Chapter Seventy-Two of 'His Twenty-Eighth Life'- The Chamber of Ambitions
Chapter Seventy-One.
Title: His Twenty-Eighth Life (72/?)
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.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Seventy-Two-The Chamber of Ambitions
“I hope you can forgive me for what I did to you.”
Remus’s voice was stiff, and his eyes were fixed on the carpet instead of on Harry’s face. Harry watched him with quiet understanding. There weren’t that many worlds where Remus had hated himself as fiercely as he had in this one, but Harry had seen him tread this path before. And at least this time, he had reached the ending in friendship and renewed loyalty and self-forgiveness (eventually) instead of soul-death or suicide.
“Of course I forgive you,” Harry said, and reached out to shake Remus’s hand. Remus started. For a second, his hand flexed as if he thought it was a dangerous clawed paw and he was going to snatch it back from Harry. Harry just kept shaking it and held Remus’s eyes calmly. “I hope that you can be more comfortable with me, knowing what I am, now.”
“I still don’t understand why an immortal chose to assume a human body and act like a human child,” Remus said. His voice was a croak. He cast a Warming Charm on the tea next to him on the table. Lily had made it, and then she and James and Jonathan had left on a long walk, almost an hour ago. Remus gulped the tea and watched Harry over the rim.
“I don’t act that much like a normal human child,” Harry said, with a faint smile, as he picked up his own cup of tea. “But part of the answer is that I thought I would forget how to be mortal, otherwise. I didn’t want to withdraw from people and turn into some sort of distant god. Benevolent or not. Sooner or later, I might have forgotten the difference and just done what I thought was best.”
“Like Albus did.”
Harry paused. “I honestly wasn’t going to make the comparison. But yes, maybe that’s the best one. He got so caught up in his vision for the world that he forgot people could disagree with it and still be good people. I never want to do that.”
“I know what you did to him,” Remus whispered, making it sound like a confession, too. “Would you ever consider reversing the spell?”
“He would have destroyed my brother’s mind.”
Remus’s eyes widened. “For a moment there, I thought I could see straight through you. Into a tunnel full of stars.”
Harry condensed himself into flesh again, and nodded. “I know. I do that when I feel strongly about something. And I have no guarantee that Albus wouldn’t go straight back to striking at Jonathan if I lifted the curse. That’s the main reason I did it in the first place. Without something that imprisoned him in his own mind or permanently distracted his attention, he would always think he could sacrifice Jonathan, or me, or anyone else who got in the way of what he wanted to do. Maybe Augusta Longbottom, now that she’s proving to be a leader in her own right instead of someone who obeys him.”
“Harry-no. He wouldn’t do that.”
Harry shrugged. “He’s too afraid. And convinced that he knows everything, and he doesn’t need to change his mind because no one else ‘knows everything.’”
Remus looked truly thoughtful for the first time since their conversation began. Maybe it was actually a good thing that he had lost control of his mortal form for a bit, Harry thought. It reminded Remus of what he was and in a way allowed him to get past it, instead of flinching internally every minute while he waited for Harry to become the Master of Death.
“What if I could come up with some kind of permanent distraction?” Remus asked finally, looking at Harry again. He had finished his cup of tea. Harry picked up his own and warmed it. He shouldn’t waste it. “Something that would make sure Albus wouldn’t pay attention to you?”
“Well, if you could do that, I’d release him from the curse,” Harry said. His voice was doubtful enough for Remus to give him a chiding look, but Harry couldn’t help it. He couldn’t think of something that would distract Albus that way, himself, and he had a lot more perfect memories of situations in different worlds than Remus did.
“Then it’s decided. I’ll do my best, and you can release him if it works.” Remus sat back in his chair and gave Harry a genuine smile that he hadn’t seen in at least two lives. “I think Albus is a good man driven by his fear.”
“And the nature of this world,” Harry muttered.
He hadn’t meant to be heard, but just as he had a voice that could speak more softly than an ordinary human’s, so Remus had ears that could hear more sharply. Remus narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“This world is already different in lots of ways,” Harry said simply. “I’m used to being the only immortal being in it, and even then I age and die and go somewhere else, so it’s not the same as living forever. Here I’ve met more than one. And I’m used to Voldemort being impossible to change, but here he’s not. Albus was more afraid of me than usual. The Hallows have told me things that they never bothered to tell me before.” He ignored the insulted thrum of the Elder Wand from nearby and nowhere. Whether he’d asked the right questions or not, they could have volunteered that information. “And there’s smaller differences, like a place I’m going to visit being in an entirely different location than I’m used to. I want to know what makes this world so different.”
“Perhaps you being here and known.” Remus looked intensely uncomfortable, but then, he always did when Harry brought up how different he was from a “normal” human being.
“Well, but that wouldn’t have an effect on how redeemable Voldemort is, or whether other immortal beings existed in this world. They were here before I was born into this body.” Harry thoughtfully sipped from his tea again, and shook his head. “Anyway. Thanks for the conversation, Remus. It’s good to remember that I might not have made the right decision about Albus, and I’m fallible.” He put down the cup again and stood up.
“Given that you’re fallible, do you think you should be doing this?”
“Doing what?” Harry looked at Remus. He hadn’t told him where he was going, and he would be a bit annoyed if Jonathan had, although Jonathan would never have betrayed him on purpose.
Remus took a deep breath. “Playing politics. Playing with human lives. You should be an immortal with a larger perspective than most people get, but then you’d be-fairer. Instead you condemned Albus to a living hell and you set out to redeem someone most people would agree is a Dark Lord who should just be left alone. Is it really a good idea to let people know what you are? Why don’t you just pretend to be an ordinary human being?”
“The choice has been taken from me. And I find it odd that you’re ready to condemn me for playing politics when you think Albus should be excused for the same sin.”
Remus recoiled. Harry just nodded to him and went out the door, shaking his head. Remus was never at ease with Harry except in those worlds where he had accepted his wolf as part of himself, and here, he had obviously run in terror of it too long. They could have civil conversations, they could agree to disagree about their political beliefs, but Remus was overinvested in the idea that “human” meant one specific thing, and that anyone who stood outside it should long for it and confine themselves to it if they got a chance.
Harry turned himself into darkness and spiraled up towards the stars.
He would help Remus relax around him if he could, but right now, he was far more interested in visiting someone who didn’t need that relaxation.
*
Voldemort lifted his head. The rustle of the night around him changed subtly, and he thought he could hear a distant singing. Not like a phoenix, but like a much higher-pitched wolf’s howl.
He is almost here.
Voldemort turned around and didn’t bother to dim the welcoming smile on his lips as Harry landed beside him on a small ledge. They were near the summit of Mount Snowdon, but within ancient wards that Muggles could not bypass and had never seen. After meeting his ancestor, Voldemort understood the power behind them better. Slytherin might have sacrificed a century to their study, and it would have been small enough of a sacrifice for him.
“I’m here.”
“I know,” Voldemort said, and smiled more widely as he watched Harry’s power ebbing and flowing around him in smoky coils. He had coalesced a human head and shoulders out of the smoke, but the rest stayed as shifting darkness, and Voldemort found that enthralling. Harry’s eyes were as green as a basilisk’s scales as he turned his head to study the arched entrance in front of them.
“This is very different from the other worlds I know,” he murmured.
“I am honored, in that case, to have the ability to show it to you,” Voldemort said, and laid his hand on the arched doorway. What seemed to be a wall of fixed stones vibrated in response to the touch of his fingers, and then turned into smoke that rolled back into the corners of the arch.
“This isn’t the way that we used to enter the Chamber of Ambitions, either,” Harry said, moving slowly forwards.
Voldemort answered in Parseltongue as Harry had spoken, although there was nothing in the Chamber that required the language in order to access its secrets. “I suspect that everything will be different about this place, as I am different from the other versions of myself that you have known.”
Harry glanced back at him, his eyes gleaming in a different way as the torches in the Chamber began to light. “I will figure out why that difference exists.”
“I do not mind being the subject of your research.”
Perhaps Harry felt that sounded too much like flirting, because he turned away with a little frown and studied the chamber in front of them, instead. The torches were spaced evenly, in sconces decorated with scales and coils, around the edges of a wide cavern with dark walls and a white floor. The floor wasn’t marble, but it looked more like it than anything else Voldemort had been able to compare it to-if completely smooth and unjoined marble, with no seams between blocks or any other sign that this piece hadn’t simply been flattened and smoothed and transported wholesale into the cavern by the claws of a dragon.
The Chamber appeared empty, until Harry strode into the center. Then a subtle gold shimmer began to make its way down the walls and run over to meet him. Even knowing what the Chamber did, Voldemort found that he had to fight to hold still.
Harry turned and met his eyes. “This isn’t a threat to me.”
The gold shimmers danced faster in response to the Parseltongue, and collided in front of Harry like entwined snakes. Harry stood, staring, as the image began to build up.
The nearest image, Voldemort knew, would resemble that of the Mirror of Erised. But unlike the mirror, the Chamber of Ambitions showed both the image of one’s heart’s desire-and what was necessary to achieve it.
Harry narrowed his eyes as he stared at the wavering lines of light in front of him. They were taking longer to trace out the picture for him than they had for Voldemort the first time he had been here, Voldemort thought idly. But on the other hand, what he had wanted had been straightforward.
He had seen himself sitting on a grand throne with followers kneeling in front of him, with their ranks stretching so far into the distance that even he had felt a kind of contentment take root in his heart. And the Chamber had laid out the first steps of a path that would lead him to that goal. It had not told him everything. It was meant to be used on many visits, and so had granted him the first three visions then and no more.
Voldemort had been back nine times since. He wondered how many times Harry would need to visit-
Assuming the image of his ambition ever formed. The Chamber seemed to be having trouble depicting it. Harry, meanwhile, stood with his arms folded, obviously not interested in making it easier for the Chamber.
Perhaps five minutes later, there was a long bubbling noise like a champagne bottle being opened, and the image swirled into being. Voldemort stepped back a little so he could see it from a wider angle.
The picture was dim, lit only by a fireplace, but seemed to be the inside of a small, cozy house. Voldemort had to snort when he saw the red and gold colors of the furniture. Harry had told him that he’d been in every House at Hogwarts over his many lives, but he’d been a Gryffindor most often.
The center of the room was occupied by two chairs, partially facing each other and partially facing the fire. In one of them, Harry-the grown-up version of Harry Voldemort had seen at the meeting of the Light’s allies-sat with his hands enfolding a book. He was occupied with reading it, his head bowed, but at the same time, a sleepy smile on his face said he wouldn’t be awake much longer.
In the chair across from him was a man in his late twenties, dark hair shading everything except the line of his jaw. He had a book in his lap, too, but it was closed on his finger, and he was watching Harry with single-minded devotion.
Rage leaped up in Voldemort like the fire in the image. He desires to be with someone, and it is not me?
The man in the picture turned his head as if he’d heard the question, and Voldemort recognized the face that had once looked out at him from the mirror.
Voldemort swallowed around the jagged edge in his throat as he glanced at Harry. Harry had gone still, his eyes narrowed and sharp. For a moment, he glanced at Voldemort, then back at the man in the chair.
“That’s not what I want,” he said.
“That’s what the Chamber of Ambitions is showing you,” Voldemort said. He turned back at the image, which hadn’t changed, even though Harry had claimed not to want it. “The Chamber can show you how to achieve it.”
“You’re staring at me and him the way you are because you believe that you can’t be him again.” Harry turned to face him, shaking his hair and looking at Voldemort with the kind of age in his green eyes that made him seem a goblin-sized adult instead of a child. “I don’t want to hurt you with that.”
“You are making no sense.” Voldemort cleared his throat when he heard the huskiness of his own voice.
“I might wish that you could go back to being just Tom Riddle. But that’s not what you want. You want to continue being Voldemort.” Harry tilted his head, ignoring the images that the Chamber was forming behind the one of the cottage, his eyes flashing like a cat’s. “So, regardless of whether I want it, I won’t work for it. I would be much happier accepting what you want to give me.”
The Chamber’s visions didn’t stop forming. Voldemort found himself shaking his head, at a loss. “You want it, you want to work for it, or the Chamber wouldn’t be showing you how to achieve that ambition.”
“There’s a difference between desire and action.”
Voldemort supposed that was true, but, “For me, it never was.”
Harry considered that some more. The images that had formed were golden, compelling, but he never looked at them. Voldemort did, quickly, just long enough to see that there was a plinth of some sort and a runic circle floating in the air that looked insanely complicated. Not that Harry couldn’t draw it if he wanted to.
“Do you want to go back to being Tom Riddle?”
Voldemort looked again at the first image, which was still the strongest, with the other steps down the path forming in more and more shadowy outline behind it. Then he made the hardest decision of his life. “No.”
Harry nodded. “Then why should I seek that path?”
“I do not want to go back to that name, and I think that face is false.” Voldemort frowned again at the image of his face as he might have looked if he had aged only twenty years, and turned to Harry again. “But I want to be someone you can love.”
Harry paused for long enough that the Chamber had built another step down the path. The only picture Voldemort could make out in the last one was an image of his agonized self tied to an altar. He kept watching it because at the moment, it was easier than watching Harry when he had spoken that word aloud.
Harry moved forwards. Voldemort braced as much courage as he could-it felt inadequate-against the walls of his personality, and turned around.
“You already are.”
There was a roar like a distant windstorm, and the images the Chamber had created vanished. The image that formed in their place was wavering, dusty, and Voldemort saw only glimpses of himself and Harry’s face in it, and cliffs, and wings, and wands, and altars. They all disappeared as quickly as they formed.
The Chamber was trying to conjure both of their ambitions at once, he realized. And it was impossible because they both wanted too many different things, and things that diverged too far from each other’s.
But it didn’t matter. The real image was the shining happiness in his heart, which he wanted to keep forever, and which could have powered a Patronus.
Chapter Seventy-Three.