Chapter Text
“Crucio.”
The word falls from Harry’s lips in a harsh whisper. Wand held steady in front of her; pointed at the blonde man kneeling before her, head bowed low. The man screams, flailing wildly on the floor in front of her.
Who was the man? Where was she? What was happening?
She’s leaning against something. A desk perhaps, based on the bookshelves lining the walls. There is a fireplace in the far corner where a huge snake lay curled in front of it. She can’t move at all, none of her limbs working, nor her mouth to ask what is happening.
“I need you to know, Lucius, just how disappointed I am.” Her mouth moves with no thought from Harry, “You can not even begin to understand the importance of the item you so carelessly allowed to be destroyed. An item I entrusted to you because of the faith I had in you. A faith you have broken.”
She waves her wand, ending the spell, and Lucius collapses to the floor with heaving breaths. Her wand. . . No. That was not her wand. This was not her body. Was this a dream like the one from last summer? Was she seeing what Voldemort was seeing? It seemed the most likely case, given the evidence.
“My- my Lord I a-apologize. I did not knowthe diary was so important to you, it was empty.” Lucius stumbles, both in his words and his attempts to return to a kneeling position.
The diary? Were they talking about the diary from second year?
“That does not matter. Crucio!”
Harry can feel the seething rage boiling under Voldemort’s skin, can taste it in his magic as he uses it to fuel the curse, watching the man before him writhe on the floor in agony with a sense of cruel satisfaction.
“I would think you would treat an item loaned to you by your Lord with more respect than to be used as a tool in a petty squabble, regardless of how unimportant you may think it to be.”
Voldemort ends the curse before maneuvering around the desk to seat himself in the chair. He says nothing as Lucius struggles to right himself once again after the curse. His long platinum hair was a tousled mess, and he shook with the after affects on the curse.
“Know this Lucius. It is only in honor of your father’s loyal service to me that you still breathe at this moment. I advise you to avoid disappointing me in the future to keep it that way. You are dismissed.”
Lucius raises himself, offering one low bow before limping hastily out of the room. He flinches when the snake raises it’s head to watch him go.
Voldemort watches the door for a moment, then heaves a heavy sigh, turning his head instead to the desk that was in front of him. Three books lay around the desk: “Veela Bonds” “Secrets of the Darkest Arts” “Ancient Ritual Potioneering” A parchment lay at the center of the desk, covered in handwritten notes. Various equations and words Harry does not recognize dot the parchment from top to bottom. Was Voldemort researching their bond? Maybe, but she wasn’t sure how the Dark Arts and Ritual Potioneering connected to it. Voldemort picks up “Secrets of the Darkest Arts” and opens it to the bookmarked page.
“Did the pretty one do something wrong?”
Voldemorts glances over to the snake, who was slithering from her spot by the fireplace towards Voldemort.
“He did. He lost one of the pieces of me, like the one in you.” Voldemort says, petting the snakes scales gently as it climbs into his lap.
“And like the one in your mate?”
“Yes, like that one too.” Voldemort shuffles, attempting to accommodate the heavy snake while also attempting to read his book. Eventually he settles, one hand holding the book, one stroking the great snakes scales. This time Harry catches some of the words on the page. Few cases of Horcruxes are available to be studied, and even less of those with animate vessels. Due of the lack of quantitative research and the unpredictable nature of soul magic, it is highly inadvisable to use a living being as a vessel for- Harry couldn’t make out any more, as the book suddenly becomes obscured by a large snake head.
“When will the hatchlings come?”
Voldemort chuckles softly.
“There’s no guarantee she carries my child after only once, Nagini. Besides, she does not want to be a part of this war. I doubt she will choose to involve me in the child’s life.”
“She would be stupid not to! You are strong, you can protect!” Nagini rears her head back, hissing the words empathically, “And you would be stupid to let her.”
“Nagini we are not-” Voldemort pauses his petting abruptly.
“Harry.”
Voldemort shushes Nagini as she protest his seeming innattentiveness.
“Eavesdropping is rude you know, Little Star. I was a little too. . . upset to notice your presence for a bit. An oversight I will endeavor to avoid in the future. You should not have seen or heard any of this. Have a good night, Harriet.”
With no more warning than that, Harry feels a harsh shove disorienting her. Her breath is knocked out of her as she’s ejected from Voldemort’s body and consciousness, jolting up in her bed with a gasping inhale. The house is silent, as she sits there, gasping for breath. Her mind reels with new information, unsure where to begin unraveling the series of events she witnessed.
She sighs, wishing dearly to be able to talk to Ron or Hermione. And even if she hadn’t sent Hedwig to inform Hermione of her pregnancy last night, she doesn’t trust that the letters she sends are secure at the moment. She hadn’t gotten many replies from Hermione or Ron either, both probably equally hesitant to trust letter delivery. Sirius’ letters had become brief and cryptic, repeatedly promising that he will tell her more when Dumbledore deigns to remove her from this hell hole.
Harry looks out the window. The sun was just starting to rise. She definitely does not feel like she slept through the night, but morning still arrived nonetheless. She sighs, shuffling out of bed. She would have to get started on breakfast soon. She stifles a yawn as she slowly dresses herself.
Her mind, inevitably, is drawn again to her vision. Voldemort had said Malfoy had lost a piece of him, and she thinks perhaps he meant the diary. But what could a piece of him mean? And what did he mean by ‘like the one inside of her’?” None of it made any sense. She stands there, long after she’s dressed, mind running confusing circles trying to make sense of any of it.
BANG! BANG!
Harry jumps at the sudden pounding on her door.
“Girl! Wake up!” Her Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice sounds from the other side, “You should have already started breakfast, Dudders will be up soon and he’ll be hungry!”
Two more loud bangs follow.
Harry shrugs to herself, giving up on making any headway on whatever nonsense Voldemort was talking. She opens the door, her aunt’s hand hovering, probably about to pound again.
“I’m up and dressed Aunt Petunia. I’ll go start breakfast.”
Aunt Petunia sniffs primly, like she hates even having to look at Harry. Harry knows she does.
“Well at least you won’t be that late then. Make extra, Dudley’s friends are coming over before they go play together.”
“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”
Harry ducks her head and walks downstairs to begin her probably long and awful day, full of fun household chores and yard work.
* * *
She was right. Her back aches and her hands are covered in cuts from Aunt Petunia’s roses. She spent the day as normal in the Dursley household. Doing all the work while the Dursley family goes about their day pretending she does not exist. Which she supposes is better than the days she spent doing the same thing while also being Dudley’s punching bag. Apparently last summer Piers’ had decided it was lame to beat up a girl now that they’re older. Harry thinks perhaps Pier’s has a crush and is trying to get her to like him. Which is frankly disgusting, but it keeps Dudley from hitting her. At least it’s one more threat she doesn’t have to worry about, she thinks, hand reflexively hovering over her stomach.
She stands from her kneeling position over Aunt Petunias flower bed. This was her last chore today, but she doesn’t have any particular thing she wanted or needed to be doing right now. She thinks about trying to listen to the news again, wondering if maybe Voldemort’s return would have any impact int the muggle world, but her last attempt had resulted in a rather unpleasant and prolonged exposure to her aunt and uncle, an experience she does not wish to repeat. She could start on her school work, but somehow even moping around doing nothing but worrying about and planning the future of her life sounded more fun than that. Maybe she’ll even take a walk while doing so. Mind made up, she brushes the dirt of her knees and makes for the road, heading to the park nearby.
The heat is scorching, August sun glaring down hotly. A blistering heat wave was spreading across the UK, but Harry had spent many days stuck out in this heat, not the slightest bit bothered. She makes her way to the park uneventfully, most people preferring their cooler homes to the sweltering sun.
Seeing the spot she first saw Sirius sends a pang of longing through her, missing him dearly. Missing everyone she loved. Resents being shoved back into the muggle world every year, no source of news, nothing until she is again whisked away right before school. She can’t bring herself to resent Ron or Hermione for their lack of communication, knowing they didn’t didn’t wish to risk her secrets.
She turns the last street corner, feet hitting soft grass as she steps off the pavement, making her way to the swings. She sits on the only swing not broken, rocking herself gently in the swing, feet never leaving the ground. She takes a deep breath, trying to sort the chaotic thoughts that have been plaguing her for weeks. She’s avoided thinking too hard about all the changes that are coming to her life rather obstinately, citing to herself that she couldn’t make any decisions without first knowing whether those changes would include a baby. Now she sat here, sullenly swinging in an empty park, realization dawning upon her that she has no idea what she is going to do.
She had promised herself last night that she would raise this child, but how? She’s only sixteen, hasn’t even taken her O.W.Ls yet. Legal age was technically 18 but she wouldn’t finish Hogwarts until 19. Would she even be able to finish school? Finish this year and her O.W.Ls even? Considering she will have a baby to care for come March, she wasn’t entirely sure what would become of her education. Who knows what kind of career a Hogwarts dropout could even have.
Well. That certainly made things harder, but it fortunately it isn’t so much the money much that she’s concerned about. She has enough in her parents trust vault to survive easily, but. . . She’s not the type of person who could sit at home all day. She wants to do something with her life, something that she loves to do. Quidditch, maybe? She seriously considers the idea, and doesn’t necessarily discard it. Definitely a backup, but it doesn’t spark passion. Harry kicks the dirt below her, frustration welling up. Figuring out life was hard.
She gives up thinking about school and careers. She can’t decide anything until she learns more about any possible options for her education with a child. She focuses instead on her accidental eavesdropping the prior night.
That last conversation, between Voldemort and the snake, Nagini he had said, weighed heaviest on her mind. When Nagini had mentioned their potential child, Voldemort had not dismissed the notion of raising his child, rather, the idea that Harry herself would want him to. He had seemed very resolute in his idea that Harry would be opposed. Which was an understandable assumption to make, given how yesterday it was her plan to do exactly that. But hearing from Voldemort’s own lips that raising the child himself was not out of the question, sparked interest in Harry. Nagini had been right, if there was anyone that could take Harry and her child, the father was the obvious choice. Just having a father and mother would be more than either Harry or Voldemort had as a child, and his strength spoke for itself. He wielded magic like it took no effort, and power emanated from his very presence. But.
She wasn’t entirely sold on the idea of Voldemort raising their child. Although, not for the reasons Voldemort likely suspects. It is not so much the murder of her parents that has Harry against the idea, but rather murder in general. And torture. She wants herself and her child as far from war and violence as possible. She vividly recalls Lucius Malfoy crawling on the floor at Voldemort’s feet, and she shudders. That is not something she wants her child to grow up seeing. Even more than the torture itself, though, Harry cannot forget Voldemort’s icy tone as he watched a human being writhe in pain before him, not a shred of remorse. Therefore, obviously, she should not want Voldemort in their child’s life.
So then why can she not keep out of her head the pure longing she heard in Voldemort’s voice when she had asked him, that night, whether he wanted to know if anything become of their encounter. The same longing she heard when he spoke to Nagini about the possibility.
And as hard as she tries, she can’t stop thinking that boy she met in the diary all those years ago, an orphan, longing for a family. Just like her.