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Chapter Text

The moment the curse passed through his lips, Voldemort knew that something had gone wrong. The child, standing and holding onto the edge of his crib, didn’t seem to realize the gravity of the situation, and even tried to raise a tiny fist to to touch the green light. Voldemort supposed that in a magical household, it did make sense that children would be a bit more trusting of spontaneous lights. 

However, the child was too slow, and the green spell went from Voldemort’s wand directly to the child’s forehead. The curse stuck, and instead of the more familiar crumpling of the body, magic, as green as the curse, leached from the spot it hit on the forehead, cracking the boy’s forehead and glowing green. Voldemort watched the green light glow brighter, and the child seemed to realize something was going wrong and started to fuss. 

When it was almost too bright to look, the green light seeping down the child’s forehead burst out, hitting Voldemort in the chest.

Voldemort took one step back, before a pain in his chest erupted. He clutched his heart, his wand falling to the floor as his fingers lost the ability to grip anything. The green light seemed to be coming from his chest now, too deep under his skin to see the source, but a familiar burning pain deep in his soul made him realize what was happening.

Even with his eyes closed, Voldemort saw the green light erupting from him, and crossing the room one last time. He opened his eyes, seeing the child’s bleeding forehead and green eyes wet with tears, before he collapsed to the ground and knew no more.

The light erupted from his very soul, and all Voldemort could see was green. The pain of it caused him to lose all feelings in his limbs and he couldn’t even open his eyes. Did he even have eyes? It didn’t seem like it. He tried to scream but there was nowhere for the voice to come from, so it just echoed around his thoughts.

The pain was gone as suddenly as it had started, and Voldemort found himself staring at what must be his own face. While no one had ever accused him of being vain, at least not within the past forty years, he was extremely familiar with his own reflection in the mirror.

His body appeared to be in the same room, the Potter nursery, but his own perspective was switched. He watched what must be his old body, kneeling on the ground and clutching his chest and looking up at where he was now. The red eyes rolled back, and the body fell to the ground.

A dark midst like substance left the body, and Voldemort tried to reach out for what must be the rest of his soul, but the body he was in refused to obey his commands. He could feel arms and legs in an abstract way, and a distant pain around his head. Even as he tried to focus on that, Voldemort found his grip on even that sliver of awareness leaving him. 

Unable to gain any control of the body, he focused on the senses he could still access. The view of the nursery, while blurred with what Voldemort could only assume was tears, was still something he could perceive. The effort to attempt to take control of that only made it harder to grasp and Voldemort found himself slipping further away.

Awareness didn’t come back all at once. It came in small bursts and was snatched away just as quickly. Although Voldemort was finding his grasp on time tenuous at best.

It started as flashes of emotion. An ache that he recognized as sadness. A breathlessness that must have been fear. A burning heat of anger. Without a body the sensations were odd, but still distinctly recognizable. 

While he had been no stranger to anger in any form, it had been quite a long time since he had felt anything resembling fear or sadness. Even the anger or frustration he had felt recently, if anything could be considered recent, had been dull and lacking any real heat. It had turned out that ripping one’s soul had some consequences after all, if what he was feeling was an accurate representation of what human emotions should be.

The unfamiliar and foreign emotions started as small flashes, but they grew deeper and lasted longer as time went on. Or at least he assumed time was going on. His grasp on reality was fragile.

In his more aware moments, Voldemort made an attempt to send some sort of response. Emotions hadn’t been his strong suit and he didn’t want to immediately alienate who or what ever was on the other end of this connection. So rather than mustering up his rage at his current helplessness, Voldemort made an effort to instead focus on his confusion with the current situation. 

Generally there seemed to be no impact, but occasionally he would receive some sort of confusion back.

Voldemort was really trying to be optimistic about who could be on the other end of the connection, but his only guess was rather damning. His last interaction with the physical world had been looking out the eyes of young Harry Potter and watching his own death. While there was perhaps a chance that circumstances had changed significantly while he had been disconnected from reality, more likely he was feeding off the emotions of little Harry Potter.

There had been some sort of magic leaving his body, in the moment Voldemort had assumed it must be his soul, but had not processed the implications of that. Without a doubt, the dark vapor resembled what his soul looked like when completing his horcruxes. But if that was his soul, what exactly did that make him?

Voldemort wished for nothing more than eyes to close, and perhaps for a head to bang against a wall. In all the research he’d done, no where did it suggest that Horcruxes had any degree of sentience. It would have been fascinating if it wasn’t so damn inconvenient. 

Voldemort, while willing to claim his genius in most things, was willing to admit that he was perhaps not an expert in children. He had, of course, been a child many many years ago, but he was self aware enough to admit that the combination of his upbringing and personality was more of a hindrance than a help when it came to knowledge of any actual children.

However, even with that shortcoming, he was relatively sure that most children usually felt more positive emotions than what he received from presumably Harry Potter.

At first, he convinced himself that these emotions must be the reaction from what he had done. Even at one year old, having a strange man break into your home, murder your parents, and attempt to murder you must have been tramatizing in some sort of way, Voldemort assumed. Having come to that conclusion it seemed that fear, sadness, anger, and a smattering of other feelings made sense coming from the child. But surely they should stop at some point?

While Voldemort was unsure how much time was passing, surely it must be passing in some capacity? Perhaps the child was kidnapped after the whole debacle? Voldemort had followers left who might attempt to get some sort of revenge against the family that killed him. Or the child could be in ministry custody while they attempt to place him into a new home. Merlin knows the ministry was incompetent at everything they did, and Voldemort is sure that their ineffective policies most likely would extend to handling a lost child.

However, as more emotions were coming through, Voldemort had to come to the conclusion that time must be passing in some significant way. He refused to believe that any person could have this many feelings all the time. It was mildly disturbing and made Voldemort crave a hot shower.

Attempting to concentrate too long on the emotions caused Voldemort to lose his grip on even that. It wasn’t quite like falling asleep, considering he had no eyes to close and no body to rest, but it was comparable. Each time he “awoke” from this state, he was positive that time must be passing somehow.

The change happened so slowly that Voldemort didn’t realize what was occurring at first. 

He only realized that there was a change when a moment of fear he received from Harry was accompanied by a flash of sound. Someone was yelling. The words were indistinguishable, and Voldemort found himself too surprised by the interruption of his usual silence that he didn’t attempt to make sense of the words. It was a male voice. Unfamiliar, loud, and unmistakably angry.

He attempted to follow the feelings, back towards the source of the voice, but his eagerness must have bled through the connection. There was another pulse of fear, and Voldemort found himself pushed out of the child’s mind.

It was hardly what he would consider a success, but considering the odd limbo he was currently trapped in, Voldemort was thrilled.

More flashes of reality followed that. It seemed as if some sort of dam had been broken.

Sounds or visions of whatever the child was experiencing started happening more frequently. Other senses bled through their connection less frequently, but anything was better than nothing.

At first these brief glimpses to reality were only accompanied by the emotions. A flash of fear with the vision of a red faced man towering over him. A sense of pride following as he smelt what must have been a roast with all the trimmings. A deep sadness as he felt a hunger in his non existent stomach.

In these moments it was hard to tell if Voldemort was any different from the child, but considering he had nothing else to do with his time, Voldemort spent most of his time in awareness exploring the connection. 

It was clear with that exploration that he and the child had separate consciousness, which Voldemort was thankful for since he did not want to have to live through childhood again. There was a connection which Voldemort had never seen before in his own mind, and that was what caused the communication between them. Applying what he knew of occlumency made it simple to block the connection, but considering this was his only connection to reality, Voldemort rarely used this skill.

The connection in their minds must be due to his partial soul latching onto such a young one. Rather than a power struggle that might have happened if Harry was older and more established, their souls were sharing the space rather peacefully. Voldemort could, if he really tried, feel the child’s magic. He couldn’t wield any of it, and there was hardly any considering the boy was so young, but it was comforting.

Voldemort was unsure if the snatches of reality were getting clearer because he was learning more about his connection with the child or simply because the child was getting older and could actually process things now. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

Either way, being able to perceive the world without needing to ride whatever emotional wave was currently flowing down the connection was incredibly helpful. Voldemort was getting more used to these emotional flashes, but they were often confusing and exhausting, and he didn’t enjoy dealing with them.

Now that the connection was more solidly established, it appeared to be less of a drain on Voldemort to attempt to interact with the child. He found himself pushing forward his own calm when the child was angry or scared, and something warm that he couldn’t quite name when the child was lonely.

Unfortunately, with this easier connection, he was also able to confirm that the child was definitely Harry Potter when he saw an image of a reflection of the child wiping down a mirror with a sharp smelling towel. Cleaning, Voldemort would realize later, when he wasn’t focused on the child he had accidentally bound his soul to. 

The boy was a bit older than last time he had seen him. Harry Potter had been a chubby toddler when Voldemort had broken into the Potter home, and now the lines of his face were sharp and he was a gangly child. Having rarely interacted with children since he was one himself, Voldemort couldn’t say how old the boy was, maybe 6? Definitely not at Hogwarts age yet, which was both a relief and a shame.

The green eyes were one of the last things Voldemort had seen before being ejected from his own body, and those were as bright as ever. 

There was a deep scar over the boy’s left eyebrow, and Voldemort remembered the killing curse striking there and failing. Hair fell over the scar again and it was hidden, but it reminded Voldemort that he still had no idea what exactly happened that night. Clearly he created some sort of horcrux accidentally, which was concerning. Well he had time to think about that.

Through Harry’s eyes and ears Voldemort managed to gather more information about where exactly they were.

From what he gathered they were in a muggle house in the most boring suburb to ever exist. There was a loud man, that according to Harry’s perceptions, must be about 10 feet tall, who did not like Harry and was not one to hesitate to tell him that as loudly and as often as possible. There was a sharp woman who, while less physically imposing than the man, was quick to criticize everything Harry did and yet still had the child cleaning and cooking. The last occupant of the house was a boy who might have been similar to Harry’s age, but the adults in the house actually liked him and he was allowed to do whatever he wanted. Whatever he wanted seemed to mostly be screaming, whining, and being a general nuisance to Harry.

It was not a pleasant place to live by anyone’s standards. And that was even before Voldemort realized that they made Harry sleep in the cupboard under the stairs rather than in any of the bedrooms on the second floor.

It took Voldemort a while to realize that Harry was their nephew. Clearly on his mother’s side, since these people were muggles and the older Potters had been taken by Dragon Pox a few years back. 

At first Voldemort assumed that Harry’s family didn’t know about magic. However, after longer observation it was clear that the uncle and aunt knew. They referred to him as a freak and anything strange happening was met with even harsher punishments than usual. 

Voldemort was positive that if he had blood it would be boiling. 

While trying to contain his rage at the muggles raising Harry, and he used raising in the loosest sense, Voldemort found himself falling back onto his occlumency training. Meditation helped keep his thoughts in order, and him from going insane. 

It was clear to Voldemort as he went through his thoughts that he was still missing large amounts of time. While he was able to stay ‘awake’ longer, he was still drifting in and out of whatever consciousness he inhabited. Perhaps horcruxes were supposed to remain dormant but the magic tying him to another soul was waking him up? Whatever the cause, it was unclear and relatively unimportant considering that he was still making progress.

Now that he was somewhat able to access the outside world and keep track of time passing, Voldemort had two goals. He needed to attempt to talk to the child and he needed to be able to access his magic. 

If he could speak to Harry, he could get the boy out of the house and to one of his followers. This could both save the child from his despicable family and be a way to get Voldemort a body back. A win/win.

Voldemort’s own magic was still there. He currently had very little magic to call his own, and with the small shard of his soul he had left, he wasn’t able to produce anything like what he used to be capable of. Even with the slow trickle of magic he could produce, without a body it was impossible to store any substantial amount.

The only benefit that could come from having a human horcrux was using their magic, but Harry’s horrible relatives left the child in such a state that his own magic was barely keeping him alive, never mind the soul parasite he had. Missed meals and too much hard labor was keeping any of the boy’s magic hard at work maintaining his physical body. 

As the boy grew, his capability for magic also grew, but it seemed his relatives' capability for cruelty and mistreatment also grew. More chores were added, the list going beyond what anyone would be capable of. They seemed to be fine giving the child less food as well, presumably since there didn’t seem to be any consequences.

Voldemort found himself hating Harry’s relatives. He hated them more than he had hated anyone in a long time. He was careful not to push this hatred towards the child, as he had seen the consequences of what happened when Harry lashed out at his relatives and did not want to encourage that. It would come with time.

Voldemort started his attempts to communicate with the child through dreams. Even untrained wizards had natural occlumency barriers when awake, so the time when it should be the least effort to actually communicate thought to thought should be while Harry was sleeping. 

Of course, Voldemort realized once he was in the child’s dream that the boy would be too young to have any sort of coherent dreams or know enough about the mind arts to control them. It was bright even without any physical light and emotions were bouncing around even more than normal. Amidst all the chaos it would be impossible for the child to even realize there was someone else in his dreamscape, never mind make contact.

Overwhelmed and disappointed, Voldemort realized this was going to be harder than he thought. He would have to have his own ‘dream space’ so to speak and bring Harry’s consciousness to him. And that all assumed that Harry would remember what they spoke about when he woke up, never mind be willing to act on it. 

Well, Voldemort found himself with nothing but patience these days. 

In between carefully building up his magic in order to have enough energy to pull the child into his dream, Voldemort found himself contemplating his next steps. 

Voldemort needed to get the child and himself away from here. He and Harry were bound by more than just fate as the prophecy suggested, they were bound by magic and souls now. In the eyes of magic, Voldemort was perhaps more of a parent to Harry Potter than James Potter and Lily Evans were. 

Of course, that was rather cruel of him. They had been so young. Such a waste of magic. So many lives had been lost near the end of the war. When he was younger Voldemort had made an effort to go about things the legal way. Well mostly legal. 

The Ministry had many issues, and when he had been Tom Riddle, he had many changes he dreamed of making. Changes from child welfare, to creature legislation, to law enforcement regulations. 

Of course, it had taken Tom Riddle very little time to realize that if he wanted to make changes, he needed to be in a position of power. In the wizarding world, power was dictated by magical power, which he had plenty of, and family name, which he was lacking. Knowing people in the right places was as easy as knowing what to say to them. Some he was kind to, some he threatened, and some he led. It was easy enough to calculate how to act around each person.

Then he had gotten older. The wondrous world of magic showed itself to be cruel and he matched that cruelty. As he had grown, he also dabbled in experimental magics. The darkest of course was ripping his soul. Guaranteed immortality, but the price he was now realizing had been his humanity. Before accidentally finding himself attached to Harry, Voldemort didn’t realize how far he had fallen from Tom Riddle. 

Tom Riddle would never have been considered a nice boy, by anyone's standards, but he was not unnecessarily cruel. He had done what he needed to get results. When exactly had that changed?

Voldemort often found himself drifting. The child’s life was simultaneously horrifying and painfully dull. In his aware moments, he tried not to push himself too much to communicate. Instead he worked on accumulating his magic to pull Harry into his own mind so he could talk to him. It left him with plenty of time to think, which was both a curse and a blessing. 

His current musing was interrupted by a sharp spike of fear from Harry’s end of the connection. While Voldemort rarely blocked the connection completely, he often only left it partly open. The full force of the child’s emotions was exhausting, so only feeling the stronger ones was better for Voldemort’s own mental health.

This sharp pulse of fear was stronger than anything he had felt from Harry. If Voldemort had a body, he was sure the intensity of it would be making him nauseous, but it still left his thoughts jumbled. 

The connection he shared with Harry was difficult to navigate, but approaching it made Voldemort aware of a deep pain in his non-existent left hand.

There were sudden forced flashes of awareness. An image of a door slamming and of Harry’s cruel cousin laughing as an explosion of pain erupted in his hand. The booming voice of Harry’s uncle shouting about something unintelligible, sounding more panicked than angry for once. Large hands grabbed Harry around the middle, and there was a brief thought of it feeling something like a hug must feel like, before Harry was shoved roughly into the closet that his family made him use as a bedroom.

Voldemort wished the child would look at his own hand, so he could see the damage. But Harry was too scared of what it might look like, and crying much too hard for his watery eyes to make it out in the darkness of the cupboard anyway.

Voldemort was unsure if it was due to his own pushing on the connection or just the confusion of Harry’s own emotional distress that let the boys' thoughts leak through.

Harry’s thoughts were a confusing jumble of pain and distress. Navigating through it was easier than attempting to navigate through his dreams, but more heartbreaking in their clarity. Harry didn’t even know his own name. In his own head Harry referred to himself as a freak and he was so used to his mistreatment from his relatives that he wasn’t even surprised they locked him in the cupboard when he was in pain and distressed.

It was difficult to hold back his own anger at the situation, but his own occlumency barriers stayed firm as he attempted to project calm to Harry while restraining his rage.

Voldemort had very few options in this scenario. He could continue to do what he was doing, which was nothing more than attempting to calm the child, or he could actually use the meager amount of magic at his disposal.

He hesitated for a moment. This magic could be used to help them both get out of here. He could tell Harry where to go and get them both to a safer place. But that was all in the future, and Harry was hurt and scared now. So, there really wasn’t a choice to make at all.

Healing magic was a trickier art than most expected, but Voldemort had studied it as a young adult and was more than proficient. Most of his studies had focused on healing the body from darker magics so a natural break, no matter how devastating, should be relatively straight forward. He would need a fair amount of power, but not anything too precise. Thankfully without a body Voldemort was closer to his magic than he had ever been. While he wasn’t able to produce a wand movement or even say the spell outloud, he was confident that he could still direct that magic well enough.

Voldemort wished he could block the connection he had with Harry, as the boy’s pain and fear was incredibly distracting, but he couldn’t afford to lose his connection with the outside world. He wasn’t able to completely ignore Harry’s feelings, but after a few moments he was able to work around them. 

It was exhausting work trying to heal the child. Harry was right to be afraid and Voldemort made a mental note to have an actual healer look at the hand once he and the boy left this hellhole. His magic had helped fix Harry’s hand to some extent, but he wasn’t sure how much. He could feel the pain from Harry diminishing and the exhaustion starting to take over. Although he wasn’t sure if the latter was his or Harry’s. Well, both of them had good reason to be tired.

With the connection between them so open, Voldemort had one last idea. He was unsure when exactly he would come back to awareness after exhausting himself like this, nevermind how long it would take to gather enough magic to pull Harry into his mind like he wanted. But at the moment he could communicate, and there was something he desperately needed the child to know.

“Harry,” Voldemort pushed the thought forward as the child was falling into a restless sleep. Voldemort could feel the darkness pulling on him as well, and fought to get the thoughts across their connection. “Your name is Harry.”

Chapter Text

Voldemort found himself coming back to consciousness abruptly. There didn’t seem to be a cause for his abrupt return to consciousness, for which he was thankful. The emotional deluge he had felt from Harry last time was something he hoped he wouldn’t need to repeat. 

A flash of fear stuck Voldemort. His own fear this time, and wasn’t that novel? How long had it been since that incident? For him it felt like minutes, but he was already very aware of how much time he lost coming in and out of awareness.

Taking a moment to center himself, Voldemort followed his connection with Harry to hopefully get some idea of how much time had passed.

He found himself unable to connect thoughts like he had when Harry’s hand was hurt, but he was able to tap into some of the child’s senses.

Harry was in a classroom. It was garishly decorated with bright posters and crude childish drawings. A woman’s voice was speaking about spelling and other things that Voldemort had little interest in. Harry’s hand appeared fine as he shaped large letters on a piece of paper in front of him, and Voldemort wished he could examine it more thoroughly.

The other children in the classroom appeared to be similar in age to what he remembered of Harry. Voldemort found himself wishing he could see Harry’s face to judge how much time had passed, but there were no convenient mirrors in the classroom.

Bored, but reassured that it hadn’t been too much time since the incident, Voldemort pulled himself away from the child’s mind. 

Now that he was conscious, or as close as he could be without a body, Voldemort went back to his plan of little interference in order to hoard as much magic as possible. 

It was boring and left him with way too much time to think, but it was the best plan he had at the moment. 

There were some moments where he broke his isolation. Although none quite as bad as the hand incident, Harry’s relatives were still despicable human beings who caused negative emotions to echo down their connection. Voldemort tried to push some more positive emotions back towards Harry in these instances, but he wasn’t aware if they actually got across to him. 

A flash of excitement mixed with fear caused some alarm in Voldemort before he realized that Harry had been speaking with one of the snakes in his aunt’s garden. Voldemort felt pride for a moment before some confusion as to how exactly Harry came to possess that skill. Their souls being linked clearly had a deeper effect on Harry than he had realized.

There were more mundane instances in Harry’s life: Harry’s pride at succeeding in school, his disappointment at his relatives anger with his success, his frustration with being locked in the cupboard, his loneliness sitting alone at lunch with his too small portion to feed him. All together it made Voldemort more determined than ever to get Harry out of the house.

Of course, that also meant they needed somewhere to go. All of Voldemort’s own safe houses were out. Most of them he would need to apparate to, and even if they could get there by muggle means, there was no guarantee on how safe they would be after a few years. There was no way for him to tell what sort of state his followers were in, and no way for him to be assured that they had kept his secrets.

The best thing for them to do would be to find one of Voldemort’s more devoted followers. However, those of his inner circle knew he was at the Potter’s that night. When he did not return, surely they would have assumed that James and Lily Potter had somehow stopped him. With that assumption, his most devoted might attempt to extract some sort of revenge on their child before he could explain himself.

It was very inconvenient.

After pondering this dilemma, Voldemort decided on a course of action. He would need to have the child reach out to Severus Snape. 

Severus had some sort of infatuation with Lily Potter, then Evans, for some time. Enough so that when she had been targeted Severus made a point to ask for her life to be spared. 

Back then it had not stood out to him. Sure Lily Evans had been pretty, and he abstractly understood that people may have connections to childhood friends. But for Severus to come forward and ask him specifically, that must have meant something. 

Severus had always been a quiet one. He had been easy to overlook when brought to his first set of meetings by an eager Rodolphos Lestrange. He blended into the background easily and was never one to draw unnecessary attention to himself. The exception to that was in his studies. He had been a natural at potions and Voldemort himself had seen him apprenticed to the best master possible right after his Hogwarts’ graduation. 

None of that particularly mattered at the moment, but the fact that Severus decided Lily Evans was important enough to him to stick his neck out for might just be exactly what he needed. Severus had not begged for the child’s life, hardly seemed to care about little Harry Potter, but as long as he would not attack Harry on sight, this could work. 

From what Voldemort could recall, Severus had acquired a house in Cokeworth after his parents passed. Voldemort had been there a few times. Severus had transformed the basement into a potions lab for more delicate brews, and Voldemort had personally come to consult on some experimental works.

This all assumed that Severus was still alive and had not been placed in Azkaban or gone on the run. But Severus was a slippery fellow, so Voldemort had little doubt that he would find at least some trace of him.

Voldemort tried to make the dreamscape as child friendly as possible. His first thought was to map the dream to look like somewhere in Hogwarts. Voldemort had a detailed memory of the Slytherin common room or one of the nicer classrooms, but he worried Harry would panic at an unfamiliar place and would pull himself from the dream before Voldemort could talk. 

He had debated on the setting for a while but ultimately settled on giving Harry a familiar place. However, he drew the line at recreating the house that Harry was trapped in. Instead, Voldemort recreated the playground a few blocks from the house. Harry had been there a few times, and it was little effort to image it a bit cleaner and more functional. Rather than recreating the neighborhood itself, he surrounded the park with trees.

It was odd to be in something resembling a body again. Of course, it was a dream so this form he was in was nothing more than a construct, but Voldemort still found himself marveling at the idea of being able to move his own limbs and interact in some way with the objects around him.

Voldemort sat on the swing, testing it to make sure that even in the dream the physics were correct. Harry had frequently wanted to use the swings in the park, but they were generally broken, mostly due to his annoying cousin. When they weren’t broken Harry struggled to gain any height on the swing. 

Voldemort found himself instinctively pumping his legs to give his swing some motion. He didn’t realize he still remembered how to do that. He couldn’t recall the last time he was on a swing. Before he went to Hogwarts most likely. 

“Hello.”

Voldemort dragged his heels in the dirt to stop his swing and looked over at the voice.

Harry Potter, in baggy pajamas that had seen better days and without his ineffective glasses, was standing in the middle of the dreamscape. He looked around the park, eyes lingering on the differences that Voldemort had created from the real location. The trash bin that was always overflowing in real life was neat and tidy. The layer of grime that covered the jungle gym was nonexistent. The swings were raised a bit higher off the ground. Nothing too outlandish.

Of course, the most ridiculous thing was that Harry was actually here. Voldemort had been so focused on creating the dreamscape, he hadn’t been paying attention to his connection with the child. It was open, as it always was, but he had made no effort to pull Harry’s consciousness down it. 

“Hello, Harry,” Voldemort said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say. 

“Where are we?”

“We’re in the park,” Voldemort said.

Harry started making his way closer to the swings, which brought him closer to Voldemort. “But it’s not really the park, right?”

Voldemort nodded slowly, too worried that any fast movement would startle Harry who was heading towards a swing that was two down from Voldemort.

“It’s a dream,” Voldemort said as Harry experimentally pushed at the swing, making it go back and forth. 

“My dream?” Harry asked, as he pulled himself up onto the swing. It was higher than the ones back in the real park, and Voldemort realized that he should have offered to help the child, but Harry had already pulled himself up.

“You are dreaming,” said Voldemort. “But I’ve pulled you into my dream.”

“It’s nice,” said Harry, concentrating more on attempting to swing than the conversation. Voldemort felt like he should have been offended, but instead it was rather peaceful. The sense of urgency he had felt before didn’t seem as pressing here. 

“You have to move your legs like this,” Voldemort instructed, demonstrating the proper technique to get the swing moving. Harry watched for a moment before copying him with some success. It wasn’t the most effective movement, but it was getting Harry some motion.

Harry laughed, clearly delighted at the height he was getting. Voldemort found himself fighting back a smile, and it felt strange. 

He looked back over at Harry, but the child was gone. The swing was still swinging back and forth, but Harry had vanished. Either he slipped out of the dream as easily as he had slipped in, or he had woken up. Either way it was a promising start.

Voldemort found himself sharing dreams with Harry more frequently after that. It wasn’t every night, but it seemed to be a few times a week. Every time Voldemort would prepare the dreamscape and Harry would somehow find his way there. With some effort on Voldemort’s part, he could attempt to keep Harry from slipping out of the dreamscape, but usually that was more trouble than it was worth. 

Voldemort kept using the park to host the dreams. It was easier to build again once he had done it, and Harry seemed comfortable there. Despite not being able to communicate when Harry was awake, Voldemort had seen the boy wander into the real park more often, and that made him pretty confident that Harry had at least some memories of the dreams.

The dreams themselves continued to be more mundane than Voldemort wanted. Often their conversations only seemed to last a few minutes, and Harry had little interest in discussing plans to run away. Sometimes Harry would chat about his day, other times they would sit quietly on the swings. It was rather nice.

“I like it here,” Harry told him in one dream, completely unprompted. 

“That’s good,” Voldemort said, because it seemed like he was looking for a response. 

“You seem familiar,” Harry had said, but he didn’t seem inclined to elaborate on this.

After about a dozen dreams shared between them, Harry asked a question that Voldemort had not been prepared for. 

Harry was on his swing, as he often was. Voldemort had offered to push him, since he seemed to like to go as high as possible. Harry also liked to jump right as the swing reached its highest point, and Voldemort had to remind himself more than once that this was a dream to stop from scolding the child.

“Are you my dad?”

Voldemort found himself missing the moment to push Harry as he froze at the question. 

How to answer that? There was the initial rejection. He was not Harry’s father, and he had absolutely zero right to claim that. The fact that he had actually murdered Harry’s parents and handed him over to a terrible childhood chief among that. 

But, there was more to it than that. He had watched this child grow. He had been with Harry during his worst moment, and made every effort he could to help him. He shared in the pride Harry felt in his accomplishments and even felt some of his own as he watched Harry. There was of course the odd magical resemblance. Even with all this time, he could not come up with any alternative reason Harry knew parseltongue besides being magically connected to him.

So used to being lost in thought and not having anyone to respond to, it took Voldemort longer than it should have to realize Harry was waiting for an answer. The swing had lost most of its momentum and Harry was alternating looking at the swing’s chains under his hands and back to Voldemort.

He could say yes and that could make whatever this relationship was so much easier. Harry already seemed to have some instinct to trust him, which Voldemort attributed to their connected souls and shared emotions, but having Harry think that he was his father could make it more clear cut.

Yet, Voldemort found that he couldn’t. First, this was a lie that would be very quickly realized when Harry got older. There was no possible way to sustain it if Harry did even the least amount of research. Second, Voldemort had nothing but contempt for his own father and his many shortcomings and refused to follow anything that man did.

“No,” said Voldemort, and he only winced a bit. “I am not your father. His name was James Potter.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. Can we still be family?”

Voldemort felt his mind go entirely blank for what he was sure was the first time in years.

“Excuse me?”

Harry shrunk in on himself a bit, but his voice was steady despite being quieter. “Can we be family? I have an uncle and an aunt and a cousin, but I like you more than them.”

“I suppose we could be considered family.”

“Okay!” Harry perked up a bit, and started pumping his legs again to get the swing to move. Voldemort gave him a push without really paying attention.

They didn’t talk for a while, and Voldemort tried not to think too hard. Harry swung back and forth, and Voldemort continued to push him lightly when he swung in his direction. 

Family. What an odd concept.

“So, what should I call you?” Harry asked at one point. He was concentrating on climbing the monkey bars, and was a polite enough child not to point out that they were clearly lower in the dreamscape than in reality. 

Voldemort was unsure how he had failed to plan for this. What should the child call him?

Harry was good natured about his silences and continued his trek across the monkey bars. He managed to make it to the other side and climb down without incident. 

Voldemort, still down on the ground and unsure of how to answer, was startled out of his thoughts by small arms wrapping around his waist. A hug. They hadn’t done this yet. 

Harry was clearly unfamiliar with the motion, but made up for it with enthusiasm. Voldemort was unsure where to place his hands, so he ended up with one awkwardly in the air and the other patting Harry’s head. That was close to how it worked, he was sure.

“You can tell me next time,” Harry said, and disappeared from the dream before Voldemort could respond.

“Little brat,” Voldemort said, but he was fighting off a smile even as he vanished his dreamscape.

Chapter Text

He debated what Harry should call him. 

Voldemort was the name he had chosen for himself. He had accomplished much using that name, and it was a name that was known throughout the world. At least the wizarding world. 

However, his more recent atrocities were nothing to be proud of, and giving the child a name that would no doubt terrify others was hardly a way to get Harry to trust him in the long run. Despite the fact that Harry's aunt and uncle pretended to know nothing of magic, he had no doubt that they had heard the name Voldemort. The last thing he needed was for them to somehow be in contact with wizards and to pass on that Harry was talking to Voldemort in his dreams. Not that Harry confided in his relatives often, but who knew with children.

Plus Harry struggled with articulation in general, mostly due to his age, and he hardly wanted the child to mangle his name.

His other name, his original name, was also an option. Tom Marvolo Riddle. He had always hated the name.

There were too many Toms. Even Harry had a Tom in his class. A plain child that Tom only remembered due to them sharing a first name. Over the years he had met plenty of Toms, but none that he hated quite as much as his father. 

HIs father had gone through the trouble of marrying his mother, and then abandoned her when it didn’t turn out quite the way he expected. To this day he was still unsure if his father’s abandonment related to him learning that Merope was a witch or learning that Merope was pregnant, but neither option endeared him to the man. He wanted nothing from that man, and he cursed his mother for giving him his name. He supposed that since they were married, she had shared the Riddle name at the time, but it had still been his father’s first. 

That left his middle name. Marvolo Gaunt was not a man he had ever met. Although based on his limited interaction with Morfin and his knowledge of Merope, he was positive that his grandfather would not have been any more impressive of a figure. 

Despite his disdain for his grandfather, Marvolo had been a family name often used in the Gaunt family tree. He had discovered this from the journals of Rennyn Rose, nee Gaunt, his great-great-great Aunt and a well known scholar. Her work focused on tracing magic through lineage, and her personal journals described her own inbred family and her husband's lack of magical family as her inspiration for her research. Most of her research had been sealed, since she had been an unspeakable with the Ministry of Magic, but her personal writings weren’t considered sensitive and had been easy for Abraxas Malfoy to get his hands on when he learned of his lord’s interest in the Gaunt family. 

Much of Rennyn Rose’s research had encouraged the wizarding community to accept children born with magic from muggles as a gift from magic to strengthen the community. Needless to say, she had been largely ignored by the pureblood community. He himself had skimmed her journals briefly before focusing on the family trees she constructed, desperate to learn more about his family history.

The Gaunt family had been strong once. They had been scholars, healers, creators and any number of things. The more recent generations had fallen into destitution, and Rennyn Rose largely blamed this on the inbreeding. As a younger man, he had blamed the lack of drive and ambition in the Gaunt family for its failures, but now he had to wonder if his distant aunt had been correct.

He was certainly the most powerful member of the Gaunt family in generations, even with his muggle father. 

So, perhaps he could be Marvolo. Not after the grandfather that amounted to nothing and was not even mourned by his own family, but he could be Marvolo named after the generations before. Perhaps he could do something to bring the Gaunt name some pride.

“Hello again,” said Harry, somehow appearing at the top of the slide in the dreamscape.

Voldemort waited at the bottom for him, listening to Harry’s glee as the slide turned out to be a bit longer than it used to be. 

Once Harry reached the bottom, he looked up expectantly. 

“You can call me Marvolo,” said Marvolo.

“Okay,” said Harry. “Can you push me on the swing, Marvolo?”

“I want you to contact a friend of mine,” Marvolo said the next time Harry came to his dreamscape. 

They were sitting at a nice outdoor furniture set that didn’t exist in the original park. It had been inspired by a similar set that Marvolo had once sat in at Malfoy Manor, but had slightly different coloring. Harry was working on a magical light puzzle that Marvolo remembered selling once at Borgin and Burkes. This one, unlike the original sold at the store, did not give an electrical shock when the person didn’t complete it fast enough.

“Aunt Petunia doesn’t let me touch the phone,” Harry said. He was trying to get all the colors in the light puzzle to match and was struggling to find the pattern of how they changed. 

Marvolo, who had never touched a phone in his entire life, did not see the issue here. “I wouldn’t know his number anyway, so that’s hardly a concern. I need you to write a letter.”

Harry was getting closer on the puzzle, but as usual his strategies were based on short term gains and not looking at how the pattern would change in the long term.

“Mrs. Willow says I can’t spell,” Harry said. 

Ah, yes the teacher. Marvolo had opinions about the teacher. He had encouraged Harry to say some rather concerning things about his relatives around her, and she had done nothing more than call Harry’s aunt, which resulted in nothing good for Harry. 

“Of course you can spell,” Marvolo said. “It’s not hard to put letters in the proper order. And even if you forget the precise order, it doesn’t take a lot of brain power to figure out what you meant.”

“You’ll help me write the letter?” Harry asked.

“Of course,” Marvolo said. Harry still hadn’t finished the puzzle, but he was getting closer. “We’ll start next time.”

The next few visits were spent with Harry attempting to remember the details of the letter. He frequently spelled Severus’s name wrong, and Marvolo had to remind himself they were looking for functionality not perfection. Plus it was hilarious to picture Severus, usually so serious, opening a letter addressed to ‘Sevus Snake.’

From the back and forth they had to do, it was clear that while Harry remembered things from the dreams, he was not able to recall everything. It resulted in Marvolo needing to repeat things a few times for anything to stick, and for Harry to practice writing the letter inside the dream. It would have been frustrating if not for the excitement Harry showed at his own progress. 

“I borrowed a stamp from Aunt Petunia’s address book,” Harry told him in the dream after Marvolo deemed it acceptable enough to send. “And then I put it in the post box by my school, just like you said.”

“Very good,” Marvolo said, and Harry beamed at him. Marvolo wasn’t sure what to do with that, so he grabbed Harry under the armpits and deposited him on a swing. Harry laughed and Marvolo gave him a push.

Harry had taken to announcing his presence by launching himself at Marvolo. He could honestly say he had no idea what to do with a child attempting to squeeze the life out of him, so Marvolo just patted Harry on the head until he let go.

“You’re supposed to put your arms around me,” Harry told him during one of these attacks. “That’s how hugging works.” 

“My mistake,” Marvolo had said, but he did try the next time. If Harry’s smile was any indication, he must have done something right.

“Volo!” Harry called from the swings. Harry had taken to calling him Volo, despite the fact he knew the brat could pronounce his full name. It was odd, but not exactly incorrect, so Marvolo had stopped putting in the effort to correct him.

Harry was swinging rather high, higher than normal at any rate. “Watch this!” Harry said.

Marvolo watched and tried not to shout at the child for jumping so high off the ground. It was a dream, he reminded himself. Nothing was real here. And he could lower the height of the swings next time. 

Since it was a dream, it was easy to create a nice squishy mattress to break Harry’s fall. Harry landed with a solid exhale of air, but then got up from the cushion laughing immediately after. 

“Why must you do that?” Marvolo asked. 

“I think it must be what flying feels like,” Harry said, running over to the table Marvolo was sitting at and pulling himself up onto the chair next to him.

“You can wait until you're old enough to get a broomstick, just like all the other young wizards,” Marvolo said.

“Just like all the what?” Harry asked, and Marvolo abruptly realized that they had never had this conversation. He had never at any point told Harry about magic. 

“We are wizards,” Marvolo said. He said it slowly, not because Harry was dim, but to give the words a moment to sink it. “We have magic. We can control things that normal people can’t.”

“I knew you were magic,” Harry said, looking down at his own hands in fascination. As if magic itself would manifest on his fingertips. “But me too?”

“Yes, Harry. You too.”

“Your friend never responded,” Harry said one night. 

They were back at the table and Marvolo had attempted to teach Harry chess, but Harry kept confusing the rook and the bishop, so they had switched to checkers.

Marvolo wasn’t sure how long it had been since they sent Severus the letter. Definitely long enough for him to respond. He was unsure on how the muggle post service worked, but he was confident he had the address correct. Perhaps Severus had moved? Or he could actually be dead? Or the postman lost the letter? Marvolo didn’t know any other wizards with muggle addresses. Perhaps he could coach Harry on how to get to Diagon Alley and hope that he stumbled upon someone useful.

“Should I write him another letter?” Harry asked, and he jumped his checker over one of Marvolo’s and took the piece. Harry liked being able to jump the checkers.

“Do you want to?” Marvolo asked, moving one of his own pieces to jump Harry’s.

Harry thought for a moment, then made his move. “Maybe that one got lost. I can write another one.”

“Perhaps he moved,” Marvolo said. “But it wouldn’t hurt to send another.”

“Do you want me to tell him anything from you?” Harry asked. He moved his piece, and was smart enough to avoid the easy jump that Marvolo left in his pieces that would set up Harry’s own piece to be taken. He was learning.

“Tell him that he made a promise to help me, and to look down at his left arm if he forgot it.”

“What’s on his arm?” Harry asked, looking up from the checkers.

“A tattoo,” Marvolo said, gesturing vaguely to his own arm. He didn’t have the mark in this dream form, but it was easy to imagine it so he could show Harry. 

“Aunt Petunia doesn’t approve of people that have tattoos,” Harry said after studying the mark for a few seconds. The snake on it hissed a greeting at him, and Harry hissed a hello back. 

“I’m sure she would find there to be a lot of things about Severus that she doesn’t approve of,” Marvolo said, and Harry laughed.

“I’ll write another letter,” Harry said, and they went back to their checkers game.

Harry was quiet today. He usually had things to say. Sometimes had too many things to say considering the limited time they had. However, today he had appeared in silence and it took Marvolo more time than it should have to realize Harry was digging around in the sandbox. 

Marvolo had debated not putting the sandbox into the dreamscape since he had no understanding of why a child would want to dig around in the dirt, but had added it to keep it accurate to the original subject matter. The sand was cleaner than it had ever been in the real world, and there were never any puddles of water in it considering it never rained. A few shovels and buckets had been placed there to make it seem more real.

Until today, Harry had never seemed interested in the box of dirt, but now he was steadily digging and piling the dirt on top of his stretched out legs. Marvolo reminded himself it was simply a dream and the boy wasn't going to ruin his trousers.

Unsure what exactly to do in this situation, Marvolo found himself drifting towards the child. He could ask Harry what was wrong, he supposed, but Harry often didn’t understand his own emotions. 

Marvolo sat on the wooden lip of the sandbox. He didn’t want to hover over Harry, but he drew the line at sitting in the dirt. Harry continued to dig up the sand around him and bury his own legs.

“It’s Dudley’s birthday today,” Harry said after a few minutes. “Aunt Petunia says he’s seven now.”

Harry’s dirt pile got larger. 

“I asked her when my birthday was, and she told me not to ask questions,” Harry said after a while. “I don’t think she knows. I guess no one knows.”

Marvolo felt a sense of relief. This was actually a problem he could solve. “You were born on July 31st in 1980. At 11:11 pm.”

Harry dropped his shovel, and Marvolo was worried he said the wrong thing. “That’s my birthday?”

Marvolo nodded. Harry seemed overwhelmed, but he didn’t seem like he was about to cry, so it must have been the right thing. 

Harry took a moment to process this information, and seemed to be content with it. “When’s your birthday?”

“December 31st, 1926,” Marvolo said. 

“1926,” Harry said. He thought about that for a bit before looking back up to Marvolo. “You’re really old, Volo.”

Harry continued to write letters to Severus. Marvolo wasn’t exactly sure what was in the letters, but every once in a while Harry would mention his intention to explain something in his letters and need help with spelling more complicated words.

Marvolo had to accept that wherever Severus had ended up, whether that be far off on a beach somewhere or six feet under, he was clearly not using his old residence. 

Now it seemed it strategy needed revamping. Most of his followers had been of wizarding descent. If they had muggle heritage, or a muggle residence, most of them would have never admitted it to him. So it seemed he needed a better plan than having Harry mail a letter.

He had pondered the idea of sending Harry to Diagon Alley, or another Wizarding area to attempt to send post to someone who would respond. But there were a number of complications with that, chief among them was actually getting a child there. He could coach him on borrowing some money from his aunt’s purse and phoning a taxi, but what would happen if something went wrong?

Even if the boy managed to get to one of the London entrances, he would need to be let in to the magical side by a wizard. The proprietor of the Leaky Caldron was always willing to let people into the alley. But a lone child would definitely raise questions. While Harry could lie when it suited him, he was not always the most convincing. 

If by some miracle Harry could get himself to Diagon Alley, get to Gringotts in order to access some of the correct currency, and find the post office, who would he even contact? Marvolo had not forgotten that Harry was the only survivor of the night he ‘died.’ He could only assume his followers would have no amount of fondness for the boy. And he could hardly have the child reach out to someone who would go squealing to Dumbledore if they heard about the boy hearing a voice in his head.

His best bet would be to contact one of his followers who had a child of their own. Hopefully Harry’s age would cause them to hesitate in any vengeance they had planned long enough for Harry to pass on a message.

Even if he had someone to send the letter to, this whole situation with Severus showed him that Marvolo had little knowledge of the current world. Once Harry left the Dursley’s house, he would not be allowed back, or if he was allowed back, then the Dursley’s would be angrier and more horrible than usual to Harry for stealing and causing trouble. 

If he couldn’t find somewhere else for the child to go immediately, it wasn’t going to be a possible solution.  

If only Marvolo could communicate with Harry when he was awake. If he could do that he could help Harry in real time and make sure it all went smoothly. 

He had an old safe house in Knockturn Alley. It would not be suitable for the long term, but Harry could wait there a few days if Marvolo’s followers were slow. It would most likely be better than being shoved into the cupboard under the stairs with no food.

The only way this would work was if they could share thoughts. Marvolo hadn’t made any attempts recently, content with the dream interactions and feeling no need to eavesdrop even more on Harry’s life, but it seemed like they would need to make some progress. He would need to start teaching Harry the basics of occlumency so the magical burden would be split between them rather than drawing solely on Marvolo’s limited resources.

“I am going to teach you how to mediate today,” Marvolo said the next time he saw Harry. 

“Like this?” Harry said, crossing his legs in an uncomfortable looking way, theatrically closing his eyes, and making a deep humming sound. 

Marvolo sighed. This may take longer than he thought. “Not exactly. Come sit by me.”

“I had a chocolate bar today,” Harry said, instead of saying hello like a polite human being. Marvolo was getting better at feeling when Harry would enter his dreamscape, but it was hardly an exact science.  

“Good evening, Harry. I am doing well, thank you for asking. How are you?” Marvolo said.

Harry made a face that was difficult to interpret, but usually was used to show his disdain for manners.

“I’m doing well, thank you for asking,” Harry parroted, wrapping his arms around Marvolo like the octopus he was. “And the chocolate had caramel in it.”

Marvolo, who hadn’t eaten in years and didn’t even have a real body at the moment, wished he could have tasted it. Chocolate was very nice, from what he remembered. 

“How did you keep it from your cousin?” Marvolo asked.

“Mrs. Bauer passed a bag of candy around today in class,” Harry said. He was already setting up the checkerboard on the table with the red pieces on his side. “She said since Halloween’s on a saturday, we could have our treat the day before.”

Marvolo didn’t have a physical body, despite what it looked like in the dreamscape, but it still felt like he had been punched in the stomach.

“Tomorrow is Halloween?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Aunt Petunia doesn’t like Halloween. She doesn’t even let Dudley trick or treat with the other kids. Last year he screamed so much, but she still didn’t let him. He got a whole bag of chocolate bars anyway. I saw it from my cupboard.”

Marvolo took a deep breath, but it seemed like Harry was not done talking.

“I don’t think I like Halloween much,” Harry continued. “Uncle Vernon said that’s when my parents’ car smashed.”

Marvolo knew there was something else he had forgotten to tell Harry.

Chapter Text

Marvolo had never asked Harry about what he knew of his parents’ death. Harry thought his parents died in a car crash. Marvolo knew that Harry’s relatives had no fondness for him or his parents, considering he didn’t even know his own birthday or his parents' names, so he supposed he should have expected that.

Harry had finished setting up the checkerboard and had already moved his first piece forward.

“Your uncle said your parents died in a car crash?” Marvolo asked. Harry looked down, playing with his own fingers.

Harry took a moment before he spoke. “Uncle Vernon said they were drunks and they crashed.” He paused and when he spoke next it was a whisper. “He said they were lucky to be rid of me. But it would have been better if I was in the car too, since then he wouldn’t have to deal with me.”

Marvolo felt a deep burning hatred in his chest for Vernon Dursley. It was not an unfamiliar feeling, but it’s intensity was rather new.

“Your uncle, as usual, is wrong about everything,” Marvolo said, and Harry’s head snapped up to look at Marvolo. His mouth had fallen open.

“Your parents did not die in a car crash,” Marvolo continued before he could think better of it. “In fact, I doubt your father had ever been in a muggle automobile. They were attacked by a wizard.”

Harry audibly gasped. “A wizard? But weren’t they wizards too? What happened?”

A lie would be detrimental here, but Marvolo could bend the truth a bit. 

“There was a wizard who broke into your home when you were very young,” Marvolo said. “Your parents were killed in the fight, but they protected you the best they could.”

“They protected me,” Harry repeated, clearly processing what this meant. He took a second to think about it.

“Do you think they loved me?” Harry asked, and his voice was quiet. There were tears running down his face. Marvolo silently cursed Harry’s relatives once again for making Harry believe that no one cared about him. 

Marvolo pulled a handkerchief from nowhere in the dreamscape and reached over the table to wipe Harry’s tears. He thought of James Potter. A man who was practically a boy and had thrown himself in the way of the most feared wizard in the world with not even a wand to defend himself. He thought of Lily Potter, young but self-assured as she stood in front of her child’s crib and refused to be moved.

“They loved you very much, I can assure you of that Harry,” Marvolo said, careful to keep his voice low. The moment felt heavy as the weight of what he was saying sunk in.

Harry nodded, a few more tears coming. Rather than reach across the table again, Marvolo shifted the dream to suit him. He didn’t usually like to cause too much disturbance in the dreamscape, as it could make it fall apart, but this seemed like a reasonable change. 

In the blink of an eye, Marvolo and Harry were not sitting across the table from another, but rather next to each other on Harry’s side. The chair Harry had been sitting on shifted into an overly large couch with plenty of room to fit them both. Now next to Harry, it was easier to wipe off his face with the handkerchief he had. 

Harry didn’t seem perturbed at all with the shifting of the dream. Instead of panicking, Harry climbed into Marvolo’s lap and buried his face in his shoulder. It was somewhat like a hug, if Marvolo ignored the wetness of the tears by his neck, so he wrapped his arms around Harry. He must have been correct in his hug assumption, because Harry squeezed him back and sobbed harder.

Marvolo let Harry cry for as long as he needed, running a hand down the child’s back in what he hoped was a comforting motion. He wasn’t sure how long it took, but eventually Harry slipped out of the dream, vanishing from one second to the next.

Harry hadn’t asked the question Marvolo had dreaded. It seemed as if luck was on Marvolo’s side for the first time in his life.

It turned out luck was not on his side.

The next time Harry arrived in their shared dream he had been quiet and pensive. A very strange attitude for him. 

Marvolo had attempted to continue their occlumency lessons, but the child couldn’t concentrate and kept squirming. He then attempted to start a game of checkers, but Harry kept missing obvious moves, even when Marvolo made an effort not to have traps in them for Harry’s pieces. Harry eventually lost interest in the game completely and wandered off to the sandbox.

The dreaded box of dirt that Marvolo despised.

At least Harry seemed content to put the dirt into a bucket rather than onto his own trousers this time. Marvolo wasn’t sure what exactly to do with Harry, so he sat on a bench he had placed by the sandbox after their last incident. 

Harry took some time overturning the full bucket to make little castles. Marvolo occasionally asked about the construction process, but Harry had little interest in engaging, so they sat in silence. 

“Do you know who killed them?”

Harry didn’t have to specify who ‘them’ was, considering their last conversation. Marvolo had been so relieved that their last conversation hadn’t led here, that he hadn’t put any thought of what to say if it came up again. 

“Your parents, you mean?”

Marvolo knew he was stalling. He could lie to Harry. It wouldn’t be too challenging, and considering they had no contact with anyone from the magical community, it was unlikely that his lie would be discovered any time soon. However, it was one thing to have misled Harry like he had in their last conversation, but entirely another to deliberately lie to Harry’s face as he asked him a direct question.

Harry nodded and continued to make his little castles in the dirt.

“Why do you suppose I would know that?” he said. Harry couldn’t possibly suspect could he?

“You know everything,” Harry said. “Like my birthday and how to play checkers and how to spell all the big words and all about occlu-cy.”

“Occlumency,” Marvolo corrected absently.

Harry waved his shovel, sending bits of dirt every which way. 

“See, you know everything,” he said, as if that was the proof he needed.

“I supposed I’m more well informed than most,” Marvolo said. “I told you that a wizard came to attack them.”

“But why would someone attack them?” Harry said, carefully going back to focus on his sand castles. “They were just at home. Was it a burglar?”

“Not exactly.”

“So you do know!” Harry said. “Tell me.” 

The demanding tone was unlike Harry. Usually Harry was a very polite child. Most likely due to his despicable aunt and uncle and their punishments. But even with Marvolo he was generally happy to go along with things. He liked to ask questions, but he was always more inquisitive than aggressive.

“There was a prophecy,” Marvolo explained, and Harry clearly didn’t understand that word, so he tried again. “Someone predicted that you would be the one to kill that wizard, so he broke in to attack you.”

Harry looked up from his piles of dirt, and Marvolo could see the tears clouding his eyes and knew he fucked up. These were not tears of happiness that Harry had shed when he learned his parents loved him and had protected him. These appeared to be genuine tears of distress, and the sobs that followed only further cemented that thought. 

The shovel dropped from Harry’s fingers. Marvolo stood up from the bench and sat down on the wooden edge of the sandbox, trying to rub Harry’s back to bring back some of that comfort that Harry took from their hugs.

Harry was mumbling something, and it took a moment for Marvolo to make out the words.

“They died because of me?” Harry said between sobs, hands clutching his own hair and getting sand everywhere. “Uncle Vernon was right, it’s all my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t your fault,” Marvolo was fast to correct, but it seemed the damage was already done.

“You said he was coming to kill me, so it’s all my fault,” Harry managed to get out even as he cried.

Harry crying was absolutely the worst. Usually in the dreams they were still separate enough that their emotions didn’t bleed over. But this time Harry’s grief was too much for his dream body to contain. It was rolling off Harry in waves and saturating the entire space, rattling around in Marvolo’s thoughts and pulling him down.

“You were just a baby, of course it wasn’t your fault,” Marvolo said, and even he could hear the desperation in his own voice. 

“They should have just let him kill me,” Harry said, garbled though it was from snot and tears. “Then they’d still be alive.”

Marvolo had absolutely no idea how to deal with this. He kept rubbing Harry’s back and searched for something to say.

“They loved you Harry. They wouldn’t just let you be attacked.” 

This must have been the wrong thing to say since Harry’s sobs only got louder and the weight of his despair increased. It was almost a physical sensation pushing down on them both. Marvolo could feel tears gathering in his own eyes. He wiped them with the back of his free hand. When was the last time he had cried from anything besides physical pain?

“It didn’t have anything to do with you Harry,” Marvolo said. “It was the wizard’s fault. The one who attacked your house.”

“I hate him,” Harry said, and Marvolo could fear Harry’s anger, a deep burning in his stomach. “Why would he do that? They were my parents.”

“He was scared,” Marvolo said, flinching at his own honesty. Harry quieted a moment, his anger fading back into sadness. Marvolo pressed his advantage. “He didn’t want to die like the prophecy predicted.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone!” Harry cried, sobbing louder again. “I don’t care about a stupid pro-fecy or pre-ic-tions.”

Marvolo knew it wasn’t the time to correct Harry’s pronunciations of the unfamiliar words, so he pushed that to the side. It was a struggle to think clearly through all this grief around him. 

“He knows that,” Marvolo said and immediately realized his mistake. “I know that, Harry.”

Harry wasn’t paying enough attention thankfully and didn’t seem to process Marvolo’s stumble. 

“What’s wrong with me that I’m ‘posed to kill someone?” Harry asked, curling in on himself. “I’m a freak just like Aunt Petunia said.”

Over their emotional connection, Marvolo could feel Harry’s despair overtake the anger. Despair tasted salty. 

“You’re not a freak,” Marvolo was quick to defend, wishing to end this line of thought. “That wizard, he wasn’t very nice. He hurt a great many people to accomplish his goals, and I’m sure that there were many that would have been happy about his death. So, you aren’t any sort of freak Harry, I swear.”

“Really?” Harry asked, and his voice was wet and congested. The despair was still thick in the shared connection and it was making Marvolo rather light headed. Or as lightheaded as he could be without an actual body.

“You have already claimed I know everything, so trust me on this,” Marvolo said. 

He thought about the fear his followers had displayed when he entered their meetings, all worried who would be the next of them to face his temper. He thought about Severus, begging for the life of a woman he loved.

Marvolo continued trying to reassure Harry. He said, “I’m sure even some of those he called friends were ready to off him by the end.”

And this was clearly the wrong thing to say because Harry burst into a fresh round of tears.

“He has friends who cared about him, and I was ‘posed to kill him!” Harry said through the tears. This child was entirely too empathetic to deal with.

“No Harry, he didn’t really have friends,” Marvolo hastened to say. “He was cruel and shouldn’t have attacked your family.”

“He could have had friends,” Harry said, sniffling and rubbing his nose and eyes with a sleeve. “He could have had a lot of things, but I don’t know.”

“He didn’t,” Marvolo said, finding it harder to focus on his own train of thought. He knew what he needed to convey, but finding the words was a struggle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You don’t know that!”

Marvolo just wanted Harry to stop spiraling. He needed the child to calm down and stop sending his emotional distress down their shared connection. Anger and despair mixed in a deadly cocktail that put him on edge.

“I know because I was that man, Harry.  I was the wizard that broke into your house.”

Harry was silent at the revelation, even his hiccuping sobs stopped. He sniffed once, rubbing at his nose with a dirty hand.

Marvolo had no idea what to do. He hadn’t intended to reveal this right now, or perhaps ever. The emotional turmoil he was feeling from Harry must have affected him more than normal. Marvolo found himself speaking again before he could stop himself.

“I am sorry Harry. It was never my intention for all of this to happen. While it’s not an excuse, I wasn’t in my right mind at the end. I never should have done that to you, to your parents.”

Marvolo felt Harry flinch under his hand, and hastily pulled his hand away from the child. He hadn’t even realized he was still rubbing his back. Harry stood up, facing away from Marvolo. He watched the child’s shoulders rise and fall as he took a few deep breaths.

Harry took a few steps away, and Marvolo gave him a moment to collect himself. Harry said something, but the words were too quiet to hear over the distance.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that, Harry,” Marvolo said, frustrated that the child wasn’t even looking at him.

Harry turned around to face him, and Marvolo rather wished he hadn’t. 

“I said, I hate you,” Harry said, voice stronger this time. He stood tall and his expression was pinched as he clearly tried to hold back his tears. 

“I hate you!” Harry screamed, getting louder as he repeated it. Marvolo couldn’t stop his own flinch at Harry’s words, but the child continued. “I hate you and I never want to see you again!”

Harry’s voice was breaking with his rage. Marvolo tried to reach out, to say anything, but before he could, Harry vanished from the dream.

Alone in the dreamscape, Marvolo was left with nothing but the echoes of Harry’s anger. 

Marvolo was planning to give Harry some space, but it turned out he didn’t need to worry about that.

Despite the fact their little occlumency lessons had only taken place while Harry was dreaming, it seemed that Harry had a decent enough grasp on the subject to block their connection from his side. It was very impressive considering his age, and Marvolo couldn’t help but be proud of Harry for that. 

The block was a bit crude. It was a wall built with bricks made of anger and rage, cemented together with a deep sadness. With any amount of pushing Marvolo was sure that it would crumble, but for a first attempt it was relatively impressive. 

Of course, with their connection blocked, Marvolo had no way to access the outside world, which was very frustrating. He wasn’t even able to receive any of Harry’s stronger emotions. In the past he had been frustrated and overwhelmed by Harry’s ever changing and too aggressive emotions, but now without them, it seemed like something was missing.

Marvolo decided to give Harry some time to digest the news. He didn’t push on their connection, nor did he attempt to send anything down it. He did leave his own side slightly open, just in case something happened.

Marvolo found himself sitting on the swings in his empty dreamscape, wondering if Harry would ever come back.

Without any connection to Harry, Marvolo found his sense of reality growing distant again.

He was finding it challenging to maintain his dreamscape for any length of time. Still, the dreams were one of the only ways he could communicate with Harry, so he continued to do so when he was able. Surely Harry would eventually come back?

Marvolo was starting to get flashes of emotions again. It was similar to how their connection had felt in the very beginning. 

He wasn’t sure how aware Harry was of it until Marvolo attempted to respond. There had been a great deal of sadness leaking through their bond, squeezing through the cracks of the wall Harry built. 

Marvolo pressed his more positive emotions for Harry against the wall, hoping that something would get through even if he was unwilling to break the child’s flimsy occlumency barrier. Breaking the barrier by force could cause even more pain, and would definitely break any trust that Harry held for him.

Marvolo felt the wall crumble a bit, some of the anger that had held it up appeared to be melting. He put more effort into shoving his positive thoughts through without pushing too hard.

He only pressed the tiniest amount, but it still felt like a physical blow when the wall was forced back up between them. Anger and guilt clung to this wall and dripped down the freshly formed bricks. The force of it rattled across Marvolo’s mind, and he found himself falling into unawareness. 

Chapter Text

Marvolo kept creating the dreamscapes when he was able. Without Harry regularly entering them, it was a greater burden on his own magic than it used to be. 

He spent more time drifting. He was aware and thinking, but unable to engage with reality. He kept feeling a clawing loneliness, and he was relatively positive it wasn’t coming from his bond with Harry. How odd.

Harry’s rushed occlumency barrier between them started to decay again. 

Marvolo let Harry’s emotions trickle over him like a steam, barely putting up his own barriers. They were less aggressive compared to what he used to feel from the child, and it was distressing to be connected to Harry’s emotions but not know what was causing them.

Marvolo was careful not to send anything back through the connection, hoping Harry wouldn’t notice his crumbling barrier. At least with these brief snatches of Harry’s emotional state he could still maintain some connection to the outside world. 

After some number of emotional flashes from Harry, Marvolo felt a cold, aggressive flare of guilt from the child before his occlumency barrier was hastily reinforced.

Marvolo was sitting in his empty dreamscape, perhaps just because he still could at this point, when something finally changed.

The dam that Harry had erected between their connection shattered abruptly. Waves of choking despair flowed through and Marvolo felt like he had been hit by a particularly powerful stunning spell.

The dreamscape around him vanished without his consent, and he could feel his thoughts being pulled somewhere. It was almost painful, the pull. It felt like his first time successfully apparating, like his body was expanding and contracting at the same time and there was nothing to focus on but the sensations.

It stopped just as abruptly.

Marvolo still had his body, so he was clearly still in a dream. However, he was quick to realize it was not his dream. Rather than the idyllic playground landscape he had used since he had started his attempts to share dreams, he was in a dark, cramped space.

His eyes, even in the dream, took a moment to adjust to the lack of light. The space was bigger in the dream than in reality, so it took him a moment to recognize the shape of the cupboard that Harry was forced to sleep in by his horrible relatives.

A single dim light bulb feebly lit up the space, but it couldn’t reach the darker corners. Marvolo found that he was sitting on the ground, since standing in the cramped space would have been impossible. 

It only took him another second to notice Harry. The child was curled into a ball on a small mattress, with only a thin blanket and an overly large shirt to keep him warm. At first Marvolo thought the child was shivering from the cold, but he heard a whimper and realized Harry was sobbing silently into a shapeless lump that might be a pillow. 

Harry didn’t appear to notice the intruder in his dream, and Marvolo debated slipping out again before the child realized he was here.

Harry let out another sob, and Marvolo found himself reaching out without meaning to. He placed a hand gently on Harry’s back, careful not to startle him.

The pressure on his back clearly surprised Harry, and he uncurled enough to peak at Marvolo. Harry’s eyes were wet with tears and his distress was clear on his face. Rather than the anger that Marvolo expected to feel from their connection, a warm relief seeped down it, curling around them comfortably. That warm feeling only lasted a moment as a fresh, sticky wave of despair was quick to follow.

As the despair came again, Harry launched himself at Marvolo. Surprisingly it was not with fists and raging insults, but to wrap his arms tightly around him and bury his face in Marvolo’s chest. Marvolo’s own arms wrapped around the child with very little input from him. He found himself rubbing Harry’s back and trying to catch his own breath from the rollercoaster of emotions Harry was sharing.

Marvolo wasn’t sure how long they sat like that. Harry clutched onto him with all the strength he had, and Marvolo could feel himself doing the same. 

The tears had stopped, or at least tapered off to a more manageable amount. Marvolo had softened his grip enough to run a hand through Harry’s hair. 

They were just sitting there together when there was yet another spontaneous mood change from Harry. Rather than the despair that had slowly been ebbing, a sharp sting of panic came from their connection. 

The shock of it caused Marvolo to loosen his grip on Harry, which Harry used to squirm out of his lap and put some space between the two of them.

Harry curled himself in a dark corner, as far from Marvolo as possible. Even in the dream, the cupboard was still cramped enough that Marvolo could still have reached out and grabbed him. Harry’s face was wet with tears and he tried to wipe them off with the back of his hand, but more just kept coming. 

“I don’t want you here,” Harry said, but a fresh wave of guilt flowed down their connection. Harry pulled his knees into himself, wrapping his arms around them so he appeared very small in the corner.

“Harry,” Marvolo said. “Did the hug help you?”

Harry shook his head immediately to deny it, but wouldn’t meet Marvolo’s eyes. Even if Marvolo wasn’t able to feel Harry’s emotions, he would have known he was lying to him.

“You don’t need to forgive me,” Marvolo said, and the words were challenging to get out. “You can still hate me.”

“You killed my parents,” Harry said in a small voice.

“Yes,” Marvolo said. “That’s true. So it’s perfectly understandable that you hate me.”

“But you’re supposed to be my Volo,” Harry said, still in that small quiet voice. The despair wasn’t quite a wave this time, but it was slowly building.

Marvolo realized he probably should have paid more attention to the name the child called him. He had simply thought it was a simpler way for Harry to address him. He didn’t realize the emotion that Harry had placed on the title. As one would address their father as dad or something comparable. Well, he had not seen that coming. 

Marvolo wasn’t sure how to continue. He didn’t want to tell Harry not to be angry anymore. He knew better than most that simply wishing away anger was never an effective strategy. He couldn’t advise Harry to follow his example, considering his strategies generally incorporated a fair amount of murder. But, Harry clearly wanted their relationship to go back to what it was in the past.

“I can still be your Volo,” Marvolo said, and the phrase felt odd in his mouth now that he realized the full weight of the title. “And you can still hate me. Maybe one day you won’t. But for now you do, and that’s acceptable.”

They sat in silence for a moment, except for Harry’s small sniffles.

“Do you hate me?” Harry said, almost too quiet to hear, despite the fact they were in such close quarters.

“I do not hate you,” Marvolo said quickly, and he tried to gather his own thoughts to reassure the child.  “I have come to enjoy our time together, Harry. I find myself distressed,” he paused and corrected his words to make sure Harry would understand. “Sad that you hate me, but that does not mean that I hate you, or that I want you to suffer in any way.”

Another moment of silence followed that. Marvolo struggled for something else to say. How else could he reassure the child that he would stay with him even through this struggle? He had expected Harry to never want to talk to him again, but instead Harry was at war with himself over his hatred of Marvolo’s actions and his attachment to Marvolo as some sort of parental figure. 

Harry broke him out of his thoughts when he said, “Can you hug me again?” 

Harry uncurled slightly from his corner, and it was easy enough for Marvolo to pick him up and wrap his arms around him.

“As long as you like,” Marvolo promised, and he was surprised to realize that he was telling the truth. 

Harry clutched the fabric of Marvolo’s shirt in his hands, and settled himself back into the embrace.

“Even if I hate you?” He asked against Marvolo’s shoulder.

“Even then,” Marvolo said, running his hand through Harry’s hair again.

They sat like that until Marvolo felt himself fading from Harry’s dream as he woke up.

The next time Marvolo built his dreamscape, Harry arrived silently. Rather than throwing himself at Marvolo in one of his attack hugs like he used to, the boy sat down in his chair at the table.

“I want to play checkers,” Harry said, so Marvolo set up the board.

Marvolo wasn’t sure what to say, and Harry seemed content to not start conversation. There were many things Marvolo wanted to discuss, but he was worried about breaking this small truce. 

Harry hadn’t put up his occlumency barrier since he pulled him into the dream in the cupboard, and it was wonderful to be connected to the outside world again, if only in small snatches. Marvolo also was very aware of Harry’s fragile emotional stability and the difficulty he was having with his feelings towards Marvolo specifically. It was incredible progress that Harry had come back to their shared dreams and Marvolo found himself hesitant to do anything that could possibly fuck it up.

“Stop letting me win,” Harry demanded during their third game in silence.

Marvolo moved his piece back from where he had been setting up another easy jump for Harry’s checkers. Harry liked jumping checkers, so he wasn’t sure what exactly was wrong. 

Harry’s scowl was more adorable than fearsome, but Marvolo attempted to look properly cowed anyway. 

“You don’t want to win?” Marvolo asked.

“I don’t want you to let me win,” Harry said, and Marvolo was unsure of the difference. “I just want to play checkers.”

Marvolo nodded, still not exactly confident in what Harry meant, but Harry seemed oddly satisfied when he lost the next game.

It became a pattern. Harry would enter the dream, quietly as opposed to throwing himself at Marvolo as he used to, and then choose an activity for them to do silently. Usually they played checkers, but sometimes Harry would wander over to the swings or to the sidewalk where a scattered box of colored chalk was spread out.

The sandbox had been missing since Harry’s last time in there, and Marvolo was glad that Harry hadn’t mentioned it.

Today Harry was sitting on the sidewalk and was clearly attempting to recreate the playground they were in with his chalk drawing. It was messy, but recognizable.

Marvolo had intended to sit on a bench nearby and watch, but Harry had pulled him down to the ground with him. Bemused, Marvolo hadn’t put up much of a fight when Harry shoved a piece of chalk in his hands. The texture left something to be desired, but Marvolo could take a hint. 

While Harry worked on his landscape of the playground, Marvolo drew some of the more colorful flowers he remembered from his travels and potion experiments. Harry seemed suitably impressed and would occasionally stop his own work to admire Marvolo’s work.

“Did you kill any other people?” Harry asked after they sat in silence for a while.

Marvolo paused as he was filling in the petals of a nightshade flower.

This conversation had the potential to be an emotional landmine. He had already made a policy not to lie to Harry, and Harry could hardly think any less of him considering what he already knew. But still, confessing to more murders hardly seemed like a way to endear the child to him.

“You wouldn’t have to think so long if the answer was no,” Harry said.

Marvolo laughed out loud at the child’s sass and went back to shading his flower. He could not recall the last time he laughed.

“I suppose you know the answer then.”

Harry said, “Hmm,” and then went back to his own drawing without asking anything else.

The next question came a few dreams later as Marvolo set up a chessboard. Harry had declared his boredom of checkers and wanted to try something more challenging, so Marvolo had obliged. 

“Do you still want to kill people?” Harry asked, and Marvolo knocked over his own king.

Marvolo had learned his lesson about stalling to answer Harry’s questions, so he didn’t let himself think before answering.

“No.” Marvolo thought about it for a moment before adding, “Well not most people.”

Harry tilted his head. “What does that mean?”

“It means that sometimes your aunt and uncle test me.”

Harry nodded, as if Marvolo hadn’t just admitted to the occasional homicidal impulse against his only remaining relatives. Harry then gestured to the black king that Marvolo had knocked over. 

“Does that mean I win?”

Marvolo reset the piece. “It does not, and you know it.”

They played a game of chess, which was more instructional than actual strategy, and Harry did not mention murder again. 

A few dreams later they were playing mancala. Harry grew frustrated trying to use the numbers to his advantage and frequently just picked his move randomly. Despite his lack of strategy, it still helped him practice some sort of math skills without him realizing it, so Marvolo decided this was a win. 

Harry looked up from placing the last stone on his turn and his face was serious. Marvolo could practically feel a headache coming on even though he didn’t have a physical body.

“Did you ever kill people who deserved it?” Harry asked this time.

Marvolo pondered this, picking up the stones from one of his pits and placing them into the right spots. 

He thought of his father who had abandoned his poor lovesick mother and himself. 

He thought of Caractacus Burke who had seen a young pregnant witch and scammed her out of a priceless possession, and then bragged about it to his young assistant years later. 

He thought of Hepzibah Smith who had her house elf smuggle love potions into his drinks on multiple occasions.

“I think some of them deserved it,” Marvolo said after a while. 

Of course, he couldn’t help but think of Myrtle Warren. A stupid girl who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She must have been only thirteen back then, but Marvolo had been rather more focused on making sure Hogwarts remained open at the time. She had been so young, and he hadn’t meant for that to happen.

He thought of Lily and James Potter.

“Some of them did not,” he said to Harry after a moment. 

Harry thought about this for a moment before he said, “It’s your turn.”

Marvolo looked down at his side of the mancala board and noticed that Harry had clearly moved some stones around while he had been distracted. 

“If you’re going to cheat,” Marvolo said as he made his move. “Make sure sure the other person doesn’t notice.”

Harry had the gall to grin and didn’t even look a little ashamed of his sloppy cheating. Such a brat.

Chapter Text

The next conversation they had involving Marvolo’s past happened in the very next dream. Harry sat himself down at the table without setting up any of the games they usually played. The child placed his folded hands on the table and attempted to look serious. It was more cute than it was effective, but Marvolo was able to take a hint and sat across from him.

“I think you shouldn’t kill people anymore,” Harry said.

Marvolo tried very much not to laugh. He said, “Harry, I can really only interact with you in these dreams. I couldn’t kill anyone right now even if I wanted to.”

“But, someday you might not just live in my head,” Harry said, and this was clearly something he had been thinking a lot about. 

They hadn’t discussed Marvolo attempting to get a real body in a while. With the emotional turmoil of learning that Marvolo had killed the older Potters, getting out of the house and any future plans had very much fallen to the wayside. Marvolo was reminded once again of those letters to Severus and his half-baked plans to get Harry into Diagon Alley.

“That could happen,” Marvolo said, because he still very much wanted a body of his own. He’d have to do some research, but he had a few ideas on ways to regain a body with the fraction of a soul he now held and without doing damage to Harry.

Harry nodded, seeming to be pleased his point was getting across. Then he said, “So, I want you to promise you won’t kill anyone anymore.” 

There was silence between them after Harry’s words. 

“You’re serious?” Marvolo asked after a moment, and Harry nodded. 

“I hate you because you killed my mum and dad,” Harry said, and there was almost no trace of the rage that had been there before. “So I don’t want you to do it again. To someone else’s mum and dad, or to anyone else.”

Marvolo contemplated this demand for a moment. 

“And if I fulfill this promise, you will offer me some sort of forgiveness?” Marvolo was not sure it was worth it. Harry’s cooperation was important, and he was finding Harry’s affection to be something he valued more as time went on. But killing people in the past had proven a rather effective strategy most of the time.

“I dunno,” Harry said. “But it might make me feel better.”

“How would you have me swear this promise?” Marvolo asked, attempting not to think too much about Harry’s delicate emotional state and his own role in creating that. “Some sort of wizard’s oath? Or perhaps an unbreakable vow? We don’t have binder, but I’m sure that with enough concentration I could bind it and be a recipient.”

Harry didn’t seem to follow all the words, but was shaking his head.

“Not any of that. I was thinking it could be a pinky promise,” Harry said, and held out his right hand, pinky first, to Marvolo. 

“And is this binding?” Marvolo asked, not mimicking Harry’s motion yet, but eyeing the pinky with some apprehension. How had he never heard of such an oath? Harry shrugged at his question.

“What is the consequence for breaking this pinky promise?” Marvolo said.

“I’ll be very cross,” Harry snapped back, and his glare at the mention of Marvolo breaking it was heated. He wiggled his pinky again, but Marvolo had more questions. 

“What would happen if I was at the top of a long staircase with someone and they happened to fall, and I couldn’t catch them? Would that count as breaking your promise?”

Harry thought about it for a moment, lowering his hand back to the table. 

“No,” he said after a moment. “But you should probably try to catch them.”

Marvolo couldn’t help but be interested in this attempt at morals from a child that was barely half his height, so he pushed further.

“What if I was standing at the top of those stairs with someone, and I tripped them and they happened to fall in the direction that led down the stairs? Would that break your promise?”

Harry nodded a bit but didn’t answer verbally. His eyebrows drew together and he was clearly putting a great deal of thought into something.

“Or what if I’m at the bottom of that staircase, and someone comes tumbling down and I don’t throw myself in the way to cushion their fall? Would my lack of action break your promise?”

Harry looked more confused. Marvolo smiled sharply in a way he had learned made all his followers, even the most devoted, rather nervous. 

“What if it was your uncle?” Marvolo said.

Harry startled at that, dropping his hand back to the table and looking down. They sat in that silence for a moment. Harry refused to look up, and Marvolo was apprehensive he had pushed the boy a bit too far.

“Harry, I-” Marvolo started, but was interrupted before he could go further.

“I think that you should try,” Harry said firmly, looking up into Marvolo’s eyes. They were very green, Marvolo realized. Had they been like that before he cast the killing curse at the child?

Harry continued, “You’re smart and you have magic, and even though sometimes you’re very sad, I don’t think you need to push anyone down stairs to show them that you’re stronger than they are.”

There was a pause. 

“Even Uncle Vernon,” Harry said, in a slightly quieter, but no less confident voice.

“I suppose that’s that then,” Marvolo said. He held up his hand to mirror Harry’s with his pinky out. “How exactly does this oath work?”

Harry smiled and linked their pinkies. 

“Do you promise to not kill anyone else?” 

Marvolo ignored the weight of the promise. Currently, he was trapped. He was completely unable to access anything without Harry’s help. If this oath helped him maintain the trust they’d shared in the past and helped him eventually gain a body of his own it would be worth it. And if Harry could start calling him Volo again, then perhaps that might be a nice bonus as well.

“I promise,” Marvolo said, and that was that.

Things don’t exactly go back to normal after that, but Harry was more likely to enter the dream with one of his hug attacks than not. 

Harry seemed once again content to chatter on about his day. Mundane as they were, Marvolo found himself invested in Harry’s life. Harry’s relatives were still despicable. His school education seemed lacking, the child didn’t even learn Latin! And worst of all, he still lived in his tiny cupboard.

They still played their board games, Marvolo searching his memory for things simple enough to teach Harry but still be engaging for them both. Sometimes they sat on the swings. Other times they sat on an outdoor sofa and Marvolo recounted stories from books he remembered reading as a child.

Now that Marvolo had made the promise, Harry seemed more than willing to continue his practice of occlumency. Marvolo hadn’t realized that he had been avoiding it, and was relieved the child was once again showing interest in leaving his relatives for somewhere safer.

Things had been going relatively well for a while when Harry appeared down again. He wasn’t as withdrawn as he had been during the sandbox incident, but he was noticeably subdued. 

He sat on the swing and rather than using his legs to get any height or asking Marvolo for a push, he instead was just digging his shoes into the soft earth beneath the swing.

Marvolo felt a bit like he was approaching  a smoking cauldron with a potentially volatile ingredient. 

“Is something wrong?” Marvolo asked after Harry’s monosyllabic answers as to how school was going.

“No,” Harry said, but slumped in his swing and immediately continued. “It’s the almost winter holidays and that means I’ll be stuck inside with Aunt Petunia and Dudley all day. Usually at school it’s not so bad, but…”

Harry trailed off as he often did while trying to verbalize his opinions on his relatives. Marvolo waited for him to continue.

“Dudley was being mean earlier and Aunt Petunia said if I couldn’t stop causing trouble I’d have to go sit outside to cool off.” Harry paused again. “Usually I like being sent outside, since it’s away from them, but I don’t have a coat.”

Marvolo the familiar rage that he usually felt whenever Harry’s relatives were mentioned. If Harry hadn’t been so against murder, Marvolo would have a few helpful suggestions for him. Shame.

“She probably won’t do it,” Harry said, as if in answer to Marvolo’s thoughts. “She says stuff a lot just to scare me.”

Harry readjusted his seat on the swing, and then said, “Can you give me a push?”

Marvolo obliged, pushing Harry so he could get some of the height he liked so much. He’d have to get Harry a child’s broom once they were out of this horrible house. One that had plenty of safety charms so Harry wouldn’t be able to go too ridiculously high.

Harry’s mood seemed to improve, but Marvolo was still lost in thought. 

Petunia Dursley valued her house, her family, and her reputation more than anything else. If Marvolo really wanted her to suffer, then that would be where he would need to hit. She would be driven crazy by a strange noise in the house that she could never find the source of. She would be offended by a stain on her spotless kitchen floor that she would never be able to get out. She would be horrified if the neighbors heard her and her husband fighting about something scandalous.

Someday Marvolo would have a body again, and he was making plans.

Harry’s life seemed to continue on. Marvolo occasionally looked through Harry’s senses to get glimpses of the outside world, but it was incredibly dull and often not worth the energy it took.

Despite all their practicing and Harry’s increased occlumency training, they had not found a way to speak while Harry was awake. They could share emotions still, but any attempt at communication or sharing thoughts was not going well. 

Still, when Harry’s emotions were particularly aggressive, Marvolo usually attempted to see what exactly was happening in his life.

Usually it meant his relatives were being particularly awful, and in that case Marvolo tried to send positive emotions Harry’s way and made sure they would share a dream that night.

Occasionally it meant that Harry was excited or happy about something. Sometimes it made Marvolo remember that Harry was a child. He would burst out in excitement when a teacher praised him. Or he would be delighted if he was able to get his hands on some chocolate. Or he was enthralled when he read a particularly interesting book in school. 

Other times it made Marvolo remember how much he hated Harry’s relatives. Harry would be happy when his Aunt gave him dinner despite threatening earlier not to. He would be pleased when his uncle forgot to lock the door of the cupboard he slept in. It was rather depressing to be honest. 

Marvolo was drifting, as he frequently found himself when he wasn’t interacting with Harry, when he suddenly was hit by a burst of excitement stronger than any positive emotion had been in the past. It was extremely disorienting and rather bright.

Before he could investigate the source, Harry put up an occlumency barrier between their connection. The barrier was well made, and Marvolo spent some time unobtrusively examining it while he pondered over what made Harry put it up. 

More excitement occasionally leaked around the wall, finding cracks and causing it to be a bit less stable. Marvolo debated prodding the wall a bit harder to see what all the fuss was about, but he decided Harry could keep his secrets. 

He must have found something particularly interesting and wanted to wait until they could talk about it to share. Sometimes when he read books, he liked it when Marvolo didn’t know the ending so Harry could explain it. Or perhaps his aunt and uncle had decided on a last minute Christmas holiday so Harry would be left alone for the remainder of his school break.

Whatever was happening, Marvolo was thankful at least it was causing excitement rather than fear.

Marvolo wasn’t sure how exactly Harry fell asleep considering his excitement level didn’t seem to drop, but he eventually appeared in the dreamscape grinning like a loon. Marvolo wondered if he should perhaps invest in a therapist for a child when he was able.

Harry ran up to him and gave him a tight hug, so Marvolo hugged him back. He was still leaking excitement like a sieve. 

“Your friend is kind of mean,” Harry said, looking up at Marvolo with his arms still tight around him. 

“My what is what?” Marvolo said, unsure of how to respond to this statement. Perhaps Harry had finally lost it.

“Your friend,” Harry repeated, as if that would offer any clarity. He let go of Marvolo and climbed up into his usual chair.

“Sev-er-us Sn-ape,” Harry said slowly, carefully enunciating all the syllables. “He says that ‘if I must address him, I should put in at least some effort into doing it correctly.’” Harry’s voice went deeper at the end and he stuck up his nose.

“You met Severus?” Marvolo said, despite the fact it was rather obvious. Why now after all this time? 

Harry nodded vigorously. 

“He’s a Pr’fessor,” Harry said. “And so he was busy and wasn’t checking his mail. Last summer there was a big explosion at his school so he had to go back early. But, he went home for part of the holidays and saw all my letters!”

Severus Snape was a teacher? Marvolo pictured the man’s sharp tongue and cutting remarks and could hardly think of a worse position for him. Who would be stupid enough to hire him?

Harry was still talking. “He said my spelling was de-bor-a-ble.”

“Deplorable,” Marvolo corrected absently, still stuck on Severus working with a bunch of children. 

“Deplorable,” Harry repeated, but then continued. “But, he could understand it enough to come to the Durselys and find me, so I think he’s just being mean.”

“That sounds like Severus,” Marvolo said. While Severus had been far too respectful to be rude to him, it was hardly a secret that he was rather caustic. “Tell me about what happened? Are you still with him?”

“He came early this morning. I was making breakfast, and Aunt Petunia got the door so I didn’t burn the bacon. I thought it was a salesman, and she sent him away. But then she was yelling, and someone else was yelling. And then I heard Uncle Vernon come down the stairs and he was yelling too.”

Harry wasn’t even pausing to breathe. 

“And then it was really quiet and I heard Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon go upstairs. But he came into the kitchen and then we both ate the breakfast I made and he asked me lots of questions. When we were done, we left all the dishes on the table, and he had me go to my cupboard and put all my things into a bag. It was tiny but everything still fit!”

Marvolo nodded. He was deeply curious about their breakfast conversation, but didn’t want to derail Harry’s story. Harry clearly had other priorities, and Marvolo wished he had been able to witness the conversation. At least he was now confident that Severus had been a good choice to contact since he hadn’t attacked or otherwise harmed Harry.

Harry continued, “After that we had to walk far away because he said he didn’t want anyone to be able to follow us. And then we popped away! It felt really bad. He called it something else though.” Harry trailed off. 

“You apparated?” Marvolo asked, and Harry nodded. 

“We went to his house and he gave me some old comic books while he cleaned out a room just for me. But I didn’t read them because he was cleaning them with magic, and the broom was flying and the windows washed themselves! He magic’d our sandwiches for lunch and the stew we had for dinner!”

Harry’s awe over the use of magic would no doubt dull over time. Marvolo himself was rather unimpressed by the child’s excitement of Severus’ knowledge of standard household spells. At least Severus had fed Harry.

Harry was still talking. “And he let me unpack the little bag into the room just for me. He said my clothes were ‘offensive’, and then he took them away. He came back with lots more clothes. They were kind of big but they felt nicer. Some of them looked weird, but he said they were ‘proper wizarding attire.’”

Marvolo supposed it was good that someone was providing for the child’s needs. Of course Severus couldn’t even get clothes the proper size, but he supposed that any attempt was commendable. 

“He wanted to talk to you,” Harry said. “He asked a lot of questions and I told him we can only talk when I’m sleeping. So he told me he was going to make a potion that will help.”

“Which potion?” Marvolo asked. He had a great many questions for Severus as well. It would be immensely helpful to be able to talk with him directly rather than using Harry as a go between.

“I dunno,” Harry said shrugging. “It had a long boring name. But he said after we both drink it that he’ll be able to talk to me in my dream too.”

Marvolo tried to wrack his brains for such a potion, but he couldn’t think of any. Well, there was a reason that Severus was a potion master and he wasn’t.

“But Severus has been treating you well?” Marvolo asked. Harry hadn’t mentioned anything concerning , but he was hardly a good judge of care that adults should be providing for children considering his horrible relatives.

“He uses a lot of big words,” Harry said after thinking about it. “And he made me practice my handwriting this afternoon when I told him it couldn’t have been that bad if he still could read it. But he fed me and didn’t yell at me, so that was nice.”

Marvolo despaired at how low the child’s bar was for an acceptable adult.

“Did Severus say anything particularly interesting?”

Harry was quiet for a moment, and the excitement that had been leaking from him dulled a bit. 

“He said I have my mum’s eyes,” Harry said, and he looked up to Marvolo with those eyes that were just too green to be natural. “Did you know that?”

Marvolo thought of the brief moments he had interacted with Lily Potter. Most of them had been in the heat of a duel and the most words they ever exchanged were right before her death. 

“I didn’t know that,” Marvolo said.

There was silence between them for a moment before Harry moved on. “He asked me to ask you if there was anything you wanted me to tell him?”

Marvolo thought about it for a moment. He had an uncountable number of questions he wanted to ask about the current state of the world. The biggest question was of course if the other soul piece that escaped that night he attacked the Potters had come back into power, but he supposed that could wait until he could speak to Severus directly. 

“Tell him to continue to take care of you properly and that I look forward to speaking with him.”

“Okay,” Harry said, and then he started fidgeting, clearly bored of talking. “Can we play checkers?”

Chapter Text

Marvolo was getting pretty tired of hearing about Severus.

From what he remembered Severus had been a relatively powerful caster and academically inclined. He had been proficient in both spell and potion creation which had led to many personal meetings between them. Marvolo had hardly encouraged small talk among his followers, so focused as he was on his goals, so much of their time together had been focused on Severus’ progress in completing his tasks. 

Harry talked with him in dreams twice more before Severus was able to join them. He had been eager to share everything about his days with Severus. From excitement over mundane household spells to curiosity over if Marvolo could do similar things. He could, he had assured Harry.

It seemed every sentence started with “Sev said that” or “Sev told me.” While it was good to know that Harry wasn’t being mistreated, it was a new feeling to be sharing Harry’s affection. Marvolo tried not to let his frustration with being trapped in Harry’s body show as Harry regaled him with yet another story about his days with Severus.

When the time came for Severus to join them, Marvolo set up the dream as he normally did. 

He debated hosting it in a more adult venue, but Harry was more familiar with the adapted playground. This would serve to make sure Harry was comfortable so the dream would remain stable, and hopefully cause him to take some of the dream crafting burden from Marvolo so it wouldn’t strain his own magic. Harry had naturally been falling into the role recently, so Marvolo saw no reason why Severus’ presence should make any difference.

He found himself changing his appearance multiple times. It had never seemed to matter before what he wore.

When he had originally crafted his appearance, it had been done with the intention of making Harry more comfortable. He had attempted to look relatively close to himself before he had started undertaking darker rituals that twisted some of his features.

In the dreams Marvolo looked like he imagined he would have looked without any magical interference. While it had pained him to do so, he made himself look like his own father. Tom Riddle Senior had been a handsome man at least, but he had barely been forty when Marvolo killed him, so Marvolo also took some inspiration from his grandfather, Thomas Riddle. His grandfather must have been close to seventy when Marvolo met him, and he had at least not looked exactly like his own son.

Last Severus had seen him, Marvolo’s eyes had been a bright vivid red. His teeth had been much too sharp and white to be natural. He had been significantly taller than the average wizard should have been. He knew his features had been eerie and disturbing to others. 

At the time it had seemed like a small price to pay, but now he wondered what Severus must have thought. Severus had barely been eighteen at that point, fresh out of Hogwarts and so eager to be accepted somewhere. To swear his life and magic to a wizard dripping with power and teetering on the edge of insanity, he must have been desperate.

Marvolo changed the muggle clothes he had been wearing to something more wizardly. No doubt Severus would be immensely stressed seeing him. No need to confuse him more.

Harry came into the dream as normal. He appeared between one second and the next, effortlessly slipping down their connection. Unlike other times, he clutched tightly to the hand of the man who could only be Severus Snape. Theoretically, the only thing Harry needed to do was mentally pull Severus down their connection, but Marvolo saw the benefit to the physical grasping of hands. Harry always had struggled with the more theoretical aspect of the mind arts. 

Harry was quick to let go of Severus’ hand and threw himself at Marvolo. Even without a physical body, the impact of Harry against his chest knocked him breathless for a moment. He hugged Harry back, but didn’t take his eyes off of Severus.

Harry already started to regale him with stories about his day. Something about how the coloring pages moved once you finished and how sometimes the crayons changed colors, but Harry had asked them very politely to stay green to color in his snake. It was good to see the child so excited.

Severus was noticeably older. Although it was more about how he held himself than any particular signs of aging. It had hardly been very long since Marvolo had seen him. He was still gangly and pale, although he wasn’t using his hair to hide quite as much as he used to. 

Severus took a look around their surroundings, and his face was impassive. After a moment, he refocused back on Marvolo, and by extension Harry. Marvolo expected some sort of reaction on Severus’ part, but he remained expressionless. Severus had always been rather good with hiding his emotions.

“And then Sev read me a book about a magic fountain that wasn’t very magical at all. Then I drank the potion, which was weird, and now we’re both here,” Harry finished.

“That sounds like a nice day,” Marvolo said, running a hand over Harry’s hair, but still looking at Severus. 

“My Lord,” Severus said, bowing his head and making to kneel, but Marvolo stopped him with a gesture. 

“Come sit, Severus. I wish for us to talk,” Marvolo said, gesturing to the seats he and Harry usually sat at where he had added a third chair for Severus.

Harry was being particularly clingy, so Marvolo reached down and picked him up. Considering it was a dream, it was easy enough to settle the child on his hip. Harry’s hands played idly with the collar of his robes. 

Marvolo had expected Severus to show some sort of panic when the child interacted with him. Last he had seen Severus, he had not been known for his patience. Even Marvolo was aware that his followers had carefully kept their children out of his way. This had suited him at the time, considering he had no interest in dealing with them, so he had never particularly pushed. Despite this, Severus’ face was still carefully blank, although he was rather stiff. 

Marvolo decided to give Severus a moment and focused on asking Harry more about his day as they all got settled into their chairs. He attempted to put Harry down in his own chair, but the child was clingy and Marvolo knew when to admit defeat, so Harry settled on his lap. 

Knowing that Harry would soon grow bored, Marvolo crafted another one of those light puzzles he remembered seeing other wizarding children have. Harry, clearly pleased at not being sent away, was content at the moment with the toy.

When Marvolo looked up, Severus was watching them from his seat. Ever the spy, his face gave nothing away. Marvolo wished for a moment that this was not a dream so he could attempt to read surface thoughts from Severus’ mind as he used to.

“Unfortunately, I am unable to offer any tea,” Marvolo said, breaking the silence that was starting to grow tense. Severus didn’t respond, and Marvolo supposed it was on him to get conversation going.

“What was the potion you had Harry take?” Marvolo asked. He desperately wanted to know about the state of the world, but it seemed better to start slower.

“It was gross,” Harry said, making a face up at both adults. 

“It was hardly designed with taste in mind,” Severus said first to Harry, then addressed his next statement to Marvolo. “It is a newer brew, created by Healer Black, I believe. It is commonly referred to as the Sleepwalking Brew and allows healers to communicate with patients in dreams. I adapted it slightly for this situation.”

Marvolo nodded. Severus was more in his element talking about potions, but he was still carefully not showing any emotions, which was enough for Marvolo to know how uncomfortable he was with the situation. Well, might as well rip the bandaid off, so to speak.

“Tell me what happened after that night,” Marvolo ordered. He looked down at Harry, unwilling to specify exactly which night, but Severus ought to know which night he was talking about.

Severus wet his lips, the first sign of nerves he had seen on the man. He also looked down at Harry, but the child was absorbed in the puzzle he was playing with. Marvolo ran an absent hand through the boy’s hair. 

“After your disappearance, people presumed you died. It led to a very aggressive approach from the ministry regarding any of your followers. Many of our numbers ended up in Azkaban. Those of us that managed to escape had to claim we were forced into your service. Even now, showing the slightest leanings towards dark magic is dangerous.”

Severus was clearly choosing his words carefully. Marvolo was unsure if it was for his own benefit or Harry’s, but either way it was rather annoying to have to put the snatches of the story together. He supposed that was enough to infer that his main soul piece had not in any way come back into power.

“And how did you manage to avoid Azkaban?” Marvolo asked. Severus clearly bore his mark as much as anyone else. “Harry says you’re a teacher now?”

Severus winced at this, and Marvolo fought back a laugh. 

“I am the potions master at Hogwarts,” Severus said, distaste clouding his tone. “When you disappeared, I was able to use the position I had close to Dumbledore to gain his trust. He spoke up for me with the condition that I took over Horace Slughorn’s position when he retired.”

Severus had been working at Hogwarts shortly before Marvolo had attacked the Potters. He had been working on a potions mastery. While his initial training had been done by Vesper Jigger, she had helped transfer Severus to Horace Slughorn when it had been needed to have a man on the inside of Dumbledore’s circle. Severus had managed to hear many useful things in his time as an apprentice.

“And your loyalties? Where do they belong, Severus?” Marvolo asked, watching carefully. Besides a small flicker of Severus’ eyes down to Harry, Severus remained impassive. 

“With you, my Lord,” Severus said without hesitation. “I am grateful that my last assignment from you put me in a position where I was able to use Dumbledore’s trust in me. And that even now you trust me with more delicate assignments.”

Marvolo did laugh at that. Harry looked up confused before immediately losing interest, but Severus seemed fearful for a brief moment. He supposed most of his followers had needed to be nervous when he had felt amusement in his previous form.

“Trust is a complicated subject right now Severus,” Marvolo said. “I admit the qualities I was looking for in a person to carry out this task were rather unique. I suppose I should thank your affections for an old friend and a lack of knowledge when creating your Floo address.”

Severus did flush at that. It had been a rather embarrassing faux pas on his part when he had registered his home with the ministry to set it up with the floo network. All wizarding dwellings had some sort of name, and it was a very non-wizard thing to set up the muggle address as the name. However, while it had been shameful at the time all those years ago to recite a muggle street address in order to view Severus’ more volatile potion experiments in his home, Marvolo was now grateful that he had known the address.

“Relax, Severus,” Marvolo said after a moment. “I am thankful that I knew your address, otherwise we’d still be trapped with Harry’s terrible guardians. And I am thankful that you have not harmed the child. I feared my followers would hold his parents accountable for my demise and take it out on Harry before I could speak to them.”

Severus thought about this for a moment before he spoke. 

“The masses do not credit Potter and Lily with your disappearance.” Severus gave Harry a significant look, clearly unwilling to clarify further. But still, the meaning was clear.

Marvolo looked down at Harry, still absently running a hand through his hair as he worked through the puzzle. He didn’t seem to be playing attention to their conversation, but Marvolo had learned that Harry generally picked up on the oddest things, so he chose his next words carefully.

“They think he…” Marvolo trailed off. He found himself also unwilling to imply that Harry had some hand in his death, thinking back on that horrible conversation where Harry had panicked at the thought of killing someone. 

“They call him ‘The Boy who Lived,’” Severus said quietly, and Marvolo could practically feel the weight dripping from that title. “Every wix knows his name, and they all know about the scar.” Severus gestured to his own forehead.

Marvolo attempted to process this. It seemed it was good they ended up not needing to go to Diagon Alley. He hadn’t realized Harry would be so well known, nor that he could potentially be in danger from personal retaliation from any of his followers. 

Marvolo was unaware how lost in his own thoughts he was until Harry interrupted them.

“I did it!” Harry said, holding up the puzzle for Marvolo, and by extension Severus to see that all the lights had turned a pale blue.

“Excellent,” Marvolo said, and Harry beamed. He wasn’t sure if all children needed this much positive reinforcement, but Harry definitely did. Marvolo certainly hadn’t needed this much hand holding as a child.

Although, Harry hadn’t strangled any rabbits in an attempt to problem solve, so maybe this positive reinforcement strategy was on to something.

Harry started to squirm, so Marvolo picked him up and put him on the ground. It appeared that Harry’s patience for conversation and sitting still had reached its limits. 

“I’m gonna go swing,” Harry said, and was off before either man could respond.

Marvolo and Severus watched Harry run over to the swing set and clamber onto one. Marvolo debated going over to push, but Harry seemed content on his own and this did give him a moment of privacy with Severus.

“Currently, Harry’s safety is my number one priority,” Marvolo said, and he was sure he did not imagine the relief in the relaxing of Severus’ shoulders. Interesting. He would need to think about that. “You will see that he is safe, well fed, and content while he is in your care. My next priority is to attempt to get a body of my own.”

“And once you have your own body, what will happen to the child?” Severus asked and he was trying much too hard to stay emotionless.

“I will get custody of him and raise him,” Marvolo said. “He is the child of my magic, and I have been in his life for many years now. I have found myself very fond of him, and would be extremely displeased if anything happened to him.”

Severus didn’t speak for a moment. “He knows it was you who killed his mother.” It wasn’t a question.

Marvolo raised an eyebrow. “Did that come up in conversation?”

Severus took a deep breath. “In his letters. He was very angry with you for a time. Despite that he still seems to care about you a great deal.”

“Yes,” Marvolo said. “I do not think he’s forgiven me, but we have talked about it.”

There was silence again, and Marvolo wanted to make something clear. He glanced over at Harry to make sure he was out of earshot. 

“Severus, it was you who told me of the prophecy that led to my demise, temporary though it may have been,” Marvolo said, and Severus grew paler. “I hope that you were simply reporting what you had heard honestly and not passing on something Dumbledore wanted me to hear.”

“Of course, not my Lord,” Severus was quick to say, but Marvolo ignored him.

“I understand that you have been under Dumbledore’s thumb for some years now, but I hope for your sake you remember where your loyalties lie,” Marvolo paused, taking a moment to think his next words through. “If Albus Dumbledore learns that I am alive in some form within Harry, he will attempt to do what he can to be rid of me. You and I both know that his justification for the greater good will find Harry the lesser of the two goods.”

“I have no intention of Dumblefore finding out, my Lord,” Severus promised, and Marvolo nodded. He would need to trust Severus’ words for the moment.

“I have some theories on how I could regain a body,” Marvolo said, changing the subject. “Due to my restrictions, I am unable to verify any of them. You will need to recruit some people in order to help me.”

“Of course,” Severus said, not hesitating at the subject change.

“The Black library should have something of what I need. Last I knew of him, Regulus was missing. I thought that he may have deserted, but never had time to verify that before my demise. Has he shown his face since my fall?”

“He did return, my lord. He avoided capture from the ministry by using the weight of his last name, and returned back home shortly after your disappearance. He was ill for a time, and I was there briefly to help him. He’s since recovered, but is now abroad traveling with his brother.”

Marvolo knew there hadn’t been any other Blacks in his service besides Bella and Regulus, so he had to think a moment before he could remember a brother. He hadn’t been in the country at the time, but the scandal of the eldest Black being sorted into Gryffindor had been a discussion topic for enough time that even he had noticed. 

Although it was odd they were traveling together. To his understanding, the two brothers had not been on good terms.

“Perhaps we reach out to him subtly to see where his loyalties lie,” Marvolo said. “What of Bella? She may not be a scholar but she could access the library.”

“While her loyalty is unquestionable, she is in Azkaban.”

“What of the elder Blacks?” 

“Dead,” Severus said. “The plague of dragon pox hit the Black family hard. Walburga managed to survive it, but she passed not long after. Regulus told me he suspects she caught what was inflicting him and didn’t have the strength after her bout with dragon pox to face it.”

Marvolo had little affection for his contemporaries from the Black family. He had been in school with Orion, Cygnus, and Walburga, although a few years below, and they had made no secret of hating him for his blood status. They had changed their tone once he had shown his true power, but sins of the past were not easily forgotten. It had been almost too sweet to have their children begging to learn from him, and he found himself more annoyed by their deaths than saddened.

Marvolo attempted to think back. Purebloods generally were intermarried and the lines could easily be traced. He could perhaps try another family’s collection, since he doubted any public wizarding libraries would carry the sort of things he was looking for. However the Black’s had a long history seeped in dark magic, and one of the accounts of someone who successfully created a horcrux had been from their line.

“If I may suggest,” Severus started, and Marvolo gestured to him to go on when he hesitated. “Narcissa Malfoy may have access to the Black holdings.”

The Malfoy name was a very familiar one. Abraxas Malfoy had been a year below Marvolo in school, and he had proven himself to be useful over the years. Before he had damaged his soul so completely, he might have even called Abraxas a friend. While Abraxas had frequently supported him, and encouraged his fellows to do the same, he had refused to openly join when Voldemort had started his more aggressive approach.

Lucius Malfoy, however, had been eager to hear of Marvolo’s plans. Full of power and ambition, it had been easy to direct that in a way that was helpful to Voldemort’s cause. Abraxas had expressed his displeasure, but had refrained from getting involved.

Now thinking about it, he did recall Lucius getting married some years before his demise. Marvolo had been invited as a courtesy, but had instead used the event to break into several ministry officials' houses since he knew they would be in attendance. He hadn’t realized it had been to Narcissa Black.

“Yes, reaching out to the Malfoy family would be good,” Marvolo said when he realized he hadn’t answered. “Tell me, how is Abraxas these days?”

“He also passed from dragon pox,” Severus said. “It was rather fast acting in many of the old families, and many passed. It took Lord Malfoy a little over a year ago. Lady Malfoy and their youngest son were able to recover, and Lucius thankfully never contracted the disease.”

Dragon pox had been an issue even before Marvolo had fallen, although clearly not to this extent. He would need to look into that. But there was something else a bit off about this story. Marvolo knew he had hardly been focused on his allies and follower’s personal lives, but he was rather confident that he had kept up with Abraxax at the very least.

“I was under the impression that Abraxas and Ilvarra only had one child,” Marvolo said. 

Severus bowed his head, and Marvolo was reminded of several messengers that had suffered his wrath. He made an effort to not project his own annoyance at the Malfoy’s hiding such a thing.

“I only learned of the younger Malfoy recently,” Severus said. “He attended his father’s funeral. Lucius said his brother had been sickly growing up and he had been privately tutored away from prying eyes. After the boy’s recovery from dragon pox, it was decided he was in good enough health for his mother and brother to introduce him to the public.”

Marvolo was unsure if the child had been hidden from his own machinations at the time, or the immense pressure that any young Malfoy would face. Either way, it was rather interesting.

“He has recently turned seventeen to my understanding,” Severus continued. “He has been attending Beauxbatons this year, as his mother did. From what I know, Thomas Malfoy is a model student despite spending so long with private tutors.”

“Thomas,” Marvolo repeated. Why exactly had Abraxas named his younger son after him? Especially considering he had never been introduced to the child. Marvolo had been friendly with both Abraxas and his wife Ilvarra more than he had been with most of his allies, but still it was curious.

Severus looked up and met his eyes, confusion clear on his face. “His name, my Lord.”

“Reach out to Ilvarra, and to Lucius and Narcissa,” Marvolo decided. “Inform them of rumors you have heard about my return and see how they respond. The Malfoys have always been intelligent and well connected, and having them on my side would be a good start. They will also know who else has remained loyal.”

Severus nodded, but Marvolo found himself focusing on the structure of the dream they were in. It was growing less stable with the extra person in it, even with the aid of Severus’ potion.

“It seems our time grows short, Severus,” Marvolo said. “I’m sure you have some questions. Ask them now.”

“My Lord,” Severus paused and looked over at Harry. “I am trying to figure out what to do with the boy.”

“You seem to be doing an adequate job of caring for his needs.”

“It’s exhausting but not all together complicated,” Severus said. “However, the holiday break only lasts a few weeks, and I will be expected to return to Hogwarts. I could claim some sort of family emergency, but I worry Dumblredore will ask too many questions.”

It always came down to Dumbledore didn’t it?

“We should have some time before you must return. I will think about it,” Marvolo said, and Severus nodded.

“Of course, my Lord. I will not be able to give Harry the Sleepwalking potion too frequently, as it lessens its effectiveness. I should be able to speak with you in a few days about the replies I will receive from Regulus and the Malfoys.”

Marvolo supposed that would need to be enough. The dream faded around them all and Marvolo found himself alone with his thoughts once again. He had much to think on.

Chapter Text

Pulling Severus into the dream, even with the aid of the potion, had been challenging. Marvolo had found himself drifting into what could only be considered sleeping without fully realizing it.

Rest, no matter how inconvenient, was necessary, Marvolo supposed. So he tried not to be too annoyed with himself for the wasted time.

Checking in on Harry was reassuring. He was running around playing some sort of game in Severus’ back yard. The yard had clearly been charmed with some weather controlling charms considering the abundant plant life in December, and Harry was breathless but exhausted. 

It took a few moments for Marvolo to realize that Harry was not actually running around at random, but was chasing a brightly colored snitch. It was bigger than the regulation one, and clearly charmed not to go much higher than a child’s head. A toy then. 

Harry caught it, and then ran over to the back of one of the gardens where a dirty but content Severus was pruning some sort of plant. Marvolo was relatively certain it was magical, but could not identify it.

“Did you see me?” Harry asked, breathless and laughing. He clutched the toy snitch in one hand and pride flushed his entire building. “How long did it take me that time?”

Severus waved his hand, and Marvolo recognized a timer spell that must be so second nature to a potion master that doing it wandless would hardly be any effort. 

“Nine minutes and seventeen seconds,” Severus said, still focusing on the plants in front of him. “Hardly a record in the grand scheme of things, but I suppose it’s your best time of the day.”

Harry whooped with joy and Marvolo basked in the warm emotion. It was nice to see Harry able to be a child. 

“I’ll catch it even faster this time!” Harry said, but then Marvolo could feel a flash of doubt trickle through him. “Unless you need help? I’m good at gardening. Even Aunt Petunia said so.”

Severus’ distaste at Petunia was clear, but he attempted to conceal his expression from Harry. 

“While I have no doubt about your skills, if I wanted your help then I would have accepted the first five times you offered,” Severus answered. 

He flicked his wand at Harry, and Marvolo felt himself flinch before remembering he did not have a physical body. He had never liked having wands pointed at him. As a child starting at Hogwarts, it had meant the older kids were playing mean pranks on him, and as he grew in both size and power it had meant people were attacking him.

Harry, however, had none of these associations, and stood perfectly still as the snitch was released from his grip.

“Now close your eyes,” Severus said, catching the snitch in his own hand. “We’ll see if you can beat your last time. Perhaps if you stopped getting distracted by the snakes under the shed, your time would improve.”

“But they’re funny!” Harry protested, even as his eyes closed. Marvolo didn’t like not being able to see Severus. He could hear the faint sound of the snitch’s wings, before that fluttered away. He wondered how many times Harry had played this game already?

“Ready?” Severus asked, and Marvolo could feel Harry nod. “Go.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open, and he raced after the direction Marvolo thought he had heard the snitch go. Of course, it was long gone by then, but that didn’t stop Harry from running in circles.

Deciding he had intruded enough, Marvolo pulled back from Harry’s senses and settled back into his mind. Despite all of the problems they would have to deal with, it seemed at the moment Harry was content. 

Harry entered the dream that night alone. Marvolo had forgotten to ask Severus how often he would be able to come, so he supposed that was on him. 

“No guest tonight?” Marvolo asked.

Harry shook his head. “Sev had to leave after dinner. He got a letter and looked really nervous,” Harry said, and then thought for a moment. “Did you know that birds deliver letters instead of the postman?”

“Owls deliver mail generally,” Marvolo said. “Did Severus say where he was going?”

Harry shrugged. “I didn’t ask.” 

Marvolo once again felt the urge to curse the Dursley’s for training Harry not to ask questions from a young age. 

“You can ask Severus questions when you want to,” Marvolo said after a moment. 

“I know,” Harry said. “I think he likes when I ask questions even if he uses big words to answer. But he seemed angry so I didn’t.”

“Severus would never harm you,” Marvolo said. “And he would never lock you up or withhold food. No matter how angry he may look.”

Marvolo was unsure if Harry believed him, but the boy did nod a little before ending the conversation by running off to the swings. As he was used to Harry using this technique to avoid talking about things he didn’t want to, Marvolo merely followed and pushed Harry once he clambered onto his swing. 

After pushing for a bit, quiet except for Harry’s demands to go higher, Marvolo sat on the swing next to Harry.

“You do feel safe with Severus, yes?” Marvolo asked after watching Harry try to match their rhythm as they both went up and down. 

“Of course!” Harry said immediately. Marvolo had no reason to doubt Harry, and the interactions he witnessed between the two had been harmless. Severus still was sarcastic and prone to large words, but he clearly had some attachment to Harry.

Harry’s swing slowed a bit as he focused on the conversation rather than his game. 

“Sometimes Sev says things in a mean way, but he usually doesn’t mean it that way,” Harry said. “And sometimes he’s really nice.”

Marvolo snorted without meaning to. “Nice?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, he said,” Harry paused, clearly searching for words. He started his sentence over. “This afternoon, I asked him when I would have to go back to my relatives.”

Even the thought of Harry returning to those monsters made him see red. “You will never see those horrible people again, never mind have to live with them.”

“That’s what Sev said,” Harry said, but paused again. “He said they were despicable and shouldn’t be allowed to care for children. He said that I wasn’t a burden, and even though he doesn’t let me do chores that he still wants to keep me.”

Marvolo wasn’t sure how exactly he kept getting into situations with Harry crying, but at least he was marginally better at handling it now. It was easy enough to dismount his own swing and pluck Harry from his.

Wrapping the child in his arms seemed to encourage the waterworks, so Marvolo tucked the boys face to his shoulder and ran a hand through his hair. Harry’s tears weren’t as aggressive as they had been in the past. These weren’t angry tears or tears brought on by something easily fixable. There was grief for something lost, and joy at something recently gained. They were heavy, but quiet, and Harry clutched his skinny arms tight around Marvolo’s neck.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Marvolo said, making his way over to a chair with Harry in his arms. “I’m here, and when you wake up Severus will be there. And you never have to see your aunt or uncle again.”

Marvolo wasn’t sure how long they sat together. He rubbed Harry’s back and tried to be comforting, which seemed to help a bit. Harry’s tears ran out eventually, and he simply sat in Marvolo’s lap, content to quietly trace the patterns on Marvolo’s robes.

Marvolo wished there was more he could do, but for now he simply continued rubbing Harry’s back until the dream faded around them.

Marvolo was drifting. Not quite asleep, but not doing much of anything. He wasn’t sure how long he had been in this state when he suddenly felt a flood of magic.

It was familiar, almost an echo of himself. The connection seemed to be coming down the same link he usually felt Harry’s magic, and sure enough he could still feel Harry’s magic flowing freely. He hadn’t felt any need to attempt to manipulate the boy’s magic in a long time, and for a moment it almost seemed like Harry had taken his magic and was echoing it back.

But that was advanced magical theory, and while Harry was bright, it would be impossible for anyone his age to do that.

The foreign magic flared again, and suddenly Marvolo recognized where he had felt it before.

It was a dark mark.

The mark he had carefully placed on each of his dedicated followers. On the surface it was a simple tattoo, but it covered his own magic, twisted up in a portion of the recipient’s magic that they willingly gave to him. 

Harry must be touching one of them. Severus’ most likely. 

Marvolo had never fathomed that Harry might be able to access the bonds through the marks. They were specifically tied to his own magic, and he didn’t realize this was a resource he could have accessed.

Marvolo pulled a bit on the strings of magic he could sense, and he could feel them respond. His own magic looked feeble in comparison, and it was heady to feel this power at his disposal again. 

He felt a touch of curiosity from his bond with Harry, but he was much too excited to pay it any mind.

The way the marks worked was that a portion of his followers’ magic was tied to him, and theoretically he could call upon it at will. Of course, he hadn’t exactly explained this to them, but he had used some of it in the past. Generally if a wix wasn’t attuned to their own magic, they were unlikely to notice a bit of magic passing through their mark. And those that had noticed had been more than happy to provide. 

He could feel Severus’ magic first. It was slippery like water, but warmer than he expected. It shined a deep purple in his mind. From there he could latch onto his other followers, echoing down the link of the mark.

Lucius’ was a familiar magic, airy and light and glowing light blue. Bellatrix’s deep green magic flashed like lightning down the link. Rodulphus and Rabastan’s magics were similar in their firmness and strength but differed in shades of orange. Barty’s magic was a bright gold and flowed eagerly to meet him. Regulus’ magic was a sharp thing and a deep black. Even Peter’s magic, one of his more recently marked followers, flaked in pale yellow down the connection. There was so much more, it was almost overwhelming. 

How many followers had he marked in total? He found himself unable to remember, and surely even if he did, some of them must have passed. He counted over thirty he could recognize by feel, and many more he did not know well enough to match to a person.

As he felt each of their magics, he could feel them reacting to him. Perhaps he was unable to be as delicate as he once was, or simply his followers had grown unused to strange pulls on their magic and were now more sensitive to it. While he felt a few strands withdraw, many of the magic was pushed towards him invitingly. It would be almost criminal not to use it.

He could do this carefully. There were many more links than he thought there would be based on Severus’ news. He supposed his followers in Azkaban would still be connected to their marks even if they couldn’t help him.

Early on, before he grew closer to Harry, Marvolo had supposed that draining the boy of his magic completely would be a way for him to regain his form. He had been unsure if the small flow of magic from a child would be enough to sustain him, and had been unwilling to harm the boy as he grew, so he had never tested that theory. 

However now, with magic being pushed towards him eagerly, it was simple to pull a bit on each one to gather a substantial amount. He was careful not to take too much from anyone in particular. Some of his followers were clearly not healthy. He supposed those must be the ones trapped in Azkaban, and he was gentle as he pulled on their power. 

Barty in particular attempted to thrust more towards him than he should, and Marvolo pushed back, only taking the bare minimum from the boy.

He had marked many during the past ten years, and it was time consuming but not difficult to pull a small amount of magic from each person. The more challenging aspect came when he attempted to combine the smaller pieces of magic to work for him.

Distantly, he realized that Harry’s confusion was only growing, but Marvolo had too many details to think of to focus on that.

The magic from his followers was easily twisted to his needs, but having the pieces work together was as delicate as an advanced potion. Some of it didn’t mesh well, or actively worked against others so he carefully slotted in the magic, having care to pay attention to each part. 

Marvolo was unsure how long it took, or how exactly it was affecting the physical world outside of Harry’s head.

There was nothing for a moment. No sound, no light. Not even any thoughts, just emptiness.

Then suddenly there was everything. 

It was too bright, was the first thing that Marvolo processed. He closed his eyes, and was surprised when the eyelids actually responded to him. He had eyelids! He opened them just to prove he could, but closed them quickly at the light again.

There was a pain in his chest and Marvolo felt himself take a deep gasping breath. His first one in years. It was painful and delightful all at once. 

He was laying on something. It was not comfortable and his arm was at an uncomfortable angle under him. It might have been painful if he was not too busy marveling at the weight of his own body.

Something soft draped over him, and Marvolo realized that he must have been naked. The sensation of air on skin made goosebumps rise, and the material over him now was soft. A blanket, perhaps.

“Volo?” Someone was saying, and Marvolo tried to focus back on the present. That voice was important. 

He tried to open his eyes again, and found himself blinking.

“Harry, stay back,” A voice said sharply to his right. Marvolo tried to turn to look, but his body was unused to movement and he felt himself turn a bit but flop on the floor when he tried to shift his weight. He heard a groan and it took a moment to register as his own. 

“Is he hurt?” The first voice asked, and it seemed scared. Marvolo tried to open his own mouth, but it was so dry. 

“I don’t know,” The second voice said, and it sounded closer. “My Lord, are you alright?”

There was some shuffling then the second voice got sharper. “I said to stay back, you stupid child! We don’t know what kind of state he’s in!”

“Volo would never hurt me,” the first voice said, closer now than the other. Marvolo felt small hands trying to help him turn over, and he tried his best to leverage his own weight to help.

Things were becoming clearer. The floor he was on was some sort of rug, worn and badly faded but still functional. He turned onto his back, and found himself panting from that effort. The ceiling was a rather ugly thing, with some old water stains that had never been painted over. 

A face crowded into his vision, and Marvolo took a moment to recognize it. It was a small face, thin from lack of meals rather than a natural face shape. The skin was dark and a messy head of black hair was obscuring most of the forehead. Marvolo found himself focusing on the green eyes. He had seen those eyes before. At the end of a wand, and at some point in a mirror.

“Hello, Harry,” Marvolo tried to say, but his voice was raspy and quiet even to his ears.

Harry looked more worried, and Marvolo wanted to say more. He wanted to reassure the child that it would be alright. He wanted to give him a hug. Wrap his arms around Harry and see how it felt in the real world rather than in the dreams he had been creating. 

Instead, he passed out.

Chapter Text

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” A voice, pitched high with worry, said. It was familiar, and Marvolo thought that he should reassure the voice there was nothing to be worried about.

As soon as Marvolo thought that, he tried to speak and found that he could not. He was laying down based on the pillow under his head and the mattress beneath him, but he couldn’t seem to gather the energy to open his eyes, nevermind speak.

“He’ll be fine,” Another voice said, and this one was unfamiliar and deep. A murmured spell that Marvolo couldn’t quite place followed. Nothing seemed to happen that he could hear, so Marvolo supposed the spell must not have been directed at him. “He’s just adjusting to the body and needs sleep.”

“But when will he wake up, Mister Healer Black, sir?” The first voice asked.

“It could be a week,” A third voice said. And this voice was familiar as well, but Marvolo couldn’t place it. The owner of that voice was lost, weren’t they? The voice continued, “But hopefully it will only be a few days.”

“That’s a long time,” the first voice said, and Marvolo took another moment to place that it was Harry. He was unused to hearing the voice with his now functioning ears, but it was unmistaken the child who he’d been with for some time.

“Speaking of rest,” the second and still unfamiliar voice said. “You should be in bed, young man. While you aren’t adjusting to a new body, you were used as a magic conduit and I’m sure you could use some sleep.”

“But what if he wakes up, and he’s all alone?” Harry said. “I don’t think he wants to wake up alone.”

There was a moment of silence, and Marvolo tried putting the pieces together of what was happening. Someone was ill, and healers were present. Harry was worried about them, but also needed to rest. He needed more information. 

“The lad's right, he probably won’t like to wake up alone. Isn’t that right, Perce?” The third voice spoke up again, and there was some humor hidden in the words. Some sort of inside joke Marvolo wasn’t privy to. 

After thinking on the words for a moment, Marvolo was no closer to understanding whatever joke there was, but he was able to place the voice. Regulus Black wasn’t someone he had heard from in some time, but he had not forgotten his voice.

A deep sign came from the unfamiliar voice.

“I suppose you’re correct,” the second voice said. “You can stay here as long as you get some sleep. He needs peace and quiet. Can you do that, Harry?”

Harry’s voice was quiet, and Marvolo could barely hear him. “Yes! I promise to be quiet! He won’t even know I’m here.”

The bed Marvolo was laying on dipped, and something warm curled into his side. Harry, he assumed. He wanted to open his eyes, and to ask who was sick, but Marvolo felt himself falling back into darkness.

There were voices around him again. 

Marvolo was still laying in bed with a heavy blanket over himself, but he still couldn't seem to open his eyes to get more information of his surroundings. 

“What do I have to do to keep you out of here?” A tired voice asked.

“I’m not doing anything!” Harry’s voice said.

Both voices were whispering, clearly trying not to be overheard. That was less effective since they were clearly right next to his bed. And, Harry wasn’t all that great at whispering to begin with.

“If you will not leave for your own safety, then remember that Healer Black did say he needed rest. I’m sure you moving around here at all hours of the day is not beneficial,” the other voice said, and Marvolo was able to place the voice as Severus Snape’s tired drawl.

Marvolo heard the fluttering of pages. “I’m not waking him up! I’m just sitting here with my book. ‘Seus said it was fine. I’m being quiet just like he said.”

Marvolo would have liked to argue that neither voice was being particularly quiet in this whispered argument, but couldn’t figure out how. Before he realized it, he was falling back asleep.

Regulus’ voice was back this time, and accompanied by the man with the unfamiliar voice. 

Considering this was the third time this happened, it didn’t take as long for Marvolo to process he was still in bed. It was getting frustrating to not be able to interact with the world around him, even though Marvolo should have been used to it by now.

“Should we wake him up?” Regulus asked. “He looks so cute like that.”

“No, he needs the rest more than the potions,” the unfamiliar voice said. “We can give them to him when he wakes up naturally.”

There was silence between the two for a few moments and Marvolo realized there was steady breathing coming from his left. There was a weight pressed against his side and he wasn’t sure what exactly it was.

Regulus’ voice was quieter when he spoke next. “Do you think Harry’s right? That Marvolo, or whatever he goes by, won’t hurt him?”

There was silence between both voices. Only broken by the steady breathing to his left. Someone was sleeping, Marvolo realized.

The unfamiliar voice said, “I think that he’s been separate for a long time. If Harry’s to be believed, then he’s been communicating with him for most of his life. While my situation wasn’t the same, from my knowledge the emotions that Harry’s been feeling would be challenging to fake across a connection like theirs.”

There was a pause and Marvolo was struggling to keep up with the conversation.

“I am confident that he won’t hurt the child,” the voice continued. “While I’m not sure how large a role love and affection play into their relationship, I do believe that we can trust his possessiveness at the very least. He clearly has some attachment to the child, or else he could have used Harry’s magic to regain his body.”

Silence followed those words, and there was some movement around the room. 

“Severus doesn’t agree,” Regulus said. “He thinks that Marvolo’s dangerous.”

The unfamiliar voice laughed lowly. “His last interaction with this man was begging for the life of a woman he cared for. A woman who he killed. Of course Severus doesn’t trust him. But I think I know him a bit better than Severus.”

“You’re right of course,” Regulus said to the other man. “Try not to look so smug about it, Perce.”

“I’m always right,” the unfamiliar voice said. “So trust that I know that the child will be safe. Once he wakes up, I have some questions for him, and I’m sure he has some for me. But until then, try to get Severus to leave them be. Listening to him and Harry arguing at all hours is exhausting.”

“Plus, it is embarrassing that the child wins,” Regulus said, laughter clouding his voice.

“True,” the voice agreed.

Marvolo wanted desperately to know who the unfamiliar voice belonged to, but before he could muster the energy to find his voice, he fell back into sleep.

Chapter Text

Marvolo woke up.

Unlike the other times he remembered waking up, there were no voices around him. It was quiet, peaceful almost. The breathing from his left was back. It was soft but steady and Marvolo turned his head to see Harry’s messy head of hair peeking out from the top of a blanket he was wrapped in.

It took Marvolo a moment to realize that his own eyes were open.

After so long of not having control of a body it was startling to realize he had opened his eyes and turned his head without realizing. He was a bit sore. There was a deep ache all through his body, but it wasn’t painful. It just made him very aware of his new body.

He looked down at his own fingers and wiggled them, fascinated by his own movements.

Harry moved a bit in his sleep, and Marvolo placed a hand on his back to sooth him as he used to do in their dreams. Harry was warm. He was warm and solid and real, and it was such a marvel to be able to touch him.

After debating a moment, Marvolo decided not to wake Harry up. He would wake up in time, and they could talk then. They should have lots of time.

Instead, Marvolo looked around the room. It was not the most exciting place. The only real thing of interest was a strange fixture on the bedside table. It seemed to be a glass container with glowing liquid inside. Some more colorful blobs floated slowly around the container and it shed dim green light around the room. It was almost like being back in the Slytherin common room, looking out at the murky depths of the lake. It was nice.

The rest of the room was rather boring. He and Harry were in a bed. There was a dresser against one wall, and a desk and bookshelf on another. The only window in the room had the curtain closed, but no light seeped through, so he supposed that meant it was actually night. Another smaller bed was under the window, but there were no blankets on it at the moment. There were a few toys around the room, not scattered messily like Harry’s cousin would have, but placed neatly by the walls.

Movement drew Marvolo’s eyes to the partially open door and to a figure standing there.

Despite the darkness, and the dark dressing gown the figure wore, the silhouette was distinctly Severus’. He had clearly just arrived and was staring through the door.

“Come in Severus,” Marvolo said, and was pleased that his quiet voice came out with only a little raspiness to it. He was careful to not wake Harry.

Not wanting to be laying down for this conversation, Marvolo attempted to raise himself into a sitting position. It took a bit longer than it should have, and probably was only possible since Severus came over and propped pillows up behind his back. Harry shifted a bit at the movement, but did not wake. He borrowed himself a little closer into Marvolo’s side and it was rather adorable.

Once Marvolo was sitting up and Severus had backed up a bit from the bed, Marvolo looked back to Severus. He was staring at Harry, displeasure heavy in his stare.

“I take it that the child was supposed to stay in his own bed?” Marvolo asked, gesturing to the empty and unmade bed by the window.

“I did not think you would want to be disturbed, my Lord,” Severus said after a moment, careful to focus back on Marvolo and mask his expression.

Marvolo looked down at Harry. Had he always been this small? Marvolo supposed that from the child’s perspective he had been looking from, he may have missed some things.

“My Lord, can I get you anything?” Severus’ voice broke Marvolo out of his own thoughts, and it seemed he would need to get used to normal conversation again. After having so long with only his thoughts, it would take some time to remember to actively participate in conversation.

“Some water,” Marvolo said after a moment. His throat was rather parched.

Severus was hasty to comply and grabbed a convenient glass from the bedside table. He filled it with a fick of his wand and held it out.

“Do you require assistance?”

Marvolo tried not to show his distaste at having the glass held up for him like a child. And took the glass from Severus before he could attempt such a thing. It wasn’t particularly heavy but his lack of coordination caused a bit to slosh over the brim.

Severus hovered over him unnecessarily, with a hand out to catch the glass if needed. Marvolo looked up at him to tell him that he was fine, but found himself staring right into Severus’ face only inches from his own.

Looking into Severus’ dark eyes, Marvolo was reminded of how he had wanted to know what had been going on behind them back in the dream.

It should have been easy to fall into them and skim surface thoughts from Severus’ mind. He had done it so many times in the past. Severus’ barriers had always been more focused on things behind that wall, deep secrets that Marvolo had never had any interest in.

Instead of a quick dip into his thoughts, Marvolo found the mere attempt made him dizzy and nauseous. He clutched the glass in his hand tightly, and more spilled over the side.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” said an unfamiliar voice from the doorway. It was the same voice he had heard before, and being awake didn’t seem to help at all for identifying it.

“I am attempting to help,” Severus said, but backed up enough to reveal the person leaning in the doorway.

“I wasn’t speaking to you Severus,” he said, and came further into the room. The green light from the strange light source made it difficult to make out features, but the man did look familiar. He just couldn’t place him.

The man waved his wand in a familiar motion for a silencing spell that he casted non verbally over Harry before speaking again.

“Your magic is severely drained. What you had and what you took from others was enough to craft a body, but you will need some time for your magic to adjust to the new space,” the man said at a normal volume now that their sleeping occupant wouldn’t be disturbed. “Even legilimency will be beyond your ability for at least a few days.”

“Legilimency,” Severus repeated, then backed up several more steps from the bed.

The other man got closer. He was in his thirties, probably early thirties if Marvolo had to guess. His face was angular and his skin pale with a greenish tint from the odd lamp. As he walked over to the bed, he waved his wand at his own hair, pulling it back neatly into a low ponytail with an unfamiliar spell.

“Severus, back to bed,” the man said, or ordered was perhaps the right word. “You’re technically still recovering, and I don’t want to deal with you collapsing again.”

Severus opened his mouth, closed it again, and then left the room with a sneer and the swish of his dressing gown.

The door closed behind him with a flick of the stranger’s wand and Marvolo found himself apprehensive about being trapped with a stranger without his magic.

He looked down at Harry, but the child was still sleeping under the quiet of the spell.

Marvolo took a careful sip of his water. Had water always been so refreshing? He found himself quickly emptying the glass, disappointed when he reached the end. Unfortunately he had more important things to focus on, so he placed the glass back on the table and refocused on the stranger.

“You woke up two days after I expected you to,” the man said. He sat down on a chair next to the bed that Marvolo was unsure had been there a moment ago. “I need to cast a diagnostic spell to make sure that your recovery is going as expected despiste your late wake up.”

Marvolo took advantage of the closeness to observe him further. There was a familiar nose and his eyes were grey in the way that he had only known those of the Black family to possess. Marvolo had never met Sirius Black, but this was not what he had expected of him. He had heard tales of the man’s carefree and flippant attitude and this man did not show that in the slightest.

The man had paused with his wand raised and it took Marvolo a moment to realize that he was waiting for permission to cast his spell.

“And who exactly are you?” Marvolo asked instead. One of the man’s eyebrows rose, and his wand lowered.

“I wondered if you would recognize me,” he said after a moment. “I suppose I should introduce myself.”

The man held out a hand, “Perseus Black, Healer and consultant for St. Mungos.”

Marvolo reached out to shake, locking eyes with the man. They were very grey, Marvolo thought, before he found himself pulled into a memory.

The shop was familiar. He had traveled extensively while he had been employed here, but he had spent enough time sweet-talking wealthy wizards out of their precious possessions in this shop that he would never forget it.

The place was filled to the brim with artifacts. A mismatch of junk and priceless heirlooms, some managing to be both. There was a time when he could have told someone exactly what everything was. When he knew the collection so well that he could have located anything in this mess. But, things had changed since he was last here. There were new items in the collection and old familiar items that were missing. Odd. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed.

The door had an alarm spell to alert the shopkeeper of visitors, so it was only a few moments before the familiar form of Caractacus Burke arrived.

Those moments were enough for him to flip the sign to closed and make sure enough wards and privacy spells were up that they wouldn’t be interrupted. It was a delicate process that he was about to do. He didn’t need to be interrupted by customers.

Burke came from the back, empty apologies about making a customer wait pouring from his mouth. The man seemed the same as the last time he had seen him. Balding and wearing robes just a touch too worn to be considered fashionable.

He paused when he saw who entered his shop.

“Riddle?” Burke said. Then his face flushed red with anger. “You better hope you didn’t come back after an entire fucking year for your job back! Just disappearing out of the blue! No notice! No resignation!”

He was uninterested in Burke’s rant, but let it go on a while longer. The man was heaving with his anger, and spittle flew from his lips.

“People asking me about where you ran off to like I give a damn! You might have been good for business, but I don’t want you darkening this doorstep!”

“I did not come back for my old job,” he said after a moment.

Burke didn’t seem to know how to respond to this, so he reached into his pocket and pulled out the locket he had spent so long looking for. That he had spent all of last night preparing for this moment.

It had seemed fitting to save this one for the man who had stolen it from his family in the first place. Plus Smith had been a Hufflepuff descendent, so the cup was the only choice there.

“What’s that you’ve got?” Burke asked aggressively, clearly not recognizing the danger he was in. “You selling something?”

“Not quite,” he answered, caressing the S on the outside of the locket. “It’s mine, you see. It simply took me some time for me to liberate it from those who stole it from me.”

It took Burke longer than it should have to recognize the locket. “But that’s-” he cut off, looking around the store. Perhaps noticing the privacy spells finally. “Why is the closed sign up, Riddle?”

“Goodbye Caractacus,” he said, raising his wand, as the man scrambled for the counter where his own wand was sitting. The words were familiar and the bright green light took over the memory, filling his vision and drowning out the rest of the scene.

They both let go of their handshake at the same time. Marvolo heard heavy breathing coming from both him and someone else, and realized that they both had been affected by what just happened.

The memory had been his memory. Their memory.

“I had wondered what happened that halloween,” Perseus, or whatever name the other horcrux had used, said. “No one had anything more than speculation. I thought perhaps that part of our soul did die. Pity.”

“Then we can die?” Marvolo asked. There was too much information he had just learned, but that seemed like something important to know.

Perseus shrugged. “I haven’t tested it. For obvious reasons. Based on my understanding, the horcrux does not necessarily tie the entire soul to this plane, but ensures that a piece of the soul lives on. Although, that does not explain the part of the soul that you saw leave the body when you were pushed into the child. Lots to think on.”

A poking from his stomach caught his attention before Marvolo could respond. Looking down, he saw Harry’s bright eyes staring up at him, his face pinched with worry. His fingers were still poking into Marvolo’s side, so he reached down to still them.

“I’ll leave you to your reunion for now,” Perseus said, waving away the silencing spell from Harry. “I’ll check on you both in the morning. I have much to think about.”

Marvolo barely watched him leave the room. Too distracted as he was by Harry’s excited shout of “Volo!” and facing one of the child’s hug attacks with a real body for the first time.

Harry was squeezing him very tightly, but not so tightly that it hurt. It was a reassuring warmth and weight on him, and Marvolo found himself wrapping his own arms around the child and clutching him close.

Having a body again was turning out to be even better than he’d hoped.

Chapter Text

Harry’s arms were wrapped tightly around his middle and Marvolo didn’t get the impression that the child was going to let go any time soon.

“I’m glad you’re real, Volo,” Harry said so quietly Marvolo almost didn't hear it with Harry’s face pressed into his chest.

“You thought I wasn’t real?” Marvolo asked, running a hand through Harry’s soft hair. It was cleaner than it had been in his last home, which was something Marvolo hadn’t even realized had been an issue.

“It was too good,” Harry said, his voice still hard to hear. “Nothing good ever happened to me before you.”

Marvolo had never been described by anyone as ‘good’ in his life, but he supposed he had helped Harry in some ways.

“I thought I must be crazy,” Harry said. “Just like Uncle Vernon said. When no one answered the letters I thought I made it all up. But, the dreams were so good. Until they were very bad.” Harry shuddered and Marvolo realized that there was a wet spot where Harry’s face was. “But even when I hated you, you were still there.”

“And I’m here now Harry,” Marvolo said, trying to offer comfort in some way. This had been easier in the dreams. When Harry cried in dreams the tears weren’t quite so real. Although, now that he compared it to the last time Harry had cried on him, there was something missing.

Last time Marvolo had felt the child’s grief. It had been a physical sensation as he felt the child’s emotions down their mental link. He tried to find that link now, but couldn’t seem to latch on to anything. Had it disappeared? Or was it somehow slipping through his grasp considering his current lack of magical strength? He found himself hoping for the latter.

“You’re not going to leave?” Harry asked, pulling a bit away from Marvolo as he did. He was still on his lap, and his fingers were twisted in his shirt, but at least his face was visible. Harry’s eyes were even brighter than before, wet with tears as they were. His face was a bit red, from the crying most likely. The pale scar on his forehead stood out, and Marvolo tried to ignore it as he wiped Harry’s tears with the sleeve of his shirt.

“I would never leave you,” Marvolo said once Harry’s face was cleaner. “You saved me, Harry, and for that we are tied together in more ways than one.”

“But now you’re not just in my head,” Harry said, and he was looking down at his own hands now. “You can go anywhere and do anything. And leave me behind.”

“Nonsense,” Marvolo assured him, pulling Harry back into a hug and running a hand up and down his back. “I would never leave you behind. If I’m to go anywhere, you will be coming with me.”

Harry sniffled again. “Do you promise?”

Marvolo pushed Harry back a bit and held his hand up in between them. He tried not to feel too childish as he held his pinky up to Harry.

“I pinky promise, Harry,” Marvolo swore, and Harry’s own small pinky wrapped around his. “I promise that I will care for you and support you, and that I will never leave you behind.”

Harry nodded very seriously, and Marvolo felt a weight settle heavily in his stomach. Well, he hadn’t intended that to be binding, but he also didn’t intend to break it.

“Enough of this,” Marvolo said, deciding that Harry was done with challenging conversations for the day. Well, night really. “You ought to be getting back to sleep.”

“But I’m not sleepy!” Harry said, and Marvolo tried to look stern even as he was thrilled by Harry’s childish answer. Talk like that would have never been allowed at his relative’s house. The whining, while not an attitude Marvolo would generally put up with, was a good sign.

Feeling indulgent and rather unwilling to go back to sleep himself, Marvolo suggested an alternative. “I recall you saying that Severus had some stories for children around here. Why don’t we read one together?”

“You’ll read me a story?” Harry asked, eyes wide and tone filled with awe.

“I’ve told you plenty of stories,” Marvolo said, recalling many, many instances in their shared dreams. “This is hardly a novel concept. Although I suppose the book will be new.”

“You’re gonna read me a book?”

Marvolo sighed, perhaps he had read the situation wrong? Maybe Harry was too old for that sort of thing?

“It was just a suggestion, we don’t have to-” Marvolo was cut off before he could finish by Harry scrambling off the bed. He was a bony child who despite not weighing much, still managed to knock the breath out of Marvolo as he got up. By the time Marvolo caught his breath back, Harry was already back at the side of the bed, holding out a book.

Marvolo took it carefully and patted the space next to him. Harry climbed back up and under the blankets as Marvolo examined the cover. It was clearly a muggle book, since the pictures remained still, and not one Marvolo had heard of.

“The Boxcar Children?”

“It’s Sev’s,” Harry said, burrowing into Marvolo’s side like a particularly adorable leech. “He said he read it when he was little, but that I could have it.”

“We shall see if it is any good,” Marvolo said, unwilling to deny Harry’s first request of him over not finding the reading material up to his own standards. He opened the book and began to read.

It didn’t take long for Harry to fall asleep. Only a few chapters and Harry’s head was leaning more against his arm and his breathing became more regular.

Marvolo nudged Harry into a more comfortable position to sleep, and folded down the page that he and Harry ended on.

Marvolo continued to read the book in silence. It was rather dull. Meant for children clearly with its lack of realism and much too happy ending. But, he supposed Harry could use some happy endings. He could continue the book with Harry another time.

Light started seeping through the curtain, and not long after a knock on the door disturbed the calm.

Harry startled awake at the noise, and Marvolo ran a hand through his hair to calm him down.

“Good morning, Harry,” he said, and then called out to the door. “Enter.”

It was Perseus again. Now dressed in a grey robe rather than in his nightclothes, and looking a bit more awake.

“Morning,” Perseus said, making his way into the room like he owned the place. “Breakfast has been served. Harry, I can see that you’re awake, so get up and go eat.”

“I’m not awake,” Harry said, his tone drowsy as he burrowed deeper into his blankets.

Perseus clicked his tongue. “We made a deal. You eat all your meals and drink all your potions, and I let you stay in this room. Are you going back on your end of the bargain? Because I can move that bed into the other room.”

Harry grumbled something unintelligible but rather aggressive and sat up. His grumpy face lost some effect as he was still wrapped up in a blanket cocoon with his hair going in every direction.

“Can Volo come down for breakfast?” Harry asked, a yawn making the sentence longer than it needed to be.

“Yes. He and I will be down once I conduct a proper medical examination,” Perseus said, and Harry nodded, then looked back up at Marvolo.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Harry said, his tone filled with worry. “I liked the story.”

“We can finish it later,” Marvolo promised, and was pleased that it made Harry light up. “Now, why don’t you run along to breakfast and I will be down soon.”

Harry nodded again, and clumbered off the bed. He stumbled a bit over his blanket and both Marvolo and Perseus reached out to him. Perseus was closer and righted Harry with a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Careful, child,” Perseus said, transfiguring the blanket Harry was wrapped in into an appropriately sized dressing gown. “I don’t need any more patients today. Now, hurry down and make sure Severus and Regulus are actually eating.”

“Okay,” Harry said, looking down at the dressing gown in wonder. “Bye ‘Seus, bye Volo.”

Harry was still admiring the magic as he walked out of the room, presumably down to breakfast.

He was followed by Perseus’ voice calling firmly after him, “And drink your potions. I don’t care how terrible they taste, you need them for a reason.”

Marvolo found himself very interested in whatever potions were deemed necessary for Harry’s recovery. Something nutritional no doubt. Harry was very much lacking proper meals at his relatives. Perhaps something for his terrible eyesight if that were possible in a child so young. It was good to know the child was being seen to by a proper healer, rather than just Marvolo trying his best with the scraps of magic he was able to gather.

Perseus turned back to Marvolo and raised an eyebrow. “What’s that face? You like the child too. Why is it a surprise that I like him?”

Marvolo hadn’t realized he was doing ‘a face’ and made an effort to clear his expression. He tried to sit up a bit more, but found himself overbalancing on the pillows. Perseus reached out to steady him and Marvolo flinched back. He had no desire to see Burke’s death for a third time.

“Relax,” Perseus said, and there was a hint of a smile curling his lips. “It only happens the first time.”

He proved his point by carefully helping Marvolo sit back against the pillows.

“And how would you know that?”

There was a pause as Perseus flicked his wand at the curtains to open them, letting the light from the cloudy morning into the room.

“You’re the second person I’ve met who shares my soul.”

“There’s more of us?”

“Only one other that I know of,” Perseus said, and his distaste was clear. “We have exchanged some letters, but decided meeting in person once was enough.”

That was too much. There were three parts of his soul running around. Four he supposed, if he counted the original part.

“Which one?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to spoil that surprise,” Perseus said, smirking in a way that made Marvolo want to hit him rather badly.

Clearly sensing the rising anger, Perseus cast the diagnostic charm he was prevented from casting last night. It took a few minutes, during which neither of the two men talked.

“It appears you are in good health,” Perseus said, looking over the scan results. “Magically exhausted as I predicted, but you should be able to perform basic spells within the week and be at full power within a few months. Your body needs some help, but that’s nothing regular exercise and good nutrition won’t solve.”

Marvolo nodded as he digested this information. He felt in relatively good health, and while it was frustrating that his magic would take some time to return, it was good to know that it would.

“There are a few things that you should be aware of,” Perseus said, and his tone was professional and calm. “From my experience, a reborn horcrux generally is similar both to our original soul, and to the,” he paused as if searching for the word. “Doner who helps us regain a body. Magically, this makes us the child of both Tom Riddle and the second person. The world widely regards me as Walburga’s bastard, and the Black family tapestry does read that Tom Riddle is my father. You however, do not have that luxury.”

“I look like our father still, don’t I?”

“Not exactly like him,” Perseus said, examining his features carefully. “But yes, you do resemble our original body, with some noticeable exceptions.”

“How noticeable?”

Instead of answering, Perseus grabbed Marvolo’s left arm and pushed up the sleeve. Ah. Yes that was rather noticeable.

A dark mark curled around his own forearm. He had never marked himself. He had thought about it once, as a way to anchor the magic to himself without needing to use the mark of one of his followers, but decided against it. Yet here it was. Branded into his own arm as clear as it was in his followers. It could be an issue.

“There’s more,” Perseus said. He picked up a hand mirror that was conveniently on the bedside table. Clearly, he had planned this.

Marvolo took the mirror, holding back his own apprehension at what he might see. His first impression was that Perseus was a liar and that he did look very much like their father.

Then his eyes fell on the scar. He had looked at Harry’s scar on many many occasions. Both in the dreams they shared, and now in person. The scar, like lightning above his eye, was as branded into his own head as it was on Harry’s.

“Neither will come off by any means that I know of,” Perseus said after allowing Marvolo a few minutes to look.

“I suppose it’s not terrible,” Marvolo said, now back to looking at the dark mark.

“Better than just existing inside a child’s head, I suppose,” Perseus said.

Chapter Text

Marvolo allowed himself some time to adjust to these new changes. After a few minutes he started questioning which concealing charms and glamors that Perseus had attempted to use to hide both the mark and the scar. It appeared more basic ones were completely ineffective so he started on the more obscure ones.

“While I did dabble in earlier versions of the mark,” Perseus said after the twelfth demand to try some new technique, frustration clear in his tone, “You are the one who actually placed it on your followers, and should therefore know far more about it than I.”

Marvolo thought about this for a moment. There were of course ways for him to hide the mark. He had a number of spies in his ranks, and it had been essential that they be able to get into certain circles undetected. He had rarely needed to use it, considering that the fact that he marked his followers had been a closely guarded secret for some time. It had only come out to the general public perhaps a year before his defeat that his followers had a distinctive mark. Marvolo had suspected that Dumbledore and the ministry had known beforehand, but they had been keeping that close to the chest.

Truthfully, Marvolo knew he had been procrastinating. When he had crafted the mark it had been using both his magical signature and parseltongue to ensure no one else could take advantage of the connection. He was relatively confident he still possessed the skills in parsel, but was his magical signature even close enough to take control of the spell? How much had he changed? He was a horcrux yes, but how much of his soul was still his?

Marvolo looked down at the snake curling around the skull.

“Hide,” he commanded in parseltongue, and was startled when the snake hissed back in agreement.

The inky snake opened its jaws wide, swallowing the skull in one bite. Unlike a regular snake, there was no bulge from a large meal. The snake slithered across his skin, up his arm and disappeared beneath his sleeve. It didn’t hurt, but there was an odd warmth that followed the mark. The snake settled on his right shoulder blade, and the warmth faded until Marvolo could almost forget it was there.

“That will have to do,” Marvolo said, his body slumping back against the pillows in relief. He reached up to his head and found the scar a bumpy mess on his otherwise smooth forehead. “I’ll have to find a solution for this, but I suppose I don’t plan on traveling in public for some time.

“Excellent,” Perseus said, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward in his chair next to Marvolo’s bed. “Now, that we are through with that conversation, there is one more thing I would like to discuss.”

Perseus pointed his wand directly at Marvolo’s chest, and Marvolo recognized the cruel smile curling across his lips even with slightly unfamiliar features.

The wand tip glowed with the threat of a spell. It was orange, which could mean any number of painful curses.

Marvolo cursed inside his head for letting his guard down. He was trapped, alone and wandless, with no magic and no plan. Instead he had been going on about his new appearance. He would have perhaps preferred his attacker be a stranger. Marvolo himself knew too much about what a young Tom Riddle was capable of.

“You’re a healer,” Marvolo said, looking for some way out of the situation, but finding the door shut. Even if it was open, he was unwilling to call out. No doubt Harry would be up here first and there was no need to expose him to this homicidal part of his soul.

“Relax,” Perseus said, and laughed a bit as Marvolo sat up straighter. “As long as you answer all my questions, then I assure you that no harm will come to you.”

“I know that healers take an oath,” Marvolo said, but for the life of him couldn’t remember the exact wording. Something about not doing harm? Something about helping when they’re able?

Perseus’ wand didn’t falter, but he did lean back in his chair. “I will not bore you with the details, but I assure you that the way the oath is worded allows some... personal interpretation. Do not be fooled into thinking I am harmless.”

Marvolo refused to flinch, but did look down at the wand before looking back into the other piece of his soul’s eyes. The wand was not his yew wand as Marvolo expected, but a darker wood with an intricately carved handle. Something to think on at a later date.

“Ask your questions then.”

“I am sure I do not need to warn you not to lie,” Perseus said, the threat clear.

“Ask your questions,” Marvolo repeated. “I see no reason to lie to you.”

Perseus hummed in acknowledgement, but didn’t lower his wand. He paused a few moments before speaking. A technique that Marvolo recognized as something he used to do to increase the anxiety in people he was interrogating. Fascinating to know it worked.

“What potion did you poison Regulus Black with?”

Marvolo tried to say something, but couldn’t even formulate a proper response. He had never attempted to poison his followers. He had poisoned plenty of people, or more accurately, ordered someone else to poison them, but he had never made an attempt on Regulus’ life. He had liked him. As much as he’d been able to at the time. Regulus had been intelligent and driven, there was no reason to have harmed him.

“What in Salazar’s name are you talking about?” Marvolo finally settled on, and judging by Perseus’ raised eyebrow, that was not the desired answer.

Perseus waited a moment, and Marvolo refused to flinch.

“I never harmed Regulus,” Marvolo said. “Before all this,” he gestured to his own newly formed body, “I had heard he went missing. I had no knowledge of how or why, but I assure you that I had no hand in it.”

Perseus hummed again but didn’t lower his wand.

“I know you are not lying. I suppose you didn’t pour the potion down his throat yourself, but you did poison him,” Perseus said. “I want to know what the potion was.”

“As I said, whatever happened was not my doing,” Marvolo said.

Perseus laughed, and it was familiar. Sharp and cold and lacking genuine amusement.

“Aren’t you wondering how exactly I came to be?” Perseus said, and the abruptness of the topic change was startling. Marvolo looked over at him contemplatively.

“I presume you stole the soul of some wayward Black. Sirius perhaps? The white sheep of the Black family. Or perhaps Walburga herself?” Marvolo said.

That damned smile curled Perseus’ lips again. “You are forgetting something. Perhaps I should cut you some slack? Gaining a body is a rather taxing experience.”

Marvolo thought back. He would not have poisoned one of his followers, that he was sure of. He protected his followers, unless they turned on him. And if there had been some betrayal, poison was much too easy an escape.

He thought about the abrupt subject change.

From his memory, he knew Perseus was the piece of soul contained in Slytherin’s locket. He had carried that on his person for much of his life, never having known it contained any sentience. Perhaps it had not at the time? As the war had begun to grow more vicious, he had been unwilling to carry his own soul around. Someone could have taken them, or harmed them. He had started to hide them for his own protection.

The locket had been placed in the cave. A cave surrounded by enough protections to be enough for a sliver of his soul. Or so he had thought.

“The draught of despair,” Marvolo said out loud. “Regulus drank the draught to get the locket?”

“While I do not recognize the name, that sounds like an accurate one,” Perseus said. He waved his wand, summoning a notebook and a self-inking quill. “You will write down everything you know about this brew, and direct me to any additional reading sources.”

Marvolo took the notebook and quill when they reached him and placed them on his lap, but did not open them.

“How did he find the cave? No one should have known where it was,” Marvolo said, then the thought occurred to him. “That elf didn’t die?”

“Kreacher is alive,” Perseus said. “I would say he is well, but he has also been affected by the potion. Less so than Regulus.”

“Why would Regulus drink it? Why would he go there in the first place? Does he know who you are? Who we are?”

Perseus’ eyes narrowed. “Do not confuse yourself,” he said, anger causing a flush on his pale face. “We are not the same person, you and I. The moment we split I bear no responsibility for your actions, nor you for mine. We share a past, but nothing more.”

“An interesting claim,” Marvolo said.

Perseus waved it away. “You will come to realize it with time. Time that will come faster once you write what I have asked of you.”

He tapped the cover of the notebook with the tip of his wand impatiently.

Marvolo didn’t open the book. “I still want to know about Regulus. What you are describing is betrayal. He stole something of mine.”

“Surely even you realize how insane you were growing near the end?” Perseus said. “Ignoring the fact you went to attack a literal baby, the level of violence was not sustainable, nor did it help your goals. When Regulus found something that he thought could harm you, he made his choice.”

“And yet here you stand?”

Perseus turned away at that, looking out the window and tapping his wand on his knee. “You performed a number of rituals in the time between when I split from you and when Regulus met me. When we first started to meet in dreams, he did not realize who I was. Instead he assumed I was the victim used to create the horcrux.”

Perseus paused, and his voice was softer.

“We grew close. The potion causes Regulus’ mind to become a place of horrors. It was the only place we met for a time, and we spent much of that time battling back his demons together. A bond formed, and when I finally told him the truth of who I was, we decided that I was not the monster that I could become. That you became.”

Perseus looked back at Marvolo, his tone sharpening. “Is that enough? Will you do as I ask?”

Marvolo opened the cover of the notebook and picked up the quill.

“He is your Harry,” Marvolo said before he started writing, unsure on how exactly to voice the thought, but hoping to get his meaning across. “He means something to you.”

Perseus snorted, sitting back in his chair.

“He was there when I had no one,” Perseus said. “I am sure I do not need to explain to you how lonely we both were. While I do not pretend to know much about love or family or any of that nonsense, I do know that Regulus Black is mine, as Harry is yours.”

Perseus gestured to the notebook. “Now write.”

Marvolo picked up the quill and wrote all he could remember.

***********************************

Marvolo made his way down the stairs, realizing how very hungry he was as he started to smell food. Before his demise, he didn't need to eat as much. He had undergone a number of rituals to make himself stronger and had greatly reduced the need for food. One such ritual had also taken away much of his sense of taste and some of his sense of smell. Now faced with the smells of a full breakfast, he found his mouth watering involuntary.

The stairs were steep, and Marvolo clutched the railing more than he wanted to. His descent was slow, but steady. The stairs ended in some sort of living room. The furniture was clearly old and mismatched. It was clean, but well used. The walls were covered completely in shelves for an impressive book collection. Instead of admiring them, Marvolo followed the smell of food and the sound of voices into what must be the kitchen.

The room wasn’t overly big. It was lined with wooden cabinets and counters that had seen better days, and a decent sized wooden table took up most of the space. The table was heavily covered in plates and dishes with the remains of a meal. The three occupants were clearly finishing up, but there was still plenty of food to be had.

From the doorway, Marvolo watched as Harry took careful bites and eagerly listened to the two men at the table. The topic was rather mundane, about the fluctuating costs of potion ingredients, but Harry seemed enthralled by the mention of things like eye of newt and screaming dandelions.

Severus noticed Marvolo first and his lapse in conversation drew the other two’s attention.

“Volo! I saved you a seat next to me,” Harry said, indicating the empty chair eagerly.

“Thank you,” Marvolo said, making his way across the kitchen and sitting down between Harry and Regulus. There was a clean plate in front of him, so he began to fill it with offerings from the table. A silence settled on the table as they all ate.

“Is Perce coming down?” Regulus asked after a moment.

“He told me he already ate, and he had some things to look over,” Marvolo said, thinking back to a notebook filled with scribbled notes that Perseus had flipped through eagerly.

Marvolo took a moment to look over Regulus. He didn’t appear to be someone affected by a debilitating potion. He appeared similar to how Marvolo remembered. His hair was a bit longer, and he was perhaps a bit skinnier. There were dark circles under his eyes, but nothing too obvious.

Marvolo was interrupted in his thoughts by Severus’ voice.

“The potions will not disappear no matter how hard you stare at them,” Severus said. “If you are done pushing the rest of your food around your plate, then we can get it over with.”

Harry was indeed glaring heavily at a few vials placed carefully in front of his plate. Marvolo recognized a nutrition potion from his own time at Hogwarts, but didn’t recognize the second one.

“What are your potions for, Harry?” Marvolo asked.

“The one’s because I didn’t eat enough before Sev got me,” Harry said, pointing at the green nutrition potion that Severus was measuring the proper amount into a small cup. “ And this one,” he gestured to the unfamiliar blue one with white specs, “is because my bones are bad.”

“Your bones?” Marvolo asked, but Harry was distracted by Severus putting the half full cup of nutrition potion in front of him. He made a face, and Marvolo tried not to laugh when Severus made it back.

“He had a number of improperly healed breaks when Perce and I looked him over,” Regulus explained as the other two occupants were distracted. “We had to put him to sleep and rebreak and heal them. The potion is to make sure they heal correctly and maintain integrity.”

Marvolo didn’t think he was hungry anymore. He put down his fork a bit too harshly on his plate. “You broke his bones.”

Regulus seemed to realize the problem. “He was asleep! He didn’t feel anything. It’s a standard procedure.”

Regulus turned his attention to Harry, who had drank his potion and was now chugging orange juice, presumably for the taste.

“Harry, tell Marvolo how your hand is,” Regulus said, a little desperately. Severus had paused and was watching Marvolo warily.

Harry put down his juice and held up his hand excitedly. “Look, all my fingers are straight now! And I’m not supposed to pick up anything heavy, but I can move it all around and it doesn’t hurt!”

Harry proceeded to demonstrate this exciting range of motion and Marvolo looked on. Harry did appear to be well. And his only hesitation when it comes to the two healers did seem to be about the taste of the potions. Marvolo picked up his fork again.

“I am glad you feel better,” Marvolo said, and he noticed both Severus and Regulus relax a bit. Severus picked up the second potion and carefully poured that into a spoon before handing it to Harry who swallowed reluctantly.

“He’s in relatively good health, considering everything,” Regulus said quietly to Marvolo. “His magic, and yours I suspect, did a decent job at sustaining him. With better nutrition and less hard labor, he should be fine.”

“That is good to know,” Marvolo said, then after a moment. “Thank you.”

Another thought occurred to him. “And how are you both, Severus and Regulus? I am unsure of how my process of gaining a body impacted those who helped.”

Severus looked down at the table. “We are always happy to serve, my lord.”

He always was a good liar. And good at knowing what to say to who. Marvolo turned to Regulus, who shrugged.

“It was disconcerting. I hadn’t known the mark could be used like that,” Regulus flinched and glared at Severus. “Don’t kick me, I was answering his question.”

Severus blushed when Marvolo looked at him. “You can be honest Severus. I think you’ll find me different than how I once was.”

Severus looked down again. “Honestly was not always something you encouraged in the past, my Lord.”

Marvolo frowned, unsure on how to reassure Severus that he was hardly going to curse him with no magic power. Plus it would no doubt make Harry mad. And he had asked for an answer so there was no reason to lash out.

“Even if I were going to curse you for answering my question, I have almost no magic to speak of at the moment,” Marvolo said.

“And it would be mean,” Harry said, looking between the adults in confusion.

“And it would be mean,” Marvolo repeated, and Harry’s smile was warm.

Marvolo turned his attention back to Regulus who seemed more inclined to talk. “Disconcerting?”

“It didn’t hurt, exactly,” Regulus said. “But it wasn’t what I would consider comfortable. I could feel your magic pulling mine, and I could feel other magic being pulled and joined it. I had no control of the process and it eventually got pulled far enough from me that I couldn’t feel it. It would have been fascinating if it wasn’t so sudden.”

“Interesting,” Marvolo said, he had never realized just how much control of his followers magic he could have taken. “And you’re suffering no ill effects?”

“Magical exhaustion,” Severus said shortly, pushing the remains of the food around his plate.

Regulus nods. “Honestly, I thought I was a squib for a few hours, but it’s been coming back gradually. I have enough now for basic charms, but it’s better to hold off on using magic until we’re fully healed. Some of us are better at that than others.” He looked pointedly at Severus.

“I suppose since none of us are to be using magic, that means we’ll have to wash these all by hand,” Marvolo said, looking down at the empty plates on the table.

“We can just leave it for Perseus to clean up once he finishes whatever he’s working on,” Regulus said, getting up from the table and stretching his arms over his head. “I never much liked doing chores by hand.”

“I can do it!” Harry said, but Marvolo picked up Harry’s plate before the child could.

“I think not,” Marvolo said, holding the plate out of Harry’s reach. He had cleaned up from much too many meals already. “Why don’t you and Regulus go get ready for the day, while Severus and I clear the table?”

Harry was confused. “Are you sure? I’m good at dishes.”

“Yes, we’re sure,” Severus said, rolling his eyes and grabbing his own plate as well as Regulus’. “There is only one shower, so we cannot all get ready at once. Hurry up, so you do not force us to wait.”

Harry nodded, gave Marvolo a quick hug around his waist, then left to get ready before Marvolo could hug back.

“Well, I’m not going to argue,” Regulus said. He looked between Severus and Marvolo. “Play nice, you two.” Then he followed Harry out the door.

Marvolo and Severus worked in silence. It had been many, many years since Marvolo had cleaned anything by hand, but the process wasn’t overly difficult so it wasn’t hard to set up a routine where Marvolo washed and Severus dried and put things away. It was almost soothing.

They had almost finished their task when Marvolo interrupted the silence.

“Severus, I find myself with a question, although I am unsure if you will be able to answer it.”

The plate Severus was putting in the cabinet landed a bit more heavily than it should have.

“I will answer to the best of my ability,” Severus said after a moment.

Marvolo thought for a moment, wondering how to phrase this.

“Are you aware of the binding nature of a vow referred to as a ‘pinky promise’?”

Chapter Text

“A pinky promise,” Severus said. Absolutely no inflection in his dry tone.

“A pinky promise,” Marvolo repeated. 

There was a pause as Marvolo continued to wash the last dish and Severus dried it and placed it in the cabinet. Severus hung up the dish towel and took a deep breath.

“A pinky promise is a promise made by children,” Severus finally answered. “While it is no more than a verbal agreement among muggles, wixen, especially young ones, have been known to reach out with their accidental magic and form it into a more primitive unbreakable vow.”

Marvolo thought about this for a moment. It would be inconvenient to be forced to keep the promises, but he could work around them. He had intended to keep his second promise of keeping Harry safe even without a binding, but the first promise may prove a bit more difficult.

“My Lord,” Severus said, interrupting his thoughts. He had moved back to the table and sat in his seat pouring a cup of tea. 

Marvolo joined him and gestured for Severus to continue as he poured his own cup. 

“You should be aware that Dumbledore has noticed that the wards have fallen around Privet drive. And that Harry is missing.”

“Does he suspect you have anything to do with it?” Marvolo asked, stirring sugar into his cup.

“If he does, he has not shared with me,” Severus said. “I was careful not to use any magic on the premise and then Harry and I walked for some time before apparating. The only way it could be traced to me is if they happen to stumble upon our exact apparition point.”

“And Harry’s relatives? Will they not share that a strange man came and took the boy?”

“Petunia and I unfortunately grew up together,” Severus said. “I know certain things about her that she does not want shared. I encouraged her to spread the story that the boy ran away. Assuming that Dumbledore’s morals prevent him from attempting to look into her mind, we should have some time before he suspects anything.”

That was interesting. Blackmail had always been an efficient strategy. “And what does the great Albus Dumbledore think happened to Harry Potter?”

“He believes that Harry has run away,” Severus said. “He has not alerted the ministry, but has reached out to a handful of us. His impression is that this is nothing more than a childish adventure. Consequently he believes that Harry will show up any day now, and I have not yet been asked to help search.”

“He talked to Harry’s relatives and thought that the boy didn’t have any reason to want to leave?” Marvolo asked. He knew Dumbledore had been blind to many things happening under his nose, but this must be a new low. Surely the cupboard alone was cause for concern?

“It seems that is the case,” Severus said, inclining his head.

“Then we will rely on Dumbledore's ignorance of children and their needs until we can address this more directly,” Marvolo said. “This will hardly be the first time he has failed in that particular subject.”

Severus nodded again. 

They were interpreted from further conversation by the exaggerated sound of small footsteps coming down the stairs. Marvolo looked to Severus for an explanation.

“It is not my fault the child is too quiet for his own good,” Severus said. “Without the charm he just shows up in conversations at the most inconvenient times.”

The last part was said quietly as Harry himself appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. He was dressed in robes. They were functional and casual, but of a decently high quality. He looked every bit the wizard that Marvolo knew he was. 

“‘Seus says you should lie down again,” Harry said. Marvolo knew this recovery was going to be challenging, but it was ridiculous he was already feeling tired. “But he said you can be on the couch and I can show you the coloring book Sev got me.” Harry looked at Severus. “And he said he needed your help.”

“The great Perseus Black asking for help, will wonders never cease?” Severus said, standing up from the table. 

Marvolo stood up as well before anyone could ask if he needed help. Perhaps it was too abrupt because his head swam with the fast movement. Laying down could be a good idea, loathe as he was to admit it. 

Marvolo felt Harry’s smaller hand wrap around his own and pull him into the next room. “The pictures move!” Harry was saying. “Sometimes I have to ask them to be still so I can finish, but I’m very good at coloring in the lines, much better than Dudley.”

Marvolo settled on the couch with Harry next to him. “Show me your masterpieces then.”

The day was quiet and restful, and Marvolo found himself left along with Harry most of the day as the others no doubt worked with the new information about Regulus’ condition. 

After Harry had gone to sleep, the adults gathered in the living room.

“There is still the issue of Harry’s guardianship,” Marvolo said. 

“If you have an uncontested claim, such as a direct blood relation, you can take it to the Young Wixen Safety and Placement Department in the ministry and file the change in guardian. However, if there is even a sliver of doubt, it will go to the wizengamot and no doubt every wixen in the country will be fighting over who gets custody of the boy who lived.” Regulus said. 

“If people wouldn’t ask so many questions, I could prove Harry as a child of my magic. However he is too well known for that to be put under any scrutiny,” Marvolo said, frustrated with needing to follow rules. Perhaps he and Harry should just leave? 

“Most magical families can claim some sort of relation to each other,” Severus said. “But unless you could prove your tie is the closest, which would involve a great many questions, I fear you would lose to some of his more direct relations.”

“You could claim Lily and James used you as a surrogate,” Regulus suggested. “When unable to conceive, it’s not unheard of for a third to be brought in to help balance the magic and growth of a child.”

“Anyone who was close to the Potter’s could cast doubt on that theory,” Perseus said. 

“And it still leads to far too many questions about my background,” Marvolo said. 

“Harry’s muggle guardian’s can’t sign over custody without a statement from the wizengamot,” Regulus said, switching the subject. “Unless you have his legal magical guardian oversee the process. Any idea who his magical guardian is?”

There was a pause. 

“I admit I am unaware of who Harry’s godparents are. But I suppose it would fall to them,” Marvolo said after a moment. 

“Alice Longbottom is in no state to raise her own child, never mind someone else's,” Severus said. “And Black is out for obvious reasons.”

“Black?” Marvolo repeated, looking at Regulus and Perseus.

“Sirius was named Harry’s godfather,” Regulus said. “He also was blood brothers with Potter, so if he was a candidate, no one could contest it.”

There was a pause. “And what is the obvious reason your brother cannot claim guardianship and we cannot persuade him to transfer that to me.”

The others exchanged looks and Marvolo was very tired of not knowing things that had happened while he had been indisposed. Perhaps the elder Black was dead?

Perseus was the one to speak up. “I believe they are referring to the fact that Sirius betrayed the Potter’s location to their murderer and is now rotting in Azkaban because of it.”

There was a heavier pause.

“Sirius Black did not tell me the Potter’s location,” Marvolo said after he had time to process this statement.

“You found a way around the Fidelius charm?” Severus asked.

“Of course not,” Marvolo said. “Pettigrew came to me with the secret of his own accord.”

“Pettigrew was the secret keeper?” Regulus said sharply, very different from his usual laid back tone. “Are you telling me my brother has been in Azkaban for six years for nothing?”

Marvolo shrugged. “I know little of what he did during the war, but I can promise he had no hand in revealing the Potters’ location. Surely you could have asked him this?”

“By the time I recovered from the worst effects of the potion, Sirius had already been placed in Azkaban. I attempted to visit him, but dementors worsened my condition and I cannot be anywhere near them and remain coherent.” He paused. “My mother implied that if it was so easy for him to betray his first family, why would it be challenging for him to betray the second? I suppose I should have known not to listen to her by then.”

“While this is all very tragic,” Severus said, ignoring the glare Regulus sent him. “It has brought to my attention that I may have a solution.”

Marvolo did not have the patience for a dramatic reveal. “Well?”

“If exchanging blood and vows as children with Potter helps Black’s cause, Lily and I did something similar after our first year of Hogwarts.”

“Are you saying you could have custody of Harry?” Marvolo asked Severus.

Severus looked to Regulus who was pondering this. 

“We could brew the Family tree potion to see if magic acknowledges you as family, Severus,” Regulus said after a moment. “But if the bonding magic did take, then you would be first in line for Harry’s custody.”

“Well that solves that problem then,” Perseus said.

“Excellent. We will brew the potion to test the bond. If it appears strong, Severus will claim Harry’s guardianship. And I will marry Severus so I legally have a claim over Harry,” Marvolo said.

Severus choked on his drink.