Chapter Forty-Four of 'His Twenty-Eighth Life'- Not Exploding
Chapter Forty-Three.
Title: His Twenty-Eighth Life (44/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Eventual Harry Potter/Voldemort; mentions of others, including canon pairings, in the background, and past Harry/others
Rating: R (more for violence than sex)
Content Notes: violence, torture, gore, manipulation, angst, Master of Death Harry Potter, reincarnation, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts
Summary: Harry Potter has been reborn again and again into new bodies as the Master of Death, some of them not human, none of them exactly like his old one-but he has always helped to defeat Voldemort in each new world. Now he’s Harry Potter again, but his slightly older brother is the target of the prophecy, and Harry assumes his role is going to be to support Jonathan in his defeat of Voldemort. At least, that’s what he thinks until Voldemort comes that Halloween night, discovers what Harry is, and kidnaps him. The story of a long fight between Voldemort’s sadism and Harry’s generosity.
Author’s Notes: This is going to be a very long fic, exploring some fairly dark character interactions. While the heart of the story is Harry’s relationship with Voldemort, that’s going to change only slowly and over time, and there will be plenty of concentration on other characters, too. Also, please take the tags/content notes seriously.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Forty-Four-Not Exploding
“What do you think, Albus?”
Albus said nothing for long moments. Severus watched him with narrowed eyes and waited for the self-loathing to hit. It did, but his loathing for the role he was expected to play was stronger. Albus wasn’t content unless Severus acted repentant.
But Severus hadn’t come here for redemption. He wanted revenge. Albus was the one who could give it to him, since his power to find the Horcruxes and destroy them outmatched Severus’s own. And Severus was sick of him doing nothing but sitting there with a slightly pensive look on his face.
“Harry came to talk to me the other day.”
Severus stifled his groan. He had thought he would be free of the Potter brat by taking up a position with Albus, since they were at odds. But instead, the old man seemed to brood about the supposed Master of Death as often as the Dark Lord did.
“I trust that he didn’t have anything interesting to say about Horcrux destruction?”
“He told me that-that I was being too stubborn. That I focused too much on the destruction of Tom, and not enough on the other aspects that are needed to make a good leader.”
But that is what I want. For you to focus on the destruction of the man who betrayed me and cursed me.
Severus leaned back in the cushioned seating of the quarters Albus had given him-there were any amount of furnished and unused rooms in the castle, which had once had a much larger teaching staff-and glanced around as casually as he could. No bubbling cauldrons, no movement in the Foe-Glass on the wall, nothing that could distract Albus from dipping into some cold philosophical lake. Damnation.
“And you want me to counsel you?” Severus asked, when Albus kept on staring at the far wall and frowning. “Reassure you that he was wrong?”
“I do not come to you for counsel, my dear boy.” Albus’s irritating smile flashed. “I only have to wonder if he was right.”
“You said yourself that the boy is Dark, and seems to have too much patience for the Dark Lord,” Severus reminded him. “Why wouldn’t he lie and say whatever he could come up with to lessen your effectiveness? The best way to ensure that the Dark Lord wins this war is to disarm his greatest enemy.”
And the surest way to make me die of boredom will be to make me discuss this.
Albus hesitated one more time, then nodded. “Yes, I understand what you are saying, dear Severus. In the meantime, I intend to go after another one of the sites that was important to Tom when he was a child. I haven’t identified the Horcrux there yet, but I’m sure that there must be one. Do you want to come with me?”
Severus shook his head. He wanted to see the Horcruxes when they were destroyed and smoke was rising from their charred objects, but he wanted to be nowhere near the front lines of such a vicious battle. “I will await your return here, Albus.”
“If you are sure, my boy.”
“I am,” Severus said, and managed to hold onto his patience until Albus left. Then he hissed and stood up to go brew. It was the only thing that calmed him now and made him look at the prospect of possible years of awaiting Albus’s return from Horcrux-hunting with any patience.
When this was done, he would leave Britain and not come back.
But I will see him dead first, for what he did to me.
*
Lord Voldemort stood for a long moment before the mirror in the drawing room of the manor, staring at his reflection. He had dark hair now, completely covering his head and hanging in soft waves nearly to his shoulders. His eyes were a dark green. He had pale cheeks with a slight flush of red to them.
It was almost a shame that it was only an illusion.
Then again, he had others that he wished to terrify with his appearance, and one who did not care how he looked. The illusion would accomplish its purpose, and then Lord Voldemort would cease to wear it and would return to his normal self.
He turned and strode out of the manor, timing the cadence of his steps, adjusting it. He needed to look confident but not commanding, or he would more than likely alienate the man he was going to see. He had to look like a petitioner, as well.
That is a more unfamiliar role. But perhaps the way that I am a petitioner for attention from Harry will help.
Smoothly, Lord Voldemort Apparated, and smoothly, he arrived near a shop with a fireplace that led to the Ministry Atrium, and smoothly, he stepped out of the Floo. He had not forgotten the small motion that would shake any soot off his robes without the use of his wand. He walked towards the lifts and waited a moment for the illusion to be pierced, or spells to be fired.
No one said anything. In fact, the average wizard had always been more closely concerned with his own business than arresting Dark Lords, Lord Voldemort had found. It was a reassurance, as he rode the lift up to the Minister’s office with two people arguing heatedly in front of him and one pressed too closely against his side, to see that it was still true.
It didn’t keep him from wanting to blow their heads off.
He smoothed the foul mood from his mind, using Occlumency, as he halted in front of the Minister’s Senior Undersecretary, a pasty woman who looked as though she was part-vampire. She gave him a dubious look. “And who are you, then?”
Lord Voldemort pictured how disappointed Harry would be if he blasted her head off. He smiled. “A diplomat. My name is Robert Gaunt.”
“Gaunt, you said?” The woman relaxed a little, which told him as much about her prejudices as her face did. “Then of course you can see the Minister right away.” She turned and pranced over to the office to speak to Fudge.
Lord Voldemort allowed himself an inner sneer. Educated enough to determine that Gaunt was a pure-blood name, not educated enough to ask why suddenly there was one walking around when the family was supposed to have died out decades ago.
“Yes, yes, waiting for him, send him in,” came Fudge’s voice in a babble through the door. The secretary stepped aside and smiled at him. Lord Voldemort pictured her dead in a pool of blood at his feet, and smiled and nodded as he walked past.
Fudge was a tremendously cowardly man in a bowler hat. He reached out and shook Lord Voldemort’s hand, and Lord Voldemort did not rip his hand off and make it strangle him, because Harry would not like it. “Gaunt, Gaunt, eh? Welcome, welcome. And-” Fudge sat back down and sucked in a breath hard enough to puff out his cheeks and make him look as if he was about to float off the floor. “You’ve really come from him?”
“If you mean Lord Voldemort, then I have, yes,” Lord Voldemort said mildly as he took a seat on the chair in front of Fudge’s desk.
“How can he-is he sane enough to negotiate?”
How he will suffer for that, Lord Voldemort thought, and imagined Fudge’s head disappearing into a red mist. But once again, he could not react the way he wished to, because he could feel green eyes staring disapprovingly at him.
“He is sane enough to send me,” Lord Voldemort decided to say.
Fudge gulped and nodded. “And of course he hasn’t attacked anyone in the last few years, and Dumbledore’s ramblings seem to have come to nothing…”
Lord Voldemort did not clench his hands into fists, because Lord Voldemort did not allow himself that level of indulgence. He only inclined his head and murmured, “One must wonder what someone gains from preaching war when we have only peace.”
“That’s a fair point, Mr. Gaunt, very fair. Didn’t think of that.” Fudge gave him a nod so emphatic that his hat almost flew off. “What’s he really want, do you think? Everyone always says that he could have been Minister and he refused, so he must be trustworthy, but-”
“I would not presume to say that I know the workings of the mind of the great Albus Dumbledore,” Lord Voldemort said, and then lowered his voice. “Of course, even those who are not as powerful can be permitted some…educated guesses…”
“Please share your educated guess with me, Mr. Gaunt!”
Fudge’s imbecility and cowardice were less than pleasing, at least in terms of a political ally, but Lord Voldemort could live with his obsequiousness. He smiled a little. “Only this. When someone stands up in front of people and declares that he doesn’t want political power, I would then expect him to stay out of public life, if he was sincere. But he is not, is he? He makes pronouncements. He retains positions such as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the Supreme Mugwump. And what is more political than being Headmaster of Hogwarts?”
“How?” Fudge asked, after a long moment of earnest contemplation.
“Among other things,” Lord Voldemort explained patiently, “it means that he can mold the minds of the younger generation. And fill them with tales of war and the enemy who must be fought. It means that he can essentially recruit them as his soldiers.”
“He can do that? I never thought of that!”
“You did not think of a great many things, of course,” Lord Voldemort said. The sarcasm had to escape, or he was going to make something explode, and it might not be the Minister’s desk. “Consider all the concerns that you have to deal with on a day-to-day basis. Dumbledore says that he doesn’t want to rule and then apparently steps back, but he leaves you with the business of ruling.”
“You are a wise man, Mr. Gaunt, very wise.”
“And my employer is wiser still,” Lord Voldemort said. Praising himself was the only thing that felt natural about this whole dreadful conversation. “If you consider that he’s managed to step back from a war and be the one who kept the peace. Dumbledore is trying to stir him up and give him some insult that he would have to react against, or lose the respect of his Death Eaters. But he holds his position of peace nonetheless. Dumbledore cannot anger him. He is wiser than Dumbledore.”
“Never thought about it like that!”
Hurry up and get more allies on your side soon, Harry. Or at least appreciate the sacrifice that I am making for you. Admiration would be a worthwhile birthday gift.
*
Jonathan felt as though someone had set his skin on fire when he glanced away from his duel with Sirius. Professor Dumbledore was standing near the door and watching Jonathan with twinkling eyes.
Of course, taking his eyes off Sirius when they were in the middle of a duel had consequences. Sirius crowed as his spell wrapped thongs around Jonathan’s legs that made him fall. Jonathan did manage to cast back a step that made Sirius jump and hop a few times, but Sirius had won and they knew it.
Dumbledore applauded politely. “Can I borrow young Mr. Potter for a few minutes, Sirius? I promise to give him back to you so that you can finish your lesson.” His eyes were twinkling again as he looked from Sirius to Jonathan and back.
“Oh, as long as you don’t teach him anything that means he can counteract my spells like that,” Sirius grumbled. Jonathan thought Dumbledore’s eyes couldn’t get any brighter, but they did.
“I promise not to help him cheat. That’s not the Gryffindor way,” Dumbledore said solemnly, and then held open the door of the room for Jonathan.
Does he forget that I’m a Hufflepuff? Sometimes it seems that way. Jonathan obediently followed Dumbledore a little way down the corridor, and they stopped near a portrait of a lady dozing on a bench. Jonathan saw her open one eye when they stopped, though.
“What is it, sir?”
“I recently uncovered some disturbing information about Voldemort, Jonathan.” Dumbledore wasn’t smiling now. “I wondered if you would agree to let me share that information with you, in case you have any special insights on the situation.”
Jonathan stared at him. “Sir, if you want to talk to Harry, why don’t you just say so?”
A flash of annoyance crossed Dumbledore’s face, and he shook his head. “This isn’t about your brother, Jonathan.”
“But he knows more about Voldemort than I do. He even lived with him for three years! What kind of special insights would I have?”
“You are the one destined to defeat him.”
Jonathan sighed. “Sir, Harry prevented that prophecy from coming true. I asked him once what that would mean, and he said he didn’t know, but he didn’t think that the prophecy would ever come true because someone got in the way.”
That conversation was even real. Jonathan wondered if he should offer to show Dumbledore the memories to prove it, but Dumbledore was already going on.
“I know that you trust your brother, Jonathan. But this information I have learned…it contradicts other information I have learned about Voldemort. It might be that we can no longer trust your brother.”
“Er. Why? Does it contradict information Harry told you, sir?”
“No. Another source.” Dumbledore bent down towards him, his face solemn. “But I trust the source of that information absolutely.”
“The new information, or the contradictory information? Sorry, sir. I think I’m losing track.”
Dumbledore gave him a quick look that Jonathan wouldn’t have liked if the whole look came out, but it seemed that Dumbledore turned it into a smile just in time. “A trusted source brought me information that I know to be true, about an artifact that is extremely important to Voldemort. But then I discovered that no such artifact lay in the place where my informant said it did. It may be that Harry moved it.”
“Or your informant just lied. Or made a mistake. Why are you distrusting Harry because of that, sir?”
Jonathan knew that he probably sounded too clear-headed, but he was really puzzled. Someone else lied, and Dumbledore thought that meant Harry had? Jonathan knew he wasn’t as smart or anything as Dumbledore, but this just seemed like plain logic. And he didn’t need to be in Ravenclaw to use logic.
Dumbledore cast a spell that made the air around them shimmer with pretty colors and then muffle sound. Jonathan decided he would ask Harry about that spell later. It sounded like one that would be useful to learn.
“I am speaking of Horcruxes.”
Jonathan shivered a little, even though it was mostly the tone in the Headmaster’s voice when he said that word. But Dumbledore nodded grimly. “Yes, we should shiver in the face of the Darkest magic ever performed.”
I think the Darkest magic ever performed was that spell you did on my mind.
“I know that Voldemort has thirteen Horcruxes, and I determined where one must be. But when I went there, there was no artifact, and no sign that the place had been used in perhaps a century. I am concerned that Voldemort must have received warning and be hiding his Horcruxes in different places.”
“Um, sir, how could he do that if the place wasn’t used in a century? Did he go back in time and move the Horcrux?”
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. “You are not funny, Jonathan.”
I thought I was pretty funny.
“Thirteen is bad enough,” Dumbledore continued in grave tones. “But to not find them in the likeliest places…yes, I do have to wonder if Voldemort is getting information from our side of the war. And it is far more likely that Harry is a traitor than most of the people in the Order of the Phoenix, none of whom would have that knowledge.”
“Harry is not a traitor!”
Dumbledore sighed. “Alas, my dear child, you see your brother’s soul by the light of your own. When one has lived such a long time as the Master of Death has, it is very easy to come to regard other human beings as lesser than yourself and see them as only pawns on a chessboard.”
Yes, you would know.
“I only want you to consider that what he has told you about the prophecy may not be correct,” Dumbledore continued. “And to be cautious about what information you feed him. And perhaps talk with him concerning what he knows about Horcruxes.”
Jonathan bit his lips and didn’t explode. He clenched his hands into fists and didn’t explode, either. It was really difficult. Finally, he nodded and said, “I’ll be careful about what I say, Professor Dumbledore.”
That was the kind of dancing around the truth that Harry would have picked up right away. But Professor Dumbledore just smiled at him, maybe because he was so used to thinking he was the only smart one. “Thank you, my dear boy. Being careful is all anyone can do.” He patted Jonathan’s shoulder and walked away.
Jonathan waited a long time before he went back to Sirius. He was thinking all the time.
Professor Dumbledore wasn’t stupid, but he held himself above everybody else and he didn’t really understand them.
And he was stupid if he thought Jonathan would ever abandon his brother. Because that was not the way it was going to be.
Chapter Forty-Five.
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