Chapter Text
Chapter one:
Yosemite
He walked slowly; his mind was absent, but his feet, which roamed the corridors endlessly, knew their way. They moved on their own accord, taking him from one floor to another. He couldn't even decipher how he reached the forest; how he was now moving to the clearing, breathing the stifled air from under the cloak, unconsciously clutching his left hand. Knowing that he would never know what would be written on it knowing he was never meant to know he should be angry, frustrated, or at least sad. But he felt resolved, relieved; even he would rest.
He had lived too long; he could feel the 17 years in his bones that threatened to collapse. He wanted to just lay down, rest, until his bones turned to dust and flowed to another realm. So he urged them to walk to his demise, knowing it would be over soon.
Then he saw him there, tall and imposing as ever, lurking, haunting every corner of the dark forest.
This was it; his rest was tangible. He could almost taste it could almost feel the green curse hit him. So he shed the old cloak from his body, looking straight at the person who was supposed to be his enemy. But he couldn't help but feel strangely at peace with the thought of dying at this man's hands. It was always about them, after all they were interlinked by fate in more than one way and in a way he knew would come if he lived till 18. But that would never happen not after today.
"Harry Potter, the boy who lived; I knew you would come," the shadow of his nightmares uttered. He was different, if Harry could say, he seemed calm. If one could say it contracted the picture of pure giddy joy he thought Voldemort would have when he finally gave himself. But no matter; he would rest soon.
"You seem resolved, Harry. Walk with me, would you?" the Dark Lord asked conversationally, as if he were asking Harry about the weather. Harry's heart gave a twitch; something wasn't right, but he would go with Voldemort and his silly walk if it meant this would be over.
He nodded and walked straight ahead, standing a few feet by his nemesis’s side. He heard Bellatrix mutter something almost like a protest, which was cut off by the Dark Lord's sharp head turn. It was almost comical and utterly funny; Harry had to stop himself from cackling like a madman.
Instead, he walked silently with Voldemort, venturing deep into the forest to an area he had never been before. It was an open space clear of any trees or weeds. There were some wildflowers growing in the seams of the circle that made him almost forget about his company.
"Why did you come, Harry?" Voldemort asked, pulling him from whatever world his mind escaped to.
"It was the right thing to do," he answered truthfully not fully, but it was, he knew it should be done.
Voldemort hummed before conjuring two benches, each facing one other, and sitting on the one nearest to him while gesturing for Harry to do the same, which he did, wondering why the hell he wasn't in hell or heaven or wherever that was.
"I am sure that is true, Harry, but I believe there is more to that. I would appreciate it if you told me more of the truth, but no matter..." he said before resuming.
"I know that you are aware of the Horcrux I gave to you unknowingly 17 years ago," the Dark Lord said as a matter of fact. There was no mocking tone, no evil smirk; nothing just plain fact. He didn't even look mad that Harry knew.
Harry's heart sank; he could feel it beating in his throat like a drum, making it hard to breathe, to see, to feel. He wasn't going to die; no, there was no rest for him not in the way Voldemort spoke.
"You knew before I came here?" Harry asked. He hated how his voice was shaking, revealing the fear that threatened to make his hand shake and force him into the ground shaking and crying like a child.
"I did. It is a new truth to me, Harry, and I believe it is for you too. It seems much scheming has affected both of us. But that is not the only truth I unraveled today," Voldemort said. What could be worse? What did he find out? Wasn't it enough that the man's very soul was nourished by him?
The Dark Lord reached for his left sleeve, and Harry felt tears threatening to fall. He only knew today that his only tie for him could be this man, but it can't be not for the other.
Voldemort rolled his sleeves up carefully; there it was: all over the other hand. A proud blue stag and a sword on its chest. Harry looked more closely at the details; it was the sword of Gryffindor, but instead of its handle, it was a basilisk intertwined forever, eating its own tail.
His breath hitched; blue it was in blue. That meant Voldemort waited all this time for his other half, waiting for it to turn black when the other turned 18, which was apparently in two months if he kept Harry alive. The thoughts of dying or resting began to dim and were replaced by an ugly feeling of hope, of possible life an urge so primal to keep going, to clutch to life that he had no idea how it would turn from this moment onward.
"I waited for a long time. I haven't understood the meaning of these shapes of the stag, of the basilisk, or the sword no matter how much I dissected each detail. But today, Harry Potter, I understand all of it. I understand what was hidden from me. I saw it," Voldemort admitted. There it was the vindictive joy, the pride of procuring the knowledge.
"Snape," Harry whispered, afraid that it was true.
Voldemort smiled, and it was an awful thing; he seemed proud of Harry's conclusion.
"Indeed, I saw it all and learned each meaning. The stag, your Patronus, an accomplishment at your age, I must applaud you for achieving. The sword and the basilisk not only do they refer to your house, but the very thing that you did when you were twelve a fact that kept hidden from me too long a fact that would have changed everything," Voldemort resolved. He seemed bitter in the last part, blaming the world for not telling him sooner.
"You aren't going to kill me," Harry concluded after a few moments. He needed to collapse and cry; needed to use this, and he also just wanted to sleep to make it all go away.
"No," the other answered simply.
"So now what? We walk to the end of the rainbow holding hands and singing 'Kumbaya'?" Harry suggested, a giggle escaping him, then another, until a fit of hysterical laughter made him even more insane than Bellatrix.
It took a few minutes until he could breathe again naturally. Voldemort hadn't moved an inch; he was just staring at Harry, dissecting him. Maybe he would think that Harry was a useless bag of bones and get rid of him fat chance at this, but he couldn't help but hope.
"Are you finished?" the Dark Lord asked.
Harry nodded. "Now what?" he repeated the question.
"A chance for both of us to win," Voldemort said.
"How?"
"An alliance, Harry; I am sure they taught what that means in this useless curriculum."
Harry gave him an unimpressed glare; Voldemort sighed. It was so mundane that it caught him off guard, like he was intruding on a very private moment.
"Ask your Order to stop fighting; I don't want more blood to be shed. Stand by my side, and we will rule together," Voldemort offered simply. Harry almost snorted. What was this man playing at? He was too used to angry 'I am going to Avada all of you' Voldemort that he forgot that this man was Tom Riddle the brightest wizard and master at talking, a true Slytherin.
"They are not my Order I don't command them. And how do you expect me to stand by your side after everything, after what you have done?"
"It is inevitable, soulmate," Voldemort said, dragging out the last word and enjoying how it made Harry flinch.
"Accept this, and no one dies; and you have the chance to observe my actions and might as well give me insight—help me change my mind from a certain action. I can listen if it is from my equal," Voldemort suggested, speaking surely that it made Harry's skin prickle.
"Or refuse, and everyone against me dies, and you will still be by my side imprisoned and without a voice, instead of a voice that I offer to you a voice that can change things. What do you think, soulmate?"
"You don't even know if you were my soulmate?" Harry interjected.
Voldemort gave him a withering look as if he was saying, "Really? As if we don't know that it would be me."
"Choose, Harry; I am not a very patient man," Voldemort urged, and he wasn't lying; the man's patience was running thin. He noticed it from the small crease of his forehead.
Harry felt his back soaked with sweat despite the cool weather. He didn't know what to do, but he would face Voldemort and be by his side, whatever that meant. Deep down, he knew exactly what that meant.
"Fine, but I have conditions."
"Which we will write down, but the hour is up, Harry, and we need to inform both sides," Voldemort reminded him, all while extending a hand.
"As for now, we can shake on it, as Muggles say," Voldemort suggested. Harry nodded, moving his palm, which was snatched to be wrapped tightly in a strong hand.
He felt like he just made a deal with the devil.