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lomonaaerenTitle: Glassfall
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Past Voldemort/Lily, otherwise gen
Content Notes: Violence, minor character deaths, AU after fifth year (Harry is Voldemort’s son), present tense, gore, torture, angst, dark Voldemort
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sequel to “Shattered Pieces of the Human.” Harry returns to Hogwarts to finish up his sixth year. With Snape dead, Dumbledore escaped, and his father making changes in Hogwarts, Harry presses every day closer to the edge of what it means to be Voldemort’s son.
Author’s Notes: This is the fourth story in my Broken Glass Life series, sequel to “Broken Glass Life,” “Dark Prince of the Glass Court,” and “Shattered Pieces of the Human.” I’d recommend reading those first. This will be a WiP, and at the moment, I don’t know how long it will be.
Glassfall
Chapter One—Honor and Obligation
“The tree is pretty.”
“The lights aren’t actual fairies you can eat,” Harry says absently. He’s curled up with one of the books that Voldemort gave him for Christmas (and just thinking those words still causes part of his soul to scream). This one is about the history of Dark Arts and why certain spells got banned. It’s interesting, if gory in the description of the spells.
“I know they are not fairies.” Basilisk’s bond in Harry’s mind turns indignant mauve. “I would not try to eat them.”
“Then why are you lingering around the tree?” Harry asks, and rolls over on the couch to watch his snake.
Here, in Voldemort’s house (the house he bought for Harry, this is so weird), Basilisk isn’t wearing the Disillusionment Charm that keeps her invisible to everyone but Harry at school. So Harry can more easily see the fascinated way she sways back and forth in front of the tree, and roll his eyes at her.
“The lights feel like your magic.”
“I didn’t set them up, though.”
The bond grows dark and turgid, and Basilisk turns to slither back to the couch and him. Harry extends his arm for her to climb up, and wonders when it started to feel natural to do that. “I know that. I am not stupid. But they feel like your magic nevertheless.”
“I wonder why, then.” Harry frowns at the fairy lights and wonders if he could have created them. To be fair, he doesn’t even know if they’re illusions or conjured, and he doesn’t know the degree of complicated spellwork Voldemort might have had to use.
“They feel like your magic because your blood-master created them and his magic is your magic.”
Harry swallows. That’s something he didn’t consider. He wonders briefly if someone could figure out he’s Voldemort’s son even if they don’t know by the feel of his magic, and then dismisses the notion. It’s unlikely that anyone would have been around Voldemort and looking for that instead of running for their lives.
“Harry.”
The sound of his name in Parseltongue is almost as familiar as it is in English now. Harry rolls over and gives his father as calm and normal a smile as he can. From the way that Voldemort pauses with his head cocked, he doesn’t buy it.
“Harry is upset because your magic feels like his,” Basilisk says, and sways a little to greet Voldemort before she goes back to inspecting the tree.
“Why are you upset?”
Harry swallows. He almost wishes they could go back to meetings in dreams, even though he’s glad to be home (so weird) for the holiday. Those red eyes focused on him in real life are as intense as a forest fire.
“I didn’t know that mine was like yours. And I was wondering if someone who had felt both of ours would be able to tell that I was your son even without my telling them.”
“It is extremely unlikely.” Voldemort flows into a chair across from Harry and settles down. Nagini slithers into the room and hisses a greeting to Basilisk before coiling around Voldemort’s feet. “Because they would not have had time to feel mine.”
Harry nods. It’s the same reason he thought of, after all.
“I understand that you are to go spend time with Theodore and Isidore tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I rather enjoy it when you speak to me as a son speaks to a father, rather than as a cringing follower speaks to the Dark Lord.”
Harry hesitates. He could say he was just trying to be respectful, but he’s been calling Voldemort “Father,” mostly, since he got—home. “I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to take advantage of our relationship.”
Voldemort watches him with wide eyes for long enough that Harry thinks he’s mis-stepped and is going to get hit with Crucio at last. Then the Dark Lord throws his head back and roars with laughter.
Nagini rears up at the same time and sways back and forth as if looking for prey. Then she gives a hiss that Harry can only describe as disappointed and settles back around Voldemort’s feet. Harry watches her and thinks of something he wants to ask her later.
“I told him that of course your magic feels like each other’s. I told him clearly.”
“You are not at fault, little one,” Voldemort hisses at Basilisk, and looks at Harry with his eyes still shining with the edge of his laughter. “Harry, of course you will take advantage of our relationship. You will have advantages as my son that should have been yours since the day you were born. I wish you to take after me. I wish you to use me—as much as you can. There are uses I will push back against, of course.”
Harry stares at him, bewildered. “But—there must be a limit to your tolerance.”
“If you were to run around Gryffindor Tower telling everyone in sight that you are my son, you would find one very quickly. Or if you were to tell people about Horcruxes.”
Harry shivers at the edge of cold in those words, but it braces him like a winter wind. At least he knows he’s standing on solid ground.
“But you would not do such a thing,” Voldemort adds, and yanks the solid ground away. “I trust you.”
“Why?”
“Why would I not? You are my son. My heir. My Horcrux.”
“We were mortal enemies six months ago.”
“So much can change in six months,” Voldemort says, and he sounds like Basilisk does when she’s hissing Harry to sleep. “So much, my son. You have passed the tests that I thought you might not pass. You have begun to assemble your court. You have resisted Dumbledore’s temptations. Did you think there would be no reward?”
“I thought—no reward that I would accept.”
“I would not have forced you to torture or murder. If you ever wish to, of course, you shall tell me.”
Harry decides that the wistful tone to Voldemort’s Parseltongue is too much for him, and seeks to ease him back from the edge. “Okay. So you want me to call you Father and it’s fine to go over to Theo’s tomorrow.”
“Yes. Of course, you will take Basilisk with you and you will wear a Portkey. You will always wear a Portkey from now on.”
Harry nods. It’s kind of surprising that Voldemort let him go to Hogwarts without one. “Of course—Father.”
Voldemort gives a contented hiss and engages Harry in a conversation about Ancient Runes. Harry can admit that it’s pretty fascinating, and he sort of wishes he’d taken the class at Hogwarts. But he has enough classes. Enough to worry about.
When Voldemort leaves the sitting room, Nagini lingers behind. Maybe she can sense that he has something to ask her. Harry sees no reason to hesitate. “Do you ever dislike or resent me? You would have killed me in the graveyard where—Father was resurrected.”
Nagini gives him a look that seems far less expressive than Basilisk’s eyes do. Then again, Harry doesn’t have a bond with her. “You are my master’s son. I am here to think about you and protect you.”
Think about me? But Harry doesn’t ask that aloud. Instead, he says, “Yes, but that was only a few years ago. You would have killed me.”
“You are his son.”
Nagini slithers away before Harry can ask her anything else. Harry sighs despite himself. This is—well, he supposes that he ought not to have expected any different answer from a snake, but it’s still strange to him how they can just accept reality and not care about what happened a few months ago.
Everything is so strange.
“I told you that your magic was like the blood-master’s. I do not understand why you are so upset about it.”
“I’m not upset about it. I’m just—trying to understand.”
“You are his son.”
Harry gives up, and returns to his book.
*
Everything is the most delightful shade of red and yellow in Lord Voldemort’s mind. The world used to be black and purple, like a bruise, and things did bruise, but now they have healed, and now the world is wonderful and the most delightful shade of red and yellow.
There was the small unhealed mystery of who the Unspeakable he seduced had been, and now he knows. There is the danger of the Horcruxes being discovered, but now they are hidden in new places, and the most important of all is safe in ways that even he will never know of.
There is the marvelous chaos of his son’s mind, full of worries and moral qualms that Lord Voldemort shrugged past long ago, and that is the most delightful thing of all.
His son. His heir. His Horcrux. His Harry, who used to be his mortal enemy. There is no one else on Earth who could be all those things, and Lord Voldemort never even imagined the combination. It has been decades since he was surprised by something. Even his disembodiment and the length of time it took him to return to his body was only enraging, not surprising.
But now…
Harry is new. A new thing in the world.
He is not to be destroyed. He is not to be touched.
He is to be happy.
Lord Voldemort will happily destroy everyone else in the world on his son’s word. He waits on that word.
But in the meantime, he has changes at Hogwarts to make, while his mind is awash in delightful red and yellow.
*
Isidore stands back with his hands clasped behind him as Harry Gaunt comes through the fire. He wishes to observe his son’s interactions with the Dark Prince while they both focus on each other and do not notice him there.
The Prince’s snake does seem to notice him. She is visible, curled around his throat, and flickers her tongue at him. But Gaunt is busy sweeping soot from his clothes, until Theo steps forwards with a bow and a murmured word to do it for him.
Gaunt smiles at Theo. Theo smiles back.
Isidore restrains a sigh. He can remember being dazzled by the Dark Lord’s magic back when they were both students at Hogwarts, and it took him years to get over that level of—infatuation. For him, it was never sexual, although it was for some of the other Death Eaters. But Isidore remembers what it was like to be in love with his Lord’s magic.
He also knows that he is a better advisor and courtier to his Lord now that he is past that phase.
He only hopes that Theo, whose eyes shine more strongly with the light than Isidore knows his own ever did, will achieve the balance sooner rather than later. And that is for both Theo and Gaunt’s sakes.
*
“Your gift, my lord.”
Harry jumps like a dragon with a burned tail, which is so funny that Theo has to bite his lips to keep his amusement inside. He’s sure, though, that their bond is singing with it, and Harry gives him a half-hearted glare before turning to gape at the wrapped package again.
“But I didn’t get you anything.”
Harry’s voice is small. Theo blinks, and blinks again. “The lord doesn’t have to get gifts for his courtiers.”
“But it’s wrong. It’s unfair.”
Theo checks a sigh. This is one of those things that he didn’t even think about affecting Harry, because—why would he? But Harry is different from any other Lord that Theo might have served.
“My lord.” Theo leans forwards. They’re in the small sitting room in Nott House, the one that Father has granted Theo leave to turn into his private study, and only the flicker of the small fire in the marble hearth competes with his voice. “Listen to me. Our relationship is not equal—”
“You’re important!”
“It’s not equal,” Theo says, as patiently as he can. “You’re always going to matter in ways I do not and need things I do not. Likewise, I matter in ways you don’t and need things you don’t.” He notices that Harry is calming down when Theo says he doesn’t always matter, and checks a sigh. He sort of resents the Dark Lord for murdering those Muggles first. “One of those things I need is to take care of you.”
“But it’s not—fair.”
At least he hasn’t tried the word equal, Theo thinks, but the bond is so heavy and molten between them that he knows he has to say something. “I would be uncomfortable if you got me a gift, my lord. It would feel like obligation, since we weren’t friends before the Marking and didn’t know each other that well.”
“And this isn’t an obligation?”
“It is my honor.”
Harry gazes at him, quietly and steadily, for what seems a long time, while his bond grows quiet as well. His snake hisses something to him. Harry hisses back, and then takes a breath and nods.
“All right. Thank you, Theo.”
Theo feels dizzy and proud and happy all at once, and he knows from the way Harry’s face softens that their bond is reflecting that. “Thank you, my lord.”
I am so lucky, Theo reflects as Harry turns to the gift, which Theo chose sparkling golden paper for. Harry is unselfish enough to be a good lord, but also to recognize when it’s time to accept what someone’s done for him.
Harry rips into the paper in an impatient way that speaks of how few gifts he’s received in his life, and then pauses with a long breath. “Oh.”
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s beautiful, but I don’t know what it is.”
Theo smiles and leans forwards. “I suppose that to someone without a lot of knowledge, it would just look like a silver box,” he murmurs, but guides Harry’s hands to the hidden clasps on the sides that will flip the lid back. “You open it this way.”
Harry flips the lid up and stares into the darkness inside. Well, it looks like darkness to Theo. He knows that Harry will be seeing mechanisms and springs and what look like the slots in an ordinary Potions kit for ingredients. “What does it do?”
“This is called an external Occlumency vault, my lord. It will keep all your secrets.”
“What? How? Does it work like a Pensieve?”
Theo shakes his head. He can’t stop smiling. Harry’s puzzlement is a wonder all its own. “No. What happens is that you can think of any memory you wish to keep secret and place it in the box—that part of the procedure resembles a Pensieve, I admit, in that you must draw forth the memory from your head as if you were going to put it in one. But when you place the memory in the box, it returns to your head, guarded by the strongest Occlumency shields magic can produce. You can keep anything you want secret that way, even if you run into another Legilimens like Dumbledore or Snape. Or even,” Theo says, and lowers his voice, and watches closely, “from the Dark Lord.”
Harry jumps again. Theo smiles.
“But he would know,” Harry whispers. “He might know already. He has absolutely free access to my mind.”
Theo doesn’t understand everything about the link between the Dark Lord and Harry, but he knows what loyalty to his lord demands of him. He bows from his seated position. “No, my lord, or I think he would have made some kind of response to this. And once you shield these secrets, he will not be able to notice them. If an ordinary Occlumency shield is a wall, these are air, blending into the rest of your mind without being noticed.”
“But—surely he would suddenly notice if he can’t access certain of my memories?”
“My lord,” Theo whispers, and leans forwards. Harry unconsciously imitates him. “When these memories are shielded, he will forget that they exist. That he ever saw them.”
Harry stares at him with an open mouth. It is exactly the kind of reaction Theo was hoping for, and he revels in it while Harry tries and tries to get some kind of mental balance.
“I—Theo, are you sure that this box can affect someone of the Dark Lord’s power?”
“Yes,” Theo says, noting silently that Harry still calls him the Dark Lord and not Father. Well, maybe he is different when he’s in private with his sire. “Occlumency vaults are ancient, crafted to a set of spells that no one else can imitate unless they’re of that bloodline. And no one can pierce them if they’re not of the bloodline, either.”
“What bloodline is that?”
“Nott.”
Harry’s attention pours over him like water, and Theo bathes in it. Then Harry sighs and says, “This is something that you made yourself.”
“Yes, my lord. It’s the reason that I decided to stay with Arithmancy for a NEWT instead of giving it up. I needed equations to make the box.”
“And your father doesn’t know you made me one.”
Theo laughs a little at the thought of how furious his father would be if he knew. Theo loves him, but he will also keep his own secrets and have his own loyalties, now that he has his own lord. “No, my lord.”
“Won’t he get upset with you if he finds out?”
“He won’t find out.”
“But you said that someone of the Nott bloodline could pierce the spells, and he could remind the Dark Lord of the missing memories even if the box works—”
“My lord,” Theo murmurs, “do you think I would leave you so unprotected? I have changed the magic of the box so that not even one of the Nott bloodline can pierce the spells or see the memories. Anything you put in there will be safe from everyone. Even me.”
“I don’t need them to be safe from you, Theo.”
Theo catches his breath and sends a long push of gratitude and strength down the bond. Harry sits up a little straighter underneath it. “My thanks, my lord,” Theo whispers. “But still, I wish you to have it. To have privacy and security to call your own that not even the Dark Lord can take from you.”
Harry’s hand trembles a little where it rests on the box, and their bond is vibrating like the earth under a giant’s footsteps. “Thank you, then, Theo. This is a priceless gift.”
“So you know that it’s no use trying to repay me.”
Harry laughs and looks up. If his eyes are a little wet, both of them can pretend they aren’t. “No, I wouldn’t dare.”
Theo is more than content, more than happy, as he watches his lord examine and accept the gift. Theo is deeply joyful.
*
“It smells of magic.”
“Yes, powerful magic,” Harry murmurs. He didn’t think to ask if the box would keep his memories safe from Basilisk, but then, he couldn’t have when she was right there with him in Theo’s sitting room. But if it will work on Theo—and Draco, and Pansy, who he also has bonds to—he thinks it will work with her.
Before he gives himself time to think of it, he tells Basilisk, “You know there was a time when my Muggle relatives deprived me of food for almost two weeks? They gave me a little, just enough to keep me from starving, but I was dizzy and could hardly move because of the pain.”
Basilisk rears up, hissing, while their bond burns with sharp black spots. “I will kill them! Destroy them!”
“Father did it before you were hatched.”
“That is good. The blood-master understands what he is for.”
Harry laughs a little, and then closes his eyes, concentrating on the memory of that two weeks, how pathetically grateful he was to receive food again, and how Petunia sneered at him and said that he was weaker than Dudley for not being able to go without food that long.
Harry knows that’s not true now, but he can still feel the sharp blade of the shame cutting at him.
He draws the memory out as a long strand and drops it into the box. The box shivers, and a moment later, something like a wall forms in Harry’s head. He prods it, alarmed, and the blade of shame cuts him again. He relaxes, and the memory retreats and grows less potent.
Time to test.
“How long did my Muggle relatives starve me, Basilisk? Do you know? Was it ever more than a day?”
Basilisk hisses and coils around his neck in surprise. “I do not know. You have not told me.”
Harry feels the sweetness of the triumph cut through him, and he nods. “Don’t worry. I find that I don’t want to discuss those memories very much.”
He knows he needs to protect the memory of the box next, right away.
And, barely lurking in the back of his mind, a thought he will protect as soon as he has a memory to attach it to…
He doesn’t need to worry any longer about what will happen if he feels the need to stand against Voldemort.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Past Voldemort/Lily, otherwise gen
Content Notes: Violence, minor character deaths, AU after fifth year (Harry is Voldemort’s son), present tense, gore, torture, angst, dark Voldemort
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sequel to “Shattered Pieces of the Human.” Harry returns to Hogwarts to finish up his sixth year. With Snape dead, Dumbledore escaped, and his father making changes in Hogwarts, Harry presses every day closer to the edge of what it means to be Voldemort’s son.
Author’s Notes: This is the fourth story in my Broken Glass Life series, sequel to “Broken Glass Life,” “Dark Prince of the Glass Court,” and “Shattered Pieces of the Human.” I’d recommend reading those first. This will be a WiP, and at the moment, I don’t know how long it will be.
Glassfall
Chapter One—Honor and Obligation
“The tree is pretty.”
“The lights aren’t actual fairies you can eat,” Harry says absently. He’s curled up with one of the books that Voldemort gave him for Christmas (and just thinking those words still causes part of his soul to scream). This one is about the history of Dark Arts and why certain spells got banned. It’s interesting, if gory in the description of the spells.
“I know they are not fairies.” Basilisk’s bond in Harry’s mind turns indignant mauve. “I would not try to eat them.”
“Then why are you lingering around the tree?” Harry asks, and rolls over on the couch to watch his snake.
Here, in Voldemort’s house (the house he bought for Harry, this is so weird), Basilisk isn’t wearing the Disillusionment Charm that keeps her invisible to everyone but Harry at school. So Harry can more easily see the fascinated way she sways back and forth in front of the tree, and roll his eyes at her.
“The lights feel like your magic.”
“I didn’t set them up, though.”
The bond grows dark and turgid, and Basilisk turns to slither back to the couch and him. Harry extends his arm for her to climb up, and wonders when it started to feel natural to do that. “I know that. I am not stupid. But they feel like your magic nevertheless.”
“I wonder why, then.” Harry frowns at the fairy lights and wonders if he could have created them. To be fair, he doesn’t even know if they’re illusions or conjured, and he doesn’t know the degree of complicated spellwork Voldemort might have had to use.
“They feel like your magic because your blood-master created them and his magic is your magic.”
Harry swallows. That’s something he didn’t consider. He wonders briefly if someone could figure out he’s Voldemort’s son even if they don’t know by the feel of his magic, and then dismisses the notion. It’s unlikely that anyone would have been around Voldemort and looking for that instead of running for their lives.
“Harry.”
The sound of his name in Parseltongue is almost as familiar as it is in English now. Harry rolls over and gives his father as calm and normal a smile as he can. From the way that Voldemort pauses with his head cocked, he doesn’t buy it.
“Harry is upset because your magic feels like his,” Basilisk says, and sways a little to greet Voldemort before she goes back to inspecting the tree.
“Why are you upset?”
Harry swallows. He almost wishes they could go back to meetings in dreams, even though he’s glad to be home (so weird) for the holiday. Those red eyes focused on him in real life are as intense as a forest fire.
“I didn’t know that mine was like yours. And I was wondering if someone who had felt both of ours would be able to tell that I was your son even without my telling them.”
“It is extremely unlikely.” Voldemort flows into a chair across from Harry and settles down. Nagini slithers into the room and hisses a greeting to Basilisk before coiling around Voldemort’s feet. “Because they would not have had time to feel mine.”
Harry nods. It’s the same reason he thought of, after all.
“I understand that you are to go spend time with Theodore and Isidore tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I rather enjoy it when you speak to me as a son speaks to a father, rather than as a cringing follower speaks to the Dark Lord.”
Harry hesitates. He could say he was just trying to be respectful, but he’s been calling Voldemort “Father,” mostly, since he got—home. “I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to take advantage of our relationship.”
Voldemort watches him with wide eyes for long enough that Harry thinks he’s mis-stepped and is going to get hit with Crucio at last. Then the Dark Lord throws his head back and roars with laughter.
Nagini rears up at the same time and sways back and forth as if looking for prey. Then she gives a hiss that Harry can only describe as disappointed and settles back around Voldemort’s feet. Harry watches her and thinks of something he wants to ask her later.
“I told him that of course your magic feels like each other’s. I told him clearly.”
“You are not at fault, little one,” Voldemort hisses at Basilisk, and looks at Harry with his eyes still shining with the edge of his laughter. “Harry, of course you will take advantage of our relationship. You will have advantages as my son that should have been yours since the day you were born. I wish you to take after me. I wish you to use me—as much as you can. There are uses I will push back against, of course.”
Harry stares at him, bewildered. “But—there must be a limit to your tolerance.”
“If you were to run around Gryffindor Tower telling everyone in sight that you are my son, you would find one very quickly. Or if you were to tell people about Horcruxes.”
Harry shivers at the edge of cold in those words, but it braces him like a winter wind. At least he knows he’s standing on solid ground.
“But you would not do such a thing,” Voldemort adds, and yanks the solid ground away. “I trust you.”
“Why?”
“Why would I not? You are my son. My heir. My Horcrux.”
“We were mortal enemies six months ago.”
“So much can change in six months,” Voldemort says, and he sounds like Basilisk does when she’s hissing Harry to sleep. “So much, my son. You have passed the tests that I thought you might not pass. You have begun to assemble your court. You have resisted Dumbledore’s temptations. Did you think there would be no reward?”
“I thought—no reward that I would accept.”
“I would not have forced you to torture or murder. If you ever wish to, of course, you shall tell me.”
Harry decides that the wistful tone to Voldemort’s Parseltongue is too much for him, and seeks to ease him back from the edge. “Okay. So you want me to call you Father and it’s fine to go over to Theo’s tomorrow.”
“Yes. Of course, you will take Basilisk with you and you will wear a Portkey. You will always wear a Portkey from now on.”
Harry nods. It’s kind of surprising that Voldemort let him go to Hogwarts without one. “Of course—Father.”
Voldemort gives a contented hiss and engages Harry in a conversation about Ancient Runes. Harry can admit that it’s pretty fascinating, and he sort of wishes he’d taken the class at Hogwarts. But he has enough classes. Enough to worry about.
When Voldemort leaves the sitting room, Nagini lingers behind. Maybe she can sense that he has something to ask her. Harry sees no reason to hesitate. “Do you ever dislike or resent me? You would have killed me in the graveyard where—Father was resurrected.”
Nagini gives him a look that seems far less expressive than Basilisk’s eyes do. Then again, Harry doesn’t have a bond with her. “You are my master’s son. I am here to think about you and protect you.”
Think about me? But Harry doesn’t ask that aloud. Instead, he says, “Yes, but that was only a few years ago. You would have killed me.”
“You are his son.”
Nagini slithers away before Harry can ask her anything else. Harry sighs despite himself. This is—well, he supposes that he ought not to have expected any different answer from a snake, but it’s still strange to him how they can just accept reality and not care about what happened a few months ago.
Everything is so strange.
“I told you that your magic was like the blood-master’s. I do not understand why you are so upset about it.”
“I’m not upset about it. I’m just—trying to understand.”
“You are his son.”
Harry gives up, and returns to his book.
*
Everything is the most delightful shade of red and yellow in Lord Voldemort’s mind. The world used to be black and purple, like a bruise, and things did bruise, but now they have healed, and now the world is wonderful and the most delightful shade of red and yellow.
There was the small unhealed mystery of who the Unspeakable he seduced had been, and now he knows. There is the danger of the Horcruxes being discovered, but now they are hidden in new places, and the most important of all is safe in ways that even he will never know of.
There is the marvelous chaos of his son’s mind, full of worries and moral qualms that Lord Voldemort shrugged past long ago, and that is the most delightful thing of all.
His son. His heir. His Horcrux. His Harry, who used to be his mortal enemy. There is no one else on Earth who could be all those things, and Lord Voldemort never even imagined the combination. It has been decades since he was surprised by something. Even his disembodiment and the length of time it took him to return to his body was only enraging, not surprising.
But now…
Harry is new. A new thing in the world.
He is not to be destroyed. He is not to be touched.
He is to be happy.
Lord Voldemort will happily destroy everyone else in the world on his son’s word. He waits on that word.
But in the meantime, he has changes at Hogwarts to make, while his mind is awash in delightful red and yellow.
*
Isidore stands back with his hands clasped behind him as Harry Gaunt comes through the fire. He wishes to observe his son’s interactions with the Dark Prince while they both focus on each other and do not notice him there.
The Prince’s snake does seem to notice him. She is visible, curled around his throat, and flickers her tongue at him. But Gaunt is busy sweeping soot from his clothes, until Theo steps forwards with a bow and a murmured word to do it for him.
Gaunt smiles at Theo. Theo smiles back.
Isidore restrains a sigh. He can remember being dazzled by the Dark Lord’s magic back when they were both students at Hogwarts, and it took him years to get over that level of—infatuation. For him, it was never sexual, although it was for some of the other Death Eaters. But Isidore remembers what it was like to be in love with his Lord’s magic.
He also knows that he is a better advisor and courtier to his Lord now that he is past that phase.
He only hopes that Theo, whose eyes shine more strongly with the light than Isidore knows his own ever did, will achieve the balance sooner rather than later. And that is for both Theo and Gaunt’s sakes.
*
“Your gift, my lord.”
Harry jumps like a dragon with a burned tail, which is so funny that Theo has to bite his lips to keep his amusement inside. He’s sure, though, that their bond is singing with it, and Harry gives him a half-hearted glare before turning to gape at the wrapped package again.
“But I didn’t get you anything.”
Harry’s voice is small. Theo blinks, and blinks again. “The lord doesn’t have to get gifts for his courtiers.”
“But it’s wrong. It’s unfair.”
Theo checks a sigh. This is one of those things that he didn’t even think about affecting Harry, because—why would he? But Harry is different from any other Lord that Theo might have served.
“My lord.” Theo leans forwards. They’re in the small sitting room in Nott House, the one that Father has granted Theo leave to turn into his private study, and only the flicker of the small fire in the marble hearth competes with his voice. “Listen to me. Our relationship is not equal—”
“You’re important!”
“It’s not equal,” Theo says, as patiently as he can. “You’re always going to matter in ways I do not and need things I do not. Likewise, I matter in ways you don’t and need things you don’t.” He notices that Harry is calming down when Theo says he doesn’t always matter, and checks a sigh. He sort of resents the Dark Lord for murdering those Muggles first. “One of those things I need is to take care of you.”
“But it’s not—fair.”
At least he hasn’t tried the word equal, Theo thinks, but the bond is so heavy and molten between them that he knows he has to say something. “I would be uncomfortable if you got me a gift, my lord. It would feel like obligation, since we weren’t friends before the Marking and didn’t know each other that well.”
“And this isn’t an obligation?”
“It is my honor.”
Harry gazes at him, quietly and steadily, for what seems a long time, while his bond grows quiet as well. His snake hisses something to him. Harry hisses back, and then takes a breath and nods.
“All right. Thank you, Theo.”
Theo feels dizzy and proud and happy all at once, and he knows from the way Harry’s face softens that their bond is reflecting that. “Thank you, my lord.”
I am so lucky, Theo reflects as Harry turns to the gift, which Theo chose sparkling golden paper for. Harry is unselfish enough to be a good lord, but also to recognize when it’s time to accept what someone’s done for him.
Harry rips into the paper in an impatient way that speaks of how few gifts he’s received in his life, and then pauses with a long breath. “Oh.”
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s beautiful, but I don’t know what it is.”
Theo smiles and leans forwards. “I suppose that to someone without a lot of knowledge, it would just look like a silver box,” he murmurs, but guides Harry’s hands to the hidden clasps on the sides that will flip the lid back. “You open it this way.”
Harry flips the lid up and stares into the darkness inside. Well, it looks like darkness to Theo. He knows that Harry will be seeing mechanisms and springs and what look like the slots in an ordinary Potions kit for ingredients. “What does it do?”
“This is called an external Occlumency vault, my lord. It will keep all your secrets.”
“What? How? Does it work like a Pensieve?”
Theo shakes his head. He can’t stop smiling. Harry’s puzzlement is a wonder all its own. “No. What happens is that you can think of any memory you wish to keep secret and place it in the box—that part of the procedure resembles a Pensieve, I admit, in that you must draw forth the memory from your head as if you were going to put it in one. But when you place the memory in the box, it returns to your head, guarded by the strongest Occlumency shields magic can produce. You can keep anything you want secret that way, even if you run into another Legilimens like Dumbledore or Snape. Or even,” Theo says, and lowers his voice, and watches closely, “from the Dark Lord.”
Harry jumps again. Theo smiles.
“But he would know,” Harry whispers. “He might know already. He has absolutely free access to my mind.”
Theo doesn’t understand everything about the link between the Dark Lord and Harry, but he knows what loyalty to his lord demands of him. He bows from his seated position. “No, my lord, or I think he would have made some kind of response to this. And once you shield these secrets, he will not be able to notice them. If an ordinary Occlumency shield is a wall, these are air, blending into the rest of your mind without being noticed.”
“But—surely he would suddenly notice if he can’t access certain of my memories?”
“My lord,” Theo whispers, and leans forwards. Harry unconsciously imitates him. “When these memories are shielded, he will forget that they exist. That he ever saw them.”
Harry stares at him with an open mouth. It is exactly the kind of reaction Theo was hoping for, and he revels in it while Harry tries and tries to get some kind of mental balance.
“I—Theo, are you sure that this box can affect someone of the Dark Lord’s power?”
“Yes,” Theo says, noting silently that Harry still calls him the Dark Lord and not Father. Well, maybe he is different when he’s in private with his sire. “Occlumency vaults are ancient, crafted to a set of spells that no one else can imitate unless they’re of that bloodline. And no one can pierce them if they’re not of the bloodline, either.”
“What bloodline is that?”
“Nott.”
Harry’s attention pours over him like water, and Theo bathes in it. Then Harry sighs and says, “This is something that you made yourself.”
“Yes, my lord. It’s the reason that I decided to stay with Arithmancy for a NEWT instead of giving it up. I needed equations to make the box.”
“And your father doesn’t know you made me one.”
Theo laughs a little at the thought of how furious his father would be if he knew. Theo loves him, but he will also keep his own secrets and have his own loyalties, now that he has his own lord. “No, my lord.”
“Won’t he get upset with you if he finds out?”
“He won’t find out.”
“But you said that someone of the Nott bloodline could pierce the spells, and he could remind the Dark Lord of the missing memories even if the box works—”
“My lord,” Theo murmurs, “do you think I would leave you so unprotected? I have changed the magic of the box so that not even one of the Nott bloodline can pierce the spells or see the memories. Anything you put in there will be safe from everyone. Even me.”
“I don’t need them to be safe from you, Theo.”
Theo catches his breath and sends a long push of gratitude and strength down the bond. Harry sits up a little straighter underneath it. “My thanks, my lord,” Theo whispers. “But still, I wish you to have it. To have privacy and security to call your own that not even the Dark Lord can take from you.”
Harry’s hand trembles a little where it rests on the box, and their bond is vibrating like the earth under a giant’s footsteps. “Thank you, then, Theo. This is a priceless gift.”
“So you know that it’s no use trying to repay me.”
Harry laughs and looks up. If his eyes are a little wet, both of them can pretend they aren’t. “No, I wouldn’t dare.”
Theo is more than content, more than happy, as he watches his lord examine and accept the gift. Theo is deeply joyful.
*
“It smells of magic.”
“Yes, powerful magic,” Harry murmurs. He didn’t think to ask if the box would keep his memories safe from Basilisk, but then, he couldn’t have when she was right there with him in Theo’s sitting room. But if it will work on Theo—and Draco, and Pansy, who he also has bonds to—he thinks it will work with her.
Before he gives himself time to think of it, he tells Basilisk, “You know there was a time when my Muggle relatives deprived me of food for almost two weeks? They gave me a little, just enough to keep me from starving, but I was dizzy and could hardly move because of the pain.”
Basilisk rears up, hissing, while their bond burns with sharp black spots. “I will kill them! Destroy them!”
“Father did it before you were hatched.”
“That is good. The blood-master understands what he is for.”
Harry laughs a little, and then closes his eyes, concentrating on the memory of that two weeks, how pathetically grateful he was to receive food again, and how Petunia sneered at him and said that he was weaker than Dudley for not being able to go without food that long.
Harry knows that’s not true now, but he can still feel the sharp blade of the shame cutting at him.
He draws the memory out as a long strand and drops it into the box. The box shivers, and a moment later, something like a wall forms in Harry’s head. He prods it, alarmed, and the blade of shame cuts him again. He relaxes, and the memory retreats and grows less potent.
Time to test.
“How long did my Muggle relatives starve me, Basilisk? Do you know? Was it ever more than a day?”
Basilisk hisses and coils around his neck in surprise. “I do not know. You have not told me.”
Harry feels the sweetness of the triumph cut through him, and he nods. “Don’t worry. I find that I don’t want to discuss those memories very much.”
He knows he needs to protect the memory of the box next, right away.
And, barely lurking in the back of his mind, a thought he will protect as soon as he has a memory to attach it to…
He doesn’t need to worry any longer about what will happen if he feels the need to stand against Voldemort.
