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batsutousaiTitle: Nose to the Wind
Series: Like a Ghost in My Town
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Harry Potter/Lord Voldemort, James Potter/Lily Potter
Warnings: AU, violence, universe hopping/rebirth, Dark!Harry, werewolf!Harry, underage relationship (ish)
Summary: While Harry had been content with his second chance, that didn't keep him from thinking what he could have done different, how many people could have survived if he hadn't been set on the very specific path he'd walked. Third time is the charm, though, right?
A/N: This chapter covers a large period of time because – as I think I mentioned a couple chapters ago? – a lot of what else I have planned requires Harry to be older. And, with so many of the magical people Harry knows going on to Hogwarts, most of the people he spends time with are muggles, which I've not made a point in exploring. (Mostly because I have done the whole 'half the cast is an OC' before and it's a pain in the arse to keep track of. For both me and you readers.)
It occurred to me that, as easy as immediate travel is for wizards and witches, we don't hear about any of them doing much travelling outside of the United Kingdom. Which, well, some of that is going to be because most of the people Harry spends time with in canon are either muggleborn or have limited funds, but you'd expect Draco and his lot to shove it in Ron's face if he was travelling every summer, just because it's one more thing the Weasleys can't afford. (Maybe British magicals just don't have a sense of wanderlust? *can't imagine*)
Anyway, I went ahead and put some restrictions on magical travel. It's already sort of fanon that apparation has a maximum distance someone can travel, which is based on the strength of the caster, and we always seem to be specifying international portkeys when someone's travelling outside the UK, so I limited floo travel across bodies of water, because that makes sense to me, that travelling by fire would have trouble without a land connection.
For ages at the start of this chapter, Harry is 12. (Hermione is 13, Will is 11, and Chris is 9.)
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
Chapter Fifteen – Precious and Fragile Things
-0-
"Are you–?"
"Shut up," Hermione ordered, not looking up from the Quibbler she was reading on her bed. She'd got back last night, and with the party, Harry hadn't really had a chance to check in with his best friend until the following morning, even with her being in the same house.
Harry leant back against her bedroom doorway. "This is amazing."
"Shut up, Harry."
Harry shook his head, amused beyond words. "Did you want breakfast, or are you too busy buying your ticket for the crazy train?"
Hermione finally looked up at him, her expression bordering on cross. "Are you going to stop if I come down?"
Harry took a moment to consider that, rubbing at his chin. "I make no promises," he decided.
Hermione sighed and climbed out of her bed, leaving the magazine behind. When she reached Harry, who hadn't moved from her doorway, she sort of fell against him, and Harry didn't pause in wrapping an arm around her, grinning. "Hi. I don't know why I missed you," she muttered against his shoulder.
"Glutton for punishment?" Harry suggested.
Hermione let out a helpless sound, then pulled away and poked his side. "Move," she ordered and he led the way towards the stairs. "I haven't heard anyone else up," she added as they started down the stairs.
"Dad left for work about an hour ago," Harry offered with a shrug, because he'd woken up when he heard his father failing to be quiet in the kitchen. He'd been quiet enough that the normal humans of the house had slept through it with only a little turning over, but it had woken Harry up, so he'd come down to make sure James made it out okay. "I'd suspect Uncle Sirius of putting something in the food again–" because the crazy fool had done so for Chris' birthday "–but Mum threatened grievous bodily harm."
Hermione snorted and let herself be pushed towards the table while Harry went to get her some food. "I love your mum."
Harry flashed her a grin. "Makes two of us."
Hermione waited until he'd come over to the table with cereal for her and tea for both of them, then asked, "Did Lily say something about a trip?"
Harry nodded around his tea cup and set it down. "Yeah. We did Canada when there was a rebellion issue back... Oh, it was a while ago."
"Rebellion issue?" Hermione repeated, both eyebrows raised.
Harry couldn't help the way his expression went flat. "British ex-pats who decided they'd rather build a small invasion force of European witches and wizards than live under Voldemort's rule. They attacked Hogsmeade while the students were visiting."
Hermione's spoon clattered against her bowl, her eyes going wide with horror. "That's–"
Harry forced himself to take a sip of tea and shrugged. "Voldemort handled them."
"Oh my G-Merlin. I had–"
"Not covered in history of magic?" Harry guessed, putting on a smile that felt a little tight.
Hermione shook her head. "No. And no one ever–"
"People don't...talk about tragedy," Harry offered carefully, because no one ever talked about the war, either, beyond an occasional nod to the fact that there had been one and it had changed their corner of the magical world. "And, I think, especially for you muggleborns, they don't want to scare you off. So no one talks about it."
Hermione picked a napkin out of the holder in the centre of the table and dabbed at the splatters of milk from when she'd fumbled her spoon. "I guess."
Harry shrugged and took another sip of tea, letting Hermione gather herself before he continued, "Well, we had fun in Canada – you've heard about my shoddy skiing attempts–" Hermione managed a shaky smile "–so Dad suggested mucking about on the continent the next summer, since everything had calmed down. We ended up in Spain, and that was fun, but it didn't get brought up two years ago, and last year you were settling in..." He shrugged again and smiled at her. "Guess we're going again."
Hermione eyed him a bit suspiciously. "Not excited?" she guessed.
Harry couldn't really explain how much of an epic failure the Spain trip had turned into, so he just shrugged and offered, "International portkeys and I don't mix well. There's a potion I can make that helps, but I'd prefer not needing it."
Hermione slumped. "Oh. Well, is there anywhere we can go that won't need an international portkey?"
"Or a number of apparation jumps?" Harry suggested drily, because Sirius had half-jokingly suggested that as an alternative when they'd gone to Spain. "There's a floo pathway between us and France, but the waitlist is a kilometre long, this time of year."
"Even though James is in the ministry?" Hermione asked, shaking her head.
Harry raised an eyebrow at her. "Really?"
Hermione offered a helpless smile and picked up her tea cup to nurse it. "Yeah, I guess that wouldn't make much difference, the number of people who work in the ministry. What about–" Hermione made a face. "Him."
"Him?" Harry repeated, before he realised who he meant. "Voldemort?"
Hermione nodded, focussing all her attention on her tea.
Harry blinked. He'd never thought to ask the dark lord to intercede on his behalf for anything, and while it would probably see them at the head of the list, sure, he didn't really need anyone outside his family knowing exactly how close he was to Voldemort. "No," he finally said. "He'd probably do it, if I asked," he added when Hermione frowned, "but I don't want to give anyone in the ministry a reason to look too closely at his relationship with my family. Best case scenario, they'd think they could come to us if they want something from him. Worst case, we become a target the next time someone gets pissed off."
Hermione hurriedly set her tea cup down. "I didn't even think about that," she admitted. "I'm sorry. I should have–"
Harry shook his head. "I know, it's fine," he promised, waving a hand at her. "It's not a bad idea, but the risks outweigh the pros, in this case." He sighed as she returned to her cereal, looking unhappy. "If Mum and Dad didn't have any other plans, we could put forth France as an idea. It's close enough, as long as we can plan around the full moon or Uncle Peter can come, that we can do an apparation jump across the Channel."
Hermione perked up at that. "You could always make sure Peter can come," she pointed out.
Harry eyed her with amusement. "You're very attached to the idea of me buying favours from Voldemort."
Hermione huffed. "Well, if the option's there," she shot back.
Harry laughed. "We'll see," he decided. "If things end up working out that I have to ask for Uncle Peter to come with, I'll consider it."
They did end up in France that summer, again straddling Harry's birthday, which meant Remus couldn't come. Peter did get to come with, without Harry having to ask – which he'd actually sort of expected, because as long as there wasn't a rebellion to hunt down, Peter was far from a necessary member of Voldemort's spy force – so they were able to apparate across the Channel.
As far as Potter family holidays went, their time in France ended up on the better end. There were no necromancer cults trying to make them unwilling parts of a ritual, and they didn't end up needing a guide, since Lily, Hermione, and Peter all knew some French. (Which meant Harry didn't have to play translator, though he was plenty willing to clarify when his mum or Peter had trouble with a word and asked him. Hermione didn't think to ask, as she didn't know he spoke it; so far as she was aware, he spoke Atlantean and had taken up German in school, which Harry had chosen when he found out Voldemort spoke it, just to give himself a plausible reason for knowing it.)
Voldemort had sent his gift with Peter that year, not bothering to pretend he wasn't Harry's benefactor any more, though Harry kept to the habit of opening his last. When he opened the box, he found what appeared to be a first or second edition copy of Mikhail Lermontov's A Hero of Our Time, in the original Russian. Which, well, Harry had never read the novel himself – English translation or original – but he'd heard of it and could make a fair guess as to why Voldemort had sent it to him.
"...Is that Russian?" Hermione asked curiously, while everyone else eyed the unfamiliar alphabet uncertainly.
Harry sighed and gently repackaged the box, so the book wouldn't get damaged. "Yeah," he agreed, and he couldn't keep his amusement from his voice. "He's mocking me." Let her assume Voldemort was mocking him by sending him a book written in a language he couldn't speak, rather than as a comment about Harry's own character.
"It looks old," Lily offered carefully.
Harry eyed her, aware of what she really wanted to say: From a man who treasured hard-to-come-by books, this was a gift that wasn't given lightly. "I guess so," he agreed and left to put his gifts away without another word about it. That said, he fully intended to spend the next few nights reading the book after Hermione had turned in.
The last night of August, Harry knocked on the doorway to Hermione's room, smiling when she looked up from where she was debating which of her older school books to take with her. "Hey. Can we come in for a minute?" he requested, motioning over his shoulder at where Will was scowling and Chris was looking interested behind him.
Hermione blinked and nodded. "Of course," she agreed, and Harry and his brothers filed in, Chris closing the door behind him. "What's going on?" Hermione asked, looking between them a bit suspiciously.
"When Dad and our uncles were in school," Harry explained, pulling out the blank Marauder's Map and setting it on her bed, "they created a map of the school, which Will and I found when we were there years ago. I told him he could take it with him when he started Hogwarts, and we decided–" Will made a grumpy noise, likely because Harry hadn't given him a choice in the matter, but didn't argue "–that we should share it with you, in case you end up needing it at some point."
"A map," Hermione repeated, unimpressed.
Harry flashed her a grin, then tapped the map with his finger and declared, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."
As ink bled across the map, Hermione dropped the book she'd been holding and joined the brothers in crowding around the map, which showed most of the teaching staff leaving the great hall after a late supper. "Oh my God," she breathed.
Harry unfolded the map between them and quickly pointed out a couple landmarks, to help orient everyone, then pointed to where each of the house common rooms were, as well as the kitchen, for Hermione and Chris. "The house-elves are always happy to give you some extra food," he added for Hermione, who looked a bit confused about why she cared where the kitchen was. "Good for late-night study parties, or if you get so caught up with a book or an assignment that you miss a meal."
"Or detention," Will cheerily added, having heard from Sirius about why the Marauders had gone hunting for the kitchen in the first place.
"I somehow doubt that is going to be one of Hermione's problems," Harry returned drily, and Will stuck his tongue out at him.
"This is amazing," Hermione admitted, her brow furrowed, "but..."
"It wouldn't end well if the wrong person got their hands on it?" Harry suggested knowingly, and she winced. "I know. Half the fun is in the professors not knowing about it, but if at any time you think it's gone missing–" he looked between Hermione and Will, the latter of whom scowled, because Harry had already made this point to him "–you need to tell Severus."
"Does he know about it?" Hermione asked.
"He knows Dad and them had something, but he doesn't know the specifics, so far as I'm aware," Harry offered. "And Dad and Mum don't know we have it, either," he added, because Hermione needed to know exactly how much of a secret the map was, so she could keep it quiet. "So long as it doesn't get anyone into trouble or get stolen, I don't see the harm in continuing the Marauder tradition of keeping its use from everyone outside of us four."
"Yeah! Dad would disown us if he found out we just handed it over to a professor," Will insisted.
Harry snorted. "Probably right." He touched the map again and said, "Mischief managed," to wipe it, then handed it over to his brother. "Go hide that away before one of the adults catches you with it."
Will ran for it, Chris hot on his heels.
"Harry," Hermione called after him as Harry made to follow his brothers. When he glanced back at her curiously, he found her looking uncertain. "Are you...sure it's a good idea? Keeping it from the professors?"
Harry shrugged. "Not really," he admitted, because he knew, better than any of them, how much trouble one could get into with that map. "But that's why I insisted that you be told about it, because Will won't tell anyone if it becomes a problem, or he misplaces it."
Hermione sighed. "So it's my job to keep tabs on it and report any problems instead," she guessed, looking more resigned than anything else.
"Please," Harry agreed.
"Very well," she said, before pointing a stern finger at him. "But I expect something impressive for my birthday!"
Harry laughed. "I think I can do that," he promised before offering her a grateful smile. "Thank you. I wouldn't have let him take it with him if I didn't think you'd keep tabs on him."
Hermione shook her head. "Overprotective," she insisted.
"Yes, it's a failing of mine," Harry deadpanned before leaving her to laugh and continue her packing.
It was noticeably quieter with Will gone to Hogwarts, and Chris spent the first couple of nights sneaking into Harry's bed at night, insisting, "It's lonely on my side." Harry didn't stop him, was honestly uncomfortable with having one of his brothers so far away, and Chris being within easy reach helped.
So, too, did the little notes that Will sent throughout the day, using the message paper Harry had made them all years ago. It was how the family found out he'd made Gryffindor – though Harry had told their parents that he'd heard from a spirit, rather than coming clean about the message papers – and made it feel rather like Will was still around, with the way he'd go on about his professors and the other students.
On the other hand, Will spent so much time messaging Harry and Chris, that he didn't bother with owls. Lily made some vague noises of complaint at the beginning of October, because Hermione was still doing bi-weekly letters and Will's silence was all the more obvious.
'Write Mum and Dad before one of them come out there,' Harry ordered his brother as soon as he could get away to do so.
'Oh, right. Forgot,' Will admitted, and the snort of amusement Chris let out across the room said Will had sent the message to both of them. 'I'll go do that in a bit. I was going to go snooping through the dungeons today and maybe set some pranks for those snakes.'
'I disapprove,' Chris sent back. 'And so does Harry, I bet. Leave the snakes alone.'
'Write your letter now, before you forget,' Harry added.
'You 2 are absolutely 0 fun,' Will complained, before going quiet for the rest of the day.
His letter showed up the next evening, and both Lily and James were clearly grateful to hear from him. Something about their response must have got through to Will, because he started sending sporadic letters covering general things. He still kept up with the daily happenings with Harry and Chris, and they always heard about things first, but he made a concerted effort to keep their parents in the loop.
Of course, when Will and Hermione got home for the winter holiday, it was a bit of a shock to have a constant source of noise in the house again.
"When is he going back to Hogwarts?" Chris complained to Harry the second evening, while Will and James were loudly debating different pranks.
"Not nearly soon enough," Harry replied tiredly. As much as he liked having Will home, where he could protect him if shit went down, he much preferred the quiet; there was a reason he'd ended up becoming a hermit during his last life. (Other than to avoid disputes over which country was more awesome, or whatever childish, political nonsense his living among other non-humans would have given birth to.)
Chris snorted and went back to his book.
That summer, the family went to Egypt on the suggestion of the Weasleys, who had gone the summer before. Bill had been happy to offer himself as a tour guide, same as he'd done for his family, and Harry finally got the chance to spend some time with the young man who had been one of his closest friends in his last reality. Not that this Bill treated him as anything more than a younger brother, but Harry would take what he could get.
Not long after their return to England, word started to circulate about a potential dark lord gathering support in Russia, likely born of the same economic crises that had ruined the USSR. According to James – who would only share after Hermione, Will, and Chris were abed, and sometimes looked like he wasn't certain he wanted to tell Harry – the United Kingdom's ministry was taking something of a distantly cautious stance to the man, who called himself Gosudar. (Harry had made a face and, after explaining that meant something akin to 'ruler', both of his parents joined him in referring to him by his birth name, Alexander Golubev, once Harry had found it out via Death.) Given that Golubev seemed content to focus on just the current Russian Federation, and the United Kingdom's ministry's usual habit of only focussing on matters inside their own borders, that didn't particularly surprise Harry.
Voldemort, Harry heard from Merope, seemed content to stay out of Golubev's dealings for so long as the Russian kept his wand out of British affairs. Which, again, familiar with Voldemort's tendency to focus on the Isles to the exclusion of the rest of the world, unless the rest of the world started causing trouble for him, that didn't really surprise him. Also, everything he'd heard about Golubev's platform suggested that he and Voldemort would get along famously, so it was very unlikely Voldemort would see the Russian as a threat.
Harry, for his part, set a couple of spirits to keep an eye on Golubev and considered the matter handled until something changed.
When Will and Hermione went back to Hogwarts that September, it was doubly a relief, as Harry was facing pressure from his muggle schoolmates to start focussing on studying for their GCSEs, and it was hard to do with Will being chatty. (Which, well, he was still chatty at Hogwarts, but Harry could ignore his message paper far easier than he could the flesh-and-blood article.) Not to say Harry was particularly worried about muggle exams – he was already an ace with potions and knew he had options in the magical world, even as a squib – but it was something he'd never had anything to do with in either of his two previous realities, and it would look weird if he wasn't freaking out, even as smart as he always appeared to be.
"Aren't we a little early to discuss this?" Sirius asked around a mouthful of cake.
Lily shot him an unimpressed look.
"There's nothing wrong with a bit of advanced planning, Sirius," Remus pointed out, tone mild. "In fact, it might be a good idea for you and James to put in for two weeks off in advance." Then he smiled.
Sirius slouched in his chair, while James cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the reminder of how they kept scrambling at the last minute, hoping to get the same two weeks off, and only ever managed because they were partnered together and their superior knew better than to let one of the lunatics out in the field without the other.
"Can you come this year, Uncle Remus?" Chris asked quietly.
Remus shrugged. "It depends on when we go."
"I vote Harry's birthday," Sirius insisted. "If we're abroad, Voldemort doesn't show up."
"That you know of," Harry offered, and smiled when Sirius shot him a suspicious look. "But, yes," he continued, "Uncle Remus should be able to come if we aim to make my birthday the centre day."
"It'll never not weird me out, the way he always knows when the moon is," James whispered to Sirius, and Remus and Harry traded amused looks, because keeping track of the full moon was just something you did when you were a werewolf. (Although, to be fair, Harry couldn't say if it was the common practise of wereborns to do so; he'd got in the habit when it had actually mattered for him, and kept it up because it was familiar.)
"Well," Lily said, ignoring her husband and his best friend, "we had a lot of fun in Egypt, and it was informative; we could try for another place where an ancient magical culture had a hold."
"Transylvania?" Harry quickly said, grinning when he received a line of deadpan looks. "Atlantis?"
"Didn't you say that was a 'bit wet'?" James shot back, his eyes gleaming.
Harry blinked, the picture of confused innocence. "You can't hold your breath?"
Chris giggled and ducked his head towards his last couple bites of cake when James sent him a betrayed look.
"Rome?" Peter offered cautiously, ever a little uncertain about making a suggestion.
"Rome could be fun," Remus was quick to agree, looking at Harry. "There are some werewolf legends surrounding that city."
"Not to mention your name," Harry replied drily, and everyone around the table smiled. "We'll have to get a guide, unless someone can give me a good argument for telling Hermione what I am so I can play translator."
James and Lily traded uncertain looks, while Sirius let out a quiet snarl and clicked his fork against his empty plate; clearly, none of them were about to forget what had happened in Spain.
Harry rubbed his thumb over the relief in the handle of his fork. "I can check into any guides we get, make sure we're not about to get led into another ritual," he offered.
" 'Check into'?" Sirius repeated, and the stare he pinned Harry with was every inch an auror looking for wrong-doing.
Harry shrugged. "I can't cast legilimency on anyone, but Death is usually willing to provide the service for me."
There was a long silence following that announcement, broken by Chris asking, "What's legilimency?"
"It's a mind art," Remus offered carefully. "It will give you impressions of a person's thoughts and memories, unless they're protected against such intrusions."
"Have you ever–?" James started, motioning around the table.
"No!" Harry immediately shook his head. "Merlin, no. I wouldn't ask Death to do that to any of you. Or Will or Hermione." He snorted while all of the adults relaxed. "Even if I were a proper legilimens, I wouldn't go around snooping about in your thoughts; I do actually have a moral compass, skewed as it is."
"Pretty sure your 'moral compass' doesn't deserve that title, pup," Sirius informed him drily and Harry shrugged, unrepentant.
"If you can do a quick check, I suppose we can do a guide," Lily decided, glancing between Sirius and James.
"And, if we get our names on the list now, we might even be able to take the floo connection and avoid international portkeys," Remus added with a pointed look at James and Sirius.
"Okay, okay!" James called, while Sirius snickered. "We'll put in for everything tomorrow!"
'Miracle,' Lily mouthed at Harry and Chris, and they both grinned in response.
They did, indeed, make the list for the floo across the Channel, so Harry was saved the supreme discomfort of international portkeys, trading it for multiple floo trips. (As magical means of travel went, Harry would much rather floo, even if it required someone cast a cleaning spell on him upon their arrival.)
Their first week in Rome was a lot of fun, following around a travel guide who was Death-approved. (His brothers kept randomly bursting out into snickers, whispering that phrase back and forth to one another, much to Hermione's confusion.) Harry, as was always the case on their holidays, had visited Rome before as the Alpha Lord, but he'd never taken the time to see the sights, so he was able to divide his attention between looking around in interest and keeping tabs on his brothers and Hermione, all of whom had a habit of getting distracted by something shiny. (For Will it was usually sweets, for Hermione it was almost always books, for Chris...who knew what would catch his eye that time.)
Harry's fifteenth birthday got off to a late start, with everyone taking a few extra hours' kip, so they did presents a bit later than usual. Harry was just getting up to take his haul back to his room, Will and Chris trailing with the few things he'd missed, when Lily let out a startled breath and a familiar, non-gendered voice said, "Master."
Harry tensed, not looking back at where he could sense Death standing in the corner of the room, while the rest of the adults who hadn't met Death and Hermione all let out various horrified noises. "What?" he snapped, angry at the interruption; Death knew better than to show itself to Hermione.
"There's been an explosion at the ministry," Death reported evenly. "Tom was visiting."
'Tom was the target,' Death didn't say, didn't need to.
Gifts fell from Harry's hands as he spun to face his servant, feeling his heart jump into his throat. "Is he–?" Harry heard himself asking, even though he knew Death wouldn't have shown itself if Voldemort was unharmed. "Fuck," he snarled before turning and running through a doorway that opened for him, heading for his bedroom back in Godric's Hallow and his collection of the dark lord's horcruxes. Because, while he could certainly bring Voldemort back to a physical body without using one, there was a good chance that would tie the man to him, and Harry had done that already, wasn't going to do that to this version of the dark lord.
Death came with him, a silent shadow in Harry's wake, and once Harry had a horcrux – the ring, because it was the easiest to get out of the tiny container – Death reached out one skeletal hand and helped Harry to his feet and back into the Realm of Death. "I will take you to him," it promised.
"Thank you," Harry breathed out, calmed by having part of Voldemort's soul in his hands and the certainty that he could fix this, that Voldemort wasn't going to be forced to float around as a spirit while Harry struggled to hunt down what little of him had survived the attack.
Death led them to, of all places, the graveyard in Little Hangleton. Harry couldn't see Voldemort, but he trusted Death not to lead him wrong. "Voldemort," he called, keeping his voice down just enough that he didn't chance attracting any villagers who happened to be walking nearby.
Something crackling with murderous intent brushed against Harry's side, and he took a moment to let death magic fill his vision before turning to see what was left of the dark lord's soul. He was a sliver of a thing, more magic than man, with a thread of dark energy tying him to the ring Harry had clutched in one white-knuckled hand. "I can fix this," he promised, brushing his free hand through Voldemort's energy in a way that he hoped was soothing. "I need you to calm down and focus on me."
Voldemort's energy gentled under Harry's hand, and he got a strange sense of – Dear Merlin, was that trust? – something from the dark lord.
Harry took a deep breath, centring himself, and opened the hand that still held the ring. Voldemort's spirit shifted, attention diverted, and Harry couldn't help but smile, even as he turned his attention to the thread connecting the dark lord to the physical object in his hand.
Harry had never tried to fashion a living body for a spirit before, but he knew the theory, knew it was possible to do even for ghosts trapped on this side of the Veil, though such would deteriorate far faster than a proper living body, as the soul was already tainted with Death. With Voldemort, the magic was a thousand times easier, because he was only half dead, could have been affected by living magic.
But Harry didn't use living magic. He drew death magic from the still-opened portal against his back and formed a body out of that, let it fashion its shape using the blueprints stored in the horcrux he was holding.
The ring fell from Harry's fingers just before Voldemort's new body hit its knees, and it was an echo of another reality, another time a ring that had been a horcrux suddenly wasn't, and Harry felt, for a moment, like his heart had stopped.
But then Voldemort drew in a shuddering breath, his wandering spirit drawn into the new body, and Harry knelt down in front of him, relief making his knees weak. "T-Voldemort?" he whispered, stumbling over the man's name with that nightmare memory still too fresh in his mind's eye and dark hair topping a head that he was getting too used to seeing bald.
"Scythe," Tom – Voldemort? Harry couldn't keep from stumbling over how to think of the man in his head – whispered, and he reached out a hand to grab Harry's shoulder, steadying himself. "Thank Merlin. That was–"
"Disconcerting?" Harry offered cautiously as he pressed gentle hands against the dark lord's arms, points of physical contact that soothed Harry.
The dark lord choked out a laugh. "Quite. How did you...know? That I–?"
Needed you, Harry completed in his mind. "Death told me."
"Death," the dark lord replied in a voice that said he didn't quite believe that his salvation had been brought by the very being he most feared.
Harry let out a quiet laugh, forever amused by the dark lord's fear of an entity that was so beholden to Harry, it would no sooner take his life than it would Harry's own. (Though, he knew, Death was willing to talk the dark lord to suicide, to protect Harry.)
A gentle hand cupped Harry's cheek and his breath caught even as he looked up into a face that was more Tom Riddle than Voldemort, and so much younger than Harry had ever seen him. He bit his tongue to keep from saying the wrong name, entranced by how ridiculously close they were.
And then Tom leant in and pressed his lips lightly, uncertainly, against Harry's own.
"Tom," Harry whispered against the dark lord's lips, and it was a struggle not to surge forward, to take the man's mouth like he'd longed to, "what–?"
"I am–" Tom grimaced slightly "–making my intentions clear," he admitted.
Harry forced himself to pull away, to meet the red eyes with a hard stare. "Don't you dare do this out of some misguided thank you for my saving your life," he demanded, because if that's all this was, Harry–
"You really believe I would bow to your crush as a thank you?" Tom snapped, his eyes lighting with fury.
But his hand, the one still cupping Harry's cheek was gentle, like he was afraid the slightest pressure would break Harry.
"It's not a crush," Harry insisted, even as he pressed forward, past the dark lord's hand on his cheek, and rested his forehead against Tom's chest, covered in a flimsy robe that smelt of the death magic it had been formed from. "It hasn't been a crush for a long time." Longer than Tom could ever hope to guess, because Harry had already loved him before they'd ever met, before he'd even been born in this reality.
Arms wrapped around Harry, too gentle, as though their owner didn't know how to give hugs, or was afraid he might break him, and Harry couldn't resist a fond smile. "You are, I expect," Tom said, tone too casual, "the expert."
Harry heard himself laughing, the sound a little too strained, and he realised he was shaking, relief and gratitude and the remainder of terror – of 'Merlin, please, not again, don't make me go through this again' – washing over him all at once. He fisted his hands in the sides of Tom's robes, needing something to hold on to.
"Scythe?" Tom asked, and his arms tightened around Harry.
"I'm okay," Harry insisted. "I'm–" How could he possibly explain this to the dark lord? "Delayed reaction." A laugh choked him and he squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't do well with people I care about getting–" Killed. He couldn't say it.
"Hurt?" Tom suggested quietly, likely as unwilling to voice the 'k' word as Harry was.
And then the dark lord tensed and Harry knew he was about to pull away before his arms dropped.
Harry sighed and settled back on his heels, watching as Tom's face darkened, the same anger that he'd been near to brimming with when Harry had first found his spirit coming back to him at the reminder of his near miss. "You'll have to do something about your appearance," he commented drily, and Tom startled, looking down at his hand, as if that would tell him how he'd changed. "You look more like you do when you come visit me," he offered before sending a thought to Death: We could use Tom's wand, if you could be troubled to grab it for me?
"It's in your back pocket, Master," Death replied, sounding far too amused.
Harry reached back and found that, yes, the yew wand was sticking out of his back pocket. Huh. I may still be a little out of it. Thank you, Death, he admitted before offering the wand to Tom. "You might need this. It seems Death picked it up before he collected me."
Before Death appeared before Hermione.
Harry groaned and covered his face with his free hand as Tom took his wand. "Oh, fuck. Hermione."
"What's wrong with your mudblood?" Tom demanded, and Harry peeked out from behind his hand to find the man staring at him over a conjured mirror.
Harry felt a mad little laugh bubbling in his chest and swallowed it back down. "Death was...not subtle about letting me know I was needed. Hermione saw him."
"And here I was, expecting you'd already spilled everything to her," Tom muttered before looking down into the mirror and scowling. "Scythe," he growled.
Harry didn't bother swallowing back the mad little laugh that time, and the dark lord turned a murderous glare on him. "It's not–" Okay, so maybe Harry could have made a concerted effort to force the dark lord's new body into something that more resembled what he'd looked like before, but he was just vain enough to admit that he preferred the man's more human appearance. "You're aware that part of your appearance is because your soul is split so many times, right?"
"Of course I am," Tom snarled. "What does that have to do with–?" He stopped talking, eyes turning to focus on where the ring had fallen when Harry'd dropped it.
"Well, you have more soul now than you did before," Harry admitted, trying not to smile at the dark lord's irritation. "But, too, this body was built off what you looked like when you created the ring, so the – shall we say – blueprint for this body was a far younger you."
Tom picked up the ring and turned his irritated glare on Harry. "You had to use this one," he muttered.
"I could have used your diary?" Harry offered and the dark lord bit out something rude. Harry snorted, ducking his head to try and hide his smile. "The container I'm keeping them in has a small opening, and I was in a bit of a rush; I grabbed the easiest one to remove."
"So you weren't attempting to make me appear more–"
"What? Aesthetically pleasing?" Harry shot back, rolling his eyes at the dark lord. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Voldemort–" the use of his preferred name entirely on purpose "–my loving you has nothing to do with how you look."
Tom sort of froze, looking like a deer in the headlights, and Harry realised what he'd just said.
"Right!" Harry jumped to his feet. "I need to get back to Rome and run damage control. You know how to get in contact with me if you need me," he said, before stepping quickly through a doorway that opened for him.
As soon as the doorway closed behind him, Harry dropped his head into his hands and moaned. He had not just–
Yes. Yes he had.
"Minefield," Harry muttered, before straightening and forcing himself to switch tracks; he really did need to go do damage control with Hermione. He trusted that his family could fill in a number of blanks, and he was sure they would, but they were going to have questions, too. "Fine birthday this is turning out to be," he complained before hurrying back to Rome.
There was no one in the room he, Will, and Chris were sharing when he stepped back into the mortal realm, and Harry took a quiet moment to gather himself before casting a point me to find where everyone had gone.
He found them in the room Sirius, Remus, and Peter were sharing, which was also the room they'd done gifts in, so he headed over and knocked on the door. "It's me," he called.
Lily was the one who opened the door, looking strained. Once the door had fallen shut behind him, she pulled him into a tight hug and whispered, "Are you okay?"
It took Harry an embarrassingly long moment to realise that his mum knew that Tom – well, his last lover, to her – had died and it had half broken Harry, and he'd called Voldemort by his birth name around her before; she hadn't needed confirmation, any more than Harry had, that Death had come to him because of a worst case scenario.
He coughed and carefully pulled away, uncomfortable with the realisation that his mum didn't want Voldemort dead because it would hurt Harry. "Yes," he offered and managed a smile that was honest enough to pass muster, he hoped. "I expect," he continued, tone turning dry, "that Voldemort is currently in the process of making someone regret ever thinking it was a good idea to try killing him."
"It's true?" Peter squeaked, sounding more than a little freaked out.
Harry narrowed his eyes at the rat animagus, grateful for the distraction from having to face Hermione's questions. "Is what true?"
"He's immortal?"
Everyone in the room turned wide eyes on Harry, and he couldn't help but snort. "Immortality is a particularly complicated thing and hardly fool-proof. But if you're asking if you can throw an avada at him and he'll be able to get you back for it?" He allowed a cruel little smile to curl his lips. "Then, yes, he's immortal."
Peter let out a broken sound and hid his face in his hands.
"Then why did you have to go running off to him?" Sirius demanded, his expression hard.
Harry turned a cold stare on the man and Sirius' jaw clenched. "If you expect me to actually tell you how Voldemort's managed his particular brand of immortality, you're crazier than he is," he said, and the words came out flat.
Sirius flinched and looked away.
"Harry?" Hermione whispered, her voice shaky.
Harry took a deep breath and tried to smile as he turned to her, finding her huddled between Will and Chris on Remus' bed. "Hermione. What did they tell you?"
Hermione swallowed, looking sick. "You were a dark lord in your last life."
Harry blinked and turned his eyes up to the ceiling. "I'm stuck with that label," he muttered. "I avoided it in one life, and now I'm stuck with it. How? I haven't even killed anyone."
James coughed. "Babysitter."
Harry grimaced, recalling that he'd also taken out those necromancers and the rebel forces both in Cyprus and when they'd attacked the dark lord's manor that first time. "Okay, so maybe I've killed a–" Calling it a 'few' would be a gross understatement, wouldn't it? "I haven't killed as many as Vol–" No, wait, the Death Eaters killed a lot of people in Voldemort's name, which meant his kill count wasn't as high as everyone always thought it was. "I'm going to shut up, now," he decided.
James let out a noise that was somewhere between a moan and a laugh, and Sirius muttered, "I am not hearing this."
"You're grounded," Lily announced. "As soon as we get home, you're grounded for two months."
"Busted," Chris whispered.
Harry winced and eyed his brothers and Hermione. "Don't turn out like me, okay?" he suggested. "You end up spending a lot of time being grounded."
Hermione let out a whimper and covered her face.
Harry sighed and stepped forward before kneeling before the bed. "Hermione?" he called quietly, and she peeked out at him with wide, terrified eyes; he barely kept from flinching. "Hi," he offered, keeping his voice gentle, "I'm a former dark lord with a penchant for murdering anyone who threatens myself or someone I care about." He offered her a smile that hurt. "You would be one of those people I care about."
Hermione swallowed. "Why?" she whispered.
Harry frowned. "Why what? Why do I care about you?"
She nodded, then burst out with, "I'm a muggleborn!"
"So?" Harry returned and she just sort of stared at him in disbelief. Harry closed his eyes and rubbed at them tiredly. "Contrary to what everyone seems to think, having issues with muggleborns isn't a requirement for turning bat-shit."
"Language," Lily warned, while Chris and Will both snickered and the four Marauders let out muffled noises of amusement.
Harry put on a tired smile for Hermione, who managed an uncertain one back. "I've never had problems with muggleborns, nor with muggles, as a whole. I'm not a fan of judging an entire race or culture or what-have-you simply because of one member." He snorted. "I'm a werewolf; I know what it's like to be seen as a label and treated accordingly."
"Anyway," Will said, poking Hermione's arm and making her jump, "Mum's muggleborn."
Hermione looked towards Lily, who must have offered her some sort of silent response, because then she turned regretful eyes on Harry. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
Harry shook his head, unbothered. "Voldemort leaves an impression," he offered drily.
"No kidding," Sirius muttered.
Hermione's mouth quirked with a hint of a smile, and when Harry winked at her, it widened. He smiled back and stood. "You know, that's probably why no one ever labelled me a 'dark lord'," he mused, half to himself. "The title has rather become synonymous with being the leader of a crusade with a singular target, usually something – or someone, more like – that the current government supports."
"So, who or what did you focus on?" Remus asked.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut; oh, yes, he was sure the fact that he'd turned against humanity as a whole would go over well in a room filled almost entirely with full-blooded humans. "I'm not going to tell you that," he replied before opening his eyes to give Remus an amused look. "You don't really need to know who I was."
"You were a Slytherin," Hermione said, and when Harry looked back at her, she looked smug. "That's why you're always saying–"
"Actually," Harry interrupted, amused, "I was in Gryffindor."
"Wait, what?" Sirius and James chorused, while Will whispered a victorious, "Yes."
Hermione just sort of stare at him in disbelief.
Harry shook his head, grinning. "It is true, however, that the Hat wanted me in Slytherin. We argued about it."
"You were a Hat Stall?" Remus asked, looking surprised.
"Not quite."
A heavy arm went around Harry's shoulders and he looked up into James' face. "You were a Gryffindor," he said.
Harry blinked and gave a cautious nod.
"Prove it."
Harry rolled his eyes. "And how do you expect me to do that?" he replied drily. "Never mind that the common room and dorms very likely have changed over time, Will's told both Chris and I about Gryffindor."
"Yup," Chris agreed.
"Anyway," Harry continued, offering up a sharp smile, "I've been in all of the common rooms before." Because he'd visited both Ravenclaw and Slytherin in his first reality, and Hufflepuff he'd gone to during his last reality, just because he could.
James sighed, looking defeated. "Cheat."
Harry patted his father's arm. "Inherited trait," he promised, and laughed when James eyed him suspiciously.
Someone knocked on the room door and everyone in the room tensed before turning to watch Lily open the door.
Their guide stood there, looking uncertain. "No one came down to meet me?" she offered.
Lily put on an apologetic smile. "Oh, I'm sorry, Signora Lucia. We had..." She faltered, glancing back into the room.
"It's Harry's birthday," James picked up, quickly enough that Lily's uncertainty was easily ignored. "We may have got a bit carried away."
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes while their guide very graciously accepted their excuses; his father really didn't have the right to complain about Harry's Slytherin tendencies when he could offer up a lie that smoothly.
Lily closed the door once Lucia had offered to wait a little bit longer downstairs. "Okay," she said, sounding tired. "So, do we still want to head out? Or should we just...apologise to Signora Lucia for today?"
Harry looked over at where Hermione was still sitting between his brothers, because she was the one who'd been blindsided with the truth. "Hermione?"
"What? Oh." Hermione flushed slightly and looked down. "Yes, I'm fine. We can go out."
"So, getting dressed, I guess?" Peter suggested uncertainly, looking towards his bag, because most of them hadn't bothered changing out of whatever they'd slept in, as late as they'd got up.
James cleared his throat. "Right. Everyone out. Come on."
Harry waited until he and his brothers were in their room, pulling out clothing for the day, before he requested, "Can you two stick with Hermione for today?"
Will frowned at him, while Chris frowned down at the shirt he'd just pulled out. "Why?" Will demanded.
Harry sighed. "Because I think she could use a friend, but I'm not sure she's going to want that friend to be me, not right now."
Will's eyes widened. "But why not?"
"Okay," Chris agreed quietly.
Harry offered his youngest brother a smile, even as he explained, "Because I haven't changed, but her impression of me has. She's going to be uncomfortable, same way Mum and Dad were when they found out, remember?"
"They got over it," Will muttered, but Harry could tell he understood.
"And Hermione will, too, but it's still politer to give her space."
"Okay," Will agreed, and they all turned their attention to changing.
Stand Against the Moon Chapters:
Pro | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05
06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12
Nose to the Wind Chapters:
1 - Death Once Again || 2 - Bring Out All the Good Inside Me || 3 - Death and Living Reconciled
4 - Orphan Man || 5 - Using Gentle Words to Shelter Me || 6 - Living on Your Breath
7 - You Just Might Get it All || 8 - Never Want to Come Down || 9 - Only the Silence Remains
10 - Love is a Doing Word || 11 - Nothing Sacred || 12 - The Heart Yearns
13 - Mirrored in Your Stare || 14 - Camouflage Denial ||
16 - Perfectly Reckless || 17 - Your Arms Feel Like Home || 18 - The Sun Will Set For You
19 - Your Love Has Always Been Enough || 20 - Keep Up This Charade || 21 - Truth Like a Blazing Fire
22 - Give Yourself a Try || 23 - Done Pleading Ignorance || 24 - Your Razorblade Caress of Love
25 - Summer's Scent Still Lingers || 26 - Burn Out the Stain || 27 - Final Masquerade
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