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Chapter Text

“Dismissed.” Snape’s voice is as cold as ever. Harry, dizzy and shaking, takes the spiral stairs up from his office two at a time,  remembering to grab his wand from the floor. He’s spooked. His mind feels unmoored, unfocused, and there’s a sharp pounding behind his temples that seems to be pulsing at the edges of his vision in red, red red.

Running through the dungeons, he takes the corners from memory until he hits a staircase that he climbs. He’s not thinking about where he’s going, just how far he can get away . 

He crashes headfirst into professor Sprout, who catches him by the shoulders before he falls. “Mr Potter!” She exclaims, and he flinches instinctively. There’s blood on his lips- his nose is bleeding.

She is lighting his face with her wand, concern written on her own. “What happened, Potter?” She asks, much quieter and gentler, turning to start guiding him along with her, an arm around his shoulders.

Harry is shivering, sweaty and scared. He barely registers the question. “Potter?” 

He looks at her blankly, unable to pull words together, and she frowns. “Come with me.” They’re still moving together, but Sprout increases the pace. It’s not long before she’s making him sit on a bed in the Hospital Wing. “Wait here for me, Potter.” She puts a hand on his shoulder again, pressing for a moment, and Harry manages a single nod.

He’s so tired. 

Occlumency normally does this, right? He doesn’t know. His first lesson is just a bit of a shock, right?

He’s probably fine.

“He’s in shock,” Pomfrey tells Sprout as she helps him into pyjamas. Sprout is outside the cordoned area, waiting to hear if Harry is alright. “I’m hesitant to push him, but he isn’t physically injured except for the nosebleed. Shock normally occurs after a serious injury or traumatic event. Whether he saw something, was attacked… I don’t know. I’m keeping him in here overnight and all day tomorrow. If he doesn’t improve by breakfast I’ll bring in a specialist. Could you inform Minerva?” 

Harry is very tired. He also feels ill. Like something very wrong has happened and his body is rejecting it.

But, all that happened was-.

Snape’s not traumatised him, that’s stupid-.

Harry lets her take his glasses and wand and even tuck him in, casting a monitoring charm over the bed and the Hospital Wing door. “If you need the bathroom there are pans in the sideroom, you’ve been here often enough.” Pomfrey says briskly. She… pauses and conjures a small cloth, and leans in to wipe the space between his nose and mouth, cleaning the blood away. Harry merely watches her. “If you need me, just call out or reach your arm beyond the bed. Sleep well, Potter.” 

She’s being kinder than usual too. He must be a mess.

Harry stares at the ceiling and fancies he can see the shattered sections of his mind pulsing along to his heartbeat. He feels like he’s drifting out of his body. He wonders if this is healthy. 

(He knows it is not.)

There is a voice in the back of his mind, familiar and unwanted.

Kill the spare.

He isn’t going to sleep tonight.

There’s a second voice, that might be his imagination. It’s angry, and he can’t make out any words but it sounds protective. It threatens, but it means Harry no harm. He’d like it if that voice was real.

He wonders if minds can get infected. 

The second voice grows more insistent to the point where it startles him slightly. He can hear it now.

...MINE. And I will not let you die like this. Where are you?

What a silly question for a voice in his head to ask. He’s in Hogwarts of course.

Of course. 

Harry’s starting to wonder if the voice in his head is another person. 

...no. We are two parts of a whole. You are mine.

And there it goes with the nonsensical explanations. He closes his eyes. It doesn’t help with the dizziness and drifting feeling. 

That does not matter. What DOES matter is that you have been attacked by a legilimens and your mind is hemorrhaging. You will die if you do not seek treatment in the next few days, and be permanently damaged within hours. 

‘You idiot’ is strongly implied.

But what treatment can he seek? He’s stuck in school, with Umbridge and the inquisitorial squad and teachers who don’t listen. Dying wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe he’d finally get a rest from people trying to kill him.

Rage and confusion that aren't his own flood his body.

His scar prickles in-time with the words. Nobody touches what’s MINE. 

Harry’s eyes widen ever-so-slightly as he realises who, exactly, the voice belongs to.

Voldemort. In his head. 

That… is weird. Very weird. 

A lot weirder than the dreams. He’s never been aware of Harry’s presence before, and certainly not like THIS. 

...Harry… Potter…?

Oh no. 

He rolls over, pressing his face into the pillow and squeezing his eyes shut. “No,” he breathes in fear, heart rate accelerating. 

He has a direct line into Harry’s head-

Yes. Oh, Harry. This makes so much sense. How could you hide this from me? You are mine.

Harry shakes his head slightly, tears pricking at his eyes. He can’t do this. Not after today. Not after… whatever Snape had done to him. He just can’t. He doesn’t know what to do.

Harry, if you come to me you can rest as long as you wish. Nobody will touch you. Not even me. I will cherish you. I protect what is mine.

He can sense the sincerity. Voldemort has truly gone from murderous to protective in a minute flat. 

Harry is so tired .

I can’t protect you in Hogwarts, Harry. But if you come to me, I can let you rest. Aren’t you tired, Harry?

He is. Merlin, he is.

I need you to come to me. I can’t force you in this state, it would break you. But I can come and get you myself. You do not have to walk far. Just to the treeline. 

Harry’s not sure he can walk at all. His limbs feel like lead.

Volemort’s emotions are odd. Sadness? 

I’ll send Lucius, then. He is on the board of governors, he has access to the school. 

He’s floating. Everything is blurry.

Sleep, Harry. I’ll protect you.

He sleeps.

-

“You can’t be in h-”

“Stupefy.”

--

Harry Potter’s hospital bed is left remade perfectly, not a wrinkle in sight. A folded note sits on the pillow. Inside it has a short message in looping handwriting.

Some ‘teachers’ you hire, Dumbledore.

He will be safer with me.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter’s hospital bed is left remade perfectly, not a wrinkle in sight. A folded note sits on the pillow. Inside it has a short message in looping handwriting.

'Some ‘teachers’ you hire, Dumbledore.

He will be safer with me.'

---

He’s on a soft bed, cradled under a thick duvet and blankets with his head tucked with care onto a set of plush pillows. He opens his eyes slowly, and the blurry room is made up in calming shades of blue and green, with reddish wood furniture. 

There is a side table, and he reaches over to locate his glasses, feeling steadier than before but still weakened. Shoving them on, he looks around properly. It’s a richly decorated room in older styles - like Grimmauld Place but cleaner - with a floral print wallpaper and a golden-bordered mirror on one wall. A fire burns low in a grate, occasionally popping out sparks, and a man is fast asleep on an armchair beside Harry’s bed.

Voldemort. 

He does not look how he did in the graveyard anymore. 

That had been an alien thing, born of magic and alchemy, alive but not truly living. 

This Voldemort looks like a more mature Tom Riddle. A slightly wider jawline and less pronounced cheekbones plus the presence of dark stubble on his face make him look closer to thirty. He breathes so quietly that Harry cannot hear it, but he sees the rise and fall of the man’s chest, half-covered by the heavy coils of a huge snake, curled atop but not around him.

Nagini, he guesses.

He doesn’t feel shattered anymore. That’s… good. How did he get here? He remembers pieces… Snape. Hospital wing. Voldemort’s voice in his head, gentle and protective. Has he been stolen from Hogwarts?

Voldemort is wearing a dark shirt and trousers, the sleeves pushed up and wrinkled. Even in his sleep, he looks tired.

Had he been the one to heal Harry? Is he the reason Harry no longer feels anchored to his body by a single thread, but firmly entrenched within it?

Sitting up, Harry looks around some more. He doesn’t want to disturb Voldemort, partially out of nerves and partially just because- the man has just saved his mind. He deserves a good nap.

Speaking of. He looks at the snake. “Nagini,” he says softly, focusing on talking to her rather than Voldemort. “Nagini, are you awake?” 

She lifts her head to look at him. “Do not disssturb my massster,” she says. He watches her mouth and all it does is open and shut. Parseltongue, the language of hissing. “Hatchling isss to ressst.”

Voldemort frowns in his sleep as she moves, Harry notices. It’s weird to see him expressing an emotion.

“I won’t disturb him,” Harry replies, quieter, looking around for his wand and spotting it on the bedside table. He picks it up. “...do you know what happened? I don’t remember.” He keeps his voice low, but he isn’t nearly as afraid of Voldemort’s wrath as he remembers being the last time they met.

“Your mind wassss not your own,” Nagini speaks intelligently, for a snake. Harry hasn’t spoken to many, but he remembers the basilisk’s half-mad ramblings. “And it wassss torn apart by a man who did not undersssstand what had been done to it.”

“Snape,” Harry says. She dips her head down in a nod.

“Yesss. My masssster sensssed your dissstress and had you brought here to ssssave your life. You would have died by the next sunssset.” 

Normally Harry is present for his survival of a brush with death. It’s unnerving to not remember it at all, to have to trust the word of a snake that he’s fairly sure wants to eat him. “...how long til he wakes up?” He asks her cautiously. “I can’t just stay in bed forever.”

Now is not the time to be brash, but Harry is already feeling trapped by Voldemort’s sleeping presence. 

He’s… calmer than he should be, though. Most of his usual adrenaline and fear when he sees Voldemort just isn’t here. His mind feels clear, clearer than it has been in a while. “...what did you mean when you said my mind was not my own?” He asks her, suddenly worried. He’s… he’s thinking differently. Like he’s been enchanted.

Nagini lets out an incomprehensible hiss. “My massster did not explain it to me before he fell asssleep, hatchling. All I know is what he sssaid- your mind wasss not your own.” 

Well, that’s unhelpful. 

Voldemort shifts in his sleep, letting out an audible sigh that leaves his lips parted slightly. Harry stares. It’s such an oddly human thing from his mortal enemy, he feels thrown entirely off-balance by it.

“...Nagini, why is he letting me be here while he sleeps?”

“I do not know. My massster was very tired after healing you. But I am here to protect him and my venom is ssstrong, so don’t try anything!” Nagini hisses threateningly.

Harry shakes his head. “I wouldn’t. Besides, I remember…” he bites his lip. “He swore to protect me. Was that a dream?” He feels guilty for hoping that it was real.

“No.” Nagini blows his guilt away with relief, and Harry sighs, leaning back against the headboard. “Masster’s promissses are rare. He will not break it, Hatchling.”

Assurances from Voldemort’s snake aren’t very comforting, but they’re better than nothing. Harry rubs his eyes tiredly, and he lays back down facing Voldemort before he thinks about that too much. 

He feels… safe. It’s unexpected, but Harry hasn’t felt truly safe since Voldemort returned. There’s always been a fear of things going wrong whispering in the back of his head. Now, though? Now Harry knows Voldemort is sleeping. Nothing is happening. He is safe.

Until Voldemort wakes, at least. 

…Harry should be trying to escape right now. People would expect him to be trying to escape right now. He should want to escape right now. And yet… 

And yet. 

Harry watches as Voldemort’s eyelids flicker slightly before opening. His eyes are a deep red and immediately focus on Nagini, a fond smile taking over his face. “You stayed so long, my darling?” His voice is the same as ever, deep and rich with the faintest hint of a lisp, drawing out the ‘sss’ sounds.

The last bit of doubt fades away. This man is Voldemort. Harry knows his voice, and will always hear it in his nightmares. He watches as Nagini climbs up to rest around Voldemort’s shoulders.

“You are comfortable and warm. And the Hatchling is here! Someone had to watch you both! You get into so much trouble, dear, and you were tired out,” she explains herself rather energetically, the tip of her long tail going around Voldemort’s arm to stabilise her as she settles around his neck, head down on his lap. “You spent more magic than you meant to, my-...” she pauses for a moment. “My dear.” She means to say something else, but Harry knows it’s because he is awake.

He opens his eyelids properly and meets Voldemort’s gaze with his own. 

If all the previous times they met had been thunderstorms, this is the relief after a storm has passed. 

Voldemort’s ruby red eyes hold no rage, only a quiet understanding. “Good afternoon, Harry,” he says softly.

Harry’s throat is suddenly full of thorns. “...g-good afternoon.” He stammers, nervous beyond belief. He tightens his fingers on his wand. He should be scared, but he isn’t. Just nervous for how this confrontation will go. 

“You must be very confused,” Voldemort says, leaning his chin on one arm. “I doubt you recall much of last night.” 

Harry shakes his head, biting his lip. He doesn’t want to sit up, but he knows it would be polite. 

-Listen to him, worrying about manners around the Dark Lord Voldemort!-

“Nagini explained a bit,” he offers. “But…” he shrugs one shoulder, and then takes the plunge and sits, pulling the blankets with him to wrap around his body. He’s still wearing the Hospital Wing pyjamas, and that is somewhat comforting. “I don’t understand.” He admits.

“You’re young and still in school. Most muggle-raised wizards would not.” Voldemort says, still watching him unblinkingly. “I took notes before I had to rest. I am not certain I listed everything, but,” He reaches out toward a dresser and a roll of parchment flies into the man’s hand, no wand or words needed. Harry swallows at the effortless power shown.

“N-notes?” He asks, once he realises Voldemort is waiting for a response.

“On what I found in your mind, magic and soul.” The man hands over the scroll, and Harry pushes his glasses up his nose. 

There is fear now, sickly and prevalent. He breathes through it and unrolls the scroll.

Chapter Text

 “On what I found in your mind, magic and soul.” The man hands over the scroll, and Harry pushes his glasses up his nose. 

There is fear now, sickly and prevalent. He breathes through it and unrolls the scroll. 

--------------------

The fire in the grate flares.

Harry can’t read the words for a second, his eyes adjusting to what must have been a long sleep. The words slowly come into focus, as he reads he hears himself letting out an animal sound of pain. 

-Vow: something to do with Dursley family. memory suppressed.

-Compulsions. 

- -Loyalty to gryffindors. muggles + mudbloods, parents, dumbledore, weasley family + order of the phoenix, hermione granger.

- - irrational rage triggers; slytherin, pureblood, rich, dark magic, insulting dumbledore, myself, parseltongue, malfoy family, death eaters

- - irrational fear triggers; snape, dursley family, myself + anything with my magic, parseltongue + magic, chamber of secrets, death eaters

-memory suppressants. quite literally more than i could count.

-Evidence of obliviates - at least three in the last six months. More further back, up to 100 in the last 10 years. 

-Evidence of short-term compulsions. At least four in the last six months, most recent to fear the connection with myself. 

-multiple instances of short-term panic suppressants - subduing PTSD?

-Soul magic - bound somehow? 

-Vow located; magical vow to never report the dursley family to the authorities or attempt to make anyone else do it. causes aversion. obliviated. around age 6. 

make dumbledore suffer .

Hor Memor- Horcrux.

-only one soul in body,though. 

- - horcrux only soul in body??

other magic:

-blood ward. useless as we share blood. may protect him from harm from other wizards? very weak.

-some sort of magic suppressant, possible creature inheritance? family magic?

- tracking charm on glasses . removed.

- house elf tracking charm on wand . removed.

potions flush will be done just in case.

and the final icing. Severus Snape’s attack. Tore open all of these scars and ripped them to shreds. goal unclear. 

Harry feels a wave of heat beneath his skin. It seems to roar in his ears until it’s all he can hear as he stares down at the sheet of parchment. 

Turning over his life in just a few sentences. 

What is he supposed to do about it? 

How is he supposed to go on knowing his entire life is a lie? 

He’s heard of some of these spells, and some others speak for themselves, but… 

“Compulsions? Memory suppressants? What’s a Horcrux?” He asks, blurting out the questions one after another, desperate to get some answers.

Voldemort sighs and stands up, lifting Nagini onto the bed beside Harry. “Wait here.” Nagini curls up in Harry’s lap and he watches as Voldemort summons an elf and asks for some food, plus a calming potion. “Trust me, you will need it. Your magic is barely under control as it is and I don’t wish for you to cause yourself more damage,” He assures Harry at the- at whatever face he makes.

He focuses on the weight of Nagini, not quite daring to reach out and stroke her, but enjoying the way she wraps herself up around his body. She’s powerful and he’s seen her kill before, but strangely enough he feels safe.

“Where is this place?” Harry asks as it occurs to him that he has no clue where Voldemort has stashed him. 

“One of my safe houses.” Voldemort replies. “We are on the coast of Ireland, the seas will protect you from the majority of tracking spells.” Harry recalls Hermione saying something about natural land and water barriers affecting tracking magic, when doing her Arithmancy homework. Rivers were lesser, but still had to be taken into account for certain magics. “Salt water is a natural barrier for that sort of thing.” Harry nods, glad for the explanation.

The elf returns with two trays, one of which it directs to float over Harry’s lap. He examines the simple offerings - a green soup with white meat chunks, likely chicken, steaming hot in a bowl; a royal blue potion in a glass that lets out thin purple smoke, and a plate with two thick slices of brown, seedy bread, buttered heavily. “Thank you,” He whispers to the elf before it pops away, and the small being nods in response.

“Take the potion now, and we can eat as we talk,” Voldemort says after a few moments’ silence. His own tray has a similar meal set out, with the potion exchanged for a glass of water, and the man directs it to float across his own lap. 

Harry looks at the potion again. It looks a lot more inviting than the ones he gets in the Hospital Wing. He takes up the glass. Somehow, he trusts that Voldemort wouldn’t put all this work into making him better only to poison him. And he’d asked the house elf for a calming potion, so.

He takes the potion, and feels it settle in his stomach in that slightly tingly way that potions often do. The food smells good. He looks back up, and Voldemort is eating, comfortable in his presence. Harry feels comfortable too, not scared of Voldemort at all anymore. The nervous energy has begun to fade, thanks to the potion. He lifts the soup on his spoon and takes a sip. It is good.

“So- the list.”

“Indeed,” Voldemort copies the paper with a non-verbal charm and takes the copy. “Shall we begin at the top and make our way down?”

Harry looks down at his copy of the list. Magical vow related to Dursleys .

“Your relatives, Harry,” Voldemort’s voice seems to soften, and Nagini settles from her shifting pose, coiling across Harry’s legs as if to listen. “Did they treat you, perhaps, unfairly?”

What’s unfair is that Harry’s not angry at Voldemort anymore, so he can’t give a response that would have been knee-jerk, before. 

Oh.

So, all those times when people had asked; Ginny, Hermione, Neville, and many more, asked because he was too thin in September or flinching at loud noises-

And he had always deflected on pure, enchanted instinct. 

He still has that instinct. 

It’s screaming at him to not tell anyone.

Harry just… nods, numbly. It’s the first time he’s admitted it.

Now he knows why.

“I had an inkling,” Voldemort says agreeably, and takes a sip of water. “A magical vow is an oath a wizard takes upon their magic. At age six, it would have been easy to manipulate you into swearing it and then obliviate the memory. Magical vows are slightly different to Unbreakable vows, in that you will lose your magic, not your life, should you break them. But for you, I imagine that would amount to the same thing. Both kinds of vow induce a subtle compulsion to keep them, a defence mechanism on the part of your magic. And because you didn’t know about it, it became a habit.”

Isn’t that insidious? An enchantment that had been a part of Harry’s life for so long that it had melded into his personality? How is he supposed to know if any of his personality is real?

“I understand that this is hard to hear from me, as I am not an unbiased source and even without the enchantments you are likely still scared of me,” Voldemort points out. “I hope to ease those thoughts as you spot the discrepancies in your mind and line them up with the list.”

That makes sense. Harry is feeling a little afraid of Voldemort now, but not much. It feels like… a healthy nervousness about being in a room with someone so much more powerful than he is, rather than just the blind adrenaline and panic of Voldemort that he remembers from before. 

How much of his personality has been erased and rewritten by Dumbledore’s magic?

He stifles the uneasiness with a mouthful of soup.

“So, the vow- the memory had been suppressed. As you were six when it happened, it took a bit of digging, but magical and unbreakable vows are designed to be always remembered - which is why the memory was suppressed, not removed. You should be able to recall it now along with all the other suppressed memories, but it may take some time before you have them all in order. The wording of the vow is as follows. ‘Do you, Harry Potter, swear to never attempt to have your relatives punished for how they treat you?’ and the second part ‘Do you, Harry Potter, swear to never attempt to get anyone else to punish your relatives for how they treat you?’.”

Harry feels like his body has turned to ice. As Voldemort recites the vows, he can hear them being said in his head in Dumbledore’s voice. A slightly younger Dumbledore’s face swims into his mind’s eye, mouthing the words, and he hears a child’s voice - his voice, answering with ‘I do’.

The only thing he can feel is Nagini’s weight on his feet. 

As Voldemort pauses to let it sink in, Harry see’s the man’s face change, visually distorting for a second into the snake-face, then Dumbledore’s face, then Sirius, all staring at him with a shocked, disappointed expression, then-

Harry slams his eyes shut and presses his fingers into his eyelids as if he can physically wipe the sight away.

“Harry?” It’s still Voldemort’s voice, at least. “Are you alright?” 

Well, if his mind is falling apart anyway, seeing things comes with the territory, right?

“I was-... seeing things.”

“Ah,” Nagini shifts on Harry’s lap as the boy tentatively opens his eyes again. Thankfully, the hallucination has stopped, and he lets out a sigh of relief. “That isn’t unexpected, your mind is trying to… categorise all that it’s starting to remember. …you should expect mild hallucinations and confusion for a while. I advise bed rest for at least two weeks, but I know you’ll get restless. So just, do not push yourself and if you see or hear something that doesn’t seem right, ask me or Nagini and we will tell you if it is there.”

Harry wants to burst into tears .

“C-can we keep going on the list, please,” His voice wobbles slightly, and he hopes Voldemort doesn’t notice. He internally begs Voldemort not to notice because he thinks if the man notices that Harry will cry and he can’t cry, not yet, not now, not here, not in front of the man who saved him and orphaned him and is probably the only person in the world who would understand.

“Alright,” What right does Voldemort have to sound so gentle? “Next is the compulsions. Do you know what a compulsion is?”

Harry shakes his head, staring down at his hands again. Nagini, still half on his lap, is a very powerful looking snake, but he doesn’t think he has much to fear from her anymore.

“It is a blanket name for a type of spell that can be used to compel someone to do or think something. Adult wizards, whose magic is settled and has gone through magical majority, can usually throw one off instinctively, but underage wizards usually can’t. It’s a crime to cast them on anyone without consent, but is especially heinous to cast one on a child who cannot throw it off.”

Harry, blinks. Taking in that information. It’s… terrifying to know that magic can just… do that. “So- all those listed things-...” He can feel fear rising against the calming potion and is grateful for Voldemort providing it or he would have already exploded from all the emotions he is feeling. 

“Yes, those are compulsions. Irrational Loyalty, rage and fear triggers are the easiest to implant and can be done from just a few moments of eye contact. Dumbledore pulls you aside fairly regularly, if I remember correctly from your memories. Just to ask how you are, or how your classes are going.”

The floor feels like it has fallen away beneath Harry. 

He can’t breathe properly for a moment as Voldemort lays out how easy it would have been for Dumbledore to change Harry’s personality.

“Harry- breathe. Look at me, breathe in. Good,” Voldemort’s tone stays soft, which Harry is grateful for as he struggles to follow the man’s instructions. “Now exhale, one, two, three, four. Good.” He leads Harry through a few more long, deep breaths until Harry can squeak out a ‘thanks’. 

“We can’t do this all tonight, Harry. You’re still very fragile and I don’t want to break any of the progress I made in your mind. You have a right to know,” he holds up a hand to stall as Harry opens his mouth to protest. “You absolutely do, but I cannot risk your sanity. You were dying, and I have healed you as best as I can, but I am not a healer by trade, Harry. I have done my best and I will continue to do my best but you have to be careful.”

Harry nods, closing his mouth. Voldemort looks incredibly stressed, and Harry knows he is the cause. 

“So- here is what we will do. You will eat and rest and distract yourself with books of some sort, for at least two weeks. When I judge your mind stable enough to do this, we will go through the list properly. I cannot risk you, Harry. I am the reason you were made . I am the reason you were unmade . Let me fix it. Please.”

Harry honestly doesn’t expect Voldemort to start begging, but it scares him. He’s nearly died, and now he has to take it slow, take it easy, because magic can’t instantly fix him this time. 

“Okay,” He agrees because what else is there to do? He doesn’t want to die.

“You’re not going to die, Harry. I promise.” Voldemort rubs his face. “It may take a while, but we’ll get you stable, and then healed. This is just delicate work, and Severus isn’t responding to my calls so I can’t even ask him what he did, exactly.”

“He-... I don’t even remember it properly,” Harry whispers, clenching his fists on his lap. He really doesn’t - it’s all a blur. The pain, the red, the running, the floating- and then darkness. He can’t remember what Snape said to him, or what he said in return. He can’t remember much at all of last night.

“He tore into your mind, I know that much. A crude technique to teach Occlumency at the best of times. I don’t know what Dumbledore was thinking, giving you to him.”

Tears burn in Harry’s eyes, and he scrubs at them quickly, hoping Voldemort will ignore it. “I hate this.”

“You have every right to,” Voldemort’s voice does that thing where it goes soft and gentle and knowing and Harry starts to cry in earnest, covering his face with his hands in embarrassment. “Harry- oh, let me get you some tissues.”

He’s grateful that the man uses the excuse to stand and leave for a minute, because Harry is gasping and gulping and sobbing as he tries to understand what has been done to him, tries to correct years of memories and thoughts and feelings- it’s all just far too much.

He wonders if the calming potion has worn off, or if he’s just that upset that he can cry through it.

Merlin, his whole life-

Voldemort reappears with a warm hand on Harry’s shoulder. The man carefully moves Harry’s food tray away and offers him a tissue from a tissue box, which Harry uses to wipe his eyes and nose, still crying. The man watches him for a few moments, but all Harry can really do is try his best to keep breathing through the awful, painful truth of the matter, that nobody he knows really knows him at all.

He leans into the hand on his shoulder.

He doesn’t have anyone else left.