The Opinions Expressed Are Those of Pipenerd

Romantic-era slash!

2009-08-13T16:06:11Z

Two Men Contemplating the Moon by Caspar David Frederich, 1819-20

Caspar David Frederich (1774-1840) is considered the greatest of the German Romantic landscape painters. He did some lovely gothic images of cemeteries and ruined temples, and made evocative use of moonlight as can be seen in this and other images from an exhibition at the Met.

Two Men Contemplating the Moon makes me want to write original slash-and-sorcery set in this period of history!

A Single Magic: Chapter Five

2009-08-09T02:18:08Z

Title: A Single Magic – Chapter Five
Author: Pipenerd/ Mizstorge (2009)
Word Count: About 5,800
Genres: AU, Romance.
Summary: The War is over. Harry has vanquished Lord Voldemort but is just beginning to understand the nature of the magical bond between them. Chaptered. WIP.
My Beta: hobtheknife
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. (looks in mirror: Nope, not her.) Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.
Author's Notes: Nine months is a long time to write a chapter. I'll try not to take so long with the next one.

This chapter is dedicated to hobtheknife, first among my loyal readers, and to shaitanah for encouragement.

Voldemort had expected a sharp retort to his casual taunt but instead a stunned silence ensued in which Harry let go of his hand. He sighed at his companion’s credulity while his eyes strained to discern any sort of detail in the darkness and his fingers automatically flexed for the wand that wasn’t there.

Even in this predicament he admitted to a peculiar sense of optimism. He hadn’t been entirely convinced by Harry’s declaration about Merlin but he was certain that wherever the Portkey had brought them it wasn’t some sort of inescapable prison simply because the Ministry had its own designs focused upon Harry Potter. Moreover, it seemed entirely within the realm of probability that the Wizengamot might maintain a secret committee to deal with extremely powerful rogue wizards; the mystery surrounding the fate of the previous Dark Lord suggested as much. He had troubled himself to discover that Grindlewald was in fact still alive, and therefore considered it likely that he would be permitted to live as well. And as long as he lived, there was still time to achieve his goals.

Harry stirred at his side and took deep breath. “But I know Elphias Doge! He’s in the Order! There’s no reason -”

Voldemort recognised the launch of a tirade when he heard one. His patience with those who lost self-control was thin at the best of times and under normal circumstances he would have silenced his companion’s outburst with a succinct curse. But…

…however much he would have preferred the situation to be otherwise, just now he needed Harry Potter.

He needed Harry’s good opinion. Having defeated him in a duel, it was in the younger wizard’s power at present to end or severely circumscribe his existence – and yet, he seemed remarkably reluctant to do so. Voldemort intended to exert his utmost charm to influence Harry’s indecision in order to achieve a favourable decision from whoever passed judgment in this place. And, improbable as it seemed, the younger wizard was obviously fascinated with him.

He needed Harry’s power. He could feel a resonation with the phoenix feather core of the younger wizard’s wand that was twin to his own and he suspected that, in dire need, he might be able to make use of it through his connection with Harry’s mind.

And though he would not consciously admit it, he needed Harry’s companionship. Even in this, one of the most perilous predicaments of his long life, Harry’s presence evoked an improbable sense of comfort and confidence that he would emerge from this trial largely unscathed and with the prospect of fulfilling his great charge undeterred.

In the background, Harry’s rant continued. “ – can’t imagine that anyone in the Ministry hates me that much - ”

“Harry.”

“Besides, there’s no way anyone could know that you’re still - ”

“Harry!”

Voldemort reviewed his choices. Although he desperately felt like backhanding the younger man, he accepted the overriding need to maintain Harry’s cooperation and good-will. He’d had evidence over the past few hours of the effect of his proximity on Harry’s emotions; it was time to put what he had learned to good use.

“ – entire Wizarding World, dammit! - ”

Trying to project calm and reason, he reached out and squeezed the younger man’s arm. “Harry, we need some light.”

“What? Oh, here…Lumos!” A pool of pale light spilled from Harry’s wand, reflecting in his glasses.

He permitted himself a smile, a bit surprised that a simple touch had achieved such a prompt result. “That’s better. Now let’s investigate our surroundings.”

Harry held his wand up and finally lifted it high over his head, but the walls and ceiling were too distant to be illuminated. “This doesn’t look like a cell,” he observed.

“Do you believe everything you’re told?” Voldemort asked, perhaps more sharply than he should have. “Activating an unknown Portkey is a risky business.” Harry appeared to be suitably chastened and so he continued. “At least your wand still works so it might be possible to Apparate out of this place.”

“He told me I could get advice,” Harry defended himself. “He said that part of Merlin’s mind is here and that he could help me decide what to do.”

The Dark Lord nodded, his countenance projecting a sympathetic understanding. “I see - you’re conflicted about what sort of penalty to impose upon me. I believe most judges try to understand the reasons behind an act before deciding upon a course of action.”

“You killed my parents and tried to kill me because the Prophecy said I would defeat you!” Harry was indignant. “You’ve killed who knows how many other people to try to make yourself immortal and you led a bunch of terrorists who tried to overthrow the government! What else do I need to know?”

“You might begin,” Voldemort suggested, “by asking what it means to be Dark Lord.”

Harry fell silent and the older wizard waited patiently as his words took effect. “You’re right,” the younger man said finally. “I suppose that I should try to understand. How did you get to be Dark Lord?”

Voldemort’s smile was at its most charming. “In my grandparent’s generation, every Pure-blooded Wizarding child was taught these things at home. Now our world has grown so secular that few of your generation have even heard of the Prince.”

“Do you mean Kassapraxites?” Harry blurted.

The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you know of him.”

“I don’t, really,” the younger wizard admitted. “Funny thing is that I never even heard of him until yesterday but now everyone I talk to seems to know all about him. I think… isn’t he a god who was supposed to have taught people how to do magic?”

“There’s much more to it than that.” Voldemort began to walk and with a tug at Harry’s arm the younger wizard fell into step next to him. “The cult of Kassapraxites stretches far into the distant past. And like all organized religions, there is a priesthood to look after the needs of the faithful.”

Harry was dubious. “Why haven’t I ever heard about these priests? Why haven’t I seen any Wizarding chapels?”

“All the old families used to maintain shrines in their homes,” Voldemort told him. “I know one still remains at the Malfoy mansion. There used to be one at Hogwarts just off the Great Hall when I was a student though, like many of the rooms in the castle that are no longer used, the entrance may now be hidden. As for the priesthood, there have always been few willing to undertake the difficulties of travelling to a distant land and to undergo the rigorous training. I’m not certain anyone has taken the vows since…well, for a very long time.”

“Are you a priest of Kassapraxites, then?” Harry asked. They had been walking long enough to cross a Quidditch pitch but there were still no walls to be seen.

Voldemort laughed. “Do I seem like an especially religious man to you? The chief priest of Kassapraxites,” he continued, “is known as the Hierophant, who is also called the Lord or Lady of Light. It is the duty of the Hierophant to administrate the cult and to interpret the will of the Prince. Since the Hierophant may not leave the Citadel of the Prince, he appoints a temporal counterpart to implement the will of the Prince in the world outside.” He paused.

“Oh.” Harry belatedly realised that Voldemort was waiting for him to answer. “The person appointed by the Hierophant…is Dark Lord?”

“Or Dark Lady. Full points, Harry.”

“And this person gets special training in Dark magic?”

“No. The appellation ‘Dark’ is given because their duty lies among those who dwell in the figurative darkness that lays outside the Prince’s Citadel, in contrast to those who live inside and who enjoy the metaphoric light of His presence.” He was aware that his voice had taken on a cynical tone as he remembered the pompous prelates he had encountered.

“You were really there?” The younger wizard was obviously intrigued. “In the Prince’s Citadel?”

Voldemort recalled the arduous journey through forested wilderness, the winding trail through treacherous foothills and the blizzards that roared out of the mountains. “It wasn’t an adventure I’d care to repeat...”

The tent flap was flung wide ands sunlight briefly flooded the opening as Abraxas stooped to scuttle inside. “D’you know what day it is?” he asked brightly. His grey eyes twinkled beneath the brim of his hat as he pocketed his precious chronometer and Voldemort grimaced to see frost had already settled in his companion’s beard.

“It’s not your birthday, nor yet mine,” Voldemort answered shortly. He reduced their chaste bedrolls to the size of his hand with a flick of his wand and stuffed them inside a coat pocket.

“It’s the year’s first session of the Wizangamot.” Abraxas gulped down some hot tea and began devouring strips of dried meat he pulled from a bag.

“While having to miss this momentous occasion must be a cause of great disappointment to you, I’m sorry to say that it completely slipped my mind. If we manage to get through the pass today, however, you’ll have an even greater accomplishment with which to console yourself.” There was no need to mention the need for haste brought on by delays from the weather and the hindrance of waiting until Abraxas could walk again after spraining an ankle.

“Fucking ghouls were prowling outside the wards last night,” Abraxas observed, chewing.

Voldemort found a handful of nuts and dried fruit and ate while he peered outside the tent. The snow around the wards was churned with tracks. “I doubt very much they were actually fucking,” he muttered, knowing he’d lost the battle long ago to improve the aristocratic Malfoy’s language. “In fact, it appears they were dispersed by the arrival of one of the snow apes.” He squinted at a vanishing trail of enormous, human-like footprints interspersed with splashes of rust-coloured ichor.

There was a clatter as Abraxas began putting away the cooking kit. “I wonder if we’ll be able to see the Citadel from the top of the pass.”

“If the weather holds and we get there before sundown.” He bit back “…and if the place even exists.”

It was in fact the next afternoon before they looked down upon the plateau to view far below human habitations clustered around tracts of cultivated farmland. A road followed alongside a broad, swift river and though neither spoke of it they were both greatly relieved to see that it led to a walled city of gleaming roofs and towering spires…

“Though I admit,” the Dark Lord concluded, “the experience was not without its rewards.”

“I’d love to see it someday,” Harry said, his voice so full of longing that Voldemort realized he’d glimpsed part of the memory. After a moment, the younger wizard asked, “What did the Hierophant tell you? What is the will of the Prince?”

“To restore the rule of Wizarding kind throughout the world. It is an undertaking which well suited my own inclination…but it has proven more difficult to achieve than I anticipated.”

“When you came back, you applied for the open teaching position at Hogwarts,” Harry surmised. “But Dumbledore turned you down. Did he know then that you were Dark Lord? Did he even know what that meant?”

“I don’t think it would have mattered if he had known,” Voldemort mused. He peered ahead, just beyond the light spilling from Harry’s wand, but the cavern was evidently enormous. “It seems that his family was indifferent to the old ways. At any rate, probably based on his experiences of Grindlewald’s attempt to fulfil the Prince’s will, he set himself against me as well.”

“You were recruiting his students.”

“And he was enlisting others among his students to the Order. Which brings us to the matter of the Prophecy.” Voldemort knew that he must continue with special care. His previous encounters with the younger wizard had been a series of revelations. In the cemetery at Little Hangleton he had stumbled upon the peculiar kinship their wands shared. At the Ministry of Magic he had discovered a disturbing affinity within Harry’s mind that was almost a mirror image of his own soul. And during the time he had spent in Harry’s company at the Black mansion, he had tested his working hypothesis and was now convinced that his theory was correct. It was necessary, however, to present his case so as to elicit Harry’s trust while managing to avoid disturbing his sense of identity.

“My parents defied you three times. “ Harry knew the Prophecy by heart. “Snape told you that a baby born at the end of July would have the power to defeat you. It could have been either the Longbottoms or my parents and you chose us. You killed my Dad, and my Mum sacrificed herself to protect me.”

Voldemort gave consideration to steering the conversation in the most beneficial direction. “You know that I offered your mother a chance to live-”

“But you didn’t mean it,” Harry interrupted. He stopped in his tracks, lowering his wand a fraction. “You couldn’t have.”

“Oh, but I did. There was one in my service who cared about her very much and asked me to spare her. I was willing to do so as a reward for his loyalty.”

Harry digested this information. “You don’t mean…But she…Oh, Merlin,” he groaned. “Not him!”

The Dark wizard grasped the wrist of Harry’s free hand and took note of the younger man’s racing pulse. “Severus had a schoolboy crush on her, one which he steadfastly maintained even though the other Death Eaters discouraged his fascination. He was her first friend in the Wizarding world. In fact, Severus was the one who revealed to her that she was a witch.”

“That’s…That’s disgusting,” Harry muttered. He looked around, apparently distracting himself from assimilating this unwelcome revelation. "This place is so big we could probably walk for hours without ever finding Merlin – if he’s even here.”

Voldemort turned from the light of the younger wizard’s wand, senses reaching out into the murky darkness. “Someone is here,” he said very quietly. “There’s a strong magical presence and if he’s not aware of us yet, he will be presently.”

“Then why don’t we just wait for him to make an appearance?”

“Because that’s not the way either of us prefers to do things, is it Harry?”

Harry not only smiled at him, he turned his wrist to clasp his hand. “Yeah, it’s always a good idea to find out as much as possible when you’re in a risky situation.”

The Dark Lord glanced away to hide a smile, and continued as they began to walk once more. “I pondered what must have transpired when the Killing curse rebounded and left me in a disembodied state and I naturally suspected Severus because he had both motive and opportunity to be complicit in the events that transpired that night.”

“You think that he and my Mum had been working together? That they discovered some way to…to shatter your soul?”

“Not just my soul, Harry. I believe your ability to access my thoughts is proof that they caused your soul to split as well.”

“No.” Harry shook his head in disbelief. “That can’t be true!”

“Do you think the likenesses between us are mere coincidence?”

“Yes! If you go back far enough, all the Wizarding families are related!” Harry tried to pull away but the older wizard’s grip on his hand was firm. “Our thoughts are connected because you used my blood in the ritual that brought you back!”

“I thought so, too, until last night. Any benefit derived from sharing your blood should have ended when my body regenerated.”

Harry tried to digest this information. “But why?” he finally managed. “I thought everyone believed in the Prophecy?”

“Severus was never inclined toward mysticism,” Voldemort mused. “Perhaps the two of them studied the wording of the divination and tried to come up with a plan that would fulfil the seer’s prediction while evading the death of the people they wished to save.”

“Mr. Olivander said my Mum’s wand was good for charm work and I heard she was clever enough to be in Professor Slughorn’s club,” Harry recalled. “But if it was nearly impossible for you to learn anything about Horcruxes when you were in school, how would she have learned about them?”

The older wizard shrugged. “I can only speculate as to how they might have managed it but the making of a Horcrux is a very technical business, one that is unlikely to occur inadvertently. The fact is that I recognised a portion of my soul inside you when I entered your mind that night in the Ministry and I assure you that putting it there was not my doing.”

“Dumbledore told me that I had been protected by my mother’s sacrifice,” Harry’s voice was bitter. “That the power you didn’t know about was her love. But if she had been plotting with…with one of your most trusted Death Eaters and she kept what they were doing from the Order, from my father…” He swore under his breath. “Then the Prophecy caused them both to betray their friends!”

The younger man’s anguish was so palpable that Voldemort felt a twinge of what almost…almost… might have been pity, but he rationalised it as a need to maintain control of the situation. Almost without conscious thought, he put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Your mother was a courageous woman who risked everything to protect her family.”

“Right,” Harry growled. “Go ahead and point out her Slytherin traits. You’re trying to act cooperative because I defeated you last night.”

The younger man’s tone evoked a pleasurable sensation somewhere deep inside and a smile twitched the corner of the Dark wizard’s mouth. “Permit me to remind you that it was you who broke into my house and attacked me.”

“Don’t pretend to be innocent! You’ve been trying to kill me since I was a baby!”

“Once at Godric’s Hollow when you were an infant and then immediately after Wormtail’s ritual in the cemetery. That makes two attempts by my count, which hardly amounts to a lifetime of murderous attacks upon your person.”

Harry suddenly stopped and looked about. “Is it getting brighter in here, or am I imagining things?”

The gloom definitely seemed fainter in patches around them, while from above the effect was of heavy clouds parting after a storm to permit the pale light of distant stars to shine through. The light gradually increased until it seemed they were surrounded by tall, square arches looking over a murky, midnight world. The darkness resolved into heavy lintels and enormous stone walls.

“This looks familiar,” Harry whispered, standing close at his side.

With a twinge of recognition, Voldemort knew that he had been here before – or a place very much like it. An ancient temple on a windswept plain… there had been many of them over the years, places with lost names and built by forgotten civilizations. “Stonehenge,” he said at last.

“What’s it doing in here?”

“It has been called Merlin’s Observatory.” They slowly walked around the stone-framed portals, glancing through the openings although there was little to be seen outside. The ceiling above had taken on the appearance of a clear night sky and familiar constellations could be discerned: the Enchantress, the Hunter, the Snake-handler.

In his present state of mind, the regular spacing of the megaliths resembled nothing so much as the bars of a prison and Voldemort suddenly chuckled. “It’s a cage, Harry! Merlin was said to prophesy from a place he called his esplumoir, or moulting-cage. This is the place wherein he was imprisoned after being defeated by Nimue!”

Harry stepped toward one of the openings between the upright stones and reached out a hand. The night sky and dark countryside wavered and rippled beneath his touch. He rubbed his hand on his trouser leg and turned with a grimace. “It’s the wall of the cave, all right. Cold and damp.”

Voldemort froze at a sudden a hiss and sizzle from behind them, a noise that uncannily sounded like the kindling of a fire. Harry had heard it, too, and they turned warily around.

A low light bloomed in the centre of the illusory stone circle and a deep voice echoed around the chamber. “I am Merlin! Approach and hear my judgement!”

Harry shifted his grip on his wand to a guard position and glanced questioningly at the Dark Lord. Voldemort nodded and together they walked toward the apparition.

The shimmering shape of a man appeared before them. At first it seemed that he was standing near a fire because the illumination wavered and flickered. And then with a jolt Voldemort saw that it was the man that was sputtering and shimmering before them in a way that no three-dimensional being could do.

The figure appeared to be garbed in black Wizarding robes and seemed of average height, but nothing else about it could be easily described. The face and hair were in constant change, a disconcerting collage of endlessly changing elements. Brown eyes regarded them from beneath golden lashes and delicately arched brows, then suddenly the lids became heavy and drooping as the nose varied more quickly from large and lumpy to long and thin to upturned and short while at the same time the lips were changing from thin and disapproving to rosy and full and the hair was by turns long and grey or curling and blond.

Anger curled in his stomach as he realised that the whole thing was-

“This is a joke!” Harry growled at his side. “That’s not Merlin! It’s some sort of holograph!”

“Harry, what exactly did your friend from the Wizengamot tell you?” Voldemort asked. He began a slow circuit of the apparition and wasn’t surprised that somehow it managed to keep its face always toward him although the thing didn’t actually seem to turn.

Harry impatiently shook his unruly hair from his eyes. “He told me that Merlin had left part of his wisdom here, and that everyone who had been awarded the Order of Merlin First Class had contributed some of their essences to help guide the Wizarding world.”

Voldemort shook his head in irritation. “Haven’t you noticed how few things in the Wizarding World are ever what you expect them to be? First they tell you that you’re a wizard and magic is in your nature, and then they tell you that you can’t use magic outside the school. So you go along to Hogwarts expecting to learn all sorts of magic, but they always seem to stop short of teaching you really useful sorts of spells. When you try to find out more on your own, all the interesting library books are in the Restricted Section and so you save your money to spend at Flourish and Blott’s, but their inventory consists largely of magical cookbooks and gossipy biographies of popular witches. No institutions of higher learning exist to allow you to pursue your interests, the Ministry of Magic would prefer for the populace to use magic for household chores rather than to push the boundaries of knowledge, and Wizarding families pay more attention to Quidditch standings than to the proceedings of the Wizengamot!” He halted, chagrined to have launched into a rant about the failings of Wizarding society when he stood on the brink of destruction. With a deep breath, he returned to analysing the threat level presented by shifting appearance of the man-like shape before them. “I wonder,” he said, his voice almost wistful, “if anything at all even remains of the great Merlin?”

The eyes of the apparition suddenly turned a startling blue and regarded him directly from behind half-moon shaped spectacles. “The question is rather: how much still remains of Tom Riddle?”

The Dark Lord took a wary step backward and began to focus his mind on the sympathetic core of Harry’s wand but before he could act a blast of power erupted from the apparition. The sudden assault effortlessly swept away his mental defences and ruthlessly probed his memories in an onslaught so ferocious that it was an effort merely to retain his identity.

It was over in seconds, leaving him glaring in fury but still standing. He heard a muttered expletive and noticed Harry climbing to his feet.

“I have reviewed the case against Tom Riddle,” the apparition announced.

“What?” The indignant squawk was Harry’s.

“You have been found guilty of the murders of James and Lily Potter. Mr. Potter, as victor in your recent duel with Mr. Riddle, you have the right to offer your opinion before I pronounce sentence.”

“I didn’t bring him here for you to put him on trial!” Harry snapped. “I know what he’s done! I only wanted was some advice to help me decide what to do with him!”

“The Crystal Cave exists to prevent wild magic from destroying the Wizarding world as it presently exists,” the apparition recited. “Tom Riddle’s indiscriminate use of Dark magic presents a threat to the Wizengamot that must be contained.”

Harry fought to regain his temper. “Look, you can’t do anything to him without my permission. I need you to answer a few questions.”

“It is within my power to grant your request,” the apparition acknowledged.

Harry shot a worried look at Voldemort. “Yes, well what I want to know is - ”
His question was cut short by a bright flash and the figure froze, features blurred in mid-transformation. The light it cast quickly dimmed and the hovering apparition faded to transparency.

“I must apologise,” said a childlike voice close at hand. “I don’t often receive visitors and I’m afraid that I sleep too much.”

The being who stepped into view bore the guise of a young boy but it was obvious to the Dark Lord that this was the source of the power he’d sensed earlier. “Lord Merlin,” Voldemort guessed.

The boy smiled and inclined his head. “Lord Voldemort.” The most respected wizard in history seemed at first glance to be wrapped in a blanket but the gleam of an ornately enamelled circle of gold at one shoulder indicated that he was wearing an oversized cloak in an antique style. A slim, golden circlet held his straight, dark hair and he carried a tall staff that crackled with magical energy. “I know you both must have many things to ask but time is of the essence. We can discuss matters as we walk.” He tapped his staff on the ground and a pale, steady glow spread around them. He turned, indicating they should accompany him, and Harry extinguished his wand.

“Can he really be Merlin?” Harry whispered to Voldemort.

“You see me in defeat,” Merlin replied, having overhead the question. “She who vanquished and imprisoned me wished to prolong my existence. The spell she cast reversed the aging process so that each morning I grew a day younger until at last I reached the age at which my powers first manifested. At that point, I began to grow older once again. Thus over the centuries, my semblance has varied from a lad of tender years to that of an ancient man.”

Merlin continued leading them in silence and after long minutes finally stopped and looked back. The pale glow of the apparition could no longer be seen across the cave. “This is far enough for now,” he decided. “Now, young Harry, you recently overcame the Dark Lord in battle and yet you permitted him to live. How do you explain your act of mercy?”

Harry flinched under the scrutiny of the boy’s gaze. “It wasn’t mercy,” he answered. “It was an act of cowardice. I’m afraid if he dies, I’ll die, too!”

“Self-preservation is a Slytherin trait,” Voldemort mocked. “And I thought you such a noble little lion.”

“I felt what you were going through last night,” Harry said slowly. “I thought then that it was because of the blood Wormtail took from me to bring you back. But if I have a piece of your soul and you have part of mine, doesn’t it mean if one of us dies the other will die, too?”

Merlin interjected, “If you do not wish Lord Voldemort’s death, what sort of penalty will you accept?”

“I don’t want him to be able to hurt anyone else ever again,” Harry answered without hesitation.

“Yes, well, ‘ever’ is an extremely long time, young man,” Merlin commented dryly. “Though, as it happens, I, too, prefer that he remain alive.”

Voldemort felt a chill that had nothing to do with the dampness of the cave, a thrill of hope combined with a presentiment of imminent danger.

“I was known as a seer in the days before my present plight,” the boy told them, “and even in this place, the future is made known to me. I have foreseen that Wizarding Britain will soon face a great peril, one that only the two of you together can overcome. Are you both willing to undertake this task?”

Harry nodded, awed.

“Yes, of course,” Voldemort assented impatiently.

Merlin lifted his staff and Voldemort felt the flow of unseen magic. “This is my judgement: you will be bound to the house of your ancestors, unrecognised by all who once knew you and unable to wield the magic to which you are heir. Thus will you will exist, bereft of both name and power, until you have fulfilled your vow to defeat this threat.”

An uncanny wind began to blow through the cave. “But what about Harry?” Voldemort demanded.

“Me?” Harry yelped. “What about me?”

“Merlin, I can’t complete this task alone! Harry must be bound-”

“Farewell, Dark Lord!” Merlin called. “We will meet again when you have accomplished your mission.”

“Wait!” Voldemort struggled as the magical wind caught him up and threw Harry against him.

“Ouch!” Harry complained.

“Use your wand, you idiot!” Voldemort shouted.

“What did you say? I can’t-”

The wind spun them around until they were dizzy and whisked them into the air with a lurch. Although they were surrounded by darkness and a rushing tumult, Voldemort sensed that they were being carried over a tremendous distance.

For the first time since he had awoken at Harry’s side, the Dark Lord felt his confidence shaken. Being forced to live without magic was bad enough, incarceration and anonymity were without doubt bitter conditions, but having to depend on Harry to help him save Wizarding Britain from some indeterminate catastrophe was all but confirmation that this wasn’t intended to be a temporary situation. He suspected that he was meant to be incarcerated for the rest of his life.

Quite suddenly the wind abated and they dropped precipitously. Harry flailed and drew his wand. He executed a shoddy swish-and-flick and hoarsely cried, “Wingardium leviosa!”

Their descent slowed with a jolt that left them hovering breathlessly just above a forest of treetops. The green canopy stretched to the limit of vision. Voldemort knew there were few woodlands of this size left in Britain and filed away the information to use later in determining where he’d been sent.

“Mobilius,” Harry gasped and they began to float gently down between the leafy boughs. A minute passed and the branches gave way to reveal a large stone and timber house in a clearing. The Dark Lord tried and failed to place any of his ancestors in a location such as this. The house had a timeless quality and might have been three hundred years old or more than seven.

They glided alongside the trunk of a mighty tree. Voldemort reached out and touched the familiar-looking bark and sensed its silent strength: it was a yew. They dropped lightly into the fenced front yard and Harry might have fallen but Voldemort still had his arms wrapped around the younger man’s waist. “Erm,” Harry began, a bit embarrassed.

“Listen to me, Harry,” Voldemort hissed, pulling him closer. “You did not take an Unbreakable Vow, but it is nonetheless incumbent upon you to fulfil your promise to Merlin. Do you understand? You do not have a choice in this matter!”

“I – yes, I understand. D’you think that - ”

There was a painful screech from the direction of the house and whatever Harry had been about to say was forgotten.

“Come in, your lordship! Come in and be welcome!”

Standing on the front porch of the house was a creature as fantastic as either of them had ever encountered. It appeared to be female, but it definitely wasn’t human. The creature stood nearly as tall as the two wizards, sturdily built with broad shoulders and a thick neck. Its head was larger than any human’s, the ears were pointed and the nose was flat. Ferocious tusks jutted from the mouth, which gaped in a smile that intimidated more than it reassured. Even more incongruously, she was wearing an old-fashioned rose-coloured dress that reached to the ground and was covered with a spotless white apron.

The front door screeched again as she opened it and beckoned to them with what was probably meant as a gesture of welcome. “There’s just time to refresh yourselves before supper!”

Voldemort felt as if he was being shown the door to his prison cell. At his side, Harry winced. “Stop that,” he grumbled. “You’re making my head hurt. You’re lucky, you know. It looks like a nice place and besides, this isn’t going to last forever.”

Voldemort’s self-control was very near the limit. “No, Harry,” he snapped, “You’re the one who’s lucky! Do you know why you were able to defeat me last night?”

“No.” Wary of the Dark Lord’s anger, Harry took a step backward.

“Because one of your valiant friends took it upon himself to attack Nagini!”

The younger wizard grew sombre. “Yeah, I knew it must be...Well, obviously, I could tell you weren’t focused on me…” He groaned as he finally understood. “You killed Neville from two floors away because he attacked her…”

“She can’t defend herself against magic.”

“I’ll take care of her, I’ll bring her back tomorrow - ” Harry was disturbed to find himself babbling and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Look, I need to get back, they’re going to be wondering…”

They looked at each other awkwardly.

Harry reached out and squeezed the older wizard’s shoulder. “I promise to come back tomorrow.”

Voldemort’s expression was bleak.

“Tomorrow,” Harry repeated, and he was gone.

Voldemort looked toward the front of the house where the strange creature waited. He sighed heavily. Since there was no going back, he went forward to meet her.

Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment! Concrit is greatly appreciated!

Back to the Table of Contents

For those who need an intro to steampunk...

2009-08-06T10:56:09Z

...or for those who already know about it, I present the Airship Pirates vid by Abney Park!

I've been obsessed with their previous cd The Death of Tragedy - every song's a keeper - and I can't get this one from their latest cd, Lost Horizon, out of my head!

How can you resist the neo-Gilbert and Sullivan lyrics?

Our fire’s high and the airbags tight
Food's low but the skies are bright
Props spinning all through the night
We're low on cash but seen another target

Goggles down and the cannons up
My blood starts pumping as I drain my cup
I give the wheel a spin and I turn this girl around
We're way above ground but we're closed in on our target

Flying Jib is filled with air
East India ships filled with despair
We even up, her broadside’s bare
Our cannons flair but it’s just a show of muscle

Steady on, she doesn’t need to burn
She tries to flee and she tries to turn
Grappling fire, we latch her hull
She’s starting to roll, but we’ve got her on a leash

With a crew of drunken pilots
We’re the only airship pirates
We’re full of hot air and we’re starting to rise
We’re the terror of the skies, but a danger to ourselves now

Expendable crew starts to reel her in
Our swords are sharpened and we're ready to sin
I’m three miles up, we're about to swing aboard
My tether's made of leather so I’m not about to fall here

A swish of air and my boots hit deck
No cash, no fuel, no not a speck
Our grape shot's made this bird a wreck
And a glance below deck shows a crew of nuns and orphans

With a crew of drunken pilots
We’re the only airship pirates
We’re full of hot air and we’re starting to rise
We’re the terror of the skies, but a danger to ourselves

...but will there be cookies?

2009-06-29T10:26:50Z

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Found the HP/TR docking fic!

2009-05-23T01:53:19Z

You may recall back in September I solicited assistance in finding an HP/TR fic I had read featuring the kink of docking. Well, I found it completely by accident tonight! It's Sychronicity by archon and it was posted at the daily_deviant 06-01-2007.

My Steampunk Style

2009-05-20T11:00:15Z

Somehow I imagined something with an elegant hat and long skirt...

Your result for The Steampunk Style Test...

The Officer

43% Elegant, 28% Technological, 20% Historical, 56% Adventurous and 49%
Playful!

You are the Officer, the embodiment of steampunk’s military sensibilities. It is an inevitable fact that advances in technology find some way to advance warfare; indeed, it is often the case that military necessity provides the means of developing new technology. You may be attracted to the technological appeal of steampunk weaponry, or perhaps you enjoy the glamour of Victorian uniforms. You combine a readiness for danger and a technological aptitude with a very sharp sense of fashion. You may be an army engineer, a mechanized dragoon, or an airship captain, but regardless you approach fashion with military efficiency and with style.

Try our other Steampunk test here.

Take The Steampunk Style Test at HelloQuizzy

Vintage Slash

2009-03-07T00:16:17Z

I thought this was fun!

Magnet available from Stickergiant

Fic Rec

2009-02-12T17:17:18Z

oldenuf2nb is one of those Renaissance types: a talented artist and a gifted writer. More than anyone else, her fics have attracted me to Harry/Draco.

Case in point: Fool Rushes In, a two-part fic featuring: chocolate, snark, action, adventure, embarassment, kissing, cursing, frottage and wanking. It certainly rates among my favourite H/D fics!

Should you enjoy it too, you might try her Christmas Serial in which Harry, now Chief Auror, buys a new house and has a Christmas wish come true. I especially like the way oldenuf2nb conveys emotion; the characters say a lot without speaking.

Many of oldenuf2nb's other fics can be found at The Hex Files.

mizstorge @ 2009-02-02T07:12:00

2009-02-02T12:00:48Z

Happy birthday to meikitsune!

Fic Rec

2009-01-11T01:42:11Z

This drabble was written for me in 2007 by a well-regarded member of the fandom who since that time - like all too many others - deleted her journal and completely disappeared. I'm not identifying her because the deletion arose from a hostile person connecting her journal with her real life. Some of you may remember her icon(above).

I'm rather fond of this fic and feel it deserves to be shared.

Title: In the Absence of Athena
Written for: mizstorge
Pairing: Tom/Harry
Prompts: dinosaurs & palaeontology (kinda), mythology, swords.

Theirs is no poetic dance. No romantic musings by a fire but, rather, something primal, something ancient. Like bones become stones, they have changed from what they were. One dark, one less dark, and blending together to become Not Quite Grey.

Their bodies lie against one another, two swords crossing before battle. Elixir of Lethe has left Harry without memories of anything other than the cool press of Tom's body against his own. Was there a war beyond the bedpost? What had he done before this touch?

Tom smiles as he claims his victory, possessing the moment and the man.

Fanfic Invitation!

2008-12-31T19:34:08Z

The team_darklord community, a site dedicated to connecting fans with fics and art featuring the Dark Lord, is holding an anonymous kink fic memo as part of their First Anniversary celebration and you are invited to participate!
Simply comment anonymously with a fic scenario you'd like to see written that pertains to Voldemort or Tom Riddle in some way, and respond anonymously to other's requests with anything from a drabbles to full length stories. There is NO set time limit on any of these. There can be more than one response to a prompt. After all, one prompt can spawn a multitude of plotbunnies and fics! Sex doesn't have to be a priority. If you'd like to have a prompt of having Tom talking to Severus about the weather, feel free! No time limit to anything, there's no pressure!

Six things you can do to help promote GLBT rights in the U.S.

2008-11-19T12:11:59Z

Join the Impact is an excellent site for keeping up with plans to help the cause of GLBT rights!

In the works:

- Day Without a Gay! on December 10, 2008. This event started as an economic boycott to show the buying power of GLBT people and their straight allies but has evolved into something more: a day to call in sick to work and instead volunteer for a good cause.

- Do you know that in 30 states people can be fired simply for being gay or lesbian? Contact your representatives and ask them to support ENDA, the Employment Non-Discrimination Act.

- Join the nationwide demonstration on January 10, 2009 to protest DOMA, the Federal Defense of Marriage Act that defines marriage as legal union between one man and one woman for purposes of all federal laws, and provides that states need not recognize a marriage from another state if it is between persons of the same sex.

- Go Blue for Equality!. Display a blue light on your front porch, window or store front to show support for EQUALITY FOR ALL.

- Ten years ago, college student Matthew Shepherd was beaten and left to die, the victim of a hate crime because he was gay. Earlier this year, 15 year-old Larry King was shot by a classmate because he was perceived as being gay. The Gender Public Advocacy Coalition in Washington D.C. reports that more than 50 young people aged 30 and under were murdered in the U.S. over the last ten years because they were gay or perceived to be gay.

Contact your representatives and President-Elect Obama and urge them to pass the The Matthew Shepherd Act:

Current federal hate crimes law permits the federal prosecution of a hate crime only if the hate crime was motivated by bias based on race, color, religion, or national origin and the assailant intends to prevent the victim from exercising a "federally protected right" such as the right to vote or attend school. If this legislation is signed by the president, the law will be expanded to protect the GLBT community as well as remove the restrictions on what type of acts can be considered applicable under hate crime law.

The Matthew Shepherd Foundation exists to educate and enlighten others on the importance of diversity, understanding, compassion, acceptance and respect. It offers a number of ways to help you make a difference.

- Try to engage in one respectful conversation a day in which you can plant the seed of change in an individual who is not like-minded. Speak out to your friends, classmates, professors, co-workers, family and the people standing in line with you at the cash register. If someone is being disrespectful about GLBT people or if they oppose same-sex marriage, speak up and calmly state your opinion! If you hear someone promoting equality, join in!

A Single Magic - Chapter Four

2008-11-12T14:03:38Z

Title: A Single Magic – Chapter Four
Author: Pipenerd/ Mizstorge (2008)
Word Count: About 5,225
Genres: AU, Romance.
Summary: The War is over. Harry has vanquished Lord Voldemort but is just beginning to understand the nature of the magical bond between them. Chaptered. WIP.
My Beta: hobtheknife
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. (looks in mirror: Nope, not her.) Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.
Author's Notes: Yeah, I know. This chapter took a damn long time to write. Thanks for staying with me.

This chapter is dedicated to hobtheknife , my most loyal supporter, who helped make time for me to write, and to seventhpathogen and Claudius.

Thanks to alert reader leianora for pointing out an error of terminology! *hugs*

Harry had a mission: a life to protect, a secret to guard. So with each step further away from Orion Black’s library he brought a vivid thought or memory to mind, focused intently on it, recalled as many details about it as possible and then used it to make a series of mental barriers. It wasn’t a defensive tactic that would last very long if he were confronted by a skilled Legilmens, but it would buy him a little time and would certainly conceal the truth from someone who was just unusually perceptive – such as the wizard who awaited him at the foot of the stairs.

Alastor Moody was as gnarled and weathered as the old staff upon which he heavily leaned. His one good eye was fixed on Harry as he walked down the stairs while his magical eye rotated in a manner that was unnerving to those who weren’t used to it. When Harry reached the bottom step, a crooked smile appeared on Moody’s scarred and lopsided face, giving it an altogether horrifying aspect. “You finally got him, Potter,” he said with pride. “I knew that you would.”

Harry silently nodded. Under the old Auror’s approving gaze, he felt the weight of the Wizarding world’s hopes and expectations settle over him once more. It was, he realised, one more thing he shared with Voldemort, this pressure of being the focus of the aspirations of the people closest to him as well as those of his supporters at large. Harry quickly turned his thoughts away from that potentially dangerous subject and focused instead on the sound of voices drifting up the stairs from the kitchen.

“How are you?” Moody’s voice sounded gruff as usual. “Did you sleep all right?

“Yeah, fine. I’m good,” Harry answered too quickly. Swearing to himself at his ineptitude, he amended, “Well, I didn’t sleep enough.”

“Brought a friend home to spend the night, eh?”

Had he heard that from Dobby, had Phineas told him or had his magical eye somehow seen there was someone upstairs? Harry wondered. At any rate, he needed to deflect Moody’s curiosity. “Someone broke into my friend’s place last night and I thought it would be safer for him to stay here,” he answered carefully.

The old Auror’s expression became stern. “Could’ve been Death Eaters, you know. Anyone you’re involved with could be a target. You have to maintain cons-”

“Not this time,” Harry interrupted him, finally producing a smile. “It looks as if whoever it was hit several places in the same neighbourhood, probably looking for stuff to sell to make some quick money.” He took the opportunity to change the subject. “What about the rest of the Order? I should probably poke my head in the kitchen and check on the others.”

With a clunk, Moody stepped closer. “Some of our people got hurt last night.”

Harry’s stomach tightened. “Who-?”

“Granger, for one. Rodolphus Lestrange broke most of her fingers and gave her a concussion. He went on a rampage after his brother got killed. Temporarily blinded your friend Ron and knocked Dean Thomas out a window. Tonks was holding her own against him when I got there and we would’ve taken him into custody if some of the other Death Eaters hadn’t shown up just then.” Moody shook his head. “Problem with this war is we never had enough time to properly train you lot in the techniques the professionals use against Dark Wizards.”

“Anyone else injured?” Harry asked hesitantly.

“Lupin got some bad burns when he rescued one of the Parvati girls from the Fiendfyre; she was treated and released, he won’t be out of St. Mungo’s for a week or so. Arthur Weasley got hit with some hexes, but we took care of him and sent him home.”

Harry counted: six members of the Order out of commission. “It was one rough fight.”

“Hope it will be the last one,” Moody said grimly. “Longbottom and Shaklebolt were killed.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open and he gripped the banister tightly. Neville…he could hardly get his mind around the idea that he was gone. And Kingsley, who had always been so sharp and fast…“What happened?” he finally managed.

“Neville was trying to kill that snake of You-Know-Who’s when Bellatrix turned up. She Disembowelled him. Ginny Weasley used a Killing Curse on Kingsley.”

That was becoming Ginny’s trademark, Harry reflected. She’d vanished for three weeks in her Sixth Year, only to startle everyone by appearing with some of Voldemort’s most trusted followers in what turned out to be a very public confrontation with the Order in Diagon Alley. A few weeks later in Hogsmeade she’d openly accused Snape of being a traitor to the Dark Lord, challenged him to a duel and killed him in front of a horrified group of students and Hogwarts faculty. It seemed as if she was personally determined to eliminate the most skilled members of the Order.

“No matter what happens with that girl, it’s not going end well for the Weasleys,” Moody muttered.

So Ginny hadn’t been apprehended. Harry wondered about the other Death Eaters. “We got some of them last night, though, didn’t we?” Harry’s voice was almost plaintive. “Some of them must have been killed, you rounded up the rest and arrested them…”

Moody’s expression was gloomy. “The only bodies I saw last night were Rabastan Lestrange and the one you Stupified on the stairway. The rest of them escaped, Potter.” He struck the floor with his staff in frustration. “Every last one of them escaped.”

Harry struggled to find something comforting to say. He knew that Moody must be wrestling with a sense of futility, tempered only by his belief that Voldemort himself was dead. Voldemort’s death…A thought suddenly arose or, more properly speaking, a memory surfaced. “What happened to McGonagall?” he blurted.

The old Auror’s real eye bulged and his magical eye swivelled to focus on Harry. “The Headmistress died quietly in her sleep at last night. I’d like to have your sources, Potter. I didn’t find out until just a few minutes ago.”

Harry wasn’t exactly sure how he’d acquired that information, either, and it seemed like a good time to change the subject. “Do you want to sit down? Would you like some breakfast?”

“I’d take some coffee,” Moody allowed, turning awkwardly on his artificial leg. “I still need to debrief you about your fight with Voldemort. Go on, say hello to the rest of them, then meet me in the parlour. I need to sit down - tripped over Arthur last night and wrenched my knee.”

Harry was grateful to postpone having to lie to someone he respected as much as Moody and he quickly ducked down the stairs to the kitchen.

A cluster of cheerful faces turned to greet him, shadows of fatigue and worry lifting in the presence of their leader.

“Harry!”

“Hi, Harry!”

He resisted the impulse to cringe; he supposed that as far as they were concerned, the losses of the night before were the tragic price of defeating Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He doubted that their feelings for him would be as warm if they knew the truth…

“Good morning, Harry, sir!” Dobby turned from the pantry where he was ticking items on a grocery list.

“Hi, Dobby. Would you send some coffee up to the parlour for Mad-Eye?”

“Yes, Harry, sir!” With a clatter, what appeared to be the same tray Harry had seen upstairs earlier appeared on the counter. Cupboard doors opened to discharge a variety of items that assembled themselves on the tray and Harry was relieved to notice that the novelty of the display distracted the visitors.

“Anything new around here?” Harry asked the elf in a low voice.

Dobby’s eyes sparkled. “The new gentleman seems very nice.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” Harry muttered under his breath, but a smile tugged at a corner of his mouth.

“I like him better than the last one. He seems to have many things in common with you,” the elf mused. “When the War ends, will you bring him here to live?”

Harry turned the thought over in his mind. It had never seriously occurred to him that someday the War would be over and that there might actually be a chance for him to live happily ever after. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to think of a much different Grimmauld Place, one where sunlight streamed through bright, airy rooms. He pictured himself in the family parlour, lounging on an overstuffed sofa with his head pillowed on the shoulder of a handsome, dark-haired man… “That would be brilliant, Dobby,” he said wistfully, “but I’m not sure this particular gentleman is going to be around that long.”

The elf’s face assumed a forlorn expression and Harry immediately began to wonder about Dobby’s own plans for the future. “I certainly wouldn’t mind if you wanted to bring someone special here to live,” he offered. For the first time he considered the private lives of house elfs. Did they marry? Did they reproduce in the usual fashion? Were they all straight?

“Harry Potter is kind and generous,” Dobby said, almost to himself. “The new pot of coffee is ready now. Mad-eye Moody takes sugar and milk…” He intently began to rearrange the tray, making it obvious that Harry wasn’t the only person being evasive this morning. “And Phineas Nigellus left your wand on the ledge of the frame of the Still Life with Lemons,” Dobby added.

That was the best news Harry had heard so far this morning. He darted over to the painting and grabbed his wand. “Merlin, I’m glad to get this back!” he exclaimed, tucking his wand into his belt.

“Come here, my boy!” Horace Slughorn called and Charlie and Ernie’s chairs scraped as they made room for him at the table.

“We were at St. Mungo’s this morning,” Charlie told him. “Hermione’s awake, but groggy. Viktor brought her parents when he heard the news. Ron’s fit to be tied because they won’t let him go home yet.”

“How’s your Dad?” Harry asked. He refused more coffee but poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice.

“Bill took him home. Mum’s such a mess that the healers prescribed a sedative and they want her to come back in a few days for an evaluation.” Charlie scowled. “One more reason to kill my psychotic sister.”

“Ginny’s the one who hexed Arthur,” Ernie explained quietly.

There was a commotion at the back door and a chorus of greetings as Angelina, Katie, Seamus and Colin arrived.

“Harry!”

“You’re all right!”

“I told you he’d make it!” Colin was beaming and the girls threw their arms around Harry with the same enthusiasm that followed a winning Quidditch match.

“How does it feel?” Seamus asked, thumping him on the back. “Having killed the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries?”

“It would feel a hell of a lot better if Neville and Kingsley were here,” Harry replied, unable to keep a reproach from his voice.

A blush spread across Katie’s cheeks and Angelina suddenly took an interest in finding chairs while Colin and Seamus stood looking abashed.

Harry turned to Slughorn. “Have you heard who will be taking over as Head at Hogwarts?”

The elderly Potions professor cleared his throat. “The Board of Governors contacted me this morning and offered me the position. I accepted, but of course I had a number of conditions. One was that they extend the DADA position to Lupin.” He sighed. “Too many of our most talented witches and wizards have been sacrificed in this War and we can no longer afford to overlook gifted candidates on the grounds of past prejudices.”

Luna spoke up. “What were your other conditions, Professor?”

“I proposed Andromeda Tonks to teach Potions. I also suggested her sister Narcissa Malfoy to fill the opening in Transfiguration.”

“You’re joking, right?” Charlie demanded as the others tried to follow the conversation.

Slughorn looked sternly around the table before speaking. “We can only prevent this sort of thing from happening again if we look forward to the future instead of harkening to the past. There must be no more disparaging of bloodlines of any sort. We must make our shared heritage our greatest strength.”

“I’m not sure you’ll be able to convince someone like Narcissa Malfoy to teach half-bloods and Muggle-borns,” Ernie pointed out.

A heated discussion began and as the others joined in loudly with their opinions, Luna leaned across the table and touched Harry’s hand. “You mustn’t feel guilty about Neville and Kingsley,” she told him quietly. “Their names will be remembered forever. Though I don’t suppose,” she added a bit wistfully, “that they’ll be invited to dwell in the palace of Kassapraxites.”

That name was strangely familiar and Harry stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“Kassapraxites is the patron of Wizarding kind, but he takes special pride in those who are very clever, the ones who discover new avenues of inquiry or who invent new spells or potions.”

“What’s this?” Slughorn interrupted.

“Harry asked about Prince Kassapraxities,” Luna replied serenely. “You must know about him, Professor. He’s son of Ea, the god who-”

“Gave us the gift of magic,” Slughorn finished in a low voice. “But he had a falling out with the other gods when he taught humans how to split their souls so that they might become immortal.”

“You mean he showed people how to make Horcruxes?” Harry choked out.

Slughorn nodded grimly. “I told you that it was ancient and forbidden knowledge.”

There was a shriek from the portrait upstairs and conversation around the table came to an abrupt halt as they strained to recognise the voices of the newcomers.

“It’s Fred and George,” Angelina announced.

“I’d better go up and talk to Moody.” Harry stood reluctantly as the group made room for the twins at the table.

“We brought the morning Prophet,” Fred announced. “No surprise to anyone that there’s no news about what happened last night.”

His brother clattered down the steps behind him. “On the other hand,” George called, “Professor Slughorn made the front page. Hey, we just got here, Harry! Where are you off to?”

“Debriefing. I’ll be back in a bit.” Harry tried to slip past them, but Fred grabbed his shoulder. “Well done, Harry. Ron told us all about it this morning.”

George’s grin was devious. “If you think you were famous before this, you’re in for a shock. Order of Merlin, First Class, I expect. Minister of Magic, whenever you’re ready.”

“All a lot of rubbish, of course, but you did real good last night,” Fred added.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled. He could see the rest of them at the kitchen table, looking at him with a mixture of misty-eyed gratitude and pride, and felt a pang of guilt. “Talk to you later,” he said hurriedly and went upstairs to finally reckon with Moody.

The heavy drapes had been opened in the formal front parlour and a watery sunlight trickled into the hallway, making it just possible to discern the faded patterns on the ancient carpet. Harry took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Moody just wanted the facts about the duel and as long as Harry kept his mind focused he could give the old Auror the facts without betraying his secret.

Moody looked up when Harry entered the room. He was sprawled in one of the armchairs with his real leg propped on an ottoman. “Thought you forgot,” he grumbled. The coffeepot on the table at his elbow rose gracefully in the air to refill his cup while the sugar tongs darted past the milk pitcher to drop in two cubes with a splash.

Harry sat on the sofa, intentionally placing himself where the pale sunlight would reflect off his glasses and make it more difficult for the old Auror to read his expression. He unapologetically wiped the moisture from his hands on the knees of his trousers, knowing that some anxiety was expected of him in this situation. “Where should I start?”

Scowling as a napkin wiped spilled coffee from the tray while the tongs and pitcher continued to jostle in what was apparently the latest instance in an old quarrel, Moody picked up his cup. “We were together as far as the foot of the stairs,” he prompted.

Tonks and Moody had blasted open the front door, and Ron and Neville had gone in first to clear the immediate area. They’d come under fire from two rooms on the first floor and from the second floor landing, but then Shaklebolt’s team emerged from the back hallway and put up a crossfire.

“We knew the library was on the second floor and one of my objectives was to search there for the last Horcrux or for clues to where it might be hidden. The Death Eater on the landing probably didn’t see me because the smoke was already pretty thick. I Stupified him and threw his wand down to Padma. I went down the hall-”

“Who was your back-up?” Moody interrupted.

“I didn’t wait for anyone, I just-”

“You know better than that, Potter,” the old Auror snapped. “Good way to get yourself killed.”

With a grimace to acknowledge the error, Harry went on with his story. “I checked all the rooms, but it didn’t look as if anyone else was on that floor. The library was empty, too. It was starting to get smoky and I opened one of the windows for air. That’s when the door burst open behind me-”

Moody stopped him again. “You shut the door behind you?”

Harry paused. “No, but there was a bang and…I assumed that’s what must’ve happened. Now I wonder whether the sound I heard was him Apparating or maybe it was something else, maybe even something from downstairs.” He didn’t need to specify who he meant by ‘him’.

The old Auror nodded. “Go on. Did he say anything?”

“He just started in on me. I dodged his first spell and the drapes started burning. I tried what you suggested, a lot of annoying little things to make him overconfident while I tried to work in close enough to grapple with him, but he deflected everything and kept his distance. One of the hexes hit the big mirror over the mantle and glass sprayed everywhere, but he turned most of it into water and kept hurling spells.”

“He didn’t use a Killing curse?”

“No,” Harry answered after a moment.

“Why do you think that was?” Moody peered at him across the room.

“I don’t…” Can’t think about that.

“Could be he wanted you alive,” the old Auror mused. “Could’ve made demands with you as a hostage. Or maybe he didn’t want you to die painlessly. What did you get him with?”

Harry's reply was prompt. “Coruscating spell.”

“How did it make you feel?”

“Sick,” Harry told him truthfully.

Moody grimaced in a manner Harry supposed was meant to be sympathetic. “Nothing to be ashamed of, Potter. Every good person feels that way about causing someone to die. My advice is to stay out of the rest of the War. With You-Know-Who gone, Magical Law Enforcement will take over. It’s only a matter of time until the Death Eaters-”

“Oh, dear! Am I too late?” inquired a high, thin voice.

Startled, they both looked up to see Elphias Doge framed in the doorway. With the comical profusion of white hair that stood up on his head like thistledown, the elderly wizard looked more like a representative of another species than the oldest living member of the Order of the Phoenix.

“I hurried over as soon as I heard the rumours that Voldemort had been defeated,” he wheezed as he hobbled into the parlour, “I wanted to hear the story first hand.”

Harry exchanged a glance with Moody while Doge made himself at home in the other armchair. “Excuse me Mr. Doge, I know you were Dumbledore’s partner and all, but I don’t exactly feel comfortable talking about that sort of thing with a member of the Wizengamot.”

Doge snapped his fingers and the pot next to Moody poured coffee into another cup, which vanished and reappeared on the low table next to the elderly wizard’s chair. Pale eyes twinkling, he reached for the cup with a frail hand. “I see, my dear young man, that you’ve assimilated Albus’s mistrust of the government. However, I can assure you that I will keep whatever you say in complete confidence.”

Harry still didn’t move. “Rufeous Scrimgeour doesn’t exactly approve of the Order’s activities.”

“Scrimgeour,” Doge said, wrinkling his nose as if the name were distasteful, “is merely the Minister of Magic. Politicians come and go, as you’ve surely noticed, and yet somehow the business of the Ministry proceeds, largely undisturbed by their passing. The Minister is but a spokesperson. The true power of the government lies elsewhere.” He sipped his coffee delicately and allowed Harry to puzzle over that for a moment. “Alastor, would you be so kind as to permit me to speak a few words to Harry alone?”

Moody looked startled by the elderly wizard’s request, but he nodded. “Suppose I should get some breakfast,” he muttered transparently. He used his staff to climb heavily to his feet and exchanged a significant look with Doge before walking from the room. Harry heard the clumping of his wooden leg slowly fade as he went down to the kitchen.

Silence descended over the parlour. Harry’s expression bordered on insolent as Doge sipped his coffee and looked about the room with feigned interest. There was no way in hell that Harry was going to speak first, and clock on the mantle solemnly ticked away two and a half minutes before the elderly wizard spoke.

“I already know that a fire of unknown origin destroyed the Riddle mansion last night. Members of the Order were treated at St. Mungo’s for injuries ranging from mild to grave. One of your classmates is dead, as is a highly respected Auror.”

Harry managed not to flinch as the elderly wizard probed at his mind with piercing eyes. “I’ve spent most of my life fighting the most powerful Dark Lord in centuries, Mr. Doge,” Harry grated. “I’m used to guarding my thoughts in order to protect my friends.”

Doge blinked and the pressure against Harry’s mind abruptly ceased. The elderly wizard set down his cup with trembling hands,. “Please forgive an old man his foolishness,” he said, his high voice quavering. “I only wanted – I fought against him in two wars, I lost the person dearest to my heart! No bodies were recovered from the ashes of the mansion, and yet-”

Harry felt empathy for the elderly wizard but remained conscious of the fact that Doge had been Dumbledore’s partner for decades, plenty of time to learn the subtle art of manipulation from a master. “The threat has been neutralized,” he said warily, “but it may not be completely over.”

Doge sat up attentively. “Could it be,” he mused, “that something unanticipated occurred last night? A revelation, perhaps, that you believe might be unwise to make widely known or which requires a decision?”

Harry nodded. “Something like that,” he allowed.

“Perchance you find yourself in need of advice,” Doge wheezed. “It is not widely known, but there are situations of such gravity that even the Wizengamot, with all its combined wisdom, might falter in judgement. I have the honour to sit on a highly secretive committee, the members of which have been entrusted to take charge of such matters before they come to the attention of the Wizengamot and place them before the highest court of adjudication.”

“Who sits on this high court?” Harry asked.

The elderly wizard’s pale eyes grew intense. “Merlin the Mage.”

Harry gave him a pitying look as he realised that the elderly wizard was mad. “Merlin’s been dead for centuries,” he said gently, as if explaining to a child. Perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t too late for the healers at St. Mungo’s to stop the progression of Doge’s insanity. He wondered if he would be able to convince Doge to go with him quietly or if he should call for the others.

“Dead, but not gone,” Doge replied, and something in his tone brought Harry’s speculations to a halt. “Legend says that Merlin was forever imprisoned in the Crystal Cave. The reality is that the crystalline walls are uniquely suited to store thought patterns and Merlin left a portion of his knowledge and discernment within the cave. Furthermore, he decreed that those who were to follow in his footsteps, those who coaxed the secrets of magic from Nature and were gifted in discovering the truth, should likewise contribute a portion of their perception to the Crystal Cave. These are the recipients of the Order of Merlin. The committee upon which I serve was established to evaluate candidates and to ensure the transfer their essences to the Crystal Cave. Thus, Merlin’s wisdom still guides our world.” The elderly wizard slumped into his chair as if exhausted by his revelation.

“What about people like Peter Pettigrew?” Harry asked. “He was awarded an Order of Merlin.”

Doge shook his head impatiently. “No, no! Only those who were awarded the Order, First Class.”

Harry considered what Doge had said. He knew time was running out for him to impose conditions upon Voldemort as a consequence of their duel and felt completely inadequate to make such a decision himself. “How can I be sure that whatever I discuss with him – with Merlin - will remain a secret?”

The elderly wizard shrugged. “No one who seeks the wisdom of Merlin ever speaks of the experience except in oblique terms. It is not known whether the Mage’s will is enforced by magic or through heartfelt obedience to his will. But consider well, young man, for his judgements are irrevocable and the punishments he decrees cannot be evaded.”

The ticking of the clock on the mantle was the only sound in the room. Finally, Harry spoke. “How,” he asked, “do I get to the Crystal Cave?”

Doge stood unsteadily and fumbled in a pocket of his robes. He withdrew a silver coin and Harry hurried over to take it. Inscribed upon the metal was the image of two dragons locked in combat. “This is a Portkey. It is activated by the words, ‘Let Merlin judge.’”

Harry’s fingers closed around the coin. “Thank you, Mr. Doge.”

The elderly wizard’s smile was kindly. “No, my dear young man – thank you.”

Having decided on a course of action, Harry hurried up the stairs to the second floor. Merlin, he thought, was an authority they could both accept, revered by the Wizarding world as the greatest of their kind. He tried to recall what Professor Binns had taught them about the ancient wizard: that he had been a gifted seer even as a child, that he had practiced the Dark Arts but had also supported the reigns of just and tolerant rulers.

When he reached Orion Black’s library, Harry stopped and looked up and down the hall before removing the spells he’d placed on the door. He turned the handle and slowly opened the door.

Just inside the doorway, as if he’d been expecting him, stood a man and Harry’s breath caught at his appearance. He was an inch or so taller than Harry himself, with black wavy hair that grazed his collar. He had discarded the elegant robes he’d worn earlier and was now wearing a long jacket of old fashioned cut in a dark green fabric. With his dark eyes and pale complexion he was, without a doubt, the handsomest person to whom Harry had ever been this close and Harry felt something wrench apart deep inside his chest as he realised that the brief intimacy they had shared that morning was already lost forever.

Voldemort motioned him inside and, lifting a finger in a gesture of silence, nodded toward the window. Nagini was stretched up before it, her head hovering at nearly the height of Harry’s shoulder. The great serpent was intently studying one side of the heavy drapes and her tongue flickered as she tasted for scents on the air.

Harry quietly shut the door behind him. His headache seemed on the verge of returning and he suspected that the stress of the last day was probably to blame. Nagini rose a little higher and he wondered for only a moment what could possibly have attracted her attention before she darted forward into the folds of heavy velvet. There was a high-pitched squeal that was suddenly cut off and a moment later the serpent emerged, swallowing with a satisfied expression.

“Doxiesss,” she explained, descending to the floor in graceful coils.

“How did she get in here?” Harry wondered.

Voldemort chuckled. “Orion Black was known to collect fine brandies. I sent Dobby to the cellar for a bottle and mentioned that if he were to notice a large reptile prowling around, he should send her up as well.”

Unexpectedly, his arm snaked around Harry’s shoulder and drew him near. Harry sighed, his eyelids fluttering down in comfort as the Dark wizard’s hand settled on the back of his neck. The pressure in his head faded and he leaned forward to rest his cheek against the other man’s shoulder.

"You're a surprising person, Harry," Voldemort quietly mused. "You killed me last night with single-minded determination and yet today you are remarkably reluctant to finish the job. I admit to a certain curiosity about your intentions."

After a heartbeat, Harry murmured, “If you could kill me right now, would you?”
Warm breath tickled his ear. “At this moment, I believe my curiosity would win over the old desire to kill you.” He added, “I’m definitely not the man I was yesterday.”

Harry stepped away with reluctance. “I’ve made a decision.”

The Dark wizard studied him closely and nodded. “By all means, then, let us proceed.”

“I can’t even pretend to know what to do in this situation, but I just learned that there is one person I would trust to decide for me. Will you accept the judgement of Merlin?” Harry’s fingers tightened around the coin.

Voldemort frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Merlin’s consciousness survives in the Crystal Cave.” Harry held up the coin. “And I have a Portkey.”

A smile slowly spread across the handsome face. “If Merlin still exists, I am quite anxious to meet him. Oh, don’t look so sad, Harry. The knowledge that, no matter what happens, you’ll be tormented for the rest of you life will be a great comfort to me.”

“Fine,” Harry snapped and reached for his hand. “Let Merlin judge!”

They were abruptly yanked through space and dropped unceremoniously by the Portkey onto a rough and hard surface. Darkness blossomed around them as they came to a stumbling halt and cold, dank air brushed Harry’s face. His grip tightened on the other wizard’s hand.

Voldemort’s bitter laughter echoed in the darkness, a chilling sound that Harry recalled from the Chamber of Secrets. “Harry, do you know what an oubliette is?”

“No,” Harry admitted, rather unsteadily.

“It is a place to imprison those who are better left forgotten. I wonder: how well do you know the person who so conveniently provided you with this Portkey?”

Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment!

Back to the Table of Contents

Remembering Those Who Served

2008-11-11T22:48:16Z

To Lucasta, Going to the Wars

TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,
That from nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase -
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore:
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not Honor more.

- Richard Lovelace

Loa for Obama!

2008-11-04T12:19:32Z

Haitians ask for food, relief and Obama victory as Voodoo festival kicks off

PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti — Haitians flocked to cemeteries carrying rum, candles and hopes for a better future Saturday, kicking off Voodoo's two-day festival of the dead with appeals for help with food, jobs and even the U.S. election.

Revellers clamoured for a spot atop the oldest grave at Port-au-Prince's National Cemetery, which tradition holds is home to the spirit Baron Samedi, the guardian of the dead.

Many called on the spirits, or "loa," for help in finding work, relief from soaring food prices and recovery from four tropical storms that wiped out agriculture and killed nearly 800 people countrywide in August and September.

"This year even the Baron is hungry because everything is so expensive," said Wilmann Ambroise, a 45-year-old electrician who said he seldom works because people have stopped building homes.

A few even asked for intercession in U.S. politics, bashing President George W. Bush and John McCain for allegedly meddling in Haitian politics but failing to help lift the country from poverty.

"Baron Samedi will lead Obama to be president of the United States," said Jonas Pierre, a 25-year-old unemployed man. "He's black, just like me, so he cares about people ... He's going to help Haiti develop."

Voodoo, a blend of Christian tenets and African religions fused by slaves, is practised across the country of nearly nine million. It was sanctioned as an official religion in 2003 by the Haitian government, allowing priests to legally perform baptisms and marriages.

All at sea...

2008-09-16T10:45:04Z

Well, not quite. However, we did get more than seven inches of rain between Saturday and Sunday and, not to belittle the more serious plight of those subjected to Ike's other vicissitudes, we have no telephone. Which means no internet access because we live on the outskirts of technology. When I called the phone company, I received an automated message that said our problem will be repaired by 8pm Tuesday September 23. Which means they FAIL at customer service.

So no, I haven't abandoned my friends/comms/fandoms/fics. For the time being, though, my online activities will be limited to the time available while I'm at work but not actually on the clock.

I suppose I really should spend my offline time constructively, say, in finishing Chapter Four of A Single Magic. And, as a matter of fact, I have been working on it (to the tune of 5,300 words) and hope to post it soon...Well, when the phone company allows me to do so.

Sometimes I play on Team_Win!

2008-08-25T16:15:48Z

New post seen today at the V.E.N.OM. 'Can't stand Harry/Voldemort' thread:

"I took a look to the ship, had a heart attack looking at the fanarts and found this fantastic evidence for this fantastic couple: in CoS Harry and Voldie stared at each other for a long time."

Oh honey, you'd need CPR if you ever checked out the links at team_darklord!

*walks away cackling insanely*

HP film musings...

2008-08-02T23:50:59Z

What is it with Ralph Fiennes sticking out his tongue????? Does someone at Warner Brothers think this makes the Dark Lord appear more impressive?

A Single Magic - Chapter Three

2008-06-21T21:47:02Z

Title: A Single Magic – Chapter Three
Author: Pipenerd/ Mizstorge (2008)
Word Count: About 6,860
Genres: AU, Romance.
Warnings: The slash is no longer implied.
Summary: The War is over. Harry has vanquished Lord Voldemort but is just beginning to understand the nature of the magical bond between them. Chaptered. WIP.
My Beta: hobtheknife
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. (looks in mirror: Nope, not her.) Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.
Author’s Notes: It's been about fifteen weeks since I posted the last update, so I suppose it could be rationalised that I’ve written a page a week since then. Thanks to everyone who commented on Chapter Two.

This is dedicated to batsutousai and Modern Troubadour. If not for their encouragement, I might never have gotten around to writing this.

Harry was climbing from sleep into wakefulness. It was a difficult struggle up a steep slope, pulling himself hand over hand along a golden cord. Behind him, he could hear Professor McGonagall’s voice, still in a heated discussion with the bearded wizard with eyes like a dragon. Ahead of him, at the summit, he saw a room lit by firelight.

“Weeping for me, Harry?” Lord Voldemort asked. His appearance had changed and Harry couldn’t help thinking how handsome he was.

“You mussst hurry,” Nagini hissed urgently. “It isss too dangerousss to ssstay here.”

Harry cast his Invisibility cloak over the great serpent and her master just as Ron burst into the room. “We’ve got to get out! Someone cast a Fiendfyre curse and we can’t put out the fire!”

“I have to follow up on something important!” Harry shouted. “I’ll meet you later at Grimmauld Place!” With one last pull, he hauled himself into the room and threw himself on the bed. “I just want to close my eyes and rest for a few minutes. Just a few minutes…need to rest…”

Harry’s first thought upon awakening was one of relief: it was over and everything was going to be all right.

Then his eyes flew open and the events of the previous night came back in a rush: the battle at the Riddle manor and his duel with Voldemort. He looked around, blinking and trying to clear the shreds of dreams from his head - and then his heart began to thud as he realised that there was no one else in the room.

He jumped up and looked about frantically. The door to his bathroom was ajar and he crept closer to listen for a moment before peering inside. The air was steamy and he swore out loud when he saw the wet shower and his toiletries in disarray. He turned on the hot water tap at the sink and let it run for a few seconds before checking the temperature. Apparently, his captive had used all the hot water. Harry, on the other hand, was steaming. Had the evil bastard used his toothbrush, too?

He stormed back into the bedroom with a sense of purpose but then stopped short. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was a huge house and for all he knew Voldemort was already gone. He was trying to decide on a reasonable course of action when he noticed a movement in the painting over the chest of drawers. “Phineas! Is that you?”

The scene was a garden in which several children in old-fashioned clothing were playing a game with sticks and a hoop. A clever-looking wizard with a dark pointed beard peered at him from around the side of a trellis overgrown with roses. “Oh,” he said. “I see you’re finally awake after your busy night.”

“Phineas, did you seen the man I brought home?”

“I assure you, Potter,” the man in the painting drawled, stepping into full view, “I have no interest whatsoever in the young men you bring here - or the things you do with them.”

Harry choked back a retort. “Fine, okay. Look, this is important - ”

“Tell me something first,” Phineas Nigellus said, his tone of voice a reminder that he was not only a member of the pure and noble House of Black but that also once he had been the most detested Headmaster to ever preside over Hogwarts. “May I assume that this particular man is the wizard you said you had defeated in a duel?”

“Yeah, that’s why - ”

“Do you understand the implications of your victory?”

Harry was in no mood for one of Phineas’ pointless lectures. “I defeated him and took his wand. He’s powerless.”

Phineas sighed. “Just as I thought. There have been lamentable lapses in teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts in recent years - ”

“Excuse me, but can you get on with it? There is a Dark wizard on the loose in my house!”

“If he is powerless, then why did you ask me to take your wands for safekeeping? Why are you so worried about his whereabouts?”

“I can’t let him escape! He’s still a threat -”

“Calm down and listen to me!” Phineas snapped. They glared at each other until Harry finally nodded.

The painted wizard eyed him intently. “Did you discuss any terms before your duel commenced? For instance, did you agree that the fight would end when one of you had been disarmed or blood had been spilled?”

Harry shook his head. “No, we didn’t really have time to talk about anything first. It was more like we both made a simultaneous decision to kill each other.”

Phineas raised an eloquent eyebrow.

“So he didn’t stay dead! I told you that he’s a Dark wizard!”

For the first time, Phineas regarded him with something like respect. “Dumbledore spoke of Horcruxes…Potter, you are a very lucky young man. Not only have you defeated a very dangerous wizard in a duel, but you now have him at your complete and utter mercy. I congratulate you.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked slowly.

“The point of a duel is to redress what an aggrieved party perceives to be an affront.” The former Headmaster launched into full lecture mode. “If, however, one of the participants is disabled and has refused to ask pardon, the victor is permitted to spare his life. He may take or even, if he wishes, break the wand of the wizard who was vanquished. In any case, the defeated wizard is in the unenviable position of awaiting the judgement of the victor and is as constrained to accept whatever penalty is imposed as if he had sworn an Unbreakable oath to do so. Your errant foe has, in effect, been rendered unable to perform magic until you decide what sort of reparation will satisfy your quarrel – and until he fully complies.”

It took Harry a moment to absorb this revelation. “You mean he has to do whatever I want?”

“ ‘To the death’ appears implicit in your duel last night. However, there are rather unusual circumstances in this case. If you feel that his transitory demise redressed your grievance, then you may say so and your quarrel would be over. If, however, you require further compensation, it is your right to impose further conditions.”

“How long do I have to decide?”

The wizard in the painting absently slapped a pair of gloves against his leg as he considered his answer. “It should be done as soon as possible. I should think that twenty-four hours would be sufficient, even with a situation this complicated.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Thanks for telling me about all this. But I still need to find him.”

“Under the circumstances, Potter, I don’t believe it is possible for him to leave the premises.”

Harry winced; he obviously wasn’t at his best this morning. He and Voldemort shared a connection that could be exploited. He closed his eyes and felt a prickling sensation in his head that radiated from his scar. More dusty rooms, another door that would not open…The Dark Lord’s investigation of the house had apparently been less rewarding than he’d hoped. Harry felt relieved. “I’ll start looking for him on this floor. Would you mind - ?”

“As a matter of fact, I do mind!” Phineas snapped, making Harry wonder for the first time what sorts of daily activities a figure in a magical painting might possibly have planned. “But I suppose I’ll have to find the time to help you find your wandering wizard! Wait here!” he ordered. The children in the painting stopped their game for a moment to watch him as he strode purposefully from the frame.

“Wait – Phineas! I want my wand! Phineas!” Harry swore in frustration and waited in view of the painting for nearly a minute before going into the bathroom. He picked up his toothbrush and eyed it with suspicion, muttering a Scourgifying charm just to be sure. He stood in the doorway with one eye on the picture frame as he brushed his teeth and then, seeing the painting was still vacant, he quickly washed his face. It was a peculiar sensation to lather with the same bar of soap that Voldemort had used earlier, but he quickly put that thought from his mind. He had a much bigger problem.

From the moment Dumbledore had revealed what the Prophecy meant, he’d hoped to find a way to stop Voldemort without becoming a killer himself, but every time he arrived at the point where the Dark Lord was vanquished but still alive the dilemma became even more difficult. There was no point in the Ministry sending him to Azkaban because the Dementors who had once guarded the prison had defected to Voldemort’s side and no one had yet solved the problem of how to guard incarcerated wizards. They would probably execute him, but again that would leave Harry ultimately responsible for his death, which was the outcome he had been trying to avoid all along. Last night, when he had been fighting for his life, Harry had automatically resorted to lethal magic but when confronted with his enemy’s rebirth, he had realised that he simply could not kill him again. Voldemort had been weak as a kitten, incapable of defending himself, and having spared his life, Harry now felt something of a duty to protect him.

Furthermore, he wondered what sort of reparation he could possibly demand that could compensate for Voldemort’s many crimes. It was true that he had killed Harry’s parents and had tried to kill him, but Harry hadn’t fought him last night just because of those things. He badly needed advice from someone more experienced, but there was no one in the Order he could count on to be impartial when it came to Lord Voldemort. Phineas was still away and even so, Harry was uncertain whether he would be able to provide any answers. It seemed he was on his own.

As he dried himself, Harry recognized that all this was going to unfold in the same unexpected way as had everything else in his life. He could hardly imagine a worse predicament, with Voldemort wandering about the house and the members of the Order of the Phoenix expected to start drifting in at any moment for a debriefing on last night’s battle.

He had just reached for a clean shirt from the closet when the door opened.

It was Voldemort.

They regarded each other for what seemed a very long moment. Harry was frozen to the spot, his thoughts tumbling over each other in confusion. It had been far easier to confront the Dark Lord last night at the Riddle manor because it had been the culmination of years of preparation and training. But at this moment, instead of the exhilaration that accompanied the rush of battle, he felt his confidence dissolve in a sudden rush of anxiety.

When he had been twelve years old, Harry had met the ambulant memory of a handsome young wizard that had been stored in a magical diary. He had been clever and charming, and Harry had been dazzled. It was the first crush of his new life in the Wizarding world and he had fallen all the harder upon learning that Tom Marvolo Riddle had been a brilliant student, a half-blood orphan like himself who spoke Parsletongue and who had even saved Hogwarts from a terrible menace. Even when Tom had revealed himself to be an especially malevolent Horcrux-ghost of the young Lord Voldemort, Harry had to admire his tenacity and his will to live. It was only by clinging to the conviction that Tom wasn’t actually a real person that Harry had been able to destroy him.

But the fact was that he’d never been able to forget him, either. Thoughts of Tom had haunted his daydreams and accompanied his fantasies. He’d never been able to discard the feeling that Tom had been attracted to him, seen something more in Harry than just an opportunity to destroy the boy who had vanquished his future self.

In any event, Harry had convinced himself that the reality of defeating the threat presented by a living Dark Lord was far more important than any emotions he might feel for an animated memory and had tried resolutely to fulfil his mission to kill Voldemort. And yet, here was the object of his longing, standing in the doorway to his bedroom, even more handsome than Harry remembered, a rebuke to his most deeply hidden desires.

Voldemort shut the door behind him and the room seemed immediately to grow smaller. “You were sleeping so soundly when I left that I had hoped for the pleasure of waking you myself,” he said with a thin smile. He was dressed in elegant black robes that were lined with expensive-looking green fabric. Harry guessed that he must have appropriated the garments from one of the many wardrobes in the house. It made him feel distinctly scruffy in comparison.

The perspective changed and Harry briefly saw himself through the other wizard’s eyes: untidy shoulder-length black hair, old glasses muting the green of his eyes, wiry arms, more dark hair across the lean chest and trailing in a ragged line between his ribs, gathering at the navel and vanishing into the loose waist of his trousers. With a flush of embarrassment, Harry pulled his shirt over his head with fingers made suddenly clumsy by unwelcome scrutiny. It was one thing to sense an enemy’s grudging respect – it was quite another to feel his eyes linger with what Harry would have called ‘interest’ had it been anyone else. Harry forced those thoughts from his mind – this wasn’t a social situation and the man before him presented a threat. “You were half-dead when I brought you here last night. I see you’ve had an amazing recovery,” he said irritably. It was no surprise that his head started to hurt.

“Remarkable indeed, all things considered,” Voldemort agreed with a pleased expression. “I admit that I was a bit surprised to find you in bed with me when I awoke this morning. I’ve never before slept with someone who had tried to kill me.”

Harry thought that he seemed altogether too smug, considering the situation. “It was a new experience for me, too,” he pointed out, adding, “and I didn’t just try to kill you.”

The other wizard’s smile grew broader. “Your house-elf didn’t seem at all surprised to see a new face first thing in the morning. I found the implication that I’m not the first man you’ve brought home for the night to be quite interesting.”

“So, I have a life!” Harry was indignant. “Did you think I spent all my time practising magic and hunting Dark wizards?”

“Were I in your position, that’s what I would have been doing,” Voldemort said condescendingly.

Harry was trying to frame a retort when a tray with cups and covered plates appeared on the dresser with a rattle of china. “I had breakfast sent up,” the Dark wizard smugly informed him.

It just then occurred to Harry that he had missed something of real significance and he turned the past few moments of conversation over in his mind, trying to discover what that might have been. “Wait a minute - you were downstairs?”

“Yes, I just told you. I spoke to your elf and had him send - ”

“Did anyone see you?” Now Harry was truly anxious. He had no difficulty imagining one of his friends strolling in for coffee and an update and encountering the Dark Lord the kitchen, casually reading the Daily Prophet at the counter as he waited for the kettle to boil.

“The elf!” Voldemort repeated with asperity. “I certainly didn’t make the food myself.”

Harry walked past him with a scowl and lifted the cover from one of the dishes. The enticing aroma of cinnamon wafted up from a stack of thick slices of French toast and a low rumbling in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday. He picked up a half and devoured it. “Did you want to talk about something important, or do you just want to make rude comments about my lifestyle?”

Voldemort laughed. The sound was so different from the high-pitched sound Harry was accustomed to hearing from him - so normal – that he stared in spite of himself. “By all means, Harry, let us discuss matters of importance. I wonder whether you understand the nuances of the situation. Our current impasse, for instance.”

“Actually, I understand it quite well,” Harry told him coolly as he reached for another slice. He was rewarded by a look of annoyance that briefly flitted across Voldemort’s countenance. “This is my house,” Harry continued, “and for the time being, you’re under my protection.”

“I am well aware that the house you inherited from your godfather is the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.” The Dark wizard watched him eat for a few moments. “I seem to have mislaid my wand. I don’t suppose that you’ve you seen it about?” Voldemort’s attentiveness belied his tone of casual indifference.

“It’s…somewhere safe.” Harry intentionally avoided meeting his eyes; no point in making things any easier for him.

“Of course. I should have known.” He scanned the room and noticed the only chair. Sitting down, he carefully arranged his robes around him and the ancient armchair took on an almost regal character. “It’s a shame that we’ve never had a civil conversation before this.”

It occurred to Harry that the situation was starting to look less like an interrogation than an audience. “That’s not my fault,” he pointed out. “You always start throwing curses, and having to dodge spells doesn’t make me especially…” he searched for the right word and settled on one of Hermione’s favourites, “…loquacious.” He bit into another slice of French toast and poured a mug of coffee, hoping the caffeine might help his headache.

“Then let us correct that oversight. Where would you like to begin the discussion: with our similarities or our differences?”

Harry shook his head with vehemence. “I’m nothing like you!”

“You permitted me to live,” Voldemort observed, watching him intently.

“That’s because it suited my plans at the time!” Harry retorted hotly.

The Dark wizard’s smile grew smug. “Then we’re even more alike than I imagined.”

“You’re wrong,” Harry argued. “Unlike you, I refused to become a killer. That’s the difference between us!”

“You acted out of self-interest. That makes us very much alike.”

Harry shifted impatiently. “Look, do you always do what you want?”

Voldemort’s eyes were alive with interest. “No, of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Because the most attractive option isn’t always the wisest.”

“Exactly!” Harry waited expectantly for his reaction.

“I see,” Voldemort said at last. “You are attempting to subvert the Prophecy. To what end?”

“I don’t have any grand strategy,” Harry assured him. “I’m making this up as I go along.” He poured another cup of coffee and sat down on the bed. His head still hurt, but he had a feeling that the situation might be improving.

“You must want something,” the Dark wizard mused.

“Oh, I want lots of things,” Harry agreed amiably. “But I’ll settle for being able to live life on my own terms, knowing that you’ll never be able to hurt anyone again.”

Voldemort studied him for a long moment. “I would like to make a confession.”

Nothing could have surprised Harry more and he tried to hide it behind a carefully neutral voice. “Oh? What’s that?”

“I seriously misjudged you - from the beginning and constantly thereafter.” When Harry showed no reaction, he continued. “I often said there was nothing special about you; I was wrong. You are indeed an exceptional wizard. Many things might have been different if only I had recognised it earlier.”

“Such as?”

Voldemort sighed. “It was foolish to make you my enemy.”

“It’s not as if I would ever have joined you,” Harry pointed out.

“But there were other possibilities. I made you my target and that distorted my original goals.”

Harry grimaced as he swallowed the rest of his coffee and poured another mug; one cup just wasn’t going to do it this morning. “You mean the Prophecy changed your plans.”

“I allowed myself to be distracted.”

Harry felt a bit insulted. “You killed my parents because they were a distraction?”

“I killed your parents as a matter of self-preservation,” Voldemort clarified. “After all, they had dedicated themselves to killing me.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair; the pain in his head was making it difficult to think and he definitely needed his wits about him. He took his mug over to the bed and sat down. “What about Hepzibah Smith?”

Voldemort actually smiled. “I found Miss Hepzibah a delightful old woman, though terribly foolish. She simply doted on me.”

“I happen to know that she was killed shortly after she showed you the Locket of Slytherin and a Cup that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff.” Harry looked for some sign that he had hit a nerve, but the other wizard merely appeared introspective.

“Miss Hepzibah was from a noble family and owned many things of historic value,” Voldemort recalled, his eyes growing distant. “Her only living relative was her niece, who was fond of jewels and frocks and parties. Unfortunately, the girl became involved with a Muggle boy who cared little for her exalted lineage or for the fact that she was a witch, but thought much of the fact that she had a wealthy aunt. He incurred a debt far beyond his means and one day he accompanied the niece to demand an enormous sum. When Miss Hepzibah refused, he killed her.

“After her death I recognised Hufflepuff’s Cup at an antiques stall in Birmingham and decided to investigate. It took a few days to track down the niece. She had begun to feel remorse for her part in the crime and had tearfully remonstrated with her Muggle boyfriend who responded by treating her in cruelly. When I discovered the miserable girl, she told me everything and offered to sell me the only item of value in her possession – the locket that had belonged to Slytherin. I gave her far more than Miss Hepzibah paid for it, I might add.”

“So you killed the boyfriend?”

Voldemort raised his eyebrows. “What do you think?”

“What about your father and grandparents?” Harry’s voice was sceptical.

“Oh, my father deserved it, and doubly so. When I presented myself at the family manor, my grandparents were appalled to learn that he’d abandoned my mother and the grandson they’d never known and they threatened to disown him on the spot. He was so fearful of losing his inheritance that he killed them with an overdose of their evening heart medication and was calming his nerves with a second brandy when I came downstairs for dinner.”

Harry was growing more annoyed. “D’you expect me to believe that you’re innocent of everything you’ve been accused of? Because that’s a load of - ”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve done both more and less in my life, little lion, than you’ve heard from Dumbledore and his precious Order! A reputation like mine tends to acquire embellishments over the course of time, but there’s no point in refuting the exaggerations. I don’t mind being thought responsible for every heinous deed that captures the imagination of the Wizarding world. The point is that you, Harry, are the only living person who can verify the facts.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, reigning in his temper.

“Parseltongue, and the nature of the connection we two share. The structure of Parseltongue is such that the speaker is unable to dissemble. In ancient times, all Wizarding folk spoke it as our native language. Non-magical humans recognised our inability to tell falsehoods and called us soothsayers, ‘truth-speakers’. Unlike the Muggle cultures around us, we esteemed the concept of truth beyond any anthropomorphic deity and developed it into our guiding philosophy. The civilisations of antiquity integrated it into their religions under names like Ma’at or Logos or Awen.”

Unaware that his coffee mug had slipped to a precarious position, Harry listened intently, the grip of his fingers unconsciously relaxing on the handle.

“We can, of course, continue this conversation in Parseltongue,” Voldemort went on. “However, if you still have doubts, there is another way to satisfy yourself that I’ve been speaking the truth.”

Harry immediately realised what the Dark wizard meant: the rebounded curse had left each of them with the means to access the mind of the other and they’d both exploited that ability in the past, to gain information as well as to mislead. Harry vividly remembered the time at the Ministry of Magic when Voldemort had used the link to possess him and there had been a distinctly erotic overtone to the encounter as they struggled to occupy the space of one body. Harry couldn’t help feeling that that, unless he had been specifically Occluding those particular thoughts, Voldemort had to be familiar with the secret fantasies about him, the ones that Harry hated to acknowledge even to himself. The pressure of his headache grew suddenly sharper and, without warning, the empty mug slipped from his fingers. He grabbed at it reflexively but he hadn’t played Quidditch in years and, instead of the graceful catch he intended, he fell off the bed in an uncontrolled dive and ended up on his elbows and knees on the floor - but he did manage to grab hold of the mug before it spilled coffee all over the antique rug.

Stunned, it took a moment for him to absorb the significance of the white cloth that appeared in front of him. “Accio napkin,” the Dark Lord said dryly and Harry realised that the other wizard had knelt down next to him to make the offering. He had the feeling that Voldemort didn’t kneel very often.

Harry sat back and accepted the napkin, feeling a faint tug at his conscience. Wiping the coffee that had sloshed from the mug from his hands, he recognised that the Dark wizard was masterfully playing the sympathy card by demonstrating his powerlessness and yet at the same time Harry could guess how much it had cost him to even acknowledge his present inability to use magic. Still, he wasn’t going to let Voldemort think he could be manipulated so easily “I think,” he muttered, “that you’re enjoying this way too much.”

“What about you, Harry?” the other wizard returned. “Aren’t you finding this conversation pleasant?”

Harry’s heart began to thud louder in response to the low rumble of his voice.

A corner of Voldemort’s mouth twitched. “Our destinies have suddenly become more closely entwined. It can only benefit me to work with you at this juncture.” He took the mug from his hand and placed on the nightstand while Harry tried not to think about the pleasant tingle that remained where their fingers had briefly touched. The Dark wizard smelled disconcertingly of Harry’s own soap and shampoo and the younger wizard found the effect of the sudden proximity more than a bit uncomfortable.

“I don’t need to look into your mind,” Harry said doggedly. “I know what you are. I just need to decide what to do with you.”

“On the contrary,” Voldemort countered, “you hardly know me at all. Perhaps you don’t think it worth your time to bother.”

“That’s not-” Harry began to feet a bit dizzy and his scar was tingling.

“You have me completely in your power,” Voldemort said softly, “and there are so many possibilities before you.” He drew closer and Harry nearly forgot to breathe as he looked into the depths of his eyes. He felt the other wizard’s mind touch his in a gentle caress, and Harry felt his defences begin to give way. He tried frantically to think of something – anything - to give him strength to resist: Lily’s screams. Sirius falling. Cedric’s staring eyes. Dumbledore lying broken at the base of the tower. Harry’s eyelids drifted down, his chin tilted as he leaned nearer…

Very few people are ever granted the opportunity to kiss the object of their fantasies, and as Harry brushed his lips against the other wizard’s he felt a thrill that reawakened all those years of unsatisfied cravings. He gently cupped Voldemort’s handsome face in his hands and kissed him slowly, savouring the myriad sensations that were so much better than his fantasies had ever been.

Months had passed since the break-up of his relationship with his first and only boyfriend that Harry no longer knew with absolute certainty how long it had been since the kisses he’d given and received had been more than friendly pecks. All he knew was that this kiss rendered every other one he’d experienced empty and devoid of passion.

Losing his balance, he toppled forward and they both ended up in a tangle of limbs on the floor. Harry laughed at the almost comical look of consternation on the face that for years had been his last thought each night before sleep had claimed him. Awkwardly straddling the man who had been his enemy, he trailed a finger across Voldemort’s bottom lip and mastered his surprise when his mouth opened at the slight pressure. Harry instinctively pressed closer, the pain in his head replaced by the thunder of his racing pulse in his ears as, impelled by a force he didn’t understand, he bent down and claimed the Dark wizard’s mouth.

Voldemort was acquiescent beneath him, permitting this familiarity without actually reciprocating. I bet he’s never kissed a bloke before, Harry thought, dazed. He sensed Voldemort’s amusement at the thought, and then –

“What do you think you’re doing?” Tom demanded.

Inexplicably, Harry was looking into grey eyes that were dark with desire.

His mind worked frantically to figure out what had happened. He could feel a determined tugging at his throat and the owner of the grey eyes laughed softly as he unknotted Harry’s tie. “It’s rather delightful that someone so brilliant has completely failed to notice all my scheming and machinations over the past year,” he said with an aristocratic British accent.

The scene had that sort of wispy quality that Harry associated with memories stored in a Pensieve but there was an immediacy that erased the objectivity of his previous experiences with viewing the recollections of others. He could feel the solid presence of a wall against his back and the very different pressure of a thigh pressing between his legs. Most peculiar of all, he felt his lips move and heard a voice that was not his own emerge from his mouth. “Is this a mutiny, lieutenant?” It was Tom Riddle’s voice and Harry abruptly understood that he had somehow entered one of Voldemort’s memories. There was no sense of detachment; it was almost as if he were reliving a moment in his own past – and given the situation, Harry thought that it was a memory he would probably have revisited frequently.

“Certainly not, my lord,” the young man drawled. “Though you may definitely consider it a kind of assault.” Harry could feel his pulse react as elegant fingers unbuttoned his collar. Ringlets of pale gold hair framed arching brows and high cheekbones, a nose that was a too sharp and lips that were a too thin to be considered attractive in a conventional sense. It was a countenance that seemed vaguely familiar, though, and Harry struggled to match a name to the face.

Quick as a striking serpent, Harry’s hand shot up to seize the young man’s wrist. “What do you mean?” he growled.

The young man – and Harry knew that he was a Malfoy, that his father had died the year before, and that he stood to inherit an immense fortune upon his next birthday – smirked and retaliated by pinching Harry’s nipple. “Getting you to my house, up to my room, out of your clothes, into my bed.” He bent close and Harry felt warm breath tickle his shoulder a second before teeth grazed the sensitive skin below his ear. He heard a groan and couldn’t be certain which of them had made the sound.

“Not very romantic,” Tom observed.

“Romance,” Abraxas replied airily, “is a kind of deception. Sex is primal. It is possessed of an elemental purity.” His hand skimmed along Harry’s ribs, lingered a moment where his skin met the leather of his belt and then continued down the taut wool flannel of his trousers. A smile twisted his mouth as Harry grew harder beneath his caress.

“I wonder where you gained such expertise.” Tom’s tone was bantering. Harry pushed into Abraxas’ hand and released his wrist to pluck the young man’s shirt from the waist of his trousers.

“Last summer, a cousin - ” Abraxas began, but apparently lost his train of thought as Harry began to unfasten his belt.

“This is rather bizarre as threesomes go,” Tom remarked. “I wonder which of us it is that you fancy – Abraxas or me.”

Harry was once again looking down at Tom – Voldemort, damn it! This was becoming needlessly complicated. The abrupt change in perspective left him blinking as he tried to re-adjust to his surroundings. They were sprawled together where they’d fallen and although Harry was embarrassed to notice the fingers that were hooked into the waist of his trousers and his own painfully obvious state of arousal, he was completely mortified to discover his right hand squeezing the rigid bulge that was stretching the fabric of the other wizard’s trousers.

“Sorry.” Harry said quickly, though he wasn’t entirely sincere. The Dark wizard’s elegant robes were dishevelled, his pristine shirt rumpled and untucked, his face was flushed and his eyes were uncertain. Harry had to agree with Abraxas that it was rather delightful to see the most powerful Dark wizard in centuries overwhelmed by simple physical contact.

He was, however, quite concerned about how the Dark wizard would react to the intrusion into his most personal memories. Harry recalled Snape’s anger when he had inadvertently glimpsed some of his memories during Occlumency training and he could only imagine that the Dark Lord’s rage would be much more terrible.

Contrary to his expectations, Voldemort merely frowned. “What have you to be sorry about?”

“Because of our duel, it wouldn’t be right to take advantage- ”

“There is no ‘right’!” Voldemort’s eyes glinted with a reddish light that cast his complexion into a waxy pallor and before Harry could reply he seized his shoulders in a grip so painful it was erotic and pulled him down into a savage kiss.

By this time, Harry was willing to concede that maybe there was no ‘wrong’, either. His headache had vanished and his mind was focused with a clarity that he had never before known. A sort of euphoria suffused his senses, causing a pleasant vibration through his limbs, and his pulse was thundering. Harry brushed aside dark, wavy hair and bent to press his lips to the other man’s translucent eyelids. Cool hands rucked up his shirt and pulled him closer – and Harry froze in shock to realise that their hearts were beating in tandem.

“What- ?” he began, pulling away, only to gape in astonishment at the scintillating cloud of particles that surrounded them. “Do you see that?” Harry asked shakily.

The other wizard looked about with a frown. “You can see it too?”

Harry gasped as he sensed the raw energy of the swirling particles. “What is it?”

“That,” Voldemort said, sounding just a bit like Phineas Nigellus, “is what magic looks like.”

“I never saw anything like it.” Harry looked about, awestruck.

“I have. Under certain heightened conditions.”

“When you were with Abraxas?” Harry guessed, hoping romantically that it was a phenomenon that accompanied the love-making of exceptionally powerful Wizarding folk.

“When I was…” Voldemort paused, considering. “When I was near death.”

This alarming information wasn’t what at all what Harry had expected. “So why can I see it now?”

“I rather blame your mother,” the other wizard answered shortly, and drew him down to kiss him again.

Under ordinary circumstances, an invocation of his mother would have sobered him at once. He had just enough presence of mind to wonder whether whatever had overtaken them had anything to do with the Prophecy, but then the thought was lost in the yearning that consumed him. Harry passed beyond rational thought and into a state of pure reaction. He slipped his arms around the other wizard and kissed him with all the intensity of years of frustrated desire.

And then a shriek rent the air, echoing through the house. “Blood traitors! Filthy half-breeds, besmirching the house of my fathers!”

Harry jumped almost guilty and felt Voldemort tense beneath him. The mood was irreparably shattered. Harry sat up, noticing that the scintillating nimbus was gradually dissipating, re-establishing the boundary that made the wizards two separate beings. The gulf between them now seemed unnatural and the very idea brought back his headache.

“That’s Mrs. Black’s portrait in the foyer,” he explained. “I have to go. The Order is starting to arrive.”

Something akin to wariness appeared for the first time in the Dark wizard’s eyes and Harry added, “It’s all right, though. I won’t leave you in a vulnerable position.”

“Do you think me defenceless, Harry?” Voldemort purred.

Harry blinked. “Well…erm…”

“I find that gratifying. I truly hope anyone else I may encounter will also believe me to be powerless.”

In spite of himself, Harry was impressed by his self-assurance. “You don’t ever give up, do you?”

A corner of his mouth turned up in a wry smile. “You don’t need to ask.”

Harry had a nagging suspicion that he was out of his league. They had been so close just a few moments before, almost as if they were one person and Harry had felt himself just on the verge of understanding the workings of the Prophecy. Now doubt assailed him and he wondered whether anything would ever be well again. “Do you feel any remorse at all?” he ventured.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed and Harry was afraid that he’d gone too far, but the other wizard considered the question and replied after a moment. “Of course I have regrets. Everyone who has truly lived has them. Remorse is an excuse fools use to explain their failures.”

Harry silently digested that. Finally, he clambered to his feet. The other wizard ignored the hand he offered and stood up with a graceful ease. Harry winced as Mrs. Black’s shrill voice launched into another rant, heralding the appearance of another member of the Order.

“Orion Black’s study is just across the hall,” Harry told him. “You can wait for me there. I’ll spell the door to admit just me and the house elfs.”

“Since I can’t leave the house – yes, of course I tried – I suppose I suppose I have little choice in the matter. What about Nagini?”

Harry frowned. “She must be around somewhere. Probably in the cellar – there’s plenty of rats. I’ll let Dobby and Kreacher know.”

“Kreacher?”

“A very old and extremely cantankerous house-elf,” Harry explained. “He’s sort of possessive about the place.”

“I believe I can hold my own against a house elf, even a particularly vicious one,” Voldemort said dryly.

Harry opened the door to the hallway and peered out. “Clear,” he said quietly and beckoned the Dark wizard to follow.

He opened the door across the hall and Voldemort swept past him, looking about the study with interest.

“If you need anything- ” Harry began.

“I’ll let the house elfs know,” the Dark wizard finished. His robes swirled as he turned to contemplate Orion Black’s book collection. The audience was over; Harry had been dismissed.

With mixed emotions, Harry closed the door behind him and placed several protective charms upon it. He turned away resolutely and stood in the silent hallway, considering his options. Half-formed plans and desperate schemes contended for his approval and anxiety hovered in the background, but amid the confusion he noticed the faint vibration of the strange power that had possessed him earlier. His attention made it grow a bit stronger and if he concentrated he could still feel a weak current as it flowed through him.

There was no way for him to determine its origin, and it really made no difference whether it was a residual effect of the protection his mother had given him or something from a more sinister source. Either way, he was going to put it to good use. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have a plan - improvisation suited him best anyway. Instead, he focused on his goal: he had a life to save.

There was a hollow thunk from below and a gruff voice echoed up the stairwell. “Harry?”

He could sense the magical eye searching for him. “Be right down, Alastor,” Harry called, and went downstairs to confront the next challenge.

Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment!

Back to the Table of Contents

Birthday Wishes!

2008-05-31T00:31:04Z

Happy Birthday, grazhir!

And if any of the Harry/Tom-Voldemort fans on my f-list haven't yet read her fics -
One Winged Angel, Forsaken, Control Issues, Control Issues: Aftermath - what are you waiting for?
Go to her site here or visit her page at ff.net here and immerse yourself in the classics!

New Fic: The Things We Do For Love

2008-04-05T17:08:53Z

Author: Pipenerd/ Mizstorge (2008)
Word Count: About 1053.
Genres: AU, Romance.
Warnings: Implied slash.
Summary: The Death Eaters are betting Harry won't pass the test...
My Beta: hobtheknife
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. (looks in mirror: Nope, not her.) Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.
Author’s Notes: This was written for the Spring Cookie Fest sponsored by the S.S. Sssssss at Fiction Alley. The prompt was “whipped” from meitkitsume.

The event which Harry alone referred to as ‘The Death Eater Annual Picnic’ was held on the first Saturday of July. It was a misnomer, because not all the guests were actually Death Eaters, though they were all friends of the Chosen One and the Dark Lord.

The weather hadn’t turned out to be flawless, but the overcast skies refrained from dampening the proceedings. A pavilion had been set up in the back gardens and chairs were scattered in the shade of the trees. Since the children were too young to participate in any activities, lawn games had been set up for the adults. A dulcimer player provided background music from the gazebo while a group at an umbrella-shaded table played a leisurely game of tarrochi for trifling stakes.

“…so she had a jumper knitted for me with a big green G on the chest,” Greg Goyle complained as he discarded the four of Wands.

“You’re owned, Goyle.” Draco smirked as he picked up the four and laid it down with the ace, two and three. “She admired her old boyfriend's so much that she wants you to dress just like him.”

“What about you?” Greg retorted. “I can’t remember the last time you played Quidditch!”

“We all must make concessions to ensure domestic tranquillity.” Lucius glanced at Rodolphus, who nodded in agreement as he drew a card.

“You men act like you have it so bad!” Ginny scoffed. The only woman at the table, she also had accumulated the largest stack of chips. “It’s not like us women don’t have to give things up! I haven't played Quidditch since last September. We hardly ever go out anymore unless it’s with people Luna knows from the Quibbler and they’re really boring people.” She laid out three aces to the assorted sighs and groans of the other players.

The cards skittered across the table to Rodolphus, who swept a speculative gaze around at the other players as he shuffled. “I have a proposition to suggest and if you’re willing, we can make it more interesting by placing small bets. Each of us will send a house elf to our significant others to ask them to come to our table. Whoever has the most obedient partner will win part of the pot.”

“I’m in,” Blaise said at once and one by one the rest of them agreed with various expressions of confidence.

“I believe that I’ll participate in your wager,” came a quiet voice and they looked up to see Lord Voldemort.

“Putting Harry to the test, my lord?” Lucius drawled. Everyone had heard rumours of the stubborn arguments between the two wizards and it was a matter of fact that any public engagement would be delayed as the two of them fought to the bitter end over the details of every new law and government programme.

“For the amusement of our friends.” Voldemort dropped a pouch on the table and slipped into an empty chair. “I wager fifty galleons.”

Even Blaise raised an eyebrow at that, but they all counted out like amounts.

Rabastan Lestrange chuckled from a chair off to the side. “Since I am unencumbered by domestic bonds, I will supervise the proceedings to make certain there are no attempts to unfairly influence things by the use of Imperius curses.”

A house elf was summoned and given instructions. Greg, who was sitting to Rabastan’s right, went first. Hermione was playing Trouve with Bellatrix and Percy and while she listened politely to the elf’s request, she glanced up at Greg with a “not now” shake of her head as her Niffler shot through the wickets.

“Oh, bad luck,” Draco said insincerely, but he grimaced when Pansy was too busy supervising the barbecue to heed the elf’s message.

When it was Blaise’s turn, Justin was in the garage with Harry, Oliver and Ted checking out Harry’s motorbike. Narcissa was babysitting her grandson, and Bellatrix was on her way to winning the game of Trouve. To her credit, Luna sent an apology to Ginny and promised to bring her a sketch of a Nargle nest if she found one.

“It’s up to you to you, my lord,” Rabastan announced. This was greeted with suppressed smiles and significant glances as the players relaxed in the secure knowledge that their gold was safe.

“Ask Harry to come here,” Voldemort ordered. He turned his attention to the heated competition at the Trouve wickets, and they all watched as Percy’s Niffler surged from behind to win.

A moment later, a figure appeared from the direction of the garage. “I don’t believe it!” Draco muttered as Harry strode toward them across the lawn.

“What’s going on?” he inquired, squinting as he looked down at Voldemort.

The Dark Lord’s smile was beyond smug. “It’s nearly twelve o’clock,” he replied. “I wondered whether you thought we should have lunch.”

Harry shrugged. “Fine with me. What have you been doing?”

Rodolphus stood up with the pouch of gold heavy in his hand. “We’ve been playing a game,” he told Harry, “and he just won.”

“Oh. Congratulations.” Voldemort’s expression was triumphant as Harry squeezed his shoulder.

They walked toward the pavilion together as the group at the table broke up for lunch.

“I could tell from your thoughts that you wanted me for something important,” Harry said in a low voice. “What was that all about?”

Voldemort put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “A wager over power and control, Harry. And I won.”

Harry grinned. “So, what are you going to buy for me?”

“It's a very good thing indeed that you saved such a comment until the others could not hear it,” the Dark Lord commented dryly.

“We’re partners. Besides, someone once told me that there is no good or evil, only power.”

“I thought you believed in love?” Voldemort's tone was bantering.

Harry thought a moment, and then said, “ ‘Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, thy head, thy sovereign, one that cares for thee and for thy maintenance; And craves no other tribute at thy hands but love, fair looks, and true obedience.’ ”

Voldemort looked at him in silence. Then he nodded slowly and handed Harry the pouch of gold. “You win,” he said.

__________________
Quote is from 'The Taming of the Shrew'

Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment!

Query: What are the New Classics of H/T-LV?

2008-03-05T01:14:07Z

This question was recently posed at the S.S. Sssssss. What fics are contemporary? Canon-compliant? Which do you think does a good job of representing the pairing?

Ironically, I'm having difficulty deciding and can only point to the old darklord_news Tom/Harry-Voldemort/Harry masterlist or to the listings at team_darklord.

Looking for a few good slashy books...

2008-02-14T16:47:17Z

Has anyone read David Levithan's 'Boy Meets Boy' or 'How They Met'?

How about Wicked Gentlemen by Ginn Hale?

And I just discovered, for what it's worth, that LJ has a Slashy Books community!

New Fic: Spelt from Sybil's Leaves

2008-02-10T02:38:33Z

Title: Spelt from Sybil’s Leaves
Author: Pipenerd/ mizstorge (2008)
Dedication: Belated birthday wishes to shaitanah, a dear friend and marvelous writer!
Word Count: About 865
Genres: AU, Romance, Angst.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slash
Summary: The Dark Lord muses about the changes Harry has brought about in his life. Pure romantic mush of a drabble, really. Consider it like getting a box of truffles for Valentine’s day.
My Beta: hobtheknife
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. (looks in mirror: Nope, not her.) Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.
Author’s Notes: This was inspired by Gabzies's While You Were Sleeping.

“Our tale, O our oracle!”

Gerard Manley Hopkins, Spelt From Sybil’s Leaves, 1918.

Dark, tousled hair lies on the pillow next to mine. I have to lean close, my Harry, to hear the gentle sound of your breathing, to see the rise and fall of your shoulder as you sleep.

It is unsettling how your presence in my life has changed everything. I never slept with anyone before you. Sex was a necessary function, as essential as eating and as quickly forgotten. Something about you transforms the act, causes me to linger, to reassess the connection between touch and reaction. I cherish the way you look at me, by turns demanding or enraptured; I am humbled by the tumult of emotion that accompanies the waves of delight that surge through my body. When I reach out to hold you close in the moments before sleep, I feel a primal satisfaction in claiming something so precious as mine.

I never imagined that a wizard might feel comforted by my presence and yet you curl up by my side in prefect contentment. I can sense your presence in my dreams and feel your body pressing closer in the night as you unconsciously try to erase the boundaries between us. That is what drew us together: the realisation that neither of us could be whole or content without the other, the growing suspicion that one could not survive were the other to die. And yet, however close the connection or intense the pleasure we share, a doubt mars this tranquillity: while I can possess your body and share your thoughts, you remain a separate entity, a being in your own right that I can never completely control or own. You have chosen to be with me; you might just as easily change your mind and choose someone or something else, leaving me bereft. You are teaching me the futility of dominion and the necessity of uncertainty and I find this new philosophy difficult to accept.

I have never belonged to anyone before. I have always been the one to claim and take, to accept allegiance and to reject the unworthy. Now, I strive to meet your expectations, for my own are no longer high enough. My goals have changed and my plans have been altered by the fact of your presence. I am uncharacteristically at a loss to understand how this happened. I intended to kill you, Harry, protecting myself by fulfilling a prophecy but, as Laius discovered, it is difficult to evade destiny. Instead, you subverted my intention, insinuated yourself in my existence by ensnaring a portion of my soul.

I have disparaged love all my life. It was another name for manipulation, helplessness and slavery. You have made me doubt this, as so much else. You are re-forging me, and I fear and hope in equal measure that whatever I am becoming is both acceptable to me and pleasing to you. The one thing I cannot tolerate in myself is weakness, but I know you do not demand that of me; you admire strength too much.

I have never had an equal before, my Harry. I do not think it has occurred to you how difficult it is for me to share power, or to defer to you, to admit that in some cases your knowledge is superior or that you are better suited by experience.

And yet, in spite of this perpetual state of uncertainty, I feel as though together we have passed beyond the point of no return. When I watch you sleeping like this, I am suffused with the indescribable happiness you have brought to my life. I think you are happy, too, although it sometimes occurs to me that all this is strange to you as well. I wonder whether, in spite of your innate abhorrence of structure and strategy, this period of constant reinvention might not be just as uncomfortable for you as it is for me.

When confronted by one of the frequent paradoxes brought about by our bond, you often shrug with a maddening lack of concern and smile. “We’ll just wing it,” you say. Tonight, I begin to suspect that perhaps your response isn’t, after all, some Seeker’s contingent game plan but an admission of surrender to the strange and powerful unseen forces at work in our lives.

I remember the day I taught you to fly and how you took to it so easily. You told me that you really didn’t understand how you had done it; you just abandoned yourself to the power of gravity. Perhaps this “winging it” is your way of expressing that same sort of confidence in the force you call ‘love’.

The only power I have ever believed in that strongly is the power of magic. I have wielded its strength, tested its limits and put my trust in its ability to save my life in desperate circumstances. Even so, magic is merely a tool. I have never before found any power or being to which I have been willing to relinquish control, to allow it to guide my life and determine my future.

But I admit that now, at this moment, I am willing to finally place that sort of faith in you.

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A Single Magic - Chapter Two

2008-01-29T00:45:16Z

Title: A Single Magic - Chapter Two
Author: Pipenerd/ mizstorge(2008)
Word Count: About 2380
Chapter Summary: Lord Voldemort has a glimpse of the Afterlife
Genres: AU, Slash, Romance.
Rating: PG-13 for themes of death
My Beta: hobtheknife
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling created and owns Harry Potter. (looks in mirror: Nope, not her.) Rights are held by JKR, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic. Warner Brothers and goodness knows who else. If the fans had copyright, the series would be much more interesting! Not profiting, just enjoying.
Author's Notes: Yes, my friends, hell has frozen over! It's taken over two months to finish this chapter, but you were warned at the outset! Thanks for your patience and words of encouragement. I know that I promised bedroom foolishness in this chapter as compensation for the long delay, but Lord Voldemort completely took over and I had to defer the slash until the next chapter. I hope you will still find this an enjoyable read without the flirtation and innuendo.

It is said that Death is a being, the Grim Reaper, the last enemy to be conquered. Lord Voldemort, who had averted Death more often than anyone who had ever lived, knew this to be nonsense.

Death was a door.

The instant in which Potter’s Coruscating spell had slipped past his guard, striking the hand he had been using for defense and exploding up his right arm, he’d realised that he had only a few seconds before his nervous system began to shut down. He had anticipated possible injury and with a single word activated the net of spells he’d kept in readiness to staunch any trauma before shock set in and his ability to concentrate receded. He knew from previous near-Death experiences that he needed to maintain the proper focus just long enough to activate a Horcrux. However, Potter was still dangerous and any second might speak the words that would put an abrupt end to the Dark Lord’s plans. Voldemort decided to risk hurling a curse at Potter -

- only to see the chandelier swaying directly overhead. He realised too late that he’d lost his balance and fallen. Time was of the essence, but he could not bring to mind the words of the Horcrux charm. Hissing filled his mind, but he was no longer able to distinguish language in the sounds. He could sense his spells disintegrating, one by one; he heard the silence as his heartbeat ceased, and felt the air crushed from his lungs as his chest fell for the last time.

But somehow, even as every other faculty failed, he was still able to sense the presence of magic. Some of it radiated from Harry and, without knowing exactly how he did it, Voldemort tapped into the power, using it to try to locate the Horcrux he knew was nearby.

He had experienced forcible eviction from his body frequently enough as not to be overly alarmed, but he was acutely aware that the time required to complete the Horcrux charm was growing short. It wasn’t enough to have magically imbedded a portion of the soul in an object; the charm needed to be activated in order for the phenotype to restore the physical body and then, with the final incantation, reunite it with the soul fragment.

He was aware that Death’s Door was swinging open and felt the powerful attraction exerted by the world that lay beyond it. There was a wrench and he was floating above his body. He noticed that Nagini was loyally poised above his still form, guarding it as she had done on previous occasions. Potter was searching the room, doubtless looking for the Horcrux himself. A cold wave of anger washed through him, but he forced his attention back to the immediate task; he would deal with Potter after he’d achieved the more urgent goal of averting personal annihilation.

With difficulty in his disembodied state, he finally located the ethereal golden cord that leashed the sliver of soul to the locket. Grasping it firmly, he began the sequence that would activate the charm –

- and an irresistible gust violently swept him from the room, propelled him at breakneck speed through a tunnel of light and then unceremoniously hurled him into the darkness beyond the Door. The only thing that prevented his visit from being a permanent one was the iron grip he’d maintained on the cord attached to the Horcrux.

He hovered just inside the threshold, trying to calm his mind. Of course, it wasn’t his first passage through the Door, but it did mean that his survival on the physical plane was that much more precarious. Time was quickly becoming his enemy and any further delay in the process could be fatal.

In spite of the danger, he couldn’t help but notice that the Doorway was a busy place just now. Wizards and witches were crowded together along with Muggles who had recently passed through. Although a few seemed to be panicking at this unwelcome turn of events, most were placidly waiting to be conducted to a destination of one sort or another. Some were being carried away in the arms of winged beings in regal robes. A few were clustered on the banks of a broad river, watching the ancient ferry that was returning empty from the other side. Several familiar-looking witches and wizards were waiting on what incongruously appeared to be a train platform.

Voldemort had, in the course of his previous visits, beheld many sorts of entities on this side. A few were seekers, sorcerers or mystics who had entered a trance state and left their bodies behind as they travelled beyond the threshold in search of information. Then there were the various species of beings that seemed to dwell in this world and apparently belonged to an altogether different order of existence; some of them were benevolent while others were malign and dangerous. He had once witnessed a band of waiting souls joyously greet the arrival of a creature wearing a vaguely human shape with a shining countenance and shimmering wings; a moment later, their elation turned to terror as the angelic form sprouted a myriad tentacles and its mouth yawned impossibly wide to devour all of them.

In spite of his determination to leave as soon as possible, he paused when he recognised Rabastan Lestrange among a small cluster set apart from the rest. He absently counted six of his Death Eaters and three who had been Aurors, along with four or five others who had presumably perished in incidents unrelated to the recent battle at the Riddle mansion. Perspective was distorted in this peculiar place and as he turned his attention to the scene, it grew in size as if he had drawn closer.

An elegant black carriage appeared, drawn by two leonine creatures, and the arrival excited a stir among the waiting Wizarding folk. When it finally came to a stop and the compartment door opened, the group hushed and not a few heads craned expectantly as a figure stepped from the vehicle.

“Tom!”

He turned from the scene to see a figure drawing swiftly near through the tunnel. It was that of a witch and he experienced something of a shock as he realised the identity of the crone who paused before him. She had been an intelligent and lovely girl, he recalled. At one time she had been drawn to him and his cause but her devotion had unfortunately dissolved beneath the prying scrutiny of that busybody, Dumbledore. “Minerva,” he returned with an impassive gaze.

“Oh, Tom,” she began earnestly. “it isn’t too late! We can pass through together- ”

But whatever she had been going to suggest was lost in a deep rumble of laughter. “Lord Voldemort is a wizard, Minerva! What do you think he might possibly find of interest in the insipid sort of eternity to which lesser souls aspire?”

The personage who had spoken wore the shape of a man but any impression of humanity was contradicted by the aura of immense power that radiated from his presence. He wore an elegant dark suit of contemporary Wizarding cut and a cloak of rich azure was thrown over his wide shoulders. Dark hair hung down his back in curls and a thick beard reached to the middle of his broad chest. He spread his arms and smiled with teeth that were very white.

Recognition dawned in Minerva’s startled eyes. “Prince Kassapraxites?” she ventured.

This time his laughter held no mirth. “Did I not once hear you say that the stories of the god of wizards were merely tales told for the amusement of children?”

Minerva clutched her hands to her breast in a gesture that might have been either defense or supplication. “No- I mean yes, I didn’t believe-”

“Yet I appeared to you in dreams and answered your prayers,” the deity growled. Minerva shrank backward, shaking her head as if to refute his words.

The golden cord in Voldemort’s grip gave a twitch and he was sharply reminded of his crucial objective. Leaving the two of them to their discussion, he wound the cord around his hand and moved forward, slowly pulling himself back up the brilliant tunnel.

He was drawing near to the opening at the other end when a shape appeared at his side. “Do you require assistance, my friend?” Kassapraxites enquired. Voldemort glanced over his shoulder and was unsurprised to see the princely god still deep in conversation with Minerva at the tunnel terminus. He pressed forward without reply, saving his strength for the task ahead of him.

“Oh, you remain independent to the last,” the immortal continued. “Truly, you have been my favourite among all the Dark Lords.”

At this, Voldemort raised a sceptical brow. “More even than Grindlewald?”

Kassapraxites’s countenance darkened, but then a peal of laughter burst from deep within his chest. “Neither courage nor perspicacity have deserted you in this predicament! I see there is nothing that can defeat you, my lord. Remember, no matter what circumstances may befall you, I will always answer when you call.”

Voldemort paused on the threshold and nodded once. It would not do, at this juncture, to offend so mighty a being without cause. Kassapraxites grinned and clapped his shoulder with a strength that propelled him back through the Door.

He perceived that a great deal of time had passed, though he refused to give credence to the nagging worry that perhaps he had been gone too long to reclaim his life. He gathered his will and flew toward the spot where his shed body lay. A scintillating cloud roiled above it, raw energy without physical substance: magic. His magic. The shimmering force paused in its restless movement, and then seemed to coalesce into a vaguely human form. Even in this disembodied state, he felt anger at the thought that Potter wouldn’t even recognise it, or use it if even he’d noticed its presence. And at the thought, his will became adamant: as long as magic existed in the world, there must be a wizard strong enough to wield it, unafraid of its power, with vision to bend it to his will. He would live again.

The words of the Horcrux charm formed in his mind and the golden cord grew bright, stronger than a chain of antique gold, more tenacious even than grief. With a sensation that was not unlike Apparation, he was yanked forward, squeezed into a singularity and threaded through an aperture roughly the size of a locket.

Like a baby drawing its first breath, he cried out as the charm reunited his body and soul. Opening his eyes, he saw himself reflected in two round lenses. The irony of the situation brought a taunt to his lips and he grasped Potter’s wrist with an unfamiliar strength, but before he could pronounce a curse the shock that always followed re-embodiment claimed his consciousness.

He awoke with that sense of eased discomfort which presages recovery from a long illness. For the first time he could recall, his body was without pain and his senses were unhindered. He was aware that he was stretched out upon soft, thickly padded fabric that rested on a firm surface. He detected particles of dust and an aura of age in the air he inhaled, tinged with the tang of youthful vitality and the tell-tale vibration that always accompanies magic. The left side of his body was cold, in contrast to the warmth of his right side. He noticed the source of the heat was accompanied by faint and regular sounds, and there seemed to be a weight on that side as well, that caused his body to turn slightly in that direction.

It took a few moments for him to realise that someone was sleeping next to him.

Although he was accustomed to sleeping alone, this did not trouble him as much as perhaps it ought. There was an indefinable aura of comfort and security emanating from this presence. He imagined that a child might sense such perfect safety with a parent or sibling.

He stumbled upon the realisation that he could not remember having experienced the reassuring embrace of a mother’s arms or a father’s protective presence. A gulf opened before him as he wondered whether he had lost his memories and frantically tried to recall who he was, what he had done, anything...

Then knowledge ignited and flared within him, a searing light which drove away the shadows and doubt from his conscious mind.

Lord Voldemort opened his eyes, fully himself once again.

A low fire of obviously magical origin flickered in the fireplace and illuminated the bedroom. When he turned his head, hair tickled his nose and eyes. He hardly dared to believe, but – it was Potter.

He considered the young man incongruously sleeping at his side, head against his shoulder, right arm flung across his chest, the fingers of his empty wand hand twitching as he dreamed. Interesting. He reached out with his mind at the same time as he commenced a search among the bedclothes with his hand, but there seemed to be no wand in the room.

Frowning, he analysed the situation. Potter had defeated him in a formal duel. Instead of alerting the Aurors, he had taken him somewhere – probably the mansion he’d inherited. He’d taken the precaution of depositing their wands elsewhere before falling asleep in the same bed. Although Voldemort knew that Potter tended to improvise rather than plan, there seemed to him but one explanation for this behaviour and it held no more appeal to him than would finding himself in the custody of the Ministry.

He wanted his wand. He needed more information.

Voldemort performed the mental adjustment that allowed him to slip inside Potter’s mind. The younger wizard was dreaming: arguing with his friends, the pure-blood Weasley boy and the Muggle-born witch. The disorganization of Potter’s thought processes provided an effective, if unintentional, defence against Voldemort’s search and he finally gave up with a sigh.

He deepened his enemy’s sleep and extricated himself from beneath him. There was nothing for it but to explore his enemy’s territory for answers. He opened the door and set off into the house, a cobra stealthily prowling the den of a sleeping mongoose.

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