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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: For those interested, the deleted scene from last chapter can be found here on tumblr.
I very much did not want to write the start of the fourth scene this chapter. I procrastinated for something like two weeks before finally sitting down and forcing myself to write it. And it's a complete crack fest, but it's what you're getting. With any luck, you'll at least get a giggle out of it?
For ages at the start of this chapter, very little time has passed, so Harry is still 15. (Hermione is 15, Will is 14, and Chris is 11.)
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
Chapter Seventeen – Your Arms Feel Like Home
-0-
When Will asked, over dinner, what Voldemort had wanted, Harry had been quick to answer, "Politics." (And, one of these days, saying 'politics' wouldn't make Will lose interest, but Harry was going to milk that for all it was worth until then.) His parents had held to that, and so talk turned to other matters.
After dinner, though, Hermione silently grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him away from the rest of his family and upstairs to her room.
"Hermione?" Harry asked, uncertain, as she peered out into the hallway for a long moment before quietly closing her bedroom door.
Hermione stared at her feet, hair shading her face for so long, Harry started feeling concerned and reached for her. She flinched away and snapped, "You're a terrible influence!" When she looked up at him, she was glaring, but there were tears in her eyes.
Harry quickly took two steps back, giving her space and holding up his hands in a show of surrender. "I honestly have no idea what I did?" he offered, because this? This was 'Ron ruined the Yule Ball' level of upset, and he really didn't know what to do with it when it was aimed at him, especially when he didn't know why.
Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and ducked her head again, hiding behind her hair. "I heard," she said, quiet enough that, with even so few steps between them, a normal human would have struggled to hear her.
Harry shook his head. "Heard what?" What could Hermione have possibly heard that would make her this upset? Something Tom had said? He'd actually been well-mannered, for him. (He usually was when he visited Harry, at least to Harry's family. Which Harry appreciated.)
"You and the dark lord," Hermione said, the words sounding like they hurt, "sleeping together."
Harry blinked. "Not until next yea– Wait." He shook his head. "Hermione, for Merlin's sake, would you look at me?"
She lifted her head to glare at him, and now Harry could see it, the hurt she was channelling into anger. "Don't bother denying it, Harry Potter!" she snapped, pointing one shaking finger at him. "I know what I heard–"
"The only part I'm denying is that Voldemort and I are actively sleeping together," Harry interrupted, frowning at her, "and that's really only because Dad might actually go apocalyptic if we did. But, yes, we're...dating." And, wow, that word seemed as wrong to use as it had for someone to call the dark lord Harry's boyfriend.
Hermione's mouth snapped shut and she slumped, her outstretched hand dropping back to her side. "Why?" she whispered, sounding so much more hurt than angry.
With a sinking sensation, Harry suddenly realised where this was coming from, and maybe he should have foreseen it, Hermione developing a crush on him because he'd been the first person in the magical world who'd cared. He'd done everything he could to get his best friend back again, to boost her confidence when her first term had seen it stomped down, to give her a family and a home worth coming home to.
"I'm sorry," he offered quietly, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Harry pressed his hands together, using the faint ache to centre himself. "I've loved him since before I met you." This version of Hermione, at least.
Hermione swallowed and nodded. "I never had a chance, did I?"
"No," Harry admitted. "I'm sorry." Because the last thing he'd ever wanted was to hurt her.
Hermione wrapped her arms around herself again. "I– Can you...go?"
"Of course," Harry agreed and stepped back into a doorway that opened for him, because he wasn't going to push past her to get to the door, not right now.
"Not– Harry!" Hermione called after him, looking up with wide eyes, and Harry stopped, halfway between realms. "Not...forever? Just–"
"I know." Harry offered her a smile, trying to make it reassuring, but likely failing miserably. "I'm still grounded. Can't leave the house," he reminded her and she let out a choked noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He ducked his head in a bow and finished stepping through to the Realm of Death, letting the doorway close behind him.
In the shadowed world, Harry covered his face and took a moment to breathe. "I'm an idiot," he muttered to himself at last, before turning and opening another doorway next to him, this one leading into his bedroom.
He could hear Hermione muffling sobs, the walls between their rooms far from thick enough, and rubbed at his eyes, letting out a quiet curse in Russian. Then, unwilling to stick around and listen to his best friend's heart break, he went downstairs to make some potions, because that was the one place in the house he knew for sure he wouldn't be able to hear her from.
Monday morning, Harry left a vial of Peace of Mind Potion outside Hermione's door, with a note that explained she could use it if she needed a bit of a pick-me-up. The only reason he knew she'd taken it when she came downstairs, was because he'd seen her after she spent a night being upset before, and she'd never managed to look so very put-together the next morning.
They spent the day over at the Burrow – Molly had shaken her head in disbelief when Harry'd told her he was grounded again – and Harry spent more of it than he'd expected watching out the window as everyone played on broomsticks outside. He was half tempted to see if Lily would actually lighten his punishment if he asked, like she'd once joked she would, because it actually kind of sucked, this time, being punished for something so far in the past.
Harry rubbed at his eyes. "Dear Merlin, I'm turning into a normal kid," he muttered to himself, only to hear someone let out a startled laugh.
When he looked up, he found Hermione standing in the doorway to the living room, a plate of biscuits in one hand. "Aren't you a little old to be turning into a kid?" she teased, and her smile was a little shaky around the edges, but honest enough that it wasn't the lingering effects of the potion that created it.
"Midlife crisis," Harry retorted, and Hermione laughed as she came over to sit across from him. "How'd you get Molly to let you take those off the cooling rack?"
"I didn't," Hermione admitted, a devious turn to her smile as she set the plate on the coffee table between them.
"You stole them?" Harry realised, honestly amazed.
Hermione huffed and picked up a biscuit before leaning back in her chair. "Please," she replied. "The thing about having a known deviant for a foster brother–"
"Oiy!" Harry complained with a laugh, a part of him relaxing to hear her referring to him that way.
"–is that Molly will believe me when I say it was you." She flashed a smile that was nothing but trouble at him.
Harry shook his head and grabbed a few biscuits, figuring he might as well enjoy them, if he was going to get in trouble for them. "I really am a terrible influence."
"You really, really are," Hermione agreed with a laugh.
And when Molly came in a few minutes later, Harry didn't even bother protesting the blame for the theft; it was worth it to see Hermione looking so much happier.
"Hey, so, I should probably tell you two something," Harry admitted Thursday night to his brothers, after they'd supposedly turned in for the night. Because the family dinner was the next night, and Harry felt it was rude to blindside his brothers with the fact that he was...with Voldemort.
"Uh-oh," Chris whispered, while Will shot Harry a worried frown.
Harry shook his head. "It's not bad," he offered, but neither of them looked reassured. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Voldemort and I are–" yeah, that word was never going to sound right, but there wasn't a better one "–dating."
Will and Chris traded looks, then glanced back at Harry. "Okay," Will said.
Harry blinked. That... "Okay?" he repeated.
Will and Chris both nodded. "Okay," Will agreed.
Harry shook his head and turned to get into bed. "Awesome talk," he muttered, mostly to himself, because of course they wouldn't care. "Let's never do it again." He raised his voice a bit to call back, "Good night!"
"Good night!" the two of them chorused, but their tiny little bedside magical lights stayed lit and Harry heard them writing on something.
'Messaging paper,' he realised and smiled to himself. Well, when your elder brother could hear it if you started whispering to each other and knew all the same languages, he supposed that passing notes was really the only way they could have secret conversations about him.
Harry shook his head and turned over to sleep, leaving his brothers to their private talk.
"So," Sirius said conversationally, once everyone had served themselves, "who died?"
"Why is that always everyone's first thought?" Harry muttered to himself in Atlantean, and his brothers both let out quiet snickers.
"No one's died," Lily said, when all James did was twitch and stab at his chicken.
"You sure?" Sirius asked, looking suspiciously between James' murder of his food and where Harry was trying not to look like he wanted to sink through the floor. "James and Harry look like someone's died and they don't want to tell us."
"Or something worse happened," Remus offered quietly, his eyes practically bleeding concern.
"It's not– Nobody died," Harry managed, and it only sort of sounded like he wanted to run for it. "It's not even bad, it's just–"
Hermione chose that moment to announce, "Harry's dating Voldemort."
Peter's fork clattered to the floor.
Harry covered his eyes. "Hermione," he complained, trapped somewhere between gratitude that he hadn't had to say it, and a sort of horrified amusement that she'd so carelessly dropped that particular bomb.
He really was a terrible influence.
"Sorry," Hermione said, sounding more smug than anything else.
"Right, so–" Sirius coughed, looking more than a little uncomfortable as he turned to James. "Do we need to give him the talk–?"
James let out a strangled laugh and covered his face with his hands.
Sirius turned on Harry with a grin that was half 'dear Merlin I'm going insane' and half 'you are going to regret everything'. "So, you have to understand, Harry, that when two...people–"
"I will curse you," Harry warned, pointing his fork at the dog animagus.
"I'm not afraid of your toy wand, pup," Sirius shot back, his eyes glinting.
"You have to sleep sometime," Harry insisted.
"Please don't threaten your uncle," Lily muttered, though she was smiling.
"Why him?" Peter complained as he leant over to pick his fork back up.
Harry waited until the man had straightened before, with no little glee, deadpanning, "It's his pretty face."
Peter's fork hit the floor again and Sirius and James let out twin choked laughs.
"He just can't help himself," Will added, nodding and failing to look as serious as Harry expected he was trying to appear.
Chris contributed by making kissing noises against his palm, while Hermione let out a dreamy sigh and stared up towards the ceiling.
"Did they practise that?" Remus asked Lily, his tone mild, while Sirius and James just completely lost their shit, and Harry covered his face to muffle his own helpless snickers.
Lily shook her head. "I have no idea," she admitted. "But, if they don't stop tormenting their uncles and father, they're going to be grounded."
Hermione turned a failure of an innocent look on Lily.
Lily snorted. "Yes, I'm including you, Hermione."
"Busted," Chris whispered, and Will elbowed him.
"No, seriously, keep it up," Harry muttered into his hand. "I could use the company."
"English, boys."
"Sorry, Mum," they chorused, not a one of them sounding like they meant it.
"You lot are my favourite comedy act," Sirius told them, his smile a twisted little thing.
"We do try," Harry replied, glancing towards where Peter was leaning down to pick up his fork again; he wondered if he could make the man drop it a third time.
Sirius snorted. "Sure you do. Hey, why don't we return the favour," he said to James.
James blinked at him. "Return the–? Oh. You mean that?"
Sirius nodded. "Yes. That."
"What? What?" Will chirped, while Chris and Hermione both shot curious looks across the table.
Harry raised an eyebrow, wondering what exciting thing he might have missed this time because he didn't keep closer track of what his ghostly spies discovered.
James hummed and shook his head. "No, I don't think they deserve to know."
"Haven't been good enough?" Sirius guessed.
"This, coming from you two," Remus muttered.
"You don't have to tell us," Chris said before turning to look at Harry. Will and Hermione's eyes both lit up as they copied him, expressions expectant.
"Cheat," James muttered, while Sirius snickered.
Harry closed his eyes. Death, what new and exciting thing is the ministry up to?
"...you will not enjoy this, Master," Death warned.
Harry couldn't help but stiffen, and he heard his brothers and Hermione let out worried noises, even as he demanded, Tell me.
"The TriWizard Tournament."
From a distance, Harry heard his silverware clatter to the table. Two realities gone, and a year after it had occurred in his home reality; he'd foolishly thought he'd never again face that event. "Are you lot fucking insane?" he heard himself ask, and it came out too sharp, too honest a reminder of that nightmare he'd been forced to participate in, because Voldemort–
"Harry James!" Lily snapped.
A light hand touched Harry's shoulder, and he couldn't help but flinch at the touch. He turned to see Hermione staring at him like she was afraid for him, like his name had just come out of that goblet again and–
"People have died during the TriWizard Tournament," he managed to get out, forcing his voice to remain calm, and Lily and Remus both made startled noises; clearly, this was the first either of them had heard of the event.
"What's the TriWizard Tournament?" Will whispered, and Hermione made a shushing noise.
"We've got safeties planned," Sirius said, his posture tense.
"An age line," Harry guessed, and James and Sirius traded surprised looks. "Who's casting it?" Because Albus was dead, and the number of people Harry trusted to cast wards strong enough to flummox any nasty-spirited students was–
"Voldemort," James offered.
A wave of relief crashed over Harry and he sagged back in his chair. "I should have guessed that," Harry muttered to himself, and he really couldn't say what language the words had come out in, though the lack of comprehension around the table suggested it wasn't Atlantean, English, or French.
Voldemort casting it was good. He'd probably put in something nasty for any fools who thought an ageing potion would suffice, and he might even warn about it, if he was feeling nice. Harry could probably talk him into adding a ward that would keep people from entering any name other than their own, too, which would put Harry far more at ease about the whole event.
"You're probably the only person I know who's actually relieved to hear that Voldemort's casting the spells," Sirius complained. "And I can't even pretend to be confused about why any more."
"Incidentally, my relief has nothing to do with Voldemort and my relationship," Harry replied, and he sounded much more himself, even though a part of him was still sinking in an ocean of all the things that could go wrong. "He's one of the strongest wizards alive today, if not the strongest, and enough people are terrified of him that foul play is unlikely."
"Foul play?" Hermione asked quietly, and Harry realised that she and his brothers had been watching the unfolding drama with a mix of confusion and concern.
He cleared his throat and straightened. "The TriWizard Tournament," he explained for the three, "is a contest held between the three largest European magical schools: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in Scotland; L'académie de Magie de Beauxbâtons, in France; and Durmstrang-Institut für Zauberei, in Norway."
"You know where Durmstrang is?" Sirius interrupted.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course I know where Durmstrang is, I know all. Keep up," he returned, and his brothers and James all snickered. "Three champions are picked, one from each school, and pitted against each other in three tasks over the course of the school year. The tasks tend to be exceedingly dangerous–" Harry turned a pointed stare on his father and Sirius "–and it was discontinued after a tournament near the end of the, I believe, eighteenth century, when one of the tasks resulted in the heads of all three schools being seriously wounded."
"I read about that in Hogwarts: A History!" Hermione realised, her eyes lighting up. "It was a cockatrice, wasn't it?"
Harry smiled at her, entirely too fond, especially since it was only because of another Hermione that he’d known that. "Quite."
Lily cleared her throat. "I'm surprised Beauxbâtons was willing to come here."
"It was a hard sell," James admitted with a helpless shrug, "but Voldemort absolutely refused to allow Hogwarts students to spend the year in France, and Karkaroff seconded the motion."
"France was where the rebellion was based, for the most part," Peter pointed out quietly.
Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from correcting that statement; so far as everyone outside of Voldemort and himself knew, the rebels had only ever had the one, mobile base.
Sirius snorted. "As if that isn't over and done with."
"Best not to tempt them to start up a new rebellion by handing them hostages," Harry insisted, shaking his head, and the adults all made faces. "No, the only way Voldemort would have agreed to let Beauxbâtons host, was if he was allowed to reside in the school for the whole of the tournament, and the French ministry is nervous enough about him only being on the other side of the English Channel; there's no way they'd have let him move into their school for the entire year."
"Essentially," Sirius agreed, grudgingly.
"So, if Voldemort turned down the French school, and they're not happy about coming here, why not pick the other school?" Will asked.
Harry snorted to himself, while Sirius deadpanned, "Karkaroff is in Voldemort's pocket, same as Snape."
"I’m beginning to understand why the French are nervous," Hermione muttered.
"Durmstrang is, historically, the most dark-minded of the three schools," Remus offered, "and Beauxbatons has always been the more light-minded. Hogwarts has tended to waffle back and forth, depending on the politics of the government and the current head."
Hermione nodded to herself, then eyed Harry uncertainly. "You mentioned an age line?"
Harry nodded. "Makes sense. A lot of the deaths over the years were from too-young students being picked to compete, so a way to limit the minimum age students can be to enter makes sense. I'd guess seventeen?" He glanced at James and Sirius.
"Seventeen," James agreed.
"So," Harry said, his tone going dry, "expect that Fred and George will both be putting their names in and be making a lot of jokes about which of them is more capable."
His brothers and Hermione all laughed, and talk turned to the changes the students should expect with the visiting schools in attendance. None of which would affect Harry, given, but hearing about the security measures did make him feel better.
Harry managed to wait another couple days before giving in and sneaking off to visit Voldemort in the night. Merope was sitting outside the entrance to the dark lord's rooms, a fond smile curling her lips, and Harry grinned back at her. "Hi. Is it safe for me to go in there?"
Merope's crossed eyes glinted in a way that made Harry suspicious. "You mean you don't have a secret fancy to see Tom in the–"
"Dear Merlin, you're terrible!" Harry interrupted, covering his ears and trying not to laugh. "Aren't you supposed to be, I dunno, preserving his modesty or something?"
"Says the man who wants to bang my son," Merope retorted before dissolving into giggles.
Harry covered his face, feeling it heat with embarrassment, though whether it was from Merope's entirely inappropriate comment or the mental image that comment had spawned, Harry wasn't going to consider too closely. "I am legitimately concerned about the way you spend your free time, when Tom is sleeping," he muttered, mostly to himself, before peeking out at the woman and willing her to answer him truthfully when he asked, "Is he fully dressed and alone?"
Merope sighed. "Yes and yes. You're no fun."
"I am not dealing with his embarrassment, even in the name of your amusement," Harry shot back before opening a doorway and poking his head through. "Voldemort?"
"Scythe?" the dark lord returned, and Harry spotted him seated in a wingback chair over by the grandfather clock, a thick tome in his hands and his Tom face on.
Harry couldn't resist the fond smile that hijacked his lips. "So you do do more than paperwork," he teased.
Tom snorted and picked up a scrap of paper from the table next to him. "You have a habit of visiting during busy periods," he returned, slipping the scrap between the pages he'd been reading and closing the tome. "Are you coming in?"
Somehow, Harry managed to calmly step through into the mortal world, letting the doorway close behind him before moving towards where Tom was sitting, even though all he really wanted to do was throw himself at the dark lord and fuck his father's rules about waiting a year. "I admit," he offered, "I'm sort of here on business. Kind of. A little bit."
Tom chuckled and rose to meet him. "Only a little bit?"
They both stood there for a moment, watching each other, until Harry realised that he was staring and this was pathetic. He snorted at himself and shook his head. "Only a little bit. Can I kiss you?" Because Tom had kissed him twice now, which was very much not fair, and while they were much closer in height when Harry hadn't grown up malnourished and living in the cupboard under the stairs, the dark lord still had a good few inches on him, and Harry wasn't quite secure enough in their relationship to drag the man's head down without some sort of warning.
Tom's lips took on a wry turn, even as he stepped close enough that Harry could feel the burn of his body heat – so very different from his last Tom, who had carried the chill of Death for so long, Harry had almost forgotten what it was like to love someone still alive – and ducked his head towards Harry.
Harry pushed forward, like he'd wanted to do in the graveyard, pressing his mouth tight to the dark lord's and curling one hand around his nape, fingers caught between strands of soft black hair.
Tom let out a quiet, startled sound, but he didn't pull away. Instead, arms wrapped around Harry's waist and drew him closer, wrapped him in the sort of warmth that he hadn't felt in–
Harry let himself sink back to his feet, grinning when Tom chased after him just a bit. "So, hi," he said when the dark lord pulled back with a faint scowl, and he sort of wanted to hit himself for how completely ridiculous he sounded.
Still, Tom's scowl softened to a small smile and, yeah, Harry couldn't even pretend any more, because that was one hundred percent fondness in Tom's red eyes, too close to mistake as anything else. "Are you tongue-tied?" Tom asked, his tone very much amused.
"Distracted," Harry insisted, combing his fingers through the hair at Tom's nape and unable to resist a grin when the dark lord's eyelids fluttered like he really wanted to just stand there and enjoy being petted. "You are extremely distracting, which I'm pretty sure you've figured out already. Kindly desist."
Tom snorted. "I'm not sure how. I could put on my glamour?" he offered, and his eyes were practically dancing.
(Harry maybe, possibly, just a lot, fell in love all over again with this Tom who wasn't afraid to show when he was happy. Or, at the least, show when he was amused about something that didn't involve someone else being in pain.)
"I'm pretty sure I've already mentioned that that doesn't bother me," Harry reminded him.
One ridiculously perfect eyebrow raised in disbelief before one of the arms around Harry's waist twitched, and then he was staring up into Voldemort's face, fingers empty of hair to comb through. "You'd kiss me like this," Voldemort said, tone dry.
"Do your Death Eaters know how vain you are?" Harry teased, before getting back up on his toes to kiss away the forming frown. And, honestly, kissing Voldemort's nearly non-existent lips would always be weird, and he far preferred the man's Tom-face, but he could never let a thing like lips keep him from loving the dark lord.
Voldemort let out a broken sound against Harry's mouth and his arms spasmed around Harry's waist.
Harry gently cupped the man's face between his hands and pulled back enough to frown up at eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Voldemort?" he whispered, and it was only because of the different appearance that he was able to keep himself from using the man's birth name. "Are you–?"
"Dammit, Scythe," Voldemort whispered, and slit-pupiled red eyes opened to stare down into Harry's own. There was a whirl of emotions in them, too much for Harry to begin to decipher.
Harry brushed his thumbs lightly against Voldemort's cheeks, tracing the lines of too-sharp cheekbones, and quietly asked, "Do I need to step back?"
Voldemort's arms tightened around his waist and his eyes pressed closed again. "No," he said, and the word sounded like it had been a struggle to get out.
"Okay," Harry murmured, settling back down on his feet again and dropping his hands from Voldemort's face so he could hug him, pressing his ear against the man's chest, over his heart, and revelling in the rapid thudding that he'd lost decades ago.
It was...comfortable, holding the dark lord and being held back. Like a hug from one of his brothers or Hermione or his parents, except very much not, yet still...
He felt warm and safe, accepted in a way that he never quite found with his family, not once they'd realised how utterly broken he was. There was a security in the knowledge that he didn't need to protect Voldemort, not like he did his brothers and Hermione, not like he sometimes felt he needed to do for his parents. He didn't even need to watch his strength so much, because he knew the dark lord had done rituals of his own, strengthened himself so he could stand against the fists of muggles who'd wanted to beat on him because he was too strange, was too different and just a little bit terrifying, and the only way to deal with things that terrified you was to make them more afraid of you, than you were of them.
Harry would always be part Alpha Lord, would always need to protect his pack, but alphas came in pairs, stood back-to-back with each other and trusted the other could handle themselves.
"I love you," he said, and only knew he'd said the words in a language the dark lord didn't know because the man hadn't tensed.
"...what?" the dark lord asked, a frown in his voice.
Harry pulled back enough to smile up at Tom – he'd dropped the glamour while Harry hadn't been paying attention. "Nothing," he promised.
Tom snorted. "You and your precious secrets, Scythe."
"I don't have nearly so many as you seem to think I do," Harry insisted, and Tom scoffed at him. Harry rolled his eyes and lightly smoothed his hand over the man's chest, feeling for that reassuring thudding. "So, business."
Tom sighed and pulled away, the motion seeming almost as reluctant as Harry felt to let him go. But, yeah, probably best to put aside that particular distraction, even if it did leave Harry feeling distinctly cold.
"Have a seat," Tom suggested, motioning with his wand and summoning a chair to bump against the back of Harry's legs, even as he settled back into his own chair. "To business."
Harry slumped into the chair and threw a leg over one arm, preferring to be comfortable, and hoping to win a small hint of good humour from the dark lord, which showed in a gleam of amusement in his eyes as they followed the careless line of Harry's leg, kicking idly against the air. "I hear tell we're hosting the TriWizard Tournament."
Tom's eyes met his again, a scowl tugging at his lips. "Potter and Black. I should have guessed they wouldn't be able to keep their mouths shut."
Harry snorted. "To be fair, they teased and then clammed up; I got confirmation from Death and then pried the specifics out of Dad and Uncle Sirius."
Tom just sort of stared blankly at him for a moment before snorting and looking away. "Yes," he allowed drily, "I don't suppose I should be cross at anyone for letting slip information to you. Even if you didn't have your own means of obtaining secrets, you have a particular talent for rooting them out."
"You may be underestimating my spy network," Harry retorted.
"Entirely possible," Tom agreed before glancing back at Harry, his eyes bright with a sort of resigned humour. "Yes, I gave in to demands for an attempt to revive lost alliances with the continent by bringing back that tournament."
Harry sighed and rubbed at his eyes. "I should have guessed there was a political motive behind this madness," he complained, and Tom let out a snort that made it quite clear that he fully agreed with Harry in how much he wasn't looking forward to the accursed tournament. He opened his eyes and offered a tired smile to the dark lord. "Might I make a request, in the name of security?"
Tom straightened and raised his eyebrows. "Oh? You believe the aurors have missed something?"
"Not as such," Harry promised. "More, hm... The age line will keep students from putting their own name into the goblet if they're underage, but it won't keep them from bribing an upper year to do it for them. Or, worse, for an upper year with a grudge to enter an underclassman in hopes of getting them killed."
Tom's eyes darkened at that last. "I would kill any student who tried that," he said, barely restrained violence in his voice.
Harry shrugged. "And I'd be right there next to you, but it'll be too late after they've slipped someone's name in with a mind towards foul play. But a ward, say, that would only let in a piece of paper with the bearer's own name on it..."
Tom frowned, clearly considering. "It's certainly worth looking into, but I know of no such wards. Or, well, not any that are aimed specifically at paper."
"And don't result in the troublemaker's death?" Harry suggested.
Tom shot him a smirk. "More the pity."
Harry snorted. And then, because there were magical governments that had very strange ways of deciding who would be the next leader, and he'd faced this very problem in his last reality, while trying to fix the mess he and that Tom had made of their world, offered, "I know two wards that would work."
Tom just sort of stared at him in disbelief.
Harry took a moment to enjoy the dark lord's reaction, then cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, tossing his other leg over the arm so he was sitting more sideways. "One is from Ancient Greece, translated from the original Greek to Aramaic, and is used almost exclusively in the Arab nation." He waved a careless hand while Tom shook his head, very clearly trying to regain control of his expression. "The other originates from the Chibcha language, and has survived in various forms in that region of the Americas."
Tom closed his eyes and chuckled. "Of course. Which one do you think would work best?"
Harry shrugged. "Oh, they're about equally as effective. However, I suspect you'll find the Chibcha version easier to learn, unless you have some sort of background in Semitic languages that I'm unaware of."
Tom shook his head and shot Harry a helpless sort of smile. "I don't have any knowledge of this...Chibcha, either."
Harry nodded. "I didn't expect you to. There's a couple versions that are more Spanish than Chibcha, which, given your grasp of Latin, you should be able to master with little effort."
"Well then, Professor Scythe, teach me foreign magic."
Harry laughed as he resettled himself properly in his chair, then set about doing so.
"Harry?" Chris tugged on Harry's sleeve the last night of August. "Can we talk?"
"Of course," Harry agreed, and let himself be led downstairs, away from the frantic packing of Will and Hermione. (Honestly, Harry was glad for the excuse to retreat; if he had to listen to Hermione debate which books to take to study for OWLs one more time, he was going to have to resort to desperate measures. Like a silencing charm, or seeing if Voldemort would let him hide in his rooms until after the train had left tomorrow morning.)
Once in the potions lab, the door closed against the flurry from upstairs, Chris wrung his hands together and started pacing.
Harry blinked at his brother, uncertain how to respond to what was fairly uncharacteristic behaviour. "Chris?"
"I don't know if it'll be okay!" Chris burst out with, trading between English and Atlantean in a way that he'd never done, but which Will had done a few times shortly after Death had gifted them knowledge of Atlantean, before the language had fully settled in his head.
Harry reached out and caught his brother's shoulders, forcing him to stop pacing and face Harry. "Hey, whoa. Take a deep breath, Chris. Come on, with me." Harry slowly breathed in and, once Chris had copied him, breathed back out. He kept it up until his brother's shoulders had slumped and he looked a little less like he was about to jump out of his own skin. "Right, try this again."
Chris rubbed roughly at his face, setting his glasses askew, and mumbled, " 'M worried 'bout my 'ouse."
Harry blinked and took a moment to translate that into something understandable – werewolf hearing didn't help him if the person speaking refused to enunciate – then repeated, "You're worried about your house? Hogwarts house?" The last was a guess, but given where Chris was headed in the morning...
Chris nodded, looking miserable. "Dad and Uncle Siri'll hate me if I get Slytherin," he admitted.
"Hey, no. No," Harry insisted, catching his brother's hands and tugging him into a hug. "No way. No hate in this house. For one, Mum'll have both their heads if they start in on you for that, for another, they thought I was a Slytherin until last month, remember? And they never got on me about it."
"You're different," Chris said quietly, sounding so very pathetic.
Harry cheated and conjured a fluffy sofa in a dark corner of the room – Chris wasn't paying attention, and it'd be gone before anyone could wonder where it'd come from – then dragged his youngest brother over to it and sat them both down. "I'm a psychopath," he deadpanned, "but that's hardly a fitting reason for Dad and Uncle Sirius to treat me fine and then turn on you. If anything, they should be more likely to kick me to the road than you."
Chris ducked his head. "But you're...you."
Harry shook his head. "And you're you. What's that got to do with anything?"
"You can take care of yourself if they–"
"Christopher John!" Harry snapped, and his brother flinched before peeking up at him from behind red bangs and his glasses. He sighed and shook his head. "Chris," he said, gentling his tone, "nothing in this world can ever change how much Dad and Uncle Sirius and everyone else loves you. Above anyone, I know this to be a fact. Hogwarts houses... Yeah, sure, they're a big deal at school, and maybe you use them as an excuse to be a jerk to someone who was in another house once you grow up, like Dad is about Secret, but what house you end up in? That's based on who you are, who you've always been. And Dad and Uncle Sirius? They know who you are, and they love you all the same."
Chris squeezed Harry's hands and tried to pull away, but Harry tightened his hold just enough that he was very clearly stuck.
"Hey, Chris?" Harry said, voice quiet, and Chris looked up at him uncertainly, his eyes bright with tears. "You remember what I said? That the Hat wanted me in Slytherin, but I insisted on Gryffindor?"
Chris' eyes widened. "I can–?"
"You can pick," Harry promised, smiling. "You can go to whichever house you most want to be in. You've got that choice. But, hey, do me a favour? Don't pick Gryffindor?"
Chris choked on a giggle and nodded. "Is Ravenclaw good? Hermione always says such nice things about their bookcases."
Harry bit his tongue to keep from saying something wholly inappropriate about Hermione's adoration for the Ravenclaw common room's bookcases. "Ravenclaw is excellent. I'll even accept Hufflepuff, which is not nearly so wimpy as Dad and our uncles are always saying."
Chris nodded, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh."
"Loyalty and hard work are excellent ethics to hold to!"
"Doormat," Chris replied, which was Sirius' favourite name for Hufflepuffs that weren't Tonks or, as he put it, 'equally as spirited'.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm telling Mum she needs to put a moratorium on bad-mouthing any house the speaker wasn't actively a member of."
Chris covered his mouth, looking much cheered. "You just want to be able to talk mean about Gryffindor, still."
"Someone in this house has to. I swear, some days, you, Hermione, and me are the only sane ones here."
Chris burst out laughing at that and curled forward against Harry. "Doomed!"
Harry grinned and wrapped his arms around his brother, letting him laugh himself out.
"Hey," he said once Chris was quiet again, and his brother grinned up at him. Harry smiled at him and gently ruffled his hair. "No matter what house you get sorted into, even if it's Gryffindor, you know I'm proud of you, right?"
Chris leaned forward again, wrapping his arms around Harry and hiding his face against Harry's chest. "I know," he admitted.
"And anyone gives you shit, you let me know and I'll send Death after them."
Chris started giggling again, utterly helpless, and Harry considered his work done.
'Slytherin,' Chris sent shortly after dinner, and Harry couldn't help the victorious grin at the knowledge that he'd eased his brother's fears enough that he hadn't gone for the safe choice.
'Do you want me to warn Dad, or do you just want a report of his reaction after your owl arrives?' he sent back.
Chris was notably silent as Harry hunted down a book to read before bed.
'You don't have to decide right this moment,' he added. 'I wouldn't tell him until morning, anyway.'
'Can you just tell Mum?' Chris decided.
'Absolutely.'
Chris didn't write any more after that, which left the paper open for the influx of writing that Will started sending about a half hour later, updating Harry on all of his friends and what they'd been told about the TriWizard Tournament and which Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans he'd eaten on the train and did Harry know Chris had made it into Slytherin and wasn't that awesome and it would have been even better if one of them was a Hufflepuff because then they could have had all the houses represented, because Harry was dating a Slytherin, and–
Harry laughed to himself and eventually turned in after Will finally wound down, comforted at the assurance that his brothers were both fine.
Will must have brought his messaging paper with him to the great hall for the choosing of the names, because Harry got up-to-date comments on everything, and had to excuse himself from dinner early, lest he give up the long-held secret to his parents because his brother was ridiculous. Especially when he started in on how bored Voldemort looked, sitting up at the head table between Severus and Karkaroff, and he really did look better with hair, and 'Harry, please, promise me you've never kissed him like that.' (Harry took great glee in dashing those hopes, even if he then had to suffer a good five minutes of whining.)
At last, it came time for the champions to be chosen and Will's scribbled comments went quiet, until:
'Durmstrang is a girl named Zofia Wocheck.'
'Beauxbatons is a girl named Jeanne Andre.'
'Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff.'
Harry stared at that last name for a long moment, his heart in his throat, before he heard himself whispering, "Please, please, please... Cedric, please don't die again."
And then Will messaged him again, the motion of the text on the page breaking him from his too-old memories: 'Man, why did it have to be a Hufflepuff? Fred and George are nearly inconsolable!'
'Hufflepuffs are awesome. Don't judge; you were the one that wanted one in the family.'
'So, either get him and Hermione together, or Chris or me needs to come out as gay?'
Harry sort of blinked at that in disbelief for a moment before hiding his face in his hands and laughing so hard he couldn't breathe.
'You're laughing, aren't you?' Will had sent by the time Harry managed to control himself. 'It's fine, you can laugh. But admit it would be wicked if we had a TriWizard champion in the family.'
'Go prank a Weasley or something and leave me out of your romance drama,' Harry finally sent, shaking his head.
'You have enough romance drama as it is?' Will guessed.
'I will put this under my bed and ignore it until tomorrow evening,' Harry threatened.
'Spoil sport,' Will complained, but he did stop chattering on for a few hours, which gave Harry the chance to get some work done on his homework. He started back up again when they both headed for bed, but he didn't bring up romancing Cedric again, or Harry's relationship with Voldemort, so Harry let him talk.
"I have been told," Harry said as he stepped into the dark lord's rooms on the first night of November, "that you looked beyond bored at the picking of the champions last night."
Tom was at his desk, writing something, and he snorted without looking up. "Better bored than murderous," he pointed out.
Harry laughed and dropped into the nearest chair. "The students and Madame Maxime would certainly believe so."
Tom finished writing and set his quill aside as he looked up at Harry, a small, fond smile curling his mouth. "I'm fairly certain," he said, his tone dryly amused, "that there was no one in the great hall who would have preferred I look murderous."
Harry took a moment to consider that. "Ah. Fair point. Unless there was someone in there actively torturing the students in which case–"
"Needs must?" Tom suggested and Harry flashed him a toothy smile. Tom chuckled and finally got up from behind his desk to walk over to Harry, who jumped to his feet to meet him. "Hello, Scythe," he murmured before Harry very firmly shut him up with a kiss.
"So," Harry said once he felt he'd sufficiently side-tracked the dark lord and was quite comfortable in the circle of his arms, "your mum said you wanted me to drop by?" Which, well, Harry had made a habit of dropping by once a week anyway – it was so much easier to sneak out with his brothers both gone – but he didn't usually come in the middle of the week, just so it didn't matter if he stayed too late and wanted to sleep in the next morning.
Tom sighed, his expression shuttering. "We caught three students trying to put in someone else's name without their knowledge," he offered, and Harry felt his own smile vanish. "Your mudblood was one of the victims."
Harry stiffened and quickly pulled his hands away from where they'd been threaded through Tom's hair as he felt them turn into claws. "Of course she was," he managed to say, and the words sounded like they'd been strangled on the way out. "Does she know?"
Tom was watching him, something almost like concern in his eyes, his arms still tight around Harry's waist and doing far more to keep him from going on a murderous rampage than the dark lord would likely guess. "No. It was decided that the perpetrators would be expelled and the victims left unaware of the momentary danger, though Severus did insist on letting the parents know." Tom scowled. "Something about parents deserving to know when their spawn are in danger, even if he won't release the perpetrator's name."
Harry felt himself relax, eased by the dark lord's complaints, as if Tom himself hadn't gone out of the way to warn the family of one of the victims. "Severus was probably imagining what Mum would have done to him if she found out Hermione or Will or Chris had been a victim and he hadn't told her about it."
Tom snorted. "Likely." His expression turned odd, almost uncertain, and he carefully asked, "Do I need to tell you who attempted to put your mudblood's name in the goblet?"
Harry let his fingers – human again – comb back through Tom's hair as he considered that offer. He knew himself well enough to admit that he wouldn't be able to resist hunting the person down and killing them if he knew their name, and he probably shouldn't do that, if only because Hermione wouldn't approve. But he didn't like the idea of letting that person walk free when they might take their grievances out against Hermione at a later date. Death?
"Spirits can be set to watch those ex-students who intended harm against younger students, without you knowing who they are," Death offered. "Should one of them attempt to attack the almost-victim outside of school, you'll be notified and can handle the matter then."
Harry didn't resist a fond smile. Thank you, Death, he offered to his eternal servant, before shaking his head at Tom. "No. I don't want to know their name."
"Of course, Master."
Tom gave him a curious look and brought one of his hands up from Harry's waist to touch the corner of his smile. "A mental connection with...Death?" he guessed after a moment.
Harry felt his smile widen. "Yes."
Tom grimaced slightly. "I'd wondered," he admitted.
Harry shook his head, amused. "I promise he's not in your head."
"How reassuring," Tom deadpanned, and Harry couldn't help a laugh. Tom traced his fingers across his cheek, his eyes fond, before dropping his hand back to Harry's waist and glancing towards the grandfather clock. "You should probably head home," he commented, a hint of regret in the words.
Harry let out a noise of agreement. "School night," he agreed before leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to the dark lord's mouth. When he pulled away, Tom let him go without any trouble, his lips curling with a smile. "I'll come back this weekend and pester you into telling me about the first task."
"Not a chance," Tom returned, very clearly amused. "You'll find out on the twenty-fourth with everyone else."
"Unless I cheat."
Tom snorted. "There's little I can do about your play at omniscience. Good night, Scythe."
"Good night, Voldemort," Harry replied fondly before stepping through to the Realm of Death and heading for home.
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 || 15 - Precious and Fragile Things
16 - Perfectly Reckless ||
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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