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“I can touch you now!” said Voldemort, pushing two fingers into the skin of Harry’s forehead where the lighting bolt scar marked him as the Boy-Who-Lived.
“Love,” Dumbledore had said. Harry had defeated Voldemort with the power of love.
Well, anything was worth trying once!
Harry reached out and wrapped his arms around Voldemort’s surprisingly skinny torso.
“Harry Potter.” said Voldemort. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
Harry thought it was pretty self explanatory, but maybe Voldemort really didn’t know what a hug was. “I’m hugging you,” he said, pressing his face against the front of Voldemort’s robes. “You’re tall.”
“You’re short,” Voldemort said. “And why, exactly, are you hugging me?”
Harry looked up at Voldemort and smiled. “Professor Dumbledore said I defeated you using the power of love. So, I’m showing you love.”
Voldemort sneered. “This is what the great Albus Dumbledore teaches his precious Chosen One?” His laugh, high and cold, echoed through the graveyard.
“Hey! This was all my idea,” Harry defended.
“You can get off, now,” said Voldemort. “I think you’ve hugged me for long enough.”
“Are you feeling defeated?” Harry asked hopefully.
Voldemort shook his head. “No, Potter, I am not.”
Harry sighed. “It was worth a try.”
––––
The Department of Mysteries was eerily quiet, even with the Death Eaters, until Voldemort arrived.
That was when the fighting really started.
Harry had the Prophecy clutched in one hand. When he saw Voldemort had arrived, he rushed towards him.
“Has itty bitty Potter decided to give the prophecy to the Dark Lord?” cooed Bellatrix.
Harry ignored her, and launched himself at Voldemort.
“You’re a wizard, Harry!” Hermione called after him.
But Harry wasn’t attacking Voldemort. He hooked his arms over Voldemort’s shoulders and his legs around his waist.
“The power of love, again, Potter?” Voldemort asked, sounding almost… amused.
Harry pressed a kiss to Voldemort’s surprisingly cold cheek. “Yup! And I’ve got the Prophecy.”
Voldemort plucked Harry off him and held him suspended in the air. “Give it to me!”
“I will,” said Harry, an idea coming to him, “if you take me with you and let me stay with you.”
Voldemort sighed. “If you insist. Hand over the Prophecy.”
Harry did. As the orb of glowing light passed into Voldemort’s pale hands, the words of the Prophecy rang out.
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…
Born to those who have thrice defied him…
Born as the seventh month dies…
And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal...
But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…
And either must die at the hand of the other…
For neither can live while the other survives…
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…
Voldemort growled and smashed the Prophecy, leaving glass fragments to roll across the floor, then Disapparated with Harry still in his grasp.
They appeared in a vast room with a throne at one end and a polished wooden floor. Voldemort dropped Harry and paced the length of the room, muttering to himself.
“Should have known… fooled… manipulative old goat…”
Harry hauled himself to his feet and ran up to Voldemort. “What is it? Are you going to kill me now you know?” He looked his fate straight in the eyes, knowing that he had tried. He could die knowing that, now.
“All I know, Potter,” spat Voldemort, “is that that so-called Prophecy was self-fulfilling and would never have been fulfilled if I had not heard it!”
“What? But it hasn’t been fulfilled!”
“No, but it will be.” Voldemort gripped Harry’s shoulder. “Are you ready to defeat me with the power of love, Harry Potter, my prophesied vanquisher?”
“I’ve been trying to do that,” Harry said. “Sure!”
“Excellent,” murmured Voldemort, voice a lot gentler than it had been just moments before. He pulled Harry to him and leaned down, pressing his lips to Harry’s.
“What are you doing?” Harry gasped into the kiss.
“Tell me you don’t want it,” Voldemort purred, voice silky.
And Harry couldn’t. He always had been a terrible liar.