many were added daily, or weekly.

Sadly, the Unspeakable that was accompanying them, Harry was sure it was a lady, was not in a talkative mood. She shrugged off his questions like you shrugged rain off a waterproof coat and led them stoically through rows and rows of softly-shimmering orbs.

"I've never been inside the DoM before," Sirius mused at his side and Harry was altogether quite relieved he wasn't here all on his own.

"Well, you were very young when you got incarcerated, right?" 

Sirius shrugged uneasily and took a step closer to Harry. "I suppose, yes."

"Now that you're free… like, properly free, what will you do first?"

Sirius hummed softly and moved his head a little from left to right in consideration. "Buy a new wand, I suppose. Then… go to a couple concerts? Muggle ones, I mean. Maybe buy a new bike."

"But bikes are muggle, too… How about visiting a Quidditch game? Go shopping in Diagon Alley? Or maybe visit another magical community? Viktor says Magical Bulgaria is breathtaking."

"Nah, the magical side of Britain alone has always been a bit too stifling for me." Sirius looked uncomfortable. "I guess we'll see? I'll be in touch, certainly."

Harry wanted to say more but the shrouded lady leading them stopped at a shelf that looked like all the others. She pointed at an orb that was marked with his name, and with the initials of a few other illustrious individuals he knew, and he reached for it without hesitation.

"How do I listen to it?" 

The lady straightened up. "You throw it on the ground, and a memory of the prophecy plays out."

Harry rolled his eyes and looked at Sirius. "You see? That's the kinda stuff Voldemort wants to abolish. It's ridiculous that something as fragile as a glass orb is used to contain prophecies that can ruin lives, and then you can only listen to it once."

Sirius looked doubtful. "It could save a life, too, you know? No need to be negative about it."

"In that case, you'd want to listen to it more than once even more," Harry growled and stashed the glass orb in his satchel.

"Fair enough," Sirius conceded but Harry had the feeling the man wasn't truly getting what Harry was getting at.

-o-

When they got back to the foyer, Harry was quick to spot Voldemort and the others by the wide berth people were making around them. He felt his heart soar as he watched Barty whispering something to Tom that had them both giggling while Luna and Voldemort were having a discussion with twin grim expressions.

He set out with a spring in his step but noticed that Sirius wasn't coming. When he turned around, Sirius looked… conflicted.

"They're your family," the man said when Harry went back to ask what was wrong.

Harry frowned in confusion but then he looked back at his friends and his–

"They are," he admitted easily. "I love them."

Sirius wore that lemon expression again. "You've been all grim ever since they left, and then the way you lightened up when you saw them right now… Look, I know they were there for you when I wasn't, but… you gotta understand that it's hard for me, Harry. I should have, but… fuck."

"I don't blame you, Sirius," Harry said in a low voice. "I never have. You were all so young back then… I'm just glad I found you now, and that you found me, and that no one is killing anyone anymore."

Sirius sighed and ran his hand over his face. "You're a good kid, Harry. A very nice boy. Don't forget that, okay?"

"Wait, that sounds like goodbye. Why does it sound like goodbye?"

"Remus is waiting for me," Sirius explained. "He didn't want to come here, what with all the anti-werewolf propaganda and everything. Now, I know you're not his biggest fan but apart from you, he's the only link I have to–" Here, Sirius waved his hand in an abstract pattern, "–before."

"You're not coming."

"I mean, come on. Freshly exonerated Sirius Black having tea and scones with the Dark Lord and his posse in a muggle café?"

Harry's mood darkened. "My friends are not his posse. I'm not his posse."

"Christ, Harry. I didn't mean it like that, I simply…" Sirius sighed. "Look, it's better if I leave, okay? No hard feelings. I love you a whole lot, Harry Potter, but your godfather needs to find his own footing in this world again before he is fit to be an example for anyone else."

That, Harry could understand.

He stepped forward and hugged Sirius tightly. "I love you too, Sirius. The door is always open, okay?"

"Same for you, kiddo."

They parted and looked at each other with bitter smiles before walking in opposite directions. Harry felt quite hollow, as if he'd lost something quite profound just now. But then, Luna was hugging him and telling him how brave he'd been to walk into the DoM and he told his little family about the strange rooms he had to pass through to reach the hall of prophecies. 

"Brains in a tank?" Barty asked distastefully. "And the ministry keeps proscribing necromancy. I doubt those brains were simply conjured up by Transfiguration masters."

"They are the brains of great wizards and witches who were in good standing with the ministry and volunteered to part with their brains after death," Voldemort explained. "Fascinating, if questionable."

"You're one to talk," Tom scoffed.

"You're all incorrigible," Luna soothed them. "No need to fight. For me, all of you are the scariest little necromancers."

"You said yourself that you feed raw meat to the thestrals, Luna Lovegood," Tom reminded her. "I think if all of Hogwarts voted for 'most likely to turn to necromancy', you'd easily make the top three."

Luna pretended to be aghast but she was soon giggling along with Tom, lost in a world of their own. Some of the darkness in Harry's mind receded upon seeing their carefree attitude towards each other, and when they finally took the Floo home, he collapsed into Barty's arms.

"That was so exhausting," he muttered and pressed himself as close as he could.

"You did well," Barty reassured him. "We're all proud of you."

"I'm just glad Sirius Black decided to do the sensible thing for once," Tom sighed. "I think I'd have gotten a migraine if I'd been forced to enter a muggle café."

"It's not so bad in a muggle café," Luna said with a strict expression. "Their cappuccino is delicious."

"Yes, yes, and Grindelwald was an okay dude except for all the slaughter."

Tom and Luna walked away, still bickering, and Harry watched them leave with a fond, warm feeling in his chest.

Voldemort took Harry by the arm and Barty by the back of the neck and pulled both of them along with him. They ended up in the man's study and were swiftly deposited on the leather couch Voldemort kept in there.

"Give me the prophecy, Harry," Voldemort commanded and Harry was quick to obey.

"They said you can only listen to it once," Harry said, and Barty shot up to retrieve parchment and a self-inking quill from Voldemort's desk.

"My memory will not fail me," Voldemort muttered. 

The man looked almost uncharacteristically solemn. It was different from the sort of cold aloofness he'd adopted in the ministry, or when he'd met with his old schoolmates and confidants. Harry's heart beat faster, and he scooted closer to Barty who'd sat down again as well.

Voldemort began pacing and, upon his fourth turn, smashed the orb on the ground. A static holographic vision of Professor Trelawney appeared like in the science fiction films Dudley had always liked to watch but Harry could only spare half a thought because the rest of his vision was going white with rage.

He wanted to scream, but instead he listened to the one with the power approaching, being marked as the Dark Lord's equal, and neither of them able to live while the other survived.

It was quiet when the prophecy was over. Only the scratching of Barty's quill disturbed the bitter silence of realisation Voldemort had to be going through right now. It quite managed to snuff out Harry's earlier fury at actually seeing the stupid, histrionic Divination teacher speaking the prophecy who'd sealed his fate for himself.

"Voldemort…" Harry started, but he didn't know what to say.

To Harry's surprise, Voldemort hit the wall with his fist, hard, and then whirled around to point at Barty with a hand that was sporting bleeding knuckles.

"You were right," Voldemort snarled. "You were fucking right and I was too far gone to realise it!"

"Master, please, you couldn't have–"

"None of this would have happened if I'd listened to you!"

Harry looked between the two and raised his eyebrows. "What's going on? What was Barty right about?"

Voldemort turned away in disgust without answering and Barty looked… off when he met Harry's eyes. Harry hadn't seen the man look this haunted ever since they'd escaped Hogwarts. 

Barty drew in a big breath. "I was the only Death Eater who'd actually taken Divination in school, so master… consulted me on the matter of the prophecy. Back then, I mean."

"And you told him not to go after me?"

"It was either you or Neville Longbottom since the prophecy would have fit him as well as you. I told him not to go after either of you, and for a time he didn't, but…"

"I was a fool!" Voldemort looked miserable and full of regret. "The horcruxes had me so far gone that I chose not to heed your counsel. Imagine, Harry—Barty had hardly turned eighteen years old and fearlessly pleaded on his knees for me to listen to him in this matter—telling me that even wise men could fall victim to the dangers of self-fulfilling prophecies!"

"I'm not–"

"And yet you should be! I disregarded the one thing you ever asked of me. Clearly, I am a bigger idiot than I had anticipated."

Harry watched Voldemort grapple some more with his emotions and didn't quite know what to make of this himself. Voldemort had marked him as his equal… 

With quick strides, Voldemort crossed the room and—

"Oh fuck," Harry whispered when Voldemort got down on one knee in front of him and held both his hands.

Voldemort's red eyes bored into his. "It is all my fault, Harry."

It was hard to keep looking back into Voldemort's eyes with how intense the man's gaze was but Harry simply refused to look away. "I don't care." He squeezed Voldemort's hands back tightly. "I have already forgiven you for way worse, and I don't think Barty will be mad at you either."

"I won't." Barty put both parchment and quill on the table and reached out to brush his thumb over the scar on Harry's forehead. "Mark him as his equal… In a, mhh, very roundabout way, the things that happened made me end up here. I'm not saying the path I was made to take was anything but stony and horrible and frankly fucking terrifying, but now that I'm here…"

Voldemort let go of Harry with one of his hands to reach for Barty's, clasped on the man's lap. 

It was an unusual change of perspective to be the one to look down at Voldemort for once. Since the man was incredibly easy on the eyes on a normal day, seeing him as open as this only made him look even more handsome. Harry swallowed uneasily.

"Thank you," Voldemort said sincerely.

It was a little too sincere for Barty, apparently, because the man blushed down to the collar of his robes and tried to pull his hands away.

"Master, please, you can't… this is too much…"

Voldemort hummed and smiled as softly as Harry had ever seen him smile.

"You reclaimed the soul piece in the diadem," Harry whispered in realisation.

"What?" Barty asked. "Already?"

"Yes," Voldemort answered readily. "It becomes easier with practice. I did it last night. I fear I have quite forgotten how potent emotions can be if you let them roam free. And with Tom in the same house, and Harry right here…"

Harry giggled. "And to think people believe you are a heartless monster."

"You did not witness me during the height of the last war, Harry," Voldemort told him. "I was… not as I am now. Why, Barty, with all the things I understand better now, I wonder how you could have ever idolised me so."

"Don't say that," Barty begged and shook his head. "You were cruel but powerful—Terrible but great. I would have followed you to the end of the world, just as I would now."

"Of course you would say that, Barty," Voldemort hummed and moved his hand to hold Barty's cheek. "My loyal little servant."

"I love you," Barty blurted out. "I've always loved you, ever since I first met you."

Voldemort groaned rather helplessly, Harry thought, and he felt his heart constrict at the longing and the want in Voldemort's eyes. Had he really been so disconnected from his emotions? Well, Harry had gotten to know Tom, and if that was how Voldemort used to be when he wasn't busy sending a basilisk after you… 

He couldn't help but raise the hand Voldemort was still holding Harry's hands with to his face and pressed a kiss to the man's knuckles.

Voldemort looked at him, and the man's pupils looked almost completely human and not at all snake-like anymore with how blown wide they were.

"I love you," Harry whispered. "Both of you. A whole lot. And… I know I didn't have it as bad as either of you, but I'd still live through it all again and again if that meant I'd end up here with you."

"You were literally beaten with cooking utensils, Harry," Barty reminded him. "And they starved you. I laid waste to a whole street to get back at the people who wronged you."

"Huh, well, what can I say to that," Harry laughed awkwardly in response. "We've all been dealt a shit hand, haven't we?"

"No more," Voldemort promised darkly. "Whoever dares lay a hand on either of you will feel the full extent of my wrath."

It had never sounded sweeter to have death and destruction promised to him on his behalf.

"I really want to kiss you right now," he admitted, and Voldemort readily leaned up to seal Harry's lips with his own. 

Fuck, but Voldemort smelled so good. Harry grinned and pulled his hands free to wrap them around the man's neck and pull him closer. Voldemort obligingly rose and sat down on the couch between Harry and Barty, all without breaking their kiss. 

"Now," Voldemort hummed once he let Harry breathe again, "what do we do about the prophecy?"

The man splayed his arms and tucked both Harry and Barty into him on either side of him. Harry snuggled in closer and reached out to grab Barty's hand so they held hands in the middle of Voldemort's chest. It was an incredibly comfortable feeling to be held close like this, and Harry quite wanted Barty to come sleep in Voldemort's bed too, just like this.

"I say we just ignore it," Harry said.

"What he said," Barty agreed quietly. "A prophecy only ever holds as much power as you give it. I think both of you have been controlled by that blasted thing for long enough."

"I wish I had listened to you earlier, Barty," Voldemort sighed. "Even as headless as I was back then, I should have known better. Out of all my followers, you have never once let me down."

"I've done my fair share of stupid things, even in your service."

Harry watched Voldemort tip Barty's chin up with a gentle touch before he kissed the man with a soft press of lips. Barty squeezed Harry's hand, and Harry squeezed back.

"We ignore it," Voldemort hummed and pulled them even closer.

-o-

Life in Moregrave manor, as Harry was beginning to call it, fell into a simple rhythm. 

Voldemort, bless his heart, set aside an afternoon early on to go have a talk with Luna's dad. That talk apparently proved to be quite enlightening because Voldemort stayed gone until after nightfall and came back clutching a necklace with a most curious pendant.

"So… Luna is allowed to stay?" Tom asked when Voldemort entered the sitting room where the four of them had congregated to wait for him.

"No," Voldemort answered. "She will live at her father's house and come here every weekday on the condition that she be provided adequate schooling to make up for not attending Hogwarts."

Here, Voldemort looked at Barty who nodded enthusiastically. "I will happily teach all three of them."

"Now wait a minute!" Tom began to argue and pointed a finger at Barty. "Who said anything about teaching me?"

Barty raised an eyebrow and smiled benignly at Tom. "I don't know, Tom. I only know that I passed my NEWTs with twelve Os whereas you didn't even finish sixth year."

"Ohh, you're good," Tom laughed. "Of course you would think you're smarter than me, you little Ravenclaw."

"Even Lord Voldemort was not vain enough to think he could teach himself everything on his own," Voldemort said with an indulgent smirk. "Barty will be a good teacher, and he will have me to consult whenever you lot prove too much for him to handle."

Tom simply grumbled silently to himself. Harry, for his part, was looking forward to a class consisting of Tom, Luna and him being taught by Barty, and sometimes Voldemort.

"That's daddy's necklace," Luna said carefully. "Did he give it to you?"

"Funnily enough, he had a small chest full of spares," Voldemort told her indulgently. "Your father was very accommodating once I told him of my plans and motivations. He was especially enraptured with my collection of rare magical artifacts."

Harry watched Luna's eyes narrow and then widen dramatically. "You did not. No way. Both the philosopher's stone and–" She broke off and held her hands in front of her mouth in shock.

"What can I say," Voldemort shrugged. "Lord Voldemort has ever deserved more than the world has afforded him. And finally, after a lifetime of waiting, he is coming into his own."

Harry agreed with that sentiment unconditionally even though he didn't know what precisely Luna and Voldemort were talking about.

Still, he found himself nodding along slightly. "You deserve the world, nothing less."

Voldemort gifted him with a brilliant grin that made the man's white teeth shine. "Indeed."

And thus, Harry spent his mornings with Luna and Tom, all of them being taught by Barty. Even though Tom liked to rile Barty up from time to time which made the man quite flustered since the whole obedience thing with Tom was conflicting for him, their lessons were still more enjoyable than anything Harry had ever experienced in any kind of school setting.

He understood why rich people had historically preferred tutoring their children at home if life could be this stress-free.

In a way, he was surprised that Luna was allowed to stay away from school as well just like that, but he realised he didn't even know whether Wizarding Britain had compulsory school attendance or not.

He spent his afternoons and evenings doing some reading, practicing Occlumency, and flying his broom with Barty. Tom, Luna and Voldemort were, unfortunately, all severely disinterested in flying on a broom. He supposed the illustrious witch and wizard only travelled by thestral these days… 

-o-

And then, one morning, Harry woke up and it was the day of the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. 

For the first time during the tournament, he felt like he was prepared for whatever fate might throw at him, so he allowed himself to curl up a little more and reminisce about the perfect weeks he'd spent at his new home.

He had spent what free time he had training his spellwork, quite unheeding of the ministry's underage magic law prohibitions on Voldemort's behest. He'd argued that since Harry was of age thanks to the tournament, there was nothing anyone could do, legally speaking. And what would they have done in any case? Expelled him from Hogwarts? He'd already expelled himself.

And if anyone were to take his wand… Harry didn't think Barty or Voldemort would take kindly to that. He had people who protected him, and he didn't have to face the world on his own anymore. That was… Harry grinned into his pillow. That was all he'd ever longed for.

When he came down, already in the dueling robes Voldemort had gifted him for Christmas, he was surprised to find that Barty was already up and making breakfast.

"You're not sleeping in?"

"Harry!" Barty quickly put down his pan, whirled around and hugged him fiercely. 

Harry returned the hug and smiled when Barty leaned back. "Are you being emotional, Barty?"

"I'm worried. I know I shouldn't be, I know you've got this, but I'm still worried."

"I'm just glad I'm important enough to people for them to worry about me," Harry admitted with a grin before leaning in and giving Barty a kiss. "I love you."

Barty turned into mush, the way he usually did when Harry told him he loved him. It was adorable, and also quite addictive to have this much power over someone. Harry understood by now why Voldemort had chosen Barty and his easy loyalty to latch onto even back when his mind had been brutalised by the many horcruxes he'd created.

"Thank you, Harry," Barty whispered. "I know you'll manage the maze just fine."

Barty needed a bit more time before he was ready to let go of Harry, and giving Barty some more time to dote on him was exceptionally easy to do. Harry leaned back into the embrace and drank in Barty's comforting presence greedily.

He also used this opportunity to once again reassure himself that Barty was beginning to fill out. No longer a prisoner, and also no longer forced to drink Polyjuice daily, the man was even beginning to lose some of the haunted look in his eyes. Harry had insisted on buying a whole new wardrobe's worth of clothes for Barty (and Voldemort and Tom, too) and you could finally tell just how nice he really looked with a professional haircut, and properly fitting clothes.

"And what is this?"

Barty made to pull back at the sound of Voldemort's voice, but Harry kept him close.

"Nothing," Harry answered with his voice muffled by the soft skin of Barty's neck. "Just some cuddling before I go and risk my life one last time."

"You really believe that?" Voldemort huffed with irritation. "Do you think I will let you risk your life just like that? Everyone in my service who can be at Hogwarts with any kind of justifiable cause will be there this evening, Harry."

"I know you won't let me walk to my death," Harry laughed, and Barty grabbed him a little tighter. 

"I'll be there, too. They can certainly try capturing me. At least the Aurors might be too busy chasing me to accost either of you."

"No one is getting chased, and no one is going to be captured or accosted or anything of the sort." Voldemort's voice brooked no argument, but Harry could sense the uneasiness in the man's tone.

"I can take care of myself," Harry reassured the both of them and leaned back once more to look at both Barty and Voldemort. "You both trained me really well. There's no way I won't make it through those stupid hedges."

Voldemort looked unhappy, but they had had talks about the third task before and they'd agreed that there was no way around it: Harry was going to have to compete.

Harry beckoned the man closer and squeaked in surprised delight when Voldemort enveloped both him and Barty in his long arms and squeezed.

-o-

When they arrived in Hogsmeade in the afternoon, Harry nodded decisively and led the way. They had agreed on a bit of an arrow formation way of walking, with Harry at the helm. Barty and Luna were walking on either side of him, a little behind, and then Voldemort and Tom were next to them in turn.

Like geese, Harry had suggested, because he'd learned back in muggle school that geese flew in this formation.

"You know, Harry," Tom drawled from his right, "contrary to popular belief, it's not the weakest goose that leads the flock. In fact, it's the fastest goose who is the best at navigating."

"Your point?" Harry asked. "If you want to imply that I shouldn't be–"

"Oh, not at all. Over the course of your training over the last month, you earned this spot. You can do this."

Harry huffed out a laugh because anything more than that would have surely ended with him sobbing and pulling Tom into a long-overdue hug. "I appreciate that a lot, Tom. Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

The castle was lit from every window. Even though it wasn't even properly dusk, Harry could tell they had pulled all the stops this time around. There were already groups of people gathered on the grounds, and most of them weren't students judging by what Harry could see of their clothes from a distance.

When they approached, many gazes swivelled into their direction and Harry felt like screaming and throwing up at the same time.

"You have a good heart, Harry," Barty whispered. "When you face them, face them with strength and courage."

Harry set his jaw and squared his shoulders. He'd grown a little since the beginning of the summer, helped along with supplementary potions provided to him by Voldemort, and he felt strong, and capable. He was going to survive the maze—now he only needed to survive the people before he could enter it.

He didn't know any of the people they walked past in the beginning, but they all made space readily enough for him and his friends. 

The first people he recognised, funnily enough, were the Malfoys, all three of them, but he only recognised their blonde hair from the corner of his eyes. He only stopped to acknowledge them when Lucius boldly stepped into their path.

"Mr Malfoy."

Lucius didn't answer. He was back to his old self, looks-wise, but there was a lingering shadow covering his aristocratic face. When their eyes met, Harry was shocked to find honest emotions flickering over Lucius' face, too fast for him to analyse.

Before he could react, Lucius bowed deeply to him. In an instant, Draco and Narcissa were beside him, and they both bowed as deeply as him.

"The Malfoy family will never forget what you did for us, Mr Potter," Lucius said earnestly, and Harry was quite overwhelmed when Narcissa rushed forward to envelop him in a hug.

"Thank you, cousin," she whispered. "Aunt Dorea would be so proud of you."

Before Harry could work through that, she'd let go of him and he was confronted with Draco, of all people. He was about to curl his lip in disgust when the other boy extended his hand. Harry stared at the offered handshake, and when he looked up to look into Draco's face, the boy wore an expression of turmoil and uncertainty that made him look simultaneously older and younger than he usually looked.

"I won't forget this, Potter. I'm sorry for all the, for… everything."

"Thanks," Harry replied simply and finally returned the handshake he'd owed for close to four years. "I won't forget that you managed to rise above yourself today. I know this can't be easy for you."

Draco looked surprised, but he stepped aside when his mother put her hand on his shoulder and they continued on. With his laser focus on the Malfoys broken, Harry noticed the people around them were beginning to whisper amongst themselves and he desperately wished to go home again and curl up on the couch with Barty.

When they reached the castle, it was McGonagall who was waiting for them at the top of the steps leading up to the great entrance door. With detached curiosity, Harry noticed that they had repaired the door. It looked like a shoddy job.

"The champions are to gather for an interview and a photo session," McGonagall informed him curtly. Harry noticed she very pointedly didn't look at anyone but him.

"It doesn't say in the contract that I have to attend any of that." 

"Mr Potter–"

Harry shook his head. "Spare me—I don't want to hear it."

McGonagall bristled, and Harry guessed Voldemort had been quiet long enough. "Harry stays with me." Their loose formation broke, and Voldemort put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Any effort to remove him from my side will be seen as a declaration of war and receive an answer in kind."

"War?" McGonagall asked indignantly. "Mr Potter wasn't yours to take in the first place!"

"Good thing he came voluntarily." Voldemort sounded dismissive and Harry couldn't help but feel mollified that finally, someone was standing up for him. "Do not try me."

McGonagall pinched her lips. Harry wondered what it was with adults who met Voldemort biting into lemons lately.

"I am where I want to be, Professor McGonagall," Harry said as clearly as he could manage so everyone would hear.

Did everyone think he was held under the Imperius curse? Or that he was being blackmailed? McGonagall certainly didn't look like she felt any sort of pity for him…

Harry turned away from the castle and made to walk for the modified Quidditch pitch. There were fewer people here than in front of the entrance gates but just about halfway, another figure stepped into his path.

"Hermione," Harry whispered.

Hermione's gaze was steely, and her jaw was set in that particular way he knew meant business. They had exchanged letters, and Harry had tried to explain, but how could you explain all that had happened to the friend who'd stood with you to fight against the man you had chosen to run to?

"Just answer me one question, Harry Potter." Hermione was trembling with an emotion Harry couldn't analyse. "Are you happy?"

Harry thought of soft blue eyes and long fingers. Of good food, a crackling fire and all the laughter that accompanied card games and stupid marble competitions, and of the way Tom's eyes went all soft and sentimental at Luna when he thought no one was looking. Of Barty needing to kneel at Voldemort's feet in the evenings sometimes, and how much peace it brought the both of them. Of another meeting with Voldemort's old school friends he'd attended, where Corvus had taken him aside and asked him what he'd done to repair the Dark Lord?

"I don't know if it was something I did." Harry shrugged uneasily. "I think that maybe… I managed to show him something that was actually worth attaining immortality for? He wanted to escape death, so he was running away. He's not running away now—he's shaping a better future because he has something to work towards now."

Corvus eyed him shrewdly but Harry refused to flinch under the man's gaze. "It's you. He works for a better future because of you."

Harry allowed himself to grin. "Maybe. Who knows?

Back in the present, Harry grinned brightly at Hermione. 

"Thank you for worrying about me, Hermione, but what I said in my letters is true. I have never been better."

Hermione still looked uncertain, so Harry boldly stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. He was surprised to find he was taller than her now.

"I missed you, Harry," she whispered into his shoulder. "Please tell me you are really safe with them. With him."

"I promise I am. You can come visit during the break if you want. I promise things are good, and that Wizarding Britain will be better than it's ever been."

Hermione sighed. "I'll kill him if he hurts you."

"Believe me, he'd kill himself if he hurt me."

They let go of each other, and Harry noticed only then that Viktor was there too and was currently talking with Barty and Luna in a quiet conversation. Meanwhile, Voldemort and Tom were looking on as silent guardians. He knew their wands were polished and strapped to their forearms. Harry was about to announce they could go on for now when he noticed Voldemort perk up and immediately summon his wand to his hand. 

Harry whirled around and felt the ground drop from below him. A flash of electric blue passed over him. There, making his way towards them on uneven feet, was a man he'd thought he'd just about fallen in love with what felt like a lifetime ago.

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody looked murderous, and Harry squared his shoulders to stand between Barty and their advancing nightmare.

Notes:

My favourite line in this is Harry's "I know you won't let me walk to my death." because it illustrates the difference between this version of Voldemort and Dumbledore so beautifully <3

Chapter 37

Notes:

Okay, so I'm gonna be honest. I did not think I was ever going to finish this, but here we are! I'm really proud of myself, guys.

 

I've started writing fanfiction again (Marvel, woo! Keep your eyes peeled if you like Winterbaron), remembered I had the beginning of this still gathering dust, and pulled myself together to give those of you who've been patient the ending you've been waiting for. (Hopefully!)

 

I've distanced myself from the Harry Potter franchise due to JKR's frankly hideous anti trans agenda but figured that since this story is already out there, I might as well get it done.

I hope I can give some of you the closure you've been waiting for for too long. Thank you for being on this long journey with me!

Alastor Moody looked just like Barty had looked when he'd posed as the man, coat and all. The magical eye wasn't whirring. Instead, while Moody's good eye was looking at Voldemort, the electric blue one was staring straight at Barty.

Harry took another step forward. "Professor Moody–"

"Not your professor, boy. Never was, never will be. Crouch." Barty flinched—Harry knew he hated that name. "Funny to find after all these years that your father was right about you. Tried to tell him you must have gotten caught up with the wrong folk, but you were the little mastermind all along, weren't you?

"I have no father," Barty spat back. "Just like Bartemius Crouch Senior doesn't have a son. Don't you remember how adamant he was?"

Harry wanted to step in and defend Barty, but that was still Alastor. Alastor, who he'd cuddled with on the armchair, in front of the fire, who'd kept him safe, who'd–

A hand landed hard on his shoulder and Harry flinched. When he looked up, Voldemort looked down at him with an indecipherable expression. "This is not your confrontation, Harry."

Harry grit his teeth and nodded. Truth be told, he didn't know whether he could confront Alastor. The expressions Barty had donned while posing as the man had looked just the same, but Harry had never been subjected to this particular death glare himself. That one had been reserved for Draco, the Ravenclaws who'd bullied Luna, Dumbledore… 

Harry took a step closer towards Voldemort and let Barty take the reins this time around. 

"You're just as arrogant as you've always been, boy," Moody growled. "Do you think your mother would be proud to see what you've done with your life? She died of grief!"

"You don't know anything, Alastor. She died in my stead, in Azkaban!" 

That seemed to take Moody by surprise. "What? You sent her to that place?"

"I sent nobody! They came to visit, and she took Polyjuice to pose as me until she… until…"

An interesting flurry of emotions whirled across Moody's face. "She took your place…"

Barty looked uncomfortable. "Alastor, I… I know you loved her, but–"

"Know? You know nothing of the world, Crouch!" Both of Moody's eyes were now on Barty, and the man raised his oak wand, the one that Harry knew so well.

Harry saw Voldemort flex the fingers of his right hand from the corner of his eyes. Had Moody been in love with Barty's mum? Harry hadn't known that, but then again, there was precious little he knew about Alastor Moody or Barty's blood family.

"I know plenty of the world and I'm–"

Moody interrupted Barty with an honest to God growl. "If I had known, or even suspected how you'd turn out, I'd never have agreed to be your godfather!" 

What?

Barty's hands were balled into tight fists. "I never asked you for anything, did I? I never asked anyone for anything! I was a good boy: I did my assignments in school, did my chores at home, never talked back—and I got nothing! No one gave me anything, no good words, no encouragement, nothing! All I got was, was indifference and impersonal birthday cards from people I never got to meet!"

Harry didn't like anything about what he was hearing, and Moody seemed to be sharing the sentiment all of a sudden. "Your father didn't want me in the house, or I would have–"

Barty looked terrible. Full of despair. Harry hated it. "But you didn't—you never did. No one did, until I met my master.

"He never cared about anyone but–"

"No, shut up! He did! He took me under his wing, and when his return was imminent, he freed me from my father who'd kept me a prisoner in my childhood home. He freed me from Dumbledore, too, and I am now, in turn, free to serve him. Until last year, out of everyone I've ever met, Lord Voldemort was the only one to ever give a rat's ass about me." Barty's courage seemed to grow along with his level of agitation, and he was the one pointing now while Moody took a step back. "I have regretted many things in my life, but I've never regretted following him."

Harry wondered whether using Voldemort's real name as casually as this was a good idea but then he caught Tom's eye, and the other boy winked at him. He realised that Tom was holding his wand, and that the air around them was shimmering in that way that was typical of the notice-me-not spell. Tom had probably used something like the Muffliato as well. God, they were all so smart and, well, aware of their surroundings at all times.

"I never liked your father, but I respected the kind of leader he was," Moody growled in that tone Harry still associated with comfort. It was maddening. "To think a man of his character could have sired a malignant tumor of a son like yourself–"

"Hey!" Harry shouted before he could stop himself. "You take that back! Barty's a good man, and you suck if you are his godfather and never cared for him."

Moody rounded on him immediately. "You were supposed to save this world from people like him, Harry Potter! I made a man out of the spoiled brat that was your father only for the Dark Lord to kill him. You were our beacon for the past decade, and now you, you fraternise with the enemy!”

Barty sent a wandless stinging hex at Moody and the man yelped in irritation. "You leave Harry out of this. Your quarrel is with me, Alastor."

Moody levelled one last, scathing look at Harry which pretty much snuffed out all lingering feelings in his heart. The man despised him which—just as well. You couldn't have your cake and eat it too.

"Normal people don't turn out like you do, Crouch." Moody's glare could have curdled milk. "Can't understand how a woman like your mother could give birth to a dark creature like you. Now, boy, don't look at me like that; I know how you lot operate. I've seen things in the last war, and even if the rest of the country wants to pretend things are different this time round… old Mad-Eye won't be fooled as easily."

"Fuck off, Alastor," Barty shot back. "You know nothing about my mother because she didn't choose you, and you are not my father either. I have no father, and you know what? I renounce the Crouch name and all that comes with it. I found my own family!"

"Bah, a Dark Lord and his adoring, misguided children hardly qualify as family, boy. You even pulled your little cousin along into your delusion!"

"I liked fake Alastor a lot more," Luna commented as dryly as Harry had ever heard her and he couldn't hold back a little snort.

Moody turned towards her and glared. "You are not supposed to like your professors, Luna Lovegood. Professors are not your friends, no matter what this man would have you believe. I don't know what kinds of things Crouch put into your head to make you go along with what he was doing, and to keep you going along even as his identity was revealed, but I won't have my good name slandered anymore!"

"Whatever." 

Harry turned to Barty at the sound of the man's voice and was surprised to find him grinning. A real, proper smile, even. What was up with that?

"You know what, Alastor? I might have turned out differently, if my mum had chosen you, but she hasn't. For all our magic, we can't change the past, and while it may sound cliché… I wouldn't change it even if we could, because what I have now? Worth it. Worth every last degradation and, and bullying and imprisonment, and whatever else I survived to end up where I am now."

"You delusional little freak!"

"So what? They teach you not to wake up sleepwalkers, don't they?" Barty's grin was infectious when he turned and winked at Harry, and it was like a veil had lifted. "I don't care what you have to say to me because I don't care about you, or Dumbledore, or anyone else who's with you. Just. Fuck off, alright? Leave me alone."

"You little shit…" Moody grabbed his wand tighter but before it could escalate, Voldemort sighed and took a step forward.

"Auror Moody, I think you have said your piece. If you make my servant kill a man on school grounds while children are watching on, I should be very cross with you—or rather, with what remains of you."

Eye contact between Alastor Moody and Lord Voldemort was, not surprisingly, very intense. Harry half-expected sparks to fly and electricity to crackle around them but nothing of the sort happened. They just stared at each other for a bit until Moody got a nosebleed and cursed under his breath before turning and walking away.

Luna hummed and cocked her head. "Did you read his mind? I thought he'd be a better Occlumens than that."

"Funnily enough, dear Luna," Voldemort said with a wave of his hand, "he tried to read mine. Must have thought his training was adequate, or maybe he was too caught up in his hubris."

"Doesn't matter." Tom dropped his wand and the static around them dissipated. "He's gone to lick his wounds. Damn, Barty. You were ruthless!"

Barty didn't meet any of their eyes when he answered and that made something in Harry's chest clench really hard. "So was he."

"Aw, Barty."

"Barty, no!"

Harry and Luna were on him in a heartbeat and hugged him from both sides. Fuck decorum. What good was the dark side if you couldn't do what you wanted? 

Barty let them hug him without fuss but Harry could tell he was trembling. 

"You did well, Barty." They all looked up when Voldemort came over towards them and put his hand on Barty's shoulder. "I know dealing with people from your past is no easy feat for you."

"Thank you, master." Barty looked away again but his posture straightened. "I can do it if I have to. Just, just wish I didn't, you know?"

Harry and Luna let go of Barty and… "More static, Tom? Really?"

"What's static? You mean the privacy spell? We don't need people seeing this and talking shit, Harry. There's enough of that as is."

"Static is… no, you know what? You're right, Tom."

"Everyone decent then?" Tom looked at each of them in turn and shrugged when they all nodded. "Bunch of pansies, swear to fuck."

"Language," Voldemort admonished. 

"Oh, fuck off."

Tom lowered the glamour or whatever kind of combination of spells he'd used to conceal them and Harry found himself straighten his back, too. "I can do this."

He wasted no more time leading them the rest of the way around the castle until they arrived at the repurposed Quidditch field. Knowing what awaited him made seeing the tall hedges no easier on him and the clusters of people already waiting on the stands or hanging around between them and the maze reminded him how very, very public the whole event was.

He could see the Malfoys again, but Draco looked away the moment their eyes met, which was fine, actually. Still, talking to Alastor Moody must have taken some time if everyone had already migrated here.

"You will need to take your place with the other champions, Harry." Voldemort's voice was quiet but firm and Harry swallowed thickly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know."

"You trained well for this day, and there are dozens of my followers who are looking out for you. You remember the plan?"

"No, yeah. Yeah, I do. I will not—it will be fine. I know that."

And then, miraculously, joyously, Voldemort pulled him into a firm hug and cupped the back of Harry's head with his big hand. "I know you do. Take care of yourself, my little soul piece. I will not be complete without you."

Aw fuck. Aw no. Harry could feel the back of his throat close up and his eyes were stinging something fierce. 

"Sentimental old–" Tom wrestled them apart and pulled Harry into a hug of his own. "Stiff upper lip now, Harry dearest. C'mon, get it together. No one's dying today—at least no one of ours, yeah?"

Harry nodded into Tom's shoulder and grabbed fistfuls of the other boy's robe. "Thanks, Tom. Really."

"Don't mention it. Really, don't. This is all way too lovey-dovey for me."

That made Harry chuckle, and the threat of tears wasn't as all-encompassing anymore as before, especially when Luna stepped up next after they'd parted to gently pat his shoulder. "You will do just fine, Harry Potter. You may be a dark hero now, but this is still your story."

"A what? My what? What?"

"Don't worry, Harry. It's all decided anyways. And Fate? She loves you."

"Okay?"

Barty was beyond words. His eyes were a little glassy, and his lips were pressed together in a thin line, but he bravely crossed the distance between them and hugged Harry as well.

"It's fine, Barty. I'll be fine. Voldemort said so, yeah? He doesn't lie to us."

Barty's nodding was a bit frantic, but Harry got it. Poor Barty wasn't good when things weren't entirely under his control but… well, today wasn't really about what any of them wanted, was it?

Before his nerves could get the better of him, Harry breathed in deeply, held the air in his chest, and then breathed out as slowly as he could manage. "Alright. No, you know what? It will be fine. I'll stick to the plan."

He didn't look back when he walked towards the area in front of the maze's entrance.

There were several people already gathered there, and none he particularly wanted to see. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Madame Maxime, ministry representatives… but then Madame Maxime shifted a bit to the side and–

"Harry!" Viktor came toward him and took his hand. "I see you are well. That makes my heart glad."

"Oh, well. Thanks, Viktor. Sorry for, uh, running out on you all, but. You know."

Viktor shook his head. "No, I don't, but that is of no matter. You look good. Nervous, yes, but happy. Are you happy?"

"Never been better, actually? It's strange. Feels like I… found something that was missing?"

Viktor nodded sagely and offered Harry a rare smile. "I get it, friend. Hermione is… at peace. She wanted to talk to you, in person. I hope it helped her… we talked a lot. She understands."

"Oh? Thanks, Viktor, that's… yeah. Talking to her was a relief. It really was. I mean, she sounded fine with everything in her letters, all things considered, but you never quite, well."

"Yes, I get it, but Hermione Granger is a smart young woman. Come, stay with me and my parents until it begins."

Harry was incredibly grateful for the opportunity to hide behind the broad backs of Viktor Krum and his father until it was time for everyone but the champions to depart. That's when he finally saw–

"Fleur," he whispered, and the girl's haunted eyes zeroed in on him. 

She was still beautiful, but there was a sense of deep sorrow and fatigue around her that she wore like a mourning veil.

"'arry Potter." Her voice was soft as the fluttering of bird's wings. "I would have died if you'd taken longer in the tournament."

"I'm… damn. Fleur, I'm just sorry I wasn't any faster. I'm glad you and your sister got out." His hands trembled. "This whole tournament was a mistake. Let's all just survive today, okay? None of you deserve to become tragic footnotes in this chapter of Britain's history."

Cedric, who'd kept purposely on the sidelines, met Harry's eyes for the first time. God, Harry had to seem like the worst sort of traitor to him. Still, Cedric nodded because he was just that kind of guy. "No deaths today. We'll do this quick and clean."

"Quick and clean," Viktor agreed, and Harry thought that maybe… maybe the third task would turn out fine after all if his plan managed to work.

 

-o-

 

"And she just stayed there with you?" Tom looked unconvinced. 

Luna laughed freely and put her head on Tom's shoulder. "Did you see her? She looked ill. There was no way she was going to win this, so why bother?"

"Not to mention that she didn't even want to win." Harry sighed and shook his head. "Never seen anyone look so… melancholy, really. She was so relieved when she turned the first corner and found me sitting there."

Barty grinned and put his arm around Harry's shoulder. "I can't believe Harry "Jock" Potter let a challenge go just like that. I mean, I know that was the plan, but to see you actually follow through with it?"

Harry set down his bottle of butterbeer and sobered up a little before looking at each of his three friends in turn. "Funny thing about that? Might just be that it was the first time meeting a challenge where I actually stood to lose something more than my life."

"Harry…"

"Awww!"

"Ugh, no."

The reactions were as varied as his friend's personalities and that… Harry laughed and hugged Barty to himself. "I mean it. I love you guys."

There was some more gentle ribbing from Tom after that, but the other boy was becoming more and more in tune with his emotions lately and that. Yeah. It was strange for any iteration of Tom Riddle to exhibit feelings as freely as this particular Tom was beginning to, but it was a good kind of strange. Things were looking up for him, for all of them, and that was just a very nice feeling.

"Anyway, when's Voldemort coming back? I mean, how long can one hostile takeover take?" 

Luna giggled. "Tom, you're ridiculous. It's not a hostile takeover; Voldemort is merely standing in for Harry at the silly award ceremony in case there's trouble."

"He could have had Yaxley do it. Or Lestrange." 

Barty laughed, suddenly, and Harry looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"Funny you lot mention Corvus today of all days." He leaned forward and his face took on a sinister sort of grin that made Harry's tummy do all sorts of somersaults. 

"Alright, I'm taking the bait." Tom crossed his arms. "What's up with Lestrange?"

"He's in the audience today, except he isn't. Harry's brilliant stunt of having Luna as his stand-in in Hogsmeade while he visited Voldemort with me? That inspired my master to disguise all his strongest followers in a similar fashion today."

"What's today?" Luna asked. "Why do they all need an alibi?"

"Oh shit, he did not!" Tom was on his feet in an instant. "Azkaban? Today? Are you kidding me, Barty?"

"Woah, wait, what?" Harry jumped up from the settee and looked from Barty to Tom and back. "Azkaban? Didn't they want to do this officially?"

Barty shrugged. "Even with a majority, it was taking too long, and there were promises made. Plus, the guys in Azkaban deserve better."

"But what about that lady in Azkaban, Barty?" Tom's smile was a bit wicked. Leave it to him to forget how mad he was at being excluded in favour of riling Barty up.

"Bellatrix Lestrange is welcome to try her advances on my master." Barty sneered and thus destroyed the illusion of being the bigger person. "He won't suffer her doing anything untoward."

"They're raiding Azkaban." Harry had to try and get them back on track because breaking into Azkaban was a bit of a bigger deal than Barty's jealousy issues. "That's… that's mental! Isn't it a fortress? Can they even do it without Voldemort himself?"

Barty shrugged. "Guess we'll have to wait and see."

"Wait, he isn't being impersonated via Polyjuice too, right?"

"He was with us all day, Harry." Barty's smile was reassuring if a little brittle, so the heartbeat thundering in his veins slowed a little. "He spoke Parseltongue with you. Even if it all goes tits up, he'll be fine."

That was all well and good of course, but Harry really wanted Voldemort's plan to succeed. "It won't go tits up. They must have planned it all out meticulously or Voldemort would never have agreed. He hates losing."

Tom made a face that was so loud it prompted Harry to turn and look over at him. "Doesn't mean he doesn't still lose. I would know—he's me. We've lost, eh, quite often, actually. Wouldn't go so far as to call us losers but... Voldemort's not infallible. Far from it."

That sounded like heresy to Harry's ears, but it was Tom saying it, so he was torn over how to feel about the possibility of Voldemort failing. 

"We won't change anything either way." Luna's voice was a welcome distraction and Harry turned gratefully toward his friend. "Let's just pass time as well as we can and wait for him to come home."

His mood soured again. "I don't like sitting around!"

Tom smirked. "Tough luck. You just survived a dangerous magical tournament by doing exactly that, so why not let the big boys handle the big boy things and we just kick back and relax?"

When Harry petulantly sat back down, Barty snuck his arm around his shoulders again and pulled him close. "Hey, he'll be fine, yeah? They all will be."

Harry sighed but nodded anyways. "It's just. I'm not used to not being part of the action, you know?

"Oh, I know," Barty laughed. "Oh Merlin, don't I know that. Anyways, did you see Dumbledore's face when they brought Fleur and you out of the maze ten seconds after going in to retrieve the losers?"

Harry shook his head. "I… very purposely did not make eye contact with him all evening."

Barty grinned and ducked his head a little sheepishly. "Yeah, that's the mature thing. I, for one, couldn't quite help myself? I admit I have a bit of a vicious streak, and his face was this weird mixture between relief, exasperation and, mhh, anger? Nothing went according to his plans this year, and he knows his days are numbered."

"You think Voldemort is going to kill him?"

Barty shrugged. "Oh, for sure. Sooner or later, he'll want the school, and Dumbledore won't give that up without a fight."

How nonchalant Barty was about death, and killing, still managed to surprise Harry sometimes. But then Barty had killed people before, and Harry himself could still remember the feel of skin roasting beneath his fingers. He wondered, vaguely, whether death had come quick for all the residents of Privet Drive, or whether they'd burned to death just like Quirrell, and realised in that moment, maybe for the first time, how far he'd slipped. 

 

-o-

 

It was already well past midnight when Tom looked up from what felt like their one hundredth game of Exploding Snap.

“He's back.”

Harry frowned at him. “It's so creepy that you can feel that.”

Tom threw him an unimpressed look. "Mh. Says the guy who could also feel that, and more, if he wasn't such a stubborn bastard.”

“My parents were married.”

“So were mine!”

“Boys,” Luna laughed, “just in case this is a race, Barty's already halfway to the door.”

Harry and Tom both looked up to find Barty's chair pushed back. Harry could only see Barty's robes disappearing around the corner and quickly rose to follow him into the foyer.

And there he was: Voldemort looked regal and beautiful and absolutely victorious. Barty was already wrapped around Voldemort's middle, and Harry wasted no time stepping close to the two men.

“How'd it go?”

“Viktor Krum has been crowned Triwizard Champion,” Voldemort informed him grandly. “You made third place, Harry. Congratulations.”

Harry shook his head, expression severe. “You know that's not what I'm talking about.”

“Ah.” Voldemort nodded solemnly. “I see. So my dear Barty cannot keep a secret from you to save his life.”

Barty made a soft sound from where his face was smushed against Voldemort's elaborate robes. “Sorry, master.”

“No, I expected no different, boy.” Voldemort's hand looked very big where it rested against Barty's lower back. “You will all be pleased to know that Azkaban prison is henceforth severely lacking in dementor sustenance. My loyal followers have been returned to the fold and will be well taken care of by their brothers and sisters.”

Harry could see Luna nodding from the corner of his eye. “The dementors won't like this. You know that.”

Voldemort's expression, to his credit, stayed serene. “Oh, I know, Luna. In fact, I am counting on it.”

Harry crossed his arms. “No more secrets.” He frowned unhappily. “I survived the tournament. There are no more distractions for me. I want to know what's happening from now on, before it happens.”

Voldemort's red eyes turned to him, and there was… warmth there. Challenge, too. Harry still couldn't believe how familiar this man was to him by now. When Voldemort opened his free arm for him, Harry couldn't help but step forward and accept the embrace that followed.

“I cannot tell you about all the things I set in motion, Harry, but I promise to involve you in my plans.”

“That would be a start.” Harry huffed. “Raiding Azkaban without telling me about it. Pah."

“To be fair: it was not I that raided that dreadful place, and I would not have suffered you stepping even one foot on the island.”

Barty shuddered next to Harry. “You need to keep Harry away from the dementors, master. He's susceptible to them.”

Voldemort hummed unhappily. “Yes, I know. You both are. Before long, you will have me forced to learn the Patronus charm just to keep you safe.”

“I can do the Patronus charm,” Harry argued. “I chased a hundred dementors away.”

“Oh, please stop bragging.”

“Shut up, Tom!”

“Mh.” Voldemort squeezed his waist. “Settle down. Just because you can does not equate to a need to hone that skill, Harry. But come now, the hour is already late. We will drink to your survival. A long week of politics is ahead of us, and if that is something you are interested in joining in, you will need to be well-rested.”

 

-o-

 

In the end, there was no one great moment of revolution or usurpation. One day, the ministry workers arrived as normal to their jobs, and the next, they still arrived as normal to their jobs, but Minister Fudge was no longer Minister. Harry wasn't sure whether Fudge was still anything because he seemed to simply... cease existing. In his stead, Corban Yaxley was elected by a Wizengamot that knew better than to stand in the way of progress.

Hogwarts was taken from under Albus Dumbledore's reign with the same quiet finality of a river finding its path. There might have been another battle, but it was all kept very hush-hush, and Harry really didn't want to continue thinking about Dumbledore.

It only came as a little surprise to Harry at this point that the new Potions professor, Mr. Seloquent, had already been vetted by Voldemort somehow before even getting the job, and had now been given the title of interim headmaster. If he thought too hard about how much influence Voldemort had always been wielding, he was only gonna spiral from there.

In that vein, Harry realised during the summer and then the autumn that followed that true power was about more than being good at duelling or Quidditch or even holding speeches. True power lay hidden, waiting, coiled like a snake ready to spring. And he realised also that in Magical Britain, the snakes were always ready to spring. 

A year ago, hell, maybe even half a year ago, he might have tried to fight against the system and burned out like a molting phoenix, but as it stood… well. His belly was full, his clothes fit, and the people he shared a house with cared so much about him that they had killed for him and would no doubt do it again, entirely without hesitation.

He missed the old days sometimes, but when he tried to remember them, it was more a feeling that he missed, and not any particular memory. After all, it had taken him ages to think of a good enough memory to fuel a Patronus back then, and by now, he couldn't decide which good memory he wanted at the forefront of his mind when he went to cast the spell.

Mostly, he enjoyed the simple creature comforts of good food, pleasant company, and the satisfaction of seeing Barty's hollow cheeks fill out under the patient guidance of both Voldemort and Harry.

 

-o-

 

On what felt like the last warm autumn evening of the year, Harry and Barty were finishing a picnic on the grounds of Voldemort's manor when thick, dark clouds began to roll in from the west. They quickly packed their things into the corny picnic basket Barty had insisted on buying and began to make their way back to the house.

Barty sighed and squeezed Harry's hand. “You know, this felt like the longest year I've ever lived through, and I've lived through some long, long years.”

“That makes you sound really old.”

“Wow. That's cold, Harry.” 

Harry couldn't help but laugh and stopped walking to press a kiss to Barty's cheek. He was growing like a weed these days and didn't even have to strain to reach Barty anymore. “Gotta keep you on your toes so you don't accidentally lose your youthful spirit.”

“You're such a little shit. I bet that's all Tom's influence.”

“Because I was such a perfect little angel when it was just the two of us?”

Barty smiled at him with that crooked little smile that always made Harry go a bit weak in the knees. “But it was never just the two of us, was it?” 

“No. No, it really wasn't.”

Barty leaned in and kissed his cheek as well which made Harry blush. "So... how do you think Tom's evening in casa de Lovegood is going?"

Barty shrugged. "Oh, I'm sure he's already got Xenophilius wrapped around his little finger. Charming bugger."

That made Harry snort. "Yeah, yeah. As if you don't like that about him."

"Of course I like that about him. I like everything about him."

"A most terrible affliction," Harry lamented with a dramatic sigh.

"You're almost as bad as him these days."

"Almost?" Harry shook his head. "Looks like I have to step up my game."

"Don't you dare. I'll tell master you're idolising his reckless younger self again!"

As if on cue, the back-door far ahead of them opened. There, illuminated by the warm glow of the magical lights behind him, Voldemort waited for them. 

Harry grinned as he turned to Barty. “Didn't he say he wasn't coming back tonight?”

“Guess he got lonely.” Barty winked at him and Harry's grin only got wider in response. “Last one there's a flubberworm!”

“What? Barty, wait, I have the basket!”

But by the time Harry had finished talking, Barty was already running toward the house. Just as Harry adjusted his grip on the basket to follow him, the rain started. Harry cursed and took out his wand to levitate the basket up in the air next to himself as he started running as well.

Way too quickly, the first fat droplets turned into a downpour that managed to soak Harry to the bone before he'd reached the dry warmth inside the house. Before Voldemort could make a face at the state of him, Harry barrelled straight into the other man which prompted Barty to follow suit. The combined onslaught toppled Voldemort over so that they all ended up a sodden, bedraggled mess on the floor together.

Voldemort groaned and simply stayed where he was. “To think I have managed to pick up the most disorderly of all the strays from Hogwarts Pound.” 

“Oh, don't be dramatic,” Harry complained with a big grin. “You like us too much to return us.”

“Morgana help me, but I do.”

Harry wasn't surprised when that was enough to make Barty whine a bit and hide his face against Voldemort's chest.

With one hand on the back of Barty's head and the other covering Harry's hand on his shoulder, Voldemort gave Harry, who was still sort of kneeling next to the other two, one of those soft smiles he rarely allowed himself to show. “I really do. You know that, Harry, do you not?”

Harry returned the smile and raised Voldemort's hand to his face so it could cradle his cheek. “Yeah.” He turned his face to the side, closed his eyes, and pressed a kiss into Voldemort's palm. “I know.”

And for now, that was enough. 

 

 

Notes:

And that, as they say, is that.

Thank you all again!

 

If you've any questions that haven't been answered in the story, feel free to ask them in the comments and I'll do my very best to give you satisfying answers!