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batsutousaiTitle: Nose to the Wind
Series: Like a Ghost in My Town
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Mature
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: Here's the last chapter! Hopefully it doesn't let down too many expectations! ^^;
Related, all things must end and, imo, I'd rather have an ending to a fic, than be constantly wondering if I'll ever get another chapter. :P
(Too, I'll be honest, I'm looking forward to being able to sleep in without feeling guilty because people are waiting for a chapter. XP)
For ages at the start of this chapter, very little time has passed, so Harry remains 16. (Hermione is 17, Will is 15, and Chris is 12.)
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
Chapter Twenty-Seven – Final Masquerade
-0-
On Valentine's Day, the magical British Isles declared war on Alexander Golubev and his allies. By the end of the day, the majority of the magical communities of Europe had joined them.
"It's so sweet," Bellatrix told Harry during lunch, after Voldemort had made a brief appearance to announce the official declaration, then returned to the ministry without eating. "My Lord got you a war for Valentine's Day!"
Harry snorted, while most of the handful of Death Eaters around the table paused in their hurried eating long enough to trade uncertain looks. As though they really thought that Harry would be dating the dark lord without having a similarly skewed moral compass.
"I'd much rather've had Golubev's head on a pike, without all the fanfare," Harry replied. "But I do understand that the niceties much be observed when the target is a public figure."
"Niceties," someone whispered disbelievingly.
"Something for your birthday wishlist," Bellatrix decided.
Harry scowled. "If it takes that long, I'm going to Russia and ripping out his throat myself."
Some of the Death Eaters shot him benevolent little smiles, like they thought he was joking, or believing too well of himself. Bellatrix, however, threw her head back and cackled.
At least there was someone who believed he could end Golubev's life if he got sick of waiting.
Golubev didn't waste any time gathering his forces, according to Harry's spies, and their European allies and those magicals who came from the Americas and Australia to help collected themselves with far more speed than Harry honestly had expected.
And yet, nothing happened.
"None of us are daft enough to try invading Russia when it's so cold; we've learnt our lesson, same as the muggles," Yaxley said tiredly during dinner that weekend. "It's possible the Russians are waiting on word from their agents."
Russian agents had been turning themselves in to the aurors or turning up dead in odd places ever since the St Mungo's fire. And while Harry might, privately, claim credit for some of those – Death was always willing to induce a few nightmares for him – he was hardly behind all of them.
"Perhaps," Bellatrix said Monday morning, while Harry frowned down at yet another article about Russian agents found dead, "someone is sneaking around after curfew."
Harry shot her a sharp look. "If someone is, someone else might start feeling very cross about being left out."
Which was how the pair of them ended up sneaking out of the manor like a couple of naughty schoolchildren and, following hints from Harry's spies, used the killing curse and some clever use of levitating spells on Bellatrix's part to leave out another four mysterious deaths before lunch, with another five by dinner.
Voldemort took one look at Bellatrix – who was somehow both slightly more manic and calmer than usual – as he sat down during dinner, then turned to Harry and said, "Scythe."
Evidently, there was little point in lying, so Harry shrugged and said, "I ran out of books to read."
:This is my own fault,: Voldemort decided, and Harry ducked his head to hide his grin, because his partner really should have known better than to give him a babysitter with both similar violent impulses and worse self-control than Harry had. "You're coming to the ministry tomorrow," he added in English. "Bella as well."
"My Lord," Bellatrix murmured, ducking her head.
"Why?" Harry had to ask. "Not that I'm not delighted to leave the manor for the first time in a week–"
At least two people down the table scoffed quietly; Voldemort clearly wasn't the only one who suspected him and Bellatrix of having a hand in the deaths of the Russians.
"–it's just, you know, wondering why."
Voldemort drily replied, "I need you to calm Aurors Potter and Black before I curse one of them."
Harry grinned and went back to his food; it would be good to see his father and Sirius.
Lending credence to Voldemort's request that Harry come with, Sirius and James were already striding forward, towards Voldemort, when Harry came through the floo.
"Harry!" James recognised first, and ducked around the dark lord to run over and hug him.
Laughing, Harry hugged him back. And it was a little bit of a struggle to keep from hugging too hard, but it was so unspeakably wonderful to see his dad doing just fine, especially since he hadn't been by to visit them since before the attack at St Mungo's, preferring to spend his evenings with his partner, since he no longer saw him during the day. (The reports from Albus of his and Lily's continued health and safety did a lot for his nerves, but being able to hug him again was so much more.)
"Oh, cousin," Bellatrix called, clearly having spotted Sirius.
"Did you have to bring her?" Sirius complained.
Harry shrugged as James let him go. "Voldemort insisted on a bodyguard."
Bellatrix made a discontent noise at his causal use of the dark lord's name, but since Harry was probably the most entitled to use it, she didn't actually say anything, leaving Harry to hug his honorary uncle in peace.
Voldemort had gone on without them, clearly of the opinion that Harry was perfectly safe with the two aurors and Bellatrix. (That, or he simply had things he needed to be doing; Harry had never suffered through leading a long-term war before, but he was familiar enough with the politics of leading a people during upheaval that he didn't expect his partner would be lacking in business to attend to during the day.)
"So, auror office?" Sirius suggested. "I'm sure someone there would be happy to arrest Bella during our visit, just to show you how it's done."
"Yes, let's find out exactly how well that will end for you, Siri," Bellatrix returned sweetly.
"Both of you, stop it," Harry ordered. "No one's locking Bella up until after Golubev is ten feet under. Or cremated and his ashes thrown off a cliff; I find I'm not picky about what happens to his body once Death has his soul."
"We are not telling your mother about this conversation," James decided as he caught Harry around the shoulders and started walking him towards the lifts. "No fighting, Padfoot."
"Temporary truce?" Sirius suggested.
"Only so long as it's temporary," Bellatrix said by way of agreement.
"Sometimes," Harry murmured to his father, "I wonder why I almost think she's likable. And then I remember I've grown up with Uncle Sirius and, if you ignore the bloodlust, they're actually a lot alike."
"I could have happily gone the rest of my life not knowing that," James muttered, and Harry snickered at his long-suffering tone.
There was rather a great deal of uncertainty among the rest of the aurors when they made it down to the bullpen, and Harry strongly suspected it was due to him, rather than Bellatrix. (She was hardly a regular fixture, but the aurors had needed to get used to working among Death Eaters, no matter their own political views, years ago.)
Which Sirius clearly got, because he put on a wide, slightly maniacal grin and loudly asked, "Have we ever told you about that time Harry–"
Harry had no idea what story Sirius had in mind, but he knew him well enough to bet it was going to embarrass him, so he made a valiant attempt to cover Sirius' mouth, calling, "LA-LA-LA," as loud as he could.
"Silencio," Sirius said as he dodged Harry's grab, and a couple of people laughed.
"So, great story," Sirius continued, while James caught Harry's arm and tugged him back before he could try another lunge.
"Just give it up, pup," James suggested, then politely dispelled the silencing charm.
"I begin to understand why my partner keeps killing people who knew him in his youth," Harry grumbled as Sirius kept on with his rather loud, extremely embarrassing retelling of one of the times Harry had agreed to let his brothers help him brew an unfamiliar potion, which had resulted in all three of them covered in polka-dots for almost six hours.
"No killing your uncle," James ordered. "Save it for the Russians."
"Are you giving me permission to violently maim and/or kill people?"
"Since when have you needed my permission?" James asked a bit tiredly.
Harry took a moment to considered that. "Okay, fair point. How likely would Mum be to ground me?"
James sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "How did I end up in the middle of this?"
"You came into work and annoyed Voldemort into dragging me in with him?"
"...ah."
Harry poked his father's side. "So?"
"Self-defence only," James decided. "I think Mum would let you slide for the sake of protecting yourself, given your magical limitations."
"Especially in public," Harry muttered and his father grunted an agreement. "How's Mum doing, by the way? I know she decided it would be safer if she worked on projects from home."
"Then you know the most of it. Though, she has been fire-calling with Snape every night."
"Checking on Will and Chris and Hermione," Harry assumed.
"Well, yeah, but they end up talking way longer than it should take for just that," James complained.
"Please tell me you're not being childishly jealous because Mum wants to spend some time with her friend."
"I'm not," James insisted, though Harry didn't think he sounded particularly convincing.
He turned to his father and very obviously rolled his eyes, which made James scowl. "Setting aside the fact that anyone with eyes can tell she's still head over heels in love with you, for reasons that defy explanation–"
"Are you sure you should be throwing those stones?" James demanded, his eyes glinting with amusement.
Harry snorted. "Severus is with Barty, Dad; I promise him and Mum are just friends."
James huffed, but before he could say anything else, Sirius reached back and tugged Harry forward to introduce him to the aurors, whether he wanted to meet them or not.
A little over an hour before they'd planned to return to the manor, Death warned Harry, "Master, a force of Russians are gathering. They intend to descend on the ministry atrium at eleven-fifty."
Harry politely excused himself from the conversation Tonks had dragged him into with some of the younger aurors, retreating to his father's desk and the paper and quill he could see on it. They were waiting for me, weren't they?
"It appears likely, as it was after receiving news of your arrival at the ministry that they started moving."
Unfortunate, but not a surprise, Harry decided; he'd not said as much, but he'd wondered if his coming out into public wouldn't spur a response from the Russians. Is Tom still in the building?
"He is with the minister in his office."
Harry nodded and set about writing his note. Rather than hoping his partner could read Atlantean with the same ease as he'd come to speak it, he settled on writing the note in English, silently spelling it to look, to anyone else who tried to read it, like a language they didn't understand.
"You okay, pup?" Sirius asked as he came over to lean against James' desk next to Harry, his stance casual, but his eyes, when Harry glanced up at him, sharply aware.
Harry shook his head and put the quill back. "I need to get this to my partner as subtly as possible; he's in Yaxley's office."
"Trouble?" Sirius guessed as he cast an ink-drying spell at the paper.
Harry nodded. "Unfortunately."
Before he could start rolling the paper up, Sirius tapped it with his wand, turning it into an aeroplane, then picked it up and whispered, "Minister's office," to it. Then he tossed it in the direction of an open vent in the near wall. "Emergency communications chute," he explained to Harry's confused frown. "The lifts don't let off on the minister's level unless you input a code, for extra security, so this was the alternative created for memos."
That was actually a fairly sensible change, and Harry wondered, a bit, why no one else had thought of it previously. (Potentially because the minister's seat didn't usually change hand via quite so much blood and heavy-handedness, nor did the person in the seat usually suffer so antagonistic a relationship with the auror force.)
"So, what kind of trouble? Russians?' Sirius guessed.
Harry nodded.
"When? Where?"
"Oh? A secret meeting?" Bellatrix asked as she sidled up next to Sirius.
"Go away, Bella," Sirius hissed.
An aeroplane knocking into the side of Harry's head interrupted whatever fight was about to break out, the pair of them opting to stand behind Harry and read Voldemort's response over his shoulders.
'Amelia will manage the welcoming committee. You stay out of the way with Bella.'
Harry let out a disgusted noise.
Sirius patted his shoulder. "I guess you'll just have to let your boyfriend protect you, pup."
"I'm going to curse you," Harry warned as he brought out his wand.
"Now, now, wolfling," Bellatrix interrupted, curling her hand around his wrist and forcing his arm down to his side. "We shouldn't be starting any fights in public, not when he has the numbers."
"Bella, you have no sense of fun," Sirius complained.
"Anyway," Bellatrix whispered into Harry's ear, "you should fill me in, so we can position ourselves to get involved."
"Bye, Uncle Sirius. Business calls," Harry said cheerfully.
Sirius sighed and shook his head, but he didn't try stopping Harry and Bellatrix from finding a shadowy corner to whisper in.
Aurors started filtering out of the bullpen in ones and twos after being spoken to by Amelia Bones, many citing the wish for an early lunch, a couple supposedly responding to a call, and one saying she needed the loo and then never returning.
Harry and Bellatrix made their escape after James, Sirius, and Tonks – the three most likely to look for them – had made their excuses and vanished. They made it as far as the atrium level, where they were met by Percy, who wore a tired, knowing smile, before they could take more than two steps off the lift. "You'll be over there," he said, motioning to where Yaxley, Madam Bones, and Voldemort stood in an alcove, out of sight of most of the atrium.
"This," Harry muttered to Bellatrix as they made their way over, "is punishment for going out yesterday."
"As if we weren't helping out," Bellatrix muttered in response.
"Minister, Madam Bones," Harry greeted as they reached the three leaders, then he turned to his partner and said, "You want me to stay here, out of view."
Voldemort raised a hairless eyebrow at him. "Given the timing and the previous attempt to kidnap you, I should prefer to make you as little of a temptation as possible. Should one of them make back here, you and Bella are permitted to use whatever curses first come to mind, but please do avoid a bloodbath."
In other words, no ripping out any throats or hearts. "Okay," he agreed, resisting the urge to sigh.
When Voldemort turned to Bellatrix, she ducked her head and murmured an obedient, "My Lord."
"Forgive me, sir," Madam Bones said mildly, "but I hadn't heard about any other kidnapping attempts."
"The attack on the manor," Harry explained before Voldemort could speak. "I wasn't the main target, but there was definitely the implication that they were delighted by the chance to leave with me."
"How...unfortunate for them," Yaxley murmured; Catriona had held her tongue about the specifics of the incident, so far as Harry was aware, but it had been no secret among the Death Eaters that Harry had been somehow involved in repelling the attack, as well as the fact that none of the Russians had made it back out of the manor alive.
"It's nearly time," Voldemort said, his tone making the words sound like an order.
Madam Bones and Yaxley both inclined their heads, then moved out into the atrium proper, which was full of aurors, as opposed to the usual crowds of workers on their way to lunch.
One of Voldemort's hands cupped Harry's cheek, and he looked up into the familiar red eyes. "I mean it," he murmured in Atlantean. "I'm not doubting your skills in battle–"
"We have appearances to keep up, I know," Harry interrupted with a wry smile. "It's fine. I did tell you that I work best from the shadows."
"So you did." Voldemort leant in and brushed a quick kiss against his lips, then pulled away. "Stay put," he ordered in English, then swept past Bellatrix and towards the fireplaces; never let it be said that the dark lord wasn't willing to get his hands dirty in battle.
"So," Harry said to Bellatrix, "any way we can extend this wall a bit and make it so we can see through it, but no one out there can see us?"
Bellatrix flashed him a wide smile and pulled out her wand. "Indeed there is."
Through their one-way wall, Harry and Bellatrix watched as a force of twenty or so Russians arrived – coming through the fireplaces, tumbling out of the phonebooth, or apparating in – looking triumphant, only to be almost immediately shot down. Only two managed to avoid the first barrage of curses, and they were taken out while they were still reeling from the counter-attack.
"Well," Harry murmured, "that was unsatisfying."
"Such a shameful showing," Bellatrix agreed. "I'd rather have taken a nap."
"Should have just apparated back to the manor. Though, at least now I can shoot Uncle Sirius down when he starts trying to tell stories about magnificent battles."
Bellatrix cackled and dispelled the extended wall.
The aurors were moving among the bodies, determining who was dead and who would be thrown into holding cells. Rather than wait through the clean-up, Harry caught his partner's eye and motioned like he was eating, then pointed at Bellatrix. Voldemort nodded, so they returned to the manor to join the small lunchtime crowd.
Voldemort never made it back to the manor for lunch, so Harry sent Bangles to make sure he'd eaten – Yaxley had ordered something sent in – then he and Bellatrix retired to the library, agreeing they should probably take a day off from killing Russian agents.
Golubev went quiet for a while after that failure, most of his agents withdrawing from European countries, and everyone started to calm down a bit. Lily returned to work at the beginning of March, though she and James continued residing at the safehouse, partially because their home had seem some minor vandalism while it was unoccupied. Voldemort stopped spending quite so much time in the ministry, and while Bellatrix still had to follow Harry if he left the manor, she didn't have to follow him around inside of it.
Not long after Albus told him that Lily had returned to work, Harry caught her up for lunch, and Bellatrix mostly behaved herself while sitting in the next booth over. (Presumably because Harry had proved just the week before, when one of the jealous Death Eaters tried attacking him, now he didn't have a babysitter, that he was capable of stealing a witch or wizard's magic. Something about that ability had left nearly everyone in the manor treating him with the same levels of terrified respect as they usually saved for Voldemort.)
Having proved that it was safe for him to be out in public, Harry returned to picking up shifts at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, insisting, "I'm going spare in the manor. Please, even if you'll only let me in the backroom, give me something to do," when the twins asked if he was sure about coming back.
While it was true that there was some uncertainty from customers about him, the regulars quickly got over it, especially when the dark lord didn't make any attempts to pick him up for a meal, and Harry's joking and wide smiles eased the minds of everyone else.
The only real difficulty, in the end, had been deciding what to do with Bellatrix.
"I don't need a babysitter at the shop," Harry insisted the night after Fred and George agreed he was welcome back. "We both know I can protect myself just fine, and the twins have my back, besides."
"Your friends have an entire shop to keep tabs on," Tom returned tiredly. "And you know it's not about how capable in battle you are."
"It's publicity, I know, and there's honestly not many people I'd rather have at my back if things go pear-shaped. But Bella's going to stand out like a sore thumb there, even she knows that."
Tom sighed. "You're going to have the same problem with nearly everyone I could send with you."
Harry slumped in his chair, because that was quite true; his partner had never drawn the fun-loving portion of their world – he had little patience for such people, honestly – and Harry's own disability meant he hadn't got to know any of the younger Death Eaters, who would stand out far less in the twins' shop.
Although, he recalled, there was one younger Death Eater who he knew, and she already knew he could manage himself, if shit went down. "What about Catriona Avery?"
Tom cast him a sharp look. "She's young, yet, and I believe Farquhar recently set her up with a job in his office."
Harry made a face at the mention of the portkey office. "My sympathies to her." Tom snorted. "I know she's only recently out of Hogwarts, but she had my back when those Russians got in here. Cast a shield spell on me, even though I hadn't asked her to."
"And she managed to take one out," Tom murmured, rubbing at his chin. "I'll speak to Farquhar, see if he's willing to spare her."
"Thank you."
Tom flashed him a quick smile before looking back down at the reports he was working on. "And your muggle schooling? Or have you given that up?"
Harry sighed, slumping a bit more in his chair. In truth, he should have withdrawn himself when it became clear that matters with Golubev weren't going to be a quick fix, but a part of him had desperately wanted to continue with the classes. He'd been in contact with a classmate, via muggle post, so he was able to somewhat keep up with the assignments and the reading (actually had one of his books open in his lap right that moment, which was probably why his partner had asked), but it wasn't easy going.
As safe as it might be to return to working with the twins, there was no way he could chance the lives of muggles, not for the sake of his own studies. And it wouldn't matter if he had Bellatrix or Catriona following him around, either one would stick out in a muggle classroom. Assuming they were even willing to give it a shot.
"I'll send in my withdrawal papers next time I'm in Diagon," Harry decided.
"Good."
Harry huffed a bit and closed his book. "Why do I put up with you, again?"
Tom flashed him a smirk. "My willingness to let you go on murderous rampages?"
"Ah." Harry cleared his throat. "Okay, that certainly contributes, but not quite what I was going for."
Tom snorted. "Come help me with these, then I show you why you put up with me."
Well, no way Harry was saying no to that.
Near the middle of April, while Harry was helping clean up after the shop had closed for the night, Death said, "Master, Golubev has been made aware of your creature status."
Harry sighed. Took his spies long enough, he replied, as if he and Bellatrix hadn't done their share of thinning Golubev's spy forces. Should I expect trouble?
"Not yet, but likely soon."
When he got home, he filled his partner in, watching his tired slump with some concern.
"So," Tom eventually said, "you're no longer to be a hostage."
"I was never going to be a hostage, I was going to be a victim in his own happy conversion park," Harry returned flatly.
"I once promised myself," Tom said quietly, "I would never fall in love, because that would be a weakness. And I cannot afford a weakness."
Harry pushed out of his chair and walked over to kneel next to his partner. "Voldemort, I need you to listen to me: I will decide when I die. Not Golubev, not one of his people who gets lucky, and not some poor sod who aimed at the wrong back in a crowd." He caught the dark lord's chin in a grip meant to bruise. "I am not your weakness, I am your strength. Because I will be here, through good or ill. I will share in your victories, or commiserate with your losses. And, should you need someone to put the broken pieces of your soul back together, you know I will."
"And what," Tom asked a bit roughly, as he cupped Harry's cheek, "then do I do for you?"
"You give me a reason to live," Harry admitted.
Tom stared at him for a moment, then said, "These reports can wait until tomorrow."
Harry laughed and let his partner drag him upright, then shove him into their bed.
"Master," Death said six days into May, while Harry was brushing his teeth and trying to wake up the rest of the way, "I have information on Golubev's next attack."
Shit, hold on, Harry replied, spitting out his mouthful of toothpaste and rinsing his mouth. "Voldemort!"
"What?" Voldemort called back.
When Harry stepped from the bathroom, he found his partner only just finishing dressing for the day. "Death has information on Golubev," he explained, and the dark lord straightened, his eyes sharpening with interest.
Death took that as its cue to step through a doorway that opened next to Harry. "Master, Tom," it said in greeting.
Tom let out an irritated noise. "What news? An attack?"
"Indeed," Death agreed. "Golubev intends a three-part attack as commemoration of the German surrender of World War II."
"For V Day?" Tom guessed.
"Don't the Russians celebrate it the day after us?" Harry recalled.
"They do," Death agreed. "Golubev's intention is for all three attacks to start at the hour of the signing. For London, that is midnight on the ninth. For Berlin and Paris, that's one o'clock on the ninth."
"What is that, six, seven o'clock where he is?" Harry asked, even as Tom swept over to the desk to, presumably, start making notes.
"Seven, Master."
"They'll probably be fresh after a night's sleep, then. And our people will be yawning and thinking about bed."
"I'm sure he's taken that into account," Tom muttered. "I assume he'll attack the magical centres of each city."
"Yes."
"Is he going to make an appearance?" Harry asked.
"He has not made a statement either way."
"If he shows up, you have my permission to get to his chosen battleground however you wish," Tom said, clearly aware where Harry was going with his question. "However, I would prefer you remaining here in the manor for the battle. Not," he added before Harry could do more than open his mouth, "because I believe you'd be a hindrance, but because I have no wish to overrun St Mungo's; we'll have to turn the manor into an alternate emergency ward."
Harry grimaced, but nodded. "Reasonable. You're going to have to properly introduce me to your healers."
"Of course. Do you have any other information, Death?" he asked as he straightened.
"Nothing that will assist in your preparations."
Tom nodded and slipped his paper into a pocket, then approached Harry, staying as far away from Death as he could. (Harry somehow resisted the urge to laugh.) "I'll have my healers come to dinner. You can meet them and determine which day to collect whatever you feel would be necessary."
"I'll probably stay here today," Harry decided, because he should probably take the chance to read up some on what might be needed, as well as checking in with the house-elves about what-all they had on hand.
Tom leant in for a brief kiss, then swept carefully around Death and left the room.
"Glamour!" Harry called after him, and the dark lord hissed out a curse in response before, presumably, casting his glamour.
Harry waved the door closed, then turned towards the task of getting dressed for the day. "So," he said, "what couldn't or wouldn't you tell Tom?"
Death let out a bone-rattle sigh. "Golubev would very much like to also have a fourth prong to his attack, in America, but he doesn't have the means to send an entire team that far."
Harry cast his eternal servant a sharp look. "How likely is he to come across a way in the next two and a half days?"
"There is a magical booster in the Japanese Magical Studies building, which Golubev may learn of, should he enquire of the correct agent, and he does currently have the means to acquire it."
Harry nodded. "So, we either need to kill the agent and chance Golubev figuring out they knew something, or just steal the damn thing from the Japanese ourselves."
"That is the conclusion reached, Master."
Harry hummed and finished pulling on a robe for the day. "Very well. Let me get some breakfast, then we'll go steal from the Japanese."
"As you will, Master," Death replied, then returned to the Realm of Death.
"I've never stolen from the Japanese before," Harry commented to himself as he left their bedroom. "Should be fun."
Voldemort's previous show of predicting one of Golubev's attacks had made the French and German magical governments far more willing to believe him, but he'd still had to do a fair bit of fast talking, according to Merope.
That said, he had managed to convince them of the validity of the attack, and they, in turn, convinced their neighbours to step in and assist in their defence. So it was that the defence forces that settled in to wait in all three targeted magical centres were at least twice the size of their local fighting forces.
Death had passed on, during lunch, the news that Golubev had no intention in joining the fighting himself – his intention was apparently to use public plans to celebrate the holiday with his family to convince the Europeans that he wasn't up to anything – so Harry settled into his position as the voice of authority in the manor without too much difficulty. (Lily showing up to help out may also have contributed to that, and he suspected his partner had had a hand in her visit.)
While the European forces had the element of surprise on their side, the numbers were about equal on both sides, and the sites of the attacks were all cramped, not conducive to a large-scale battle. So they did indeed receive plenty of wounded, who were apparated or portkeyed into the main hall – Voldemort had shifted the wards before he'd left, to avoid any pileups in the receiving room – then quickly sent to either the ballroom or the dining room, depending on the type and severity of the damage.
The French were the first to completely fight off their Russian invaders, apparently suffering the fewest number of attackers. The Germans didn't take much longer, and while they lost two men and a woman when two buildings fell, the incident had also finished off the last of the Russians.
The battle in Diagon and Knockturn Alley took almost thirty minutes, by Harry's estimate, and Death had explained, when asked, that Golubev had sent more of his people to them in part because he knew Voldemort would be formidable, in part due to anger at the number of lives he'd lost on their soil.
"You'd think," Harry muttered to Lily as he helped her stitch up a particularly nasty cursed cut on an auror who had been given a potion to sleep through the worst of the pain, "that he would have learnt better than to send his agents here."
"I'm fairly certain that's not how dark lords think," Lily returned. "Their whole thing seems to be proving who has the biggest ego."
"It's definitely my partner," Harry insisted, and his mum let out a tired laugh. "No, seriously. It's massive. I am honestly confused how anyone else can fit in the manor with it."
"I've missed having you home, baby," Lily said once she'd stopped laughing.
Harry made a face at the endearment, but admitted, "I've missed it, too. I mean, I like being able to see the dark lord all the time, don't get me wrong, but I definitely miss being able to see you and Dad every night."
Lily waited until he'd finished tying off the thread, then reached over and squeezed his arm. "Soon," she promised.
"It better be," Harry muttered in return, and his mum patted his arm.
And then they were being called to help with someone else.
By the time Voldemort made it back to the manor, the panic had died down, most of the wounded taking the chance to rest, while medics moved between makeshift cots and checked wounds or carefully pulled blankets back into place.
Voldemort looked like he was holding himself upright only through sheer determination to not appear weak – Harry wouldn't be surprised – and his robes were singed with spellfire and stained with blood and gore. But he was alive, and none of the blood smelt like his, which was really all that Harry could have asked for.
"Welcome home," he offered quietly as he left the shadow of the ballroom doorway and approached his partner.
"Scythe," Voldemort breathed, and when Harry reached him, he pulled him into a tight hug.
"Come on," Harry ordered when the hug had gone on long enough, he suspected the dark lord might be perfectly happy to sleep standing up. "Let's get you to bed."
"Your parents–" Voldemort started.
"I already put them in a guest room," Harry interrupted, even as he detangled himself enough to start walking for the stairs, pulling his partner along. "And Trisha promises that Uncle Sirius will be fully recovered from the hit he took by morning. Sleep now, update on the status of any and everyone else later."
"France? Germany?"
"Both victorious, both likely already put to bed. Like you should be."
Voldemort huffed, but did finally stop trying to talk, instead following along behind Harry up to their room, where Harry dispelled his glamour, vanished both of their dirty robes, and decided they could worry about filth on the bed after they'd slept. A decision Tom seemed perfectly content with, as he climbed into bed without comment, then caught Harry around the middle and pulled him close, asleep before Harry could wave off the lights.
While the Russians had absolutely taken the brunt of the damage from the battles, it was a grim day for magical Europe as they set about cleaning up the mess of the night before.
While Harry hadn't lost anyone he cared for, Sirius had got hit with a particularly nasty curse that would leave him with a limp for the rest of his life, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was completely trashed, and both Rodolphus Lestrange and Farquhar Avery had died from their wounds.
"Remind me," Bellatrix snarled that afternoon, "when your birthday is."
"End of July," Harry replied quietly; he was fairly certain she wasn't angry with him, but he saw no reason to tempt her to striking out. "But I want him gone before Hogwarts lets out."
"Not soon enough," she snapped, then spun and stalked from the ballroom, where she had found him.
She was probably right, but Harry knew he wouldn't be able to excuse acting now, and that hurt.
Enraged by his massive failure, Golubev spent the rest of May sending teams of five men to random points around magical Europe, trying to find a way to catch them off guard. But Voldemort had already proven his ability to predict attacks, so as soon as Harry got word about an attack, his partner sent out a warning, and there was always a team of local magical law enforcement there to meet the Russians.
On the last day of May, Golubev killed his entire family and his closest associates during a banquet he'd held, then demolished his own home. And then he, by all accounts, vanished off the face of the earth. (Harry's spies reported he'd squirrelled himself away in a dirty muggle inn not far from the village he'd grown up in.)
Harry and Tom were woken well before dawn on the first of June by Merope appearing at the foot of the bed and shouting, "Golubev is on his way here!"
"Did I know you could do that?" Harry muttered, glowering at her.
Tom, however, rushed out of bed and summoned a robe with a sharp jerk of his wand. "Scythe!" he snapped.
Harry sighed, but got out of bed, summoning his own robe. "I'm right behind you," he promised, and Tom gave a sharp nod before turning and leaving their room.
Merope faded from view as Death said, "Forgive me, Master; utilising the Stone's power within you seemed the swiftest way to get you both up and out of bed before Golubev's arrival."
Why now? Harry asked as he started after his partner. And is he coming alone?
"He is. I believe this is related to his paranoia about spies, but I have not delved into his mind to be certain."
We'll see what we get from him ourselves, Harry decided. Because a part of him would always prefer doing things himself, without using the cheat that was his eternal servant.
"Golubev," Voldemort was greeting his fellow dark lord as Harry reached the last corner before the receiving room; as soon as he'd declared war, Voldemort had stopped using Golubev's preferred term of respect, which Harry, at least, was wholly approving of. "You'll understand, I expect, that I require your wand and any weapons you might be carrying."
"You," Golubev gasped out, staring at Voldemort with wild eyes from behind the shimmering wards keeping him in the receiving room. "You always know. How?!"
"Your wand, Golubev," Voldemort repeated.
"I killed them all because of you! You killed them all! Monster! Demon! I'll spit on your corpse!"
"I think he hates you," Harry commented mildly as he stepped out of his hiding place.
Golubev screamed and threw himself forward, against the wards, which flickered and spasmed around him.
Voldemort pulled out his wand and started chanting to strengthen the wards, but either it was too little, too late, or else Golubev was just that determined, for he burst past them, then brought his wand around and gasped out, "Avada kedavra."
"No!" Harry shouted, and he couldn't say how he got between the curse and his partner – magic or werewolf speed fuelled by desperation – but he felt the curse splash against his face, then pushed forward, reaching out with one clawed hand, and caught Golubev by the throat, keeping going enough to slam him against the wall. "I," he snarled in Russian, "am so beyond done with you, you little pissant. You've threatened the last person I love."
And then Harry dug his claws into the sides of Golubev's throat and ripped off the entire front half, careless of the hot blood spraying into his face.
Golubev's dying expression was that of wide-eyed shock, the dawning horror fading behind the sheen of death paling his eyes.
Voldemort yanked Harry away from the corpse, leaving it to slide into a heap against the wall, and caught his face between his hands. "Don't you ever do that again," he snapped. And then he kissed Harry hard enough to ache.
Once Harry thought he might be able to get a word in, he said, "I'm not–"
Voldemort shut him up with another hard kiss, and Harry gave in to the inevitable, letting his partner kiss him until he was assured Harry was just fine.
"I'm not going to just not save your life," he finally got to say. "I know you wouldn't really be dead, but I don't want to watch it happen. Especially since the killing curse won't kill me."
Voldemort let out an irritated noise. "I didn't know that."
"I've told you I decide when I die at least twice, now."
"Be quiet. And don't be so reckless."
"Make me."
In the end, Golubev's body was left to cool in the puddle of his own blood, eventually being found by Catriona, who had come to pick Harry up so they could go to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for the day. The first person she contacted was Bellatrix, and so, by the time Harry and Voldemort made it down for a late lunch, Golubev's head had been completely removed from his body and placed on a pike in the middle of the entrance hall.
Harry laughed, while Voldemort snorted and then went to firecall the ministry and pass on the news.
The celebrations would rival the ones Harry remembered following the Battle of Hogwarts in his original reality.
"So," Sorley said, his quill hovering over the sign line of the contract, "you sure you wanna shack up with the Bats?"
"I'm fairly certain that phrase doesn't mean what you think it means," Harry pointed out, and the whole team laughed.
Sorley made a face. "Fair point, and don't none of us want to go putting such ideas in the dark lord's head."
"Not at all," Finbar Quigley, one of the team's front-line beaters agreed.
"Just sign the pup already, Sorley," Gráinne Moore, the other front-line beater, ordered, shoving the captain with a bat. "He's had plenty of time to rethink things."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sorley. It's my birthday; can't you just let me up in the air already?"
"Yeah, yeah. Alright." Sorley signed the form with a flourish, then passed it over for Harry to do the same, which he didn't waste any time doing. "Right. Up, you lazy miscreants!"
"You're the laziest, Captain!" someone shouted back, even as the whole team leapt on their brooms and quickly rose into the air.
"Harry," Sorley said, lightly touching his shoulder. "I'm just curious, what's the chance of him coming to watch you play?"
"The dark lord? He hates quidditch," Harry admitted, and Sorley snorted; he didn't expect that was a secret, really. "He agreed to come to the first game I play front-line, but we probably won't see him, else."
"I think I can live with that," Sorley decided. "Now, up!"
Harry laughed and got on his own broom, letting it speed him up into the sky to join his new team. None of whom had seemed to give a damn that he was dating Voldemort. (Though, to be fair, they'd had nearly five months to get used to it, as Harry hadn't wanted to put them or the audience in danger by going to any games or practises while he'd been a major target.)
The practise was fast-paced and rough, just like Harry preferred, and he was laughing with Niamh and Colla, his fellow reserve chasers, on their way down to the ground, when he caught sight of someone unexpected in the stands.
"I'll be right back," he promised, then zipped over to where Tom was sitting by himself, a book set on the bench next to him. "What in Merlin's name are you doing out here?!"
Tom sighed. "Resigning myself."
Harry coughed out a laugh. "Mum put you up to this, didn't she?"
"It was...strongly implied that I would be best served acclimating myself to the sport. Presumably so I don't find myself having to resist the urge to throttle you if you come home excited about something."
Harry laughed. "I'm fairly certain you're the only one who would actually have that problem."
Tom sniffed and motioned behind Harry. "You should return to your team."
Harry grinned. "I'm an actual, honest-to-Merlin, professional quidditch player."
Tom sighed. "You're going to be telling everyone that for the next month, aren't you?"
"Maybe."
"I will curse you if I hear it more than twice a week."
"Spoilsport."
"Go back to your team, so I can continue my suffering alone."
Harry snickered, then shifted forward on his broom so he could kiss his partner.
"Happy birthday, Scythe," Tom murmured as Harry sat back. "Go break someone's arm, or something."
Laughing, Harry turned and flew back to his team.
With any luck they wouldn't freak out too much about the dark lord watching them play.
END
-o-0-o-
A/N: While I do have some very vague ideas for another fic in this series (as mentioned in Growing Old With You), I don't have a proper plot for it, just a world. And, since I spent two years struggling to sort out a plot for this fic, I'd rather like to have something solid before I actually commit to another fic. So, you know, no promises, but feel free to (on AO3) subscribe to this series, so you'll be emailed if I ever do keep on. (Alternately, follow me on social media; links are in my profile.)
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 || 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 ||
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