Harry did not want to use the Knight Bus to travel to Voldemort’s hideout, because he wanted no witnesses. If it ever got back to Dumbledore that Harry Potter had travelled to Little Hangleton the consequences would be beyond dire. Technically, Harry knew how to apparate. Except he had no idea how his eleven-year-old body would react to that kind of magic, if it was even capable of it. And the last thing Harry wanted was to accidentally splinch himself all over England and explain what the hell happened to the Ministry when they came to put him back together.
So, Kreacher it was. House-elves had an uncanny sense of direction, could find almost any place they put their minds to, so Harry knew Kreacher would get him there.
“Just drop me in the cemetery,” Harry said as Kreacher grabbed hold of his arm. One quiet and pleasant pop later and they were standing in the fresh air surrounded by gravestones. “Thanks. I’ll call you when you can come pick me up.” Kreacher nodded in response and popped away again.
Harry inhaled a deep breath as he stared at the dilapidated manor house in the distance. Doubt set in once he took a moment to think about what he was doing. He was voluntarily visiting Voldemort, his prophesized enemy, the Dark Lord who’d done his very best in their past life to kill Harry once and for all. But this was also a new Voldemort with a complete soul and his memories of defeat. And, Harry reasoned, the sooner he reached some sort of understanding with his enemy, the better. Not to mention Harry was just plain curious what had become of Voldemort in this brave new world and when had Harry ever been able to deny his curiosity?
So he took another deep breath, gathered his Gryffindor courage and impulsivity and strolled towards the house, enjoying the warmth of an early morning in August. There were no wards stopping him from entering through the rusty gates and onto the neglected and overgrown manor grounds. He made it to the front door in one piece and knocked firmly.
A few minutes passed while Harry waited as patiently as possible while being consumed by anticipation and anxiety. Then the door creaked open and Barty Crouch Jr peered at him with squinty eyes, the wand in his hand pointed straight at Harry.
“Hi, Barty,” Harry said with a friendly smile. “I’ve come to visit the Dark Lord. Please let him know his soulmate is here to see him.” Harry just couldn’t help himself, and it was true after all. They shared a soul.
Barty looked a little as if he’d just been hit over the head with a rogue bludger. “Who the hell are you?”
Harry straightened his shoulders and widened his smile. “Oh, how rude of me. I’m Harry Potter.”
Now Barty looked as if he’d been hit by about a dozen bludgers, his round eyes staring at Harry in sheer disbelief.
“Let him in,” called a soft voice from within the house, and at once Harry ducked under Barty’s elbow and slipped inside the door. Sometimes being small had its advantages. He rushed into the direction the voice had come from, a room on the right, while Barty sputtered behind him as he closed the door with a slam.
“Potter... Potter! Give me your wand!” Barty demanded as he hurried after Harry, but Harry ignored him because there, in a wingback leather chair in the middle of a dusty reception room sat the Dark Lord embodying a small homunculus similar to the one he’d been in during their previous life. Though this one seemed a little less emaciated, a little more...complete, for lack of a better word. Voldemort stared at Harry with red eyes, wand in hand but resting in his lap.
“Voldemort,” Harry said with a little wave as he stopped a few feet in front of the Dark Lord.
“Potter.” Voldemort’s voice was soft, even a little raspy, not as high-pitched as it once had been.
“So how is that complete soul working for you?” Harry asked, since he’d never been one to beat around the bush. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Voldemort gave him an incredulous look. “You claim credit for turning this into a mere trinket?” he asked, his small hand reaching inside the neckline of his child-sized black robes. It came back holding a silver chain on which the Gaunt ring dangled. “I wonder how and when you managed such a thing, since all I remember is dying and waking up on the back of Quirrell’s head.”
“No, that’s not what happened,” Harry said, sinking down in one of the chairs standing opposite Voldemort’s, feeling strangely disappointed at Voldemort’s dismissal. “You don’t remember white King’s Cross Station? I made a deal with Death to put your soul back together and I spent ages looking for all the little Toms.”
“That was a dream,” Voldemort said, and then waved Barty, who was lingering near the door and staring at them as if he was seeing water burn, towards a chair. “That had to be a dream.”
“No dream.” Harry was terribly amused by the shocked expression on Voldemort’s face. “It was limbo and you were stuck there in pieces until I came along. Death was there, all living shadows.”
Voldemort shuddered for a brief moment. “If that was limbo, then you died in our duel as well. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been there.”
“No, I didn’t die during our duel. I died two months later.” Harry glanced to the side as rage consumed him. Beside him, Barty was sitting very still on the edge of his seat with the posture of a small child desperately trying not to be noticed by the adults around him lest he be sent from the room and miss out on hearing all the adult conversation he wasn’t supposed to hear in the first place but really wanted to listen to.
“I was betrayed,” Harry said through gritted teeth.
Voldemort’s lips quirked up in a small smile. “Do tell.”
Unable to contain the red-hot anger that suddenly coursed through him, Harry jumped up from his seat and started pacing the room. It was funny, not to mention ironic, that only now that Harry was surrounded by enemies did he feel he could unleash his emotions. So far he’d tried to bury all the anger and rage that came with the betrayal by only letting himself feel small bursts of pain from time to time. But now the emotional dam well and truly broke and Harry had to get all these feelings off his chest.
“I was at Hogwarts, helping to rebuild,” Harry said, staring straight ahead as he paced from left to right and back again. “Got a letter from Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister for Magic, asking me to stop by. Was ambushed by about ten thousand Aurors and spent a week alone in a cell without any explanation. Then they silenced me and put me on trial in front of a full Wizengamot.”
Harry inhaled a deep breath and tried to keep his hands from trembling without much success. “Dumbledore, that meddling old asshole had sent a letter to be delivered after your defeat, telling the Ministry to kill me because when you tried to kill me when I was a baby and got imploded a piece of your soul broke off and attached itself to me. Except Dumbledore had told me that horcrux could be destroyed by letting you hit me in the face with a killing curse and I’d be fine probably. But that motherfucker lied.”
Harry stopped pacing and stared at the other two occupant in the room. Barty’s mouth was hanging open but Voldemort was watching him with a carefully constructed blank expression.
“Because I was so young your soul piece merged with my own soul and they became one new soul, forever. And Dumbledore knew this the whole fucking time. So Kingsley summoned my friends –“ Harry’s voice broke and he had to stop talking for a moment to collect himself. He swallowed once, twice. “My friends, Ron and Hermione and Ginny, people I would have done anything for, would have died for, would have killed for, sat there in the Wizengamot and went along with everything Kingsley and Dumbledore were saying. They sold me out.”
Harry slowly sank back down in his chair, suddenly exhausted. “After that, the vast majority of the Wizengamot voted to kill me immediately. They just picked me up, dragged me to the Veil in the Department of Mysteries and chucked me through it like I was yesterday’s rubbish.”
“Wow,” Barty breathed as he finally remembered to close his mouth. “That is some tough luck.”
Voldemort’s expression turned quite constipated as he pressed a small fist against his lips. Soft, slow chuckles quickly turned into sharp laughter as the Dark Lord, murderer of many and ardent fan of torturing his followers, completely lost his composure. He bent double at the waist, laughing so loudly his whole body shook.
Harry gaped at him, previous anger and rage forgotten as he realized he’d never seen Voldemort display full on laughter before. And judging by Barty’s gobsmacked expression, neither had he.
Holding up a hand, Voldemort desperately tried to calm himself. “You know what that is called, Potter,” he managed to say in between snorts of laughter. “Karma.”
“That’s not how karma works,” Harry said, pointing an angry finger at Voldemort. “Just because I killed you doesn’t mean my number was suddenly up.” Voldemort kept laughing, though softer now. “Anyway,” Harry said loudly. “I ended up in limbo, again, and Death told me I could go back because I’m the Master of Death.”
Barty made a choking sound beside him, but Harry ignored him.
“But because I’m your horcrux forever and ever, you got to go back as well, memories intact, same as me. But I realized it was probably better if your soul was put together again so I collected you and Death glued you back together. And now, as long as I live you won’t die. And as Master of Death I won’t die unless I want to.” Harry gave Voldemort a very pointed look. “So, you’re welcome.”
Voldemort finally calmed down enough to sit back up completely and take a deep breath. “What do you expect of me, Potter? What conditions do you require I meet?”
“Er...”Harry was confused by those questions and looked from Voldemort to Barty and back.
“Certainly all of this is not without a price?” Voldemort said with a piercing look, expression slowly morphing into anger.
“Well,” Harry said, sitting forward and weaving his fingers together. There were so many things he wanted Voldemort to do differently this time, but he figured his best bet to start with was to stick to the big guns and save the little details for later. “If you could lay off the torturing and killing needlessly, that would be great. And you’re not allowed to mess up Hogwarts again. The Carrows are never allowed to teach again.”
“The Carrows as teachers,” Barty wondered out loud with a nervous laugh. “What would they even be able to teach?”
“The cruciatus curse and how to endure it, mostly,” Harry said with a grimace, glancing at Barty. While rebuilding Hogwarts Harry had heard some truly horrific stories about those two sadists from Neville and many others. He looked back at Voldemort. “And maybe if we could forget things like the muggleborn registration committee, that would be awesome.”
“We?” Voldemort sounded beyond amused and Harry felt his cheeks heat. “I’m not suddenly turning into an insipid Hufflepuff that runs a niffler sanctuary or some such nonsense. I still believe the wizarding world is a stagnant mess that needs change.”
“I agree,” Harry said at once, much to Voldemort’s obvious surprise. “But that change doesn’t need to be killing all muggleborns. We need new blood.”
Voldemort released a disbelieving snort.
“We do,” Harry insisted. “Think about it. Who are some of the most powerful magicals we know? You, me, Dumbledore, Snape. What do we all have in common?”
Brows furrowed, Voldemort considered that question. “We are all half-bloods.”
“Exactly. Adding new blood to stagnant pureblood lines makes for powerful witches and wizards.” Harry had discussed these issues at length with Hermione during the many months they’d spent living in a tent together, on the run from about the whole world. There was only so much one could do besides reading and playing endless games of chess, and Harry quickly learned that debating these kind of subjects, thinking up ways to improve the wizarding world, was kind of fun. And even though these days thinking about Hermione filled him with anger and hurt, that didn’t mean the ideas they’d come up with during their many, many talks weren’t good ones. Harry was determined to slowly but surely mention them to Voldemort.
“This might be the case, but muggles form a very real threat to our society.” Voldemort stroked his hand across his chin. “Though I suppose we can also contain muggleborns and their muggle families with stronger secrecy spells and magical vows or contracts.”
Smiling, Harry sat back in his chair, beyond happy to see this new version of Voldemort was capable of reasoning and compromise. The old one would have started tossing the cruciatus curse around a minute into their conversation. “I’m sure we can work things out that makes us all happy. I want you to change our world. I wouldn’t have brought you back with me if I didn’t. I’d just like to see it done smarter, without as much bloodshed.”
Voldemort nodded thoughtfully. “The losses we endured and inflicted the last time were quite unacceptable, in hindsight.” Well, would wonders never cease, Harry thought, feeling better and better by the second that he’d gotten Voldemort his second chance with his soul intact.
“Potter,” Barty asked, apparently unable to contain his innate curiosity any longer. “What are you planning on doing with your second chance?”
“A few things,” Harry said with confidence and then had to think what those things actually were. So far he’d spent a lot of time taking care of small, practical things that made his life easier but as far as long-term goals were concerned Harry came up short. Except one, very obvious goal. “I want Dumbledore to pay, but I’m still working out how to go about that,” Harry said, and since he couldn’t think of anything else he added, “and I’m going to be a Ravenclaw this time around.”
“No, you’re not,” Voldemort interrupted him. “All this you’re doing, Potter, is fuelled by ambition. The Sorting Hat will never go for Ravenclaw. It’s going to put you straight into Slytherin.”
Harry considered that for a moment. “But I’m reading a lot so I could definitely be a Ravenclaw.” He looked at Barty the Ravenclaw for a little support, but Barty was looking rather dubious as well.
“Not to mention the way you stormed in here was pure Gryffindor,” Barty pointed out.
Harry sighed but before he could say something Winky popped into the room holding a tray with a full tea service. Harry almost greeted her until he remembered this Winky had no clue who he was so he kept his mouth shut.
“You is talking so long Winky is thinking you be needing tea.” Winky served them all cups of tea and insisted Harry take a chocolate biscuit.
“Thanks, Winky,” Barty said, nibbling a biscuit of his own. Even the Dark Lord hadn’t escaped the house-elf’s attentions and he dipped his biscuit in his tea before eating it.
Harry enjoyed the small treat, thinking about what else they needed to discuss as he chewed. Though judging by how well this meeting was going, Harry could see further meetings happening in the future. “Are you planning to do the same ritual as before to get your body back? Do you need my blood?”
Barty immediately went into scholarly mode as he started muttering some calculations that Harry thought might be arithmancy. “Adding blood willingly given from an enemy turned ally would strengthen the ritual significantly, my Lord.”
“Hmm.” Voldemort gave Harry a considering look. “Are you my ally, Harry Potter?”
Was he? Harry frowned as he considered his options. At the very least he wanted a cease fire between himself and the Dark Lord while each did their own thing and so far that seemed achievable. But to be an ally, that was an option that required closer interaction between them both. Question was, could they work together without killing each other? Only one way to find out. “Well, I’m no longer your enemy, and it’s way too early to consider you a friend, so I guess ally works.” Harry sipped his tea. “Don’t you want the Philosopher’s stone anymore?” At Barty’s sharp intake of breath, Harry added, “Last time it was hidden at Hogwarts and he tried to steal it, but I stopped him.”
“Yes, curious how a first year made it through Dumbledore’s little obstacle course so easily. Or why Dumbledore deemed all these silly challenges necessary in the first place when a simple fidelius charm would have provided all the security necessary at the Flamel’s home.” Voldemort took a rather long, pointed sip of his tea while his red gaze never left Harry.
“Yeah, I know, I was an idiot who let Dumbledore manipulate me into his perfect little sacrificial lamb,” Harry said with a heavy sigh. This was something he’d spent a pretty significant amount of time pondering these last few weeks, how Dumbledore had played him for a fool his entire life. “But in my defence, I was an abused eleven-year-old, completely overwhelmed by my position in this new world I only just learned I was a part of, and desperate for friends and positive reinforcement from adults. Dumbledore knew exactly what he was doing and I didn’t stand a chance.”
“Abused?” Barty asked with wide eyes.
Bugger. Harry hadn’t meant to let that slip out, but it felt so good to talk about these new developments with people in the know that he was letting his guard down a little more than was good for him. “It’s fine, my relatives are bastards who hardly fed me and kept me locked in a cupboard for most of my childhood. But this time around I’ve bribed them into feeding me and leaving me alone.”
“Interesting,” Voldemort said with a tilt of his head. “Severus always claimed you were raised as royalty and spoiled rotten.”
Harry released a harsh laugh. “Severus Snape has never, ever actually seen me. All he’s ever seen is James Junior. The man was in my fucking head during our Occlumency lessons, he saw what the Dursleys did to me, and he still claimed they spoiled me? That man is wilfully blind.” Then Harry remembered and he added in a softer voice, “I’m guessing you’ll want revenge on Snape for his betrayal, right?”
“I’m considering it,” Voldemort replied in the sort of tone that meant he definitely wanted to rip Snape apart with his bare hands.
Yeah, Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He’d never liked Snape, but the man had given his life to help them win the war. Then again, to Voldemort, Snape was a traitor and nowadays Harry had intimate knowledge what it felt like to be betrayed so could he really blame Voldemort for wanting a little revenge? But Snape had been useful and perhaps could be useful again. “I wouldn’t kill him if I were you.” Harry held up his hand as Voldemort was about to open his mouth. “Listen. Use him. Dumbledore trusts Snape as much as he trusts anyone. You could feed all the bullshit you wanted to Snape and the old man would buy it.”
“That is an option,” Voldemort conceded as he finished his tea.
“Oh, and I just realized we already have a way to get rid of Dumbledore,” Harry said, pleased to have thought of it. “Dumbledore still believes you have horcruxes so he’ll look for them.” Harry gestured at the ring around Voldemort’s neck. “Last time the curse on that ring did him in, slowly and painfully, because he couldn’t resist the Resurrection Stone. Put an exact replica of that ring back in the shack with that curse and Dumbledore will snap that trap shut eventually.”
A slow smile spread across Voldemort’s face. “That is an excellent plan, Potter. Talking about Dumbledore... how is your Occlumency these days? It wouldn’t help either of us if the old man could get into your head.”
“Yeah, my Occlumency is shit,” Harry admitted, much to his everlasting shame. “I’ve been reading books about it and practicing what I can and meditating for hours but it’s still shit.”
“Come here and kneel.” Voldemort waved him closer with an impatient hand. “I’ll protect your mind with a temporary shield. It should last around six months, so we’ll have to renew it during the Christmas holidays but it will keep the old man out.”
Slowly, a little warily, Harry got up and kneeled down in front of Voldemort. He wasn’t sure about letting Voldemort root around in his mind, but he needed help. It was only a few more weeks until the first of September and there was no way Harry was going to become proficient enough at Occlumency in that time to keep the headmaster or Snape out. And he had far too many secrets to protect this time around.
“Look into my eyes,” Voldemort instructed him as he leaned closer. “Do not look away. It shouldn’t be painful but you will feel some pressure.”
Harry sat perfectly still as he experienced the bizarre sensation of someone else moving his memories around, trying to organize some of the chaos in Harry’s head. It wasn’t painful, Voldemort hadn’t lied about that, but it was still an utterly weird sensation. Finally Voldemort pulled out of Harry’s mind with something that felt like a mental twist and Harry was alone in his head again.
“There, done,” Voldemort said, leaning back in his chair. “If we are to be allies, Potter, you will need to practice and learn Occlumency. We’ll also need a secure method of communication for when you’re at Hogwarts. I will think of something.” Voldemort closed his eyes for several moments. “I tire easily in this state, so I’ll have to cut this meeting short.”
Harry, who had been about to sit down in his chair again, shot up. “Yeah, okay. Thanks for the talk.” Voldemort was looking a little peaky, but Harry couldn’t help feeling disappointed that the meeting was over already. Who knew having tea with your enemy would be the most fun Harry had since he started his second chance.
“Barty will see you out.” A small smile played around Voldemort’s lips as he stared at Harry. “Potter, come back next week.”