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Every person has words on their skin that glow when spoken by a person's soulmate. They're not the first words that are said to you by your soulmate, nor are they the most beneficial or the smartest words or the bravest words or the most hilarious words – they're just the most important to your soul . Until your souls are ready to be soulmates the words won't be said. That's an assurance, at least.
Harry Potter has words on his right shoulder that say: I accept
They've been the most downright confusing words that have ever been on his body. He looks at the I will not tell lies scar and thinks that his soulmate can't be worse than Umbridge.
Lord Voldemort's got words on the back of his left ankle. Bellatrix squints as she's reading them aloud: Please .
''Rather polite, your soulmate.'' Bellatrix cheekily grins up at him.
He closes his eyes and thinks that he could have gone another seventy-one years without his soulmark appearing. This is not what he needs now. The only thing on his mind is how he's going to win this war and finally rid himself of that nuisance. That fiend. That arch enemy of his: Harry Potter.
''I suppose you're ready to get a soulmate.'' Bellatrix is not being helpful at all. ''I mean, mine appeared when I was twenty.'' Then, very patronizingly because for a change she’s done something he hasn’t: ‘’I suppose other people mature in different stages and at their own pace, my lord~!’’
Voldemort only looks at her. He hasn’t got anything to say.
‘’Don’t worry about it,’’ she senses that maybe she’s teasing a lost cause. ‘’There’s no rush for these things.’’
''You've met yours already and said each other's words.''
''Ahh Alastor . I can't wait until I kill him in battle.'' Bellatrix's magic thrums with her need to conquer and destroy. She smiles like a love sick girl.
The idea of soulmates is a much more literal one than what the muggles, muggleborns, and even some halfloods are comfortable with accepting. Powerful souls attract power. Soulmates can be lovers, friends, associates, enemies – or they can just be wholly indifferent to one another. But they're tied by Fate and that can't be forgotten.
When soulmates join forces there is very little that can stop them.
Hermione's words are: Checkmate.
She's had them since she was ten.
Ron's words are: I want a rematch , right now !
He's had them since the first time he's played chess.
It takes them literal ages to play chess together. But when they do...
Ginny's words are: Nargles are attracted to bright things.
Luna's words are: Point me to the bitch that stole your shoes and I'll end her.
They meet in the compartment, but their words aren't said until their fifth year when Ginny grows so livid that her hair turns hellfire red with magic. She points to Luna's bare feet and says the words Luna's waited all her life.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron are on the horcrux hunt together and it grows very difficult. Snatchers are around every corner. Death Eaters are in their school. Their loved ones are in peril. The horcruxes are being incredibly hard to find.
One early morning, Hermione wakes them up with ideas: ''Are we hunters or are we being hunted?''
''Hermione, stop it with the philosophical banter so early in the morning, please.''
Harry blinks at that and says that he doesn't remember the last time he's felt as a hunter. ''Not since quidditch, definitely.''
Ron joins in, forced into doing so by both of his best friends being absolute loons. ''We'll all take up fishing and hunt fish after the war's finished. All right? All right. Now let's all go to sleep. Cheers.''
Hermione snort laughs at this, but she obliges her soulmate. Harry's a little envious of them for that. Not just Hermione and Ron, but all of the couples around school who have found each other. It's not uncommon for both soulmates to be around the same age, but still – what are the odds?
He stares up at the tent's roof and thinks a little bit about who might be his soulmate. And what may they accept – what may Harry ask of them?
Voldemort's taken to wearing socks with little garter belts. Bellatrix has enchanted them to change colour depending on the wearer's mood.
''I personally think they're adorable.'' Bella points to the pink socks that are turning into a livid red.
''That is not at all what I want.''
''What do you want?''
''To kill Potter. To win the war.'' The red shifts into blue. ''I just want to rest, Bella. This entire war tires me.'' It tires him because he is alone. It tires him because his soulmate has revealed themselves, but his other half has died of Dragon Pox.
''It tires us all.'' Bella says, but she seems chipper enough. Killing your own soulmate does that to the woman's disposition. She tells him that Abraxas would want him to kill his soulmate, as an act of devotion and love. Somehow Voldemort severely doubts that a dead man would want him to do anything.
The socks are grey when Voldemort glances at them. He gets rid of the charm and makes them black with little green flowers. He can't afford weakness. Not even in colour shifting mood socks. Thank you very much he will choose how his appearance is viewed - not something as fickle as emotion.
Hermione momentarily disfigures Harry.
Bellatrix permanently disfigures Hermione.
Ron's screaming from the cellar and begging so loudly, so fruitlessly – banging on the door and hoping against hope for his soulmate to be okay.
Harry's breathing hard, trying to block out the noise – begging to survive this war and to win it. He's hoping to save everyone that he can. No longer will he allow people to die for him. Or be tortured.
Bellatrix is wrathful as she paces around and screams: ''THAT MUDBLOOD CUNT!''
Voldemort uncovers his soulmark and looks at it. He twists to get a better angle to touch it and wonder a bit about whose words he has. Whose delectable please will he hear?
''I cannot believe that you allowed Harry Potter to slip past you, Bellatrix.'' His voice is ice and cold and terror .
Bella stops her pacing to look at him, at his peering, dangerous crimson eyes. The colour drains from her skin and her eyes as she tries for some semblance of control; as she begs for him to not hurt her.
But then, when he lifts the cruciatus curse she spits angrily, lividly, too proud now that she's killed her soulmate and absorbed his power. ''If you would let us kill the boy this war would have already ended!''
There's truth in those words, Voldemort knows, but he will never relinquish his claim over being Harry Potter's death. This is his purpose, this is what has forced him to continue living through those devastating wraith years.
Harry Potter knows that the only way for this to end is with his death. He accepts it as he goes into the forest.
Voldemort looks at him in dawning realisation that the war is so close to ending. The exhaustion seeping from his form shows itself best when so near its completion. He moves, ready as a viper to strike – and he does.
And Harry Potter dies.
But no, wait, he actually comes back from the dead and Voldemort feels like an indignant Tom Riddle being forced into church on Sunday mornings, regaled by the everlasting belief in Christ.
He’s very close to fuming – which to him means that he’s miffed and that he has plenty of words to say, but that he’s at a loss of them which is rather inconvenient and how bloody fucking hard is it for Harry Potter to stay dead?
Voldemort’s not asking much!
Nobody remembers quite precisely who casts the first spell, but they’re duelling.
They’re duelling and they’re not evenly matched, thank you . Voldemort’s been at this game far longer than Harry Potter has.
So why, oh why
Is Harry Potter holding his own against him?
There’s a cacophony of spellfire igniting around them. Children are mindlessly dying. His mindless death eaters are dying, too. Bodies pile atop each other.
As he pivots out of the way of another bloody expelliarmus (has ANYONE bothered to teach this boy to duel?) Voldemort notes with a resolute finality that he’s the last one standing from his side. Everyone’s either been apprehended (Lucius, you twat) or killed ( Bella ) and the enemy side is very wary about whether or not they should attack, to aid Potter.
Voldemort hopes they don’t. He’s beginning to think that the only true way of surviving this is to abscond somewhere far away. Let the war end, with his loss. But he would rather be a failure than dead or discorporated.
Harry lunges forward and Voldemort evades. Both are aware that this is the end. But it needn’t necessarily be the end of their lives.
Everyone watches with baited breath.
Harry charges and it’s become a physical altercation at this point. Neither of them wants this to continue and they’re both tired of their magic lashing at each other without yielding any long lasting results.
For how long will this song and dance continue, thinks Voldemort - and Harry’s grabbed a hold of the front of his robe. Voldemort’s hands shoot out and try shoving Harry off of him. Their magic intertwines into a maelstrom. Vaguely, through the haze, Voldemort glances away from Potter to see that everyone’s got their wands out and that they're yelling - trying to get to them and see if their Boy Saviour needs help.
Rage overcomes him how it might an animal that knows it’s trapped. He clasps his hand into a fist and punches Potter. It’s the most undignified thing he’s done since being sixteen years old and having hopes and dreams of his father wanting to have a relationship with him.
Harry retaliates by kicking Voldemort’s shins very hard and he really shouldn’t underestimate short people.
‘’You’re going to lose, Tom!’’
Tom? The NERVE of this boy nemesis of his. Voldemort grits his teeth and doesn’t say anything. Merely glowers and hopes that his inhuman appearance will put him off from this tirade.
It doesn’t.
‘’You’re outnumbered.’’
This he knows already.
Bella’s body cools in Hogwarts.
He’s brought war into his sacred sanctuary and this is the only thing that he finds unforgivable. Hogwarts has always been his kindest, most loving shelter.
His body tenses up when Harry Potter’s relaxes. Exhaustion shines in his green eyes and he outstretches his hand towards Voldemort. The Dark Lord takes a step back and glares at the appendage.
‘’What is it you want?’’ Voldemort hisses in parseltongue, remembering that the child in front of him is somehow a parselmouth. ‘’One of our deaths has been prophesied. There isn’t anything we can do.’’ He would never dare say such things in a language more people would be able to understand.
Harry Potter continues in English, apparently having not heard him. Or understood him.
Voldemort begins to fear and think and calculate and the terrible irony of destroying his own horcrux is beyond comprehension. He laughs. Abruptly.
Potter blinks with his green eyes and asks: ‘’This war’s been horrible to both sides. I won’t,’’ the only reason why he’s so bold is because Voldemort’s stopped attacking him. None can see them whilst they’re cloaked by this magic. ‘’I won’t pretend to understand what you’ve gone through. Or how you’ve gone down this path. Dumbledore tried making me think you were born evil. I don’t think anyone can be born evil. But whatever your reasons are they can’t excuse the things you’ve done.’’
Voldemort sidesteps Harry and tries to touch the magical whirlpool of shifting walls. Through them, he can hazily make out Minerva McGonagall trying to fire off a spell in their direction. He turns to Harry and waits for him to continue.
Harry does. ‘’I, I think you’re just as tired of this as I am.’’
‘’We cannot just drop arms.’’
‘’Why not?’’ Harry demands to know, oddly petulant in this light. Voldemort nearly smiles, but he forces enough self control onto himself not to. It won’t do him good to encourage Harry Potter.
‘’Because, you child, we’re at war and there can be only one winner. It would be ... ‘’ Voldemort has half a mind of saying how traitorous it would be to the people who have laid down their lives for this war, for them to just decide not to fight and to reconcile. But then he stops, because that’s something that Potter ought to be thinking about. Not him. He’s only ever seen to his own needs. If Harry Potter doesn’t believe in that, or has forgotten about that for a moment - Voldemort isn’t going to jog his memory and tell him that he’s going to let people down if he stops fighting his arch nemesis.
What Voldemort does say is this: ‘’How do you see this panning out, Harry?’’
Harry shrugs. He’s covered in dirt and blood and grime and Voldemort’s not looking any better. They’re staring at each other and hoping that they don’t collapse. There’s a slight buzz from the other side of the wall. Harry sees a bushy haired girl and a red headed boy pleading and waving their wands. No one is trying to aid Voldemort. That’s fine. He’s always been a creature of solitude and ever since a young age he’s been self-reliant only.
‘’I don’t know.’’ Harry admits. ‘’I don’t think you could get away.’’
‘’No, I do think they’d have me Kissed.’’ Voldemort has split his own soul so many times, he could see a Dementor sucking out his soul as poetic justice.
‘’I wouldn’t let them do that.’’ Harry clenches his hands to his sides. ‘’Nobody deserves that. Not even you.’’
Voldemort scoffs at this Boy Wonder. ‘’Would you have me imprisoned in Azkaban for the rest of my mortal life?’’ Grinned then, because he will never allow this to be his reality. ‘’Wouldn’t it be easier to take up your wand and attack me one last time? You have rendered me mortal, outnumbered, and exhausted. What do you stall for ?’’
Harry doesn’t budge. ‘’I see what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to get me to loose my cool.’’
As if Lord Voldemort would ever resort to such juvenile tactics. Harry is not a threat to him. The rest of the world is. They will tear him asunder. The families of the people he's killed or had killed will make his days agony.
But Death,
Death terrifies him still.
Far more than any mob thirsty for vengeance can.
‘’I’ve killed your parents.’’
‘’I know that.’’ Harry says. ‘’I think, though, that killing you myself isn’t what they’d want from me. I’ve been thinking a bit about it. Dumbledore believed that only remorse could heal your soul. Don’t you want that?’’
And Voldemort is terrified. His lip twitches, his fingers twitch, his arms shake, and he’s trying to take another step back, but Harry counters it by taking a step forward himself. ‘’I think it’d be better for all of us if you killed yourself.’’
‘’Pardon?’’
‘’There’s got to be some good in you?’’
Voldemort laughs. ‘’You sound disparagingly hopeless when you phrase it like so.’’
Harry nods, bobs his head, and agrees with the sentiment. ‘’Yeah, fair . But I don’t think Tom Riddle wanted this.’’
‘’What do you know about my choices, Harry? Only that what Dumbledore has told you. Only tainted pieces of memory which he’s shifted with his own feelings. There’s no objective view into the past. Only the present remains. The past is gone and the future is brittle.’’
‘’Then tell me,’’ Harry gulps and gathers all of the strength he can. He levels his gaze on Voldemort’s and says, whispers, pleads: ‘’Tell me if any of this is making you think.’’
‘’About remorse ?’’ They’ve all read the same books and seen the same things. There is only one cure for the horcrux method. ‘’No, Harry, it’s not making me think about anything. There’s nothing to think about.’’ He’s far too gone to attempt any of that.
‘’I think there is hope for you.’’
‘’You delude yourself, you concussed child.’’ Voldemort chalks all of this up as some head injury he’s sustained throughout battle.
‘’I know you’re scared-’’
‘’You know nothing.’’
‘’I’m bloody scared!’’ Harry yells, strains his neck so veins pop out. Sweat beads roll down his face. Rivulets of blood have dried up on his face and he’s short of breath and angry and hopeful all at the same time.
‘’I DIED!’’
And Voldemort flinches.
'’And how many more times will people around me suffer? Voldemort dies if I kill you. Hell, Voldemort dies if anyone gets a clear shot of you out there!’’
‘’Then why this charade?’’ Softly, he asks.
‘’Because it doesn’t mean Tom Riddle’s got to die! He was the greatest mind of Hogwarts. Do you know how much good you could have done?’’
‘’It’s too late for that, Harry.’’ Voldemort pulls back on the patronizing tone he’s used throughout their conversation. ‘’It’s much too late for any of that. You, yourself, know that there isn’t anything that could convince them to spare me.’’
Harry opens his mouth, but Voldemort goes over him: ‘’Tom Riddle is dead. He’s died and in his stead I remain. I am Lord Voldemort.’’
Hurriedly, Harry speaks: ‘’But you could be him. You could choose to be him again.’’
Through remorse he can heal his soul and give himself another chance at life?
Voldemort tilts his head curiously at Harry and tells him: ‘’You want me to heal my soul and -- reenter society?’’
Harry doesn’t say anything.
‘’This is incredibly naive, Harry. I couldn’t do any of that here.’’
‘’Then -’’ Harry bites his lip and shut himself up. But Voldemort’s eyes widen, as he’s seen a small glimpse of his thoughts. Then run.
‘’Run? Run where? To whom? You would only continue hunting me down.’’
‘’Not if you leave a body this time.’’
Voldemort hisses. ‘’I will not be a wraith.’’ Those years are the worst of his existence, the most painful, and he will never go back. Ever. ‘’Not to mention you can’t lie to save your friends, let alone me.’’
Harry crosses his arms. ‘’Would it kill you to try for some remorse?’’
‘’It may as well!’’ Voldemort says it as an exasperated joke, but Harry’s brows furrow.
‘’What if … what if I ran with you?’’
‘’I don’t understand why?’’
‘’That prophecy will forever loom above our heads. None of your friends or loved ones will be safe. The safest, best thing we can do is to remove … ourselves… from them.’’ This is difficult for Harry, as he’s the only one with loved ones left. Voldemort’s never catered to such notions.
‘’I thought you were a seeker.’’ Voldemort’s not proud of the jokes he’s trying to make to alleviate this tension, ‘’Not my keeper.’’
Harry’s laughing not because it’s funny, but because of the absurdity of their situation. He runs a hand through his hair and closes his eyes tightly.
‘’I know a place I could apparate us.’’
Harry opens his eyes and lifts his gaze to Voldemort’s. The man’s contemplating and thinking and Harry inches forward, but this time Voldemort doesn’t flinch away. Tentatively he asks: ‘’You’re considering it?’’
‘’When you died, what was it like?’’
‘’Rather peaceful.’’
Voldemort snorts. He doesn’t want to hear this. He wants to hear that his fear of Death is justified. Harry will not yield to this. ‘’Rather kind. I thought about staying, but Death put some ideas into my head that I’m sharing with you now. Everyone gets a second chance at least once. Whether or not they deserve it.’’
A nod is all Harry gets from Voldemort.
‘’Will you try for some remorse, please ?’’
Voldemort turns around fast. He looks at Harry Potter as if he’s seeing him properly for the first time today. And he can’t seem to get to coherency. Words fail him. The maelstrom begins to mellow.
Harry takes this as a chance to say, louder, with more meaning: ‘’Please.’’
And Voldemort sees this as a sign. A divination believing creature that he is, he’s become accustomed to looking for cosmic signs and inferring them to mean something that suits his goals. Most of the time he’s been wrong, but this time - this time it feels completely and utterly right.
He whispers, barely enough for Harry to hear him: ‘’I accept.’’
By the time the magical wall surrounding them peters out, Voldemort and Harry are long gone.