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Chapter Text

The wards quietly alerted Willow to a customer walking into his small shop and sitting in the wingback chair across from him, yet he did not look up from his position in his book. He was not worried since the wards would not have let anyone with bad intentions towards him to pass through. He had learned that lesson once before.

Instead of greeting each other, both customer and proprietor sat in silence, one observing and the other engrossed in a book. The observer took in his surroundings, noting the diminutive size of the shop.

Well, it may be called a shop, but it was known well enough as more of a small home. This was because the sitting room used to interact with guests was clearly well-lived in, with two worn wingback chairs and a small sofa that had honestly looked like it had seen better days. The room was also attached to a kitchen, which could be seen over a half-wall, and from there, stairs leading up to a bedroom, most likely.

It did not suit the owner well enough, the guest thought quietly, when he had grown to a standing of silent fame within the pureblood community for his skill in soul painting. 

Alas, Willow had finally reached an acceptable stopping point in his novel and closed it in favor of greeting his guest. He looked up, a bolt of surprise shooting down his spine as he finally took in the broken soul before him.

“You are Willow Fenski, I presume.” The guest stated confidently, but spoke no further on his own name. Willow sat there for a moment, a feeling of deep anguish pervading him as he gazed upon that soul which had been utterly ripped to shreds.

“Indeed, and that would make you?” Willow trailed off, alluding to the man’s unspoken, and thus, unknown name. 

“How rude of me, I neglected to introduce myself. I am Lord Marvolo Slytherin, Minister of Magic. I thought more people read The Prophet these days.” The man did not show surprise on his face, instead opting for a charming smile, though Willow could tell from the shuddering of his broken soul that he was wholly unexpecting Willow’s lack of knowledge regarding him.

“Yes, well, I have heard of you from my clients, so I had no need for The Prophet.” Willow replied, minutely narrowing his ice-blue eyes. 

Though he accepted the fact that many purebloods came to him for his work, he never expected nor wanted to get involved with the Minister of Magic. He knew everything he had built for the past two years would be ruined if he started to become a recognizable figure.

“I see, and what have they to say?” Lord Slytherin asked, pouring a cup of tea from the set on the small coffee table in front of them and adding one sugar to the mix. Willow set his book beside him on a small side table in favor of crossing his legs and resting both his hands on one knee.

“I decline to answer as I sign confidentiality agreements with every client. On that note, I assume there is a reason you have decided to pay me a visit?” Willow deflected. Not everyone held the same opinions as the esteemed Lord Slytherin, Minister of Magic, despite the fact that everyone seemed to agree that the man utilized his good looks and cunning tongue most efficiently. Though Willow would rather finish this encounter as soon as possible than reveal others’ thoughts about him.

The man set his tea cup on his saucer, holding the fragile ceramics regally in his lap. How he managed to make simple things look regal, Willow chose not to dwell on.

“Indeed, there is a reason. However, we must first make an Unbreakable Vow before I reveal that. The information is too sensitive for one of my position to have leaked out carelessly.” He stated. Willow could understand a need for privacy, but the Minister’s caution led Willow to be wary of such a Vow.

Willow looked towards his hands in contemplation. He had the vague sense that if he took it, it would lead to an ever protracting interaction between the two, one which would ultimately lead to a bad conclusion for Willow. However, he also felt he couldn’t refuse. 

It was certainly not to the extent of a life debt, but Willow felt a need to repay the man for the unknowing company his broken soul had provided Willow for a short 10 years. By accepting an Unbreakable Vow and helping him, free of charge, he could accomplish that.

Willow looked up to gaze into Lord Slytherin’s deep brown eyes and noticed a tinge of red appear before it quickly disappeared again. He sighed, reaching an arm out to clasp the man’s own.

Seeing Willow’s silent agreement, Lord Slytherin gripped the other’s forearm in tandem, thus allowing Willow to begin his Vow.

“I, Willow Fenski, solemnly swear never to speak, or allude to, any information shared with me by Lord Marvolo Slytherin, regarding Lord Marvolo Slytherin, inside this shop today to anyone without his permission  – so mote it be.” Willow finished the Vow just as quickly as he started it, the veins in both of their forearms glowing a rich, golden color — presumably due to both mens’ tremendous magical power.

Lord Slytherin hummed, no doubt catching onto the small loophole that Willow had created in the Vow.

“That should be acceptable for now. I have no use for your paintings, but rather for your ability,” he began. Willow forced down a snort as he thought to himself that he wouldn’t be able to paint the Minister’s mangled soul even if that was what he came here for.

“Do you know of horcruxes?” The Minister asked. Willow shook his head – despite his many years roaming the planet, he had yet to hear of ‘horcruxes.’

“I suppose you would not as it is not knowledge for the faint of heart. Horcruxes, Mr. Fenski, are soul containers. To put it simply, one must complete a ritual to tear their soul in half before placing it in an object that holds significant value to them.”

Willow’s eyes widened again as he looked at the mangled soul of one Marvolo Slytherin, now seeing the fabric-like rips at the edges. He thought for a moment.

“And the conclusion…” Willow began,

“Is to become immortal” They spoke together,

“by way of those soul containers since your soul would become permanently stuck to the mortal planes.” Lord Slytherin finished. Willow could not help the furrow of his dainty white brows nor the tears that welled up in his frosty blue eyes as anguish washed over him. Those pieces of life essence that were stuck in the soul container, would they scream silently in indescribably agony at being torn from their rightful place?

“Why–”

“I believe I told you why,” the Minister interrupted harshly, “but now I have learned that creating horcruxes diminishes your magical core each time it is done, and I have found other means of achieving immortality.” The two stared at each other.

“Each time.” Willow repeated, a profound sense of hurt emanating from his voice. How one could bear to split their soul once, much regardless multiple times, Willow could not even begin to understand.

“Must I continue repeating myself, Mr. Fenski? Yes, I have created multiple horcruxes, in fact I have created seven – and you are known to possess a capability to see souls. I have no use for them any longer, so I am asking that you help me gather my soul back together. I will, of course, offer you a reward that is befitting of the task.”

The two sat in silence, Lord Slytherin observing as Willow’s snowy eyebrows unfurrowed and he reached up to rub his temple with his fingers. Though the silence went on for longer than could be considered appropriate, neither party moved to fill it.

Finally, icy eyes stared into fiery orbs, “Fine, I will help you. But make no mistake Lord Slytherin ,” he spat the name out of his mouth in disgust, “I will not take payment for fixing something that never should have been done in the first place. You shall understand the cost of mending your soul through the agony it will put you through.” Willow seethed, narrowing his eyes in contempt.

Marvolo Slytherin set his teacup and saucer back down on the coffee table before standing up and making his way to the door of Willow’s humble shop.

He placed a hand on the door handle, but before opening it he turned his over his shoulder to regard Willow, “This has been a most productive first meeting. I will return in a week with my horcruxes, if you need me for any reason you may reach me by owl. I look forward to future correspondence.” Lord Slytherin had a cheeky grin on his face, which Willow supposed would be charming if not for the fact that he had an incomplete soul.

Finally, the man opened the door and stepped out into the quiet alley that was known by the whole of Wizarding Britain as Knockturn. 

—

Willow uncrossed his legs and leaned down to rest his head on his knees. He did not want to ponder the fact that he knew of Marvolo Slytherin not from his clients, but from a 10-year span where Willow had unwittingly cared for the man’s lost soul in an attempt to stave off his own loneliness. No, he thought nothing of that fact and instead stood up, brushing strands of his long, white hair from his face and traveling upstairs to gather the limited supply of books he had which would help on the matter of horcruxes.

Though his room spanned the entirety of the second floor, it was rather cluttered from the many books that were stacked into piles around a leather chair and also his work station for painting. His meager bed sat unobtrusively in a corner under a window, uncleanly made and thus fitting the atmosphere.

Walking to one of his bookshelves, he grabbed A Guide for Soul Seers and Magick Most Intrinsic , both being most relevant. Though he had read through both texts quite thoroughly before, he decided it would be good to refresh his memory and write anything that seemed like it would help him along in his newfound quest.

He sat back down in the wingback downstairs to begin reading and taking notes, but paused before he could even open the first book. His shop was well-guarded, but Willow thought it prudent to dedicate a separate journal to the horcrux endeavor entirely. It was important that all of the information he collected be protected via a plethora of jinxes and curses. 

Sighing, he wordlessly vanished the tea set in the way and placed both texts on the coffee table before standing up once more. He had not planned on going out, but it appears that the day’s plans were to be thrown off by the unexpected visit of one Minister Slytherin.

It was regrettable that Willow had caught the attention of such a man, but he supposed that it was inevitable given the social ranking of his patrons. However, the Minister, he felt, had not proved himself to be an agreeable man – at least that was what Willow had gleaned from their short interaction together.

Nevertheless, Willow ascended the stairs once again to put on a more presentable outfit and afterwards entered the decently-sized bathroom to the right of his bedroom to braid his alabastrine hair. He did not care much for looking in the mirror as he had seen the same face for little more than 600 years.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, his appearance had not changed from the time he was cursed in his youth to remain immortal. Maybe if it had, he would be able to bear seeing his own appearance.

Regardless, he finished the plaits in his hair in a practiced manner before exiting and grabbing a bottomless bag suitable for his adventure. Finally, he pulled on a pair of leather shoes to match the rather formal clothes he wore and walked out his shop, placing a locking charm after closing the door. 

He did not care to don the usual garb of those who walked through Knockturn Alley as he lived there, and thus did not need to hide. Quickly, he reached the bustling shopping area that was Diagon Alley and began making his way to Flourish and Blotts to find a suitable journal.

However, before he could get very far, a stranger ran straight into him and Willow found himself falling to the cobbles. 

“I’m so sorry!” A man’s voice called out and grasped Willow’s forearm to pull him up from the ground. Willow looked up to see striking green eyes behind round spectacles and was momentarily surprised.

“Harry, you’ve shocked the poor lady!” Another man came up beside Harry before turning his attention to Willow, “Sorry about that, even with his glasses, he’s still blind as a bat. I’m Sirius, by the way. Sirius Black.” Black said charmingly and clapped Harry on the back, which caused the younger man to jolt under the sudden blow.

“All is well.” Willow said simply, brushing his backside of dirt and ready to continue on his way. Black began a full-bellied laugh after Willow had spoken, probably at the realization that Willow was, in fact, not a lady.

“I really am sorry, if it’s not too much trouble, could we make it up to you?” Harry stopped Willow, grinning sheepishly. Willow glanced between the two, a strange sense of apprehension crawling down his spine as met those green eyes once again.

“It really is fi—”

“Nonsense! Where were you headed?” Black interrupted. Willow furrowed his brows minutely and he couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him. Without speaking, Willow beckoned them with a wave of his hand and carried on to Flourish and Blotts.

Both men walked on either side of him, somehow managing to carry on a conversation with him between them. Willow decided he would pay them no mind, he only had one goal and once that was finished he could go home. He probably would never see them again.

At least, that was until the conversation shifted to be about Willow himself and he found himself unable to avoid the exchange.

“What’s your name?” Harry asked, glancing down at Willow.

“Willow Fenski.” He stated shortly. Maybe if he kept his responses brief enough, the two men would go back to talking to each other.

“Willow Fenski, you say! If not for your voice, I’d have thought you a lady – and even your name matches!” Black commented playfully. 

Though he did not respond, Harry jabbed at Black behind his back, biting out a “Sirius!” in admonishment. Willow did not mind because it was not the first time that someone had mistaken him as a woman – his soft features, short stature, and long hair did nothing to help him in that regard.

“He does not mean that, you look very, er, handsome. I think your name suits you,” Harry stuttered out, “Anyway! What do you do?” he asked kindly. Willow paused momentarily in embarrassment, causing both men to stop and turn back towards him.

“I’m a painter.” He said quietly and began to walk again. They matched his stride and this time it was Sirius who spoke.

“That’s neat. I reckon that we couldn’t sit still long enough to turn something even halfway decent out.” Black winked at Harry. Luckily, they reached Flourish and Blotts rather quickly and the three entered the small store, a bell chiming as they walked in.

Willow wasted no time in heading to the back of the store, where the stationery was kept. He knew himself well – if he got sidetracked in the middle of a bookstore, it’s highly probable that he wouldn’t exit until a couple hours later. He had other priorities at the moment, and he was sure that the two men following after him like puppies would share his sentiment.

Willow picked up a simple leather bound journal and turned around, almost smacking into a chest and falling once again until strong arms grasped him to steady him.

“Woah there, didn’t mean to stand so close,” Black let go of Willow, taking a step back, “is that all you’re going to buy?” he asked. Harry’s verdant eyes watched their interaction before smiling awkwardly when Willow glanced at him.

“We will pay for that – it can be our apology.” Harry offered. 

“Nonsense! The lad took a pretty hard fall, we can’t offer to pay for a mere journal as an apology!” Black rebuked Harry. 

Honestly, Willow just wanted to pay for his journal, with his own money, and leave. Social interaction and niceties were not his strong suit and he was starting to feel out of his depth in the presence of Black’s clear extroversion.

“This is all I need.” He compromised, stepping past Black and walked to set the leather book on the counter. 

The man sitting at the counter looked up briefly from his book, “1 galleon.” He stated.

“Er, here you go.” Harry hastily grabbed the required payment from a small satchel on his hip and reached around Willow to put the coin on the counter. Willow just ignored their close proximity and grabbed the journal.

“Where’re you headed to now?” Black asked from behind.

“Home.” Willow stepped away from Harry and walked out of Flourish and Blotts swiftly in an attempt to lose the two excessively friendly men. Alas, not all of his dreams could come true.

Once more they fell into step on either side of him, though this time in silence. They continued to weave through the crowd until they reached the mouth of Knockturn Alley where Willow stopped.

“I don’t suppose you two intend to follow me home?” Willow could not help but say bitterly. 

“No, we intend to escort you,” Black stated wittily before pausing, “Ah, but not I, only our dear Harry here. Afraid I’ve too many enemies here as an ex-auror.” Harry grinned before Black’s message seemed to sink in.

“Wait, just me! What are you going to do while you wait, Padfoot?” He asked.

“Don’t worry about me, Pup, you know I’ll be just fine. I’ll go bother the Weasley twins, they won’t know what ‘em!” Black promptly turned into a large, black dog before bounding off through the crowd back the way they came.

Willow sighed, “You know you don’t have to… escort me? The journal acted plenty as reparation.”

Harry just let out a short laugh, “Might as well, at this point. It’s alright, Knockturn can be kind of dangerous, can’t it?” The man stepped off the main road into Knockturn, turning around to wait for Willow.

Willow just stared before finally stepping past Harry. They were both quiet as they walked and Harry cautiously observed Knockturn, a place that, while not nearly as ominous in the daytime, still held a quiet and eerie quality.

Somehow, the path back home felt much longer than normal with Harry at Willow’s side. Perhaps it was because he was prone to space out as he walked and usually by the time he reached his destination, it felt like no time had passed at all.

Nevertheless, they reached his modest residence in due time. Willow unlocked the door and then turned to Harry reluctantly.

“I don’t suppose you’d enjoy a cup of tea, would you?”

Harry discerned Willow’s face for a moment before making his decision, “No, that’s alright. Thank you for the offer. Would it be alright if I, er, stopped by for a visit sometime?” The man asked, giving Willow a sheepish grin.

“If you find yourself in the area, you may… visit.” Willow expressed his permission dubiously, unable to decipher why he would want to come back in the first place.

“Wonderful.” Harry breathed as his grin widened. Willow nodded once in acknowledgement before opening his door and stepping inside without another word. 

How odd.

Chapter Text

Willow was already cursing himself for agreeing to help the Minister. As obligated as he might feel towards the man, he found himself frustrated with both him and the progress of learning how to reconstruct a soul.

Lord Slytherin had offered no advice on where he first found the ritual nor how one goes about creating one, save for the brief introduction he gave Willow in their last conversation. Thus, Willow had to put a pause on his research before it could even begin because he first had to learn more about Horcruxes themselves. 

However, for reasons that were probably obvious, Willow couldn’t find anything about the dreaded soul containers. It was a never ending loop. He sighed, deciding that for now he would just have to look into everything regarding the soul until Lord Slytherin made true on his promise to visit a week later.

Luckily, since there wasn’t much information on the soul to begin with, Willow didn’t have much to look through anyway. However, he did realize that the lack of information would make his research much harder.

In this endeavor, it would be necessary for him to create an entirely new branch of soul magic in order to mend the Minister’s mutilated soul. Willow could admit that he was reluctant to do so, playing with one’s soul is a dangerous concept. It becomes even more dangerous when paired with the complete lack of knowledge regarding the subject.

Still, Willow had agreed to help and he would be damned if he couldn’t. He was 602 years old, he had a hard time believing there was anything he couldn’t do if he put his mind to it. That was Willow’s one redeeming quality, his ability to obsess over something until he found the answers he was looking for.

With those thoughts in mind, Willow sat down and once again opened Magick Most Intrinsic , beginning to read and take notes in his now heavily warded journal. 

—

Marvolo Slytherin’s most trusted followers had remarked on a young albino man’s abilities to paint the soul in a way that left many people breathless.

Marvolo wasn’t sure why people would want their souls, something that hid all of their deepest secrets, to be exposed, to be painted and put on display, but he decided that it wasn’t his problem. He wasn’t interested. However, he found himself intrigued when he finally saw one of those famous paintings.

It wasn’t the painting nor the soul itself that had impressed him so much, it was the fact that he could tell that the rendition was accurate . He ingrained the image of that meek soul in his head, pondering over it as he watched Lucius Malfoy stutter through the update on a project he had assigned him.

Marvolo decided that the soul was indeed quite fitting to Lord Malfoy’s cowardly nature. Just as the man did, the soul would tense, Marvolo remembered, as he came into its presence, murky tendrils of black weaving slowly through white, almost liquid in form. 

Surprisingly, the soul was quite small, though those inklike wisps expanded its size in an attempt to appear bigger, which Marvolo thought was also quite fitting since Malfoy liked to exude an air of arrogance and self-importance. Marvolo supposed that the soul would vary in size based on one’s will or magical power.

It was amusing that the soul reflected the personality so well. Marvolo wondered, if one tried to reshape the soul directly, how would the personality change? However, this was not something he could simply search for an answer for — if that was the case, he would have found it in the research he did on horcruxes in his teenage years.

He pulled himself from his thoughts as Lord Malfoy managed to finish his report. 

“—and Remus Lupin has been reinstated in the Defense against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts.”

Marvolo agreed that Lupin was the best choice for now considering his creature status as a werewolf. In order to integrate the Dark slowly back into mainstream magic and increase societal acceptance, small steps were necessary. 

“Was Lupin not a staunch supporter of the light?”

“He was, my Lord.” Marvolo hummed.

“This is acceptable for now, Lucius. Find out Mr. Lupin’s views on the Dark and see if they can be shifted.” Ultimately, Marvolo wanted complete integration of both Light and Dark magic. It was important that students learn about all walks of life and magic in order to form their own intelligent opinions, not the bigoted Light propaganda that has been spoonfed to them for the past 50 years.

“Yes, my Lord.” Lucius bowed, about to turn to walk out.

“Wait, Lucius, I did not dismiss you. Bring me all information about the soul painter that you can find, as soon as possible. You may leave.”

“Forgive me, my Lord, for my disrespect. I shall bring it to you by this evening.” Malfoy bowed once again before finally exiting Marvolo’s office.

Marvolo was left to sit in silence, pondering the idea of the soul painter. He was not interested in the paintings themselves, but the ability to see souls. He had been investigating other means of immortality, especially since he discovered his magical powers had been weakened compared to his youth.

He realized that creating Horcruxes had not only split his soul, but divided his magical power. The fear of death was all-consuming when he was young, and he had to admit that he was hasty in his decision. It was unusual for him to rush into things like he did, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he never questioned why there were only ever records of wizards creating one Horcrux and not more.

At the time, he must have drawn the conclusion that it was because the process was extremely painful, and the will of wizards who did create a Horcrux were simply too weak.

Nevertheless, it was a hasty decision. Immediately after he had gotten his body back, he delved back into his investigations of immortality. Even though he was technically immortal due to the Horcruxes, when he was forced to wander as a soul for an excruciating 10 years, he decided that that wasn’t the kind of immortality he wanted. Just surviving was not enough.

Thus, he began to reexamine Nicholas Flamel’s rumored Elixir of Life. Though the Philosopher’s Stone remained ever elusive, there was still merit in exploring the potion itself. Marvolo extrapolated that the Elixir of Life was tied to the Stone, meaning that if the Stone was destroyed, so too would be the one who achieved eternal life with it. It was too clear a flaw.

Furthermore, it was for those reasons that Marvolo had come to the conclusion that one did not drink from the Elixir of Life once to attain immortality. It would become a recurring thing to remain alive, since the Elixir did not directly give everlasting life, it instead healed illnesses. Therefore, the body would continue to age until one took a drink of the potion, bringing the body back to its peak condition. 

It, too, was not true immortality. Despite that fact, Marvolo continued to research it. He surmised that it may be possible to alter the Elixir to give permanent immortality, rather than temporary. Perhaps instead of healing the body, it could be used to place the body’s processes under a sort of stasis.

It would be a work in progress. For now, Marvolo would make a visit to the painter to determine his soul seer abilities and have him begin researching ways to put his Horcruxes back into his soul. The current known way, which was to absorb the soul through remorse for the actions done and consequences caused, was not palpable considering that Marvolo was not one to feel guilt.

—

True to his promise, Willow watched Lord Slytherin walk through the door a week later. Despite the fact that he had already seen the maimed spirit, it was no less anguishing than seeing it for the first time.

The Minister, unaware of Willow’s thoughts, sat calmly in the wingback across from him once more.

“I require another Vow.” He stated. Willow raised an eyebrow at the man’s caution.

“I cannot speak of our engagement without breaking the Vow I already made a week ago. Why must I make another vow?” Willow asked.

“I do not need anyone becoming curious and finding out that you’re working on putting my soul back together.”

Willow sighed, “I cannot speak of Horcruxes in direct reference to you, so there should be no problem. Furthermore, should someone become… curious, they would have no reason to investigate beyond that of the nature of my work. You may tell them that the process is taking longer than that of my other clients considering the size of your soul and magical prowess.” 

He was not used to speaking so much, nor was he used to reassuring someone of his loyalty. Willow had no need to blackmail the Minister of Magic, in fact, it would be directly in opposition of his best interests, considering his desire for anonymity. 

“Nevertheless, I require a vow stating that you will not reveal the nature of my visits.” Lord Slytherin looked to be irritated at Willow’s obstinance. He must not be used to being told no.

They observed each other briefly in silence, something that Willow noticed they were becoming wont to do in their meetings. 

“Fine,” they grasped forearms as Lord Slytherin gave what he must have thought to be a charming smile, “I, Willow Fenski, swear to never tell, or allude to, my participation in restoring the soul of one Lord Marvolo Slytherin without his permission – so mote it be.” Once the vow was finished, Willow quickly let go and leaned back in his own chair.

“Do not get used to these incessant Vows.” Willow warned, crossing one leg over the other.

“I shall not. Now, onto more pressing matters. I have brought my Horcruxes for you to observe, please let me know of your insights.” Lord Slytherin said agreeably before he pulled a small pouch out from his fancy-looking black robe.

Willow took it from the man’s hands, opening it to peer inside. It was clearly a bag with an expansion charm wove in because he was able to pull out five of Lord Slytherin’s horcruxes, one being a rather large goblet along with a crown. They did not scream as he expected, but seemed to vibrate with an angry energy that reeked of agony and betrayal.

“The one that’s missing?” Willow inquired softly.

“Her name is Nagini, she is a Reticulated Python and I do not bring her out of my manor.” 

Willow picked up the journal, which was the largest soul piece from what he could see, stroking a hand gently down the cover as a feeling of heartache overcame him. He did not reprimand Lord Slytherin as he could see there was already no use, so instead he began to examine the Horcrux.

The rip along this piece of the soul was startlingly visible — it was jagged, almost as if it had struggled before it was torn. It, more than any other object, vibrated with an intensity that spoke of a deep loneliness. 

“You do not feel anything from being near your Horcruxes?” He asked, continuing to examine the journal.

“I feel more settled.” 

“Settled?” Willow urged.

“Perhaps grounded is a more apt description for the feeling I am provided when in proximity of them. I feel stronger.” Lord Slytherin explained. Willow looked up from the diary at him to see his soul almost quivering, though if it was due to the Horcruxes or his inexperience with having to explain himself, Willow did not know. 

He would have to test the theory, so he handed the Horcrux to Lord Slytherin, who took it without a second word. It was not surprising when both the Minister’s soul and the Horcrux began to shake fiercely. 

“And now?”

“I feel at ease.”

“You do not usually?” Willow furrowed his eyebrows. Lord Slytherin shook his head minutely as he focused more on the journal.

“Perhaps that’s an expected side effect,” Willow grabbed his own journal and opened it to an empty page, “Horcruxes lead to increased paranoia, but may be decreased when the soul pieces are in contact with each other. Do you often spend time with the Horcruxes?” He set his journal down and reached back for the one that the other man was holding.

“I do not, it is counterproductive to have my soul located in one place, so I hid them in various places.” Lord Slytherin folded his hands on his knee, careful not to divulge any more information than what was necessary.

“Yes, well, that is what you will have to start doing. Keep them on your person or at least in a close radius of you from now on. I suspect that it shall help us when we finally construct a ritual to integrate the soul pieces back into the main unit — you.”

A hard gleam appeared in the Minister’s eye, though he did not argue with Willow.

“What do you see?” He asked. The room seemed to grow heavier, Willow did not want to answer. How could he, when he could barely stand to be in the presence of the man’s shattered spirit? He knew that Lord Slytherin would not like what he had to say. 

Nevertheless, he reluctantly opened his mouth to speak, “your soul has been ripped into that of a corner of parchment, feeble and frail. Usually, people’s souls are similar to Will-o’-the-Wisps, though more lacking in form and with curious tendrils that float around almost as if to investigate. Yours…” Willow trailed off, his voice almost cracking in heartbreak.

“I do not need your pity—” Lord Slytherin began when Willow took too long to speak.

“Yours!” Willow glared at the man angrily, almost speaking too loud to be considered within proper decorum, “Yours sits firmly anchored in your chest and fears to explore lest it also be torn away from you. Your Horcruxes palpitate in uneven rhythms as they cope with the agony and betrayal they feel, though they too, are afraid to reach out to inspect their surroundings. Your soul, Lord Slytherin, has been torn to shreds, and I am surprised that you have only just now realized the consequences of your actions.” Willow finished with an anger he did not know he was capable of feeling.

The wretched man before him appeared to be feeling the same way, if Willow was seeing his mangled life essence correctly.

Lord Slytherin spoke, barely unable to contain his wrath, “I see that we both have nothing more to gain from my visit today, so I will speak with you again sometime in the near future.” He levitated the Horcruxes back into the charmed pouch and tore off and out of the shop, the door slamming closed behind him.

Willow sat in the silence, almost stunned. He wished he wouldn’t become so miserable every time he saw that wretched man.

“I did not want to answer.” He whispered, curling into himself as a tear ran down his cheek at the thought of the misery of those little pieces of soul.

—

Days later, Willow found himself ignoring his research and instead focusing on the few commissions he received. He did not often get new customers, as one only needed to paint the same soul once every decade or so, but it did not change the fact that the paintings took an impressive amount of time to complete.

There was a certain finesse needed in order to replicate the curious nature and personality of a soul. He breathed life into his paint and molded it into the desired form in order to recreate the intricacies he had examined in his patrons beforehand. So Willow sat on his wooden stool for days, neglecting his health as he worked religiously at the canvas before him. 

That was until the wards alerted him of the presence of someone downstairs as he set down his paintbrush to stand back and inspect his progress. Willow stifled a groan at the interruption as it pulled him from the flow of his work.

He did not bother to glance at his reflection to see how he looked, he simply walked downstairs to greet his guest. Willow figured that if it was a client they would sneer at his appearance, considering the fact that his patrons were Purebloods who believed in maintaining a specific etiquette. He did not mind, since his outward looks did not reflect his skill.

However, he became confused when he reached the bottom of the stairs to see an empty room, no guest in sight. He knew that his wards were as strong as ever, causing a hint of paranoia to creep up his spine. 

Willow made sure to keep things quiet and to keep himself invisible when he set up his shop in Knockturn two years ago. He should still have more time. 

Suspicion abound, Willow maintained a mind of vigilance as he walked around the living room and kitchen, using his wand to cast detection spells at everything. He brushed up on his wards to see that they had not been altered at all, but he decided to add more protection charms to them.

Now, they would not only alert him to someone’s presence in his store, they would notify him to let him know whether or not they had been in the wards before. He couldn’t remove the person who had just triggered them from the charm’s memories, but Willow figured that if it was just one person, he would be able to fight them. 

Willow finally sank into a wingback chair, head cradled in his hands. He was tired of running, and he didn’t know how they found him so fast. For Merlin’s sake, he was the immortal one. How had they kept chasing him even as generations passed and they kept dying?

Willow felt like his world was claustrophobically small, despite the impressive length of his lifetime. He had no purpose, except to run. He had no other abilities, except to paint. He could not meet and create relationships with new people, because they would die and he would just be left alone again.

Willow thought of Lord Slytherin and groaned in his hands. Of course the one person who also couldn’t die was the biggest prick he thinks he’s ever met. Willow thinks he much prefers being alone to being in that insufferable man’s presence.

Perhaps if the man hadn’t torn his soul to shreds, Willow might feel differently. Furthermore, it wasn’t even as the Minister had regretted his actions and just wanted to put his soul back together, no, he had just ‘found other means of achieving immortality.’

How many different ways were there to become immortal? For how difficult it supposedly was, there seemed to be many ways to attain it. Willow guessed it made sense, though, considering that magic was, well, magic. There are no rules in doing the impossible, as magic is wont to do, there are merely guidelines. Thus, there were many different ways to achieve the same things, all that mattered was the intent.

He sighed and stood from his chair to venture upstairs. He didn’t know how he had gone from lamenting his fate to thinking about Lord Slytherin to pondering the capabilities of magic, but decided not to dwell on it since his mind tended to be tumultuous even at the best of times.

Instead, he decided that now would be the best time to practice self-care seeing that he had been disrupted from his hyperfocus session. Willow could guess that it had already been a few days since he started painting in order to take his mind off his confrontation with the Minister.

Walking into the bathroom, Willow flicked his hand to wandlessly turn on the shower whilst he shed his clothes into a nearby laundry basket. He then undid the loose braid he had put his hair in a few days prior, opened the glass door to the shower, and stepped under the warm current of water.

Showering and taking care of his body through various means of cleaning was the one thing he had made for himself. No one else had ever wanted to take care of him, and love him, so he did it himself. He also did not care much for eating and did not find pleasure in many things, so he supposed this was the way he proved to himself that he was still alive. 

Unlike most witches and wizards, Willow also chose to forego magic and do the entire process manually. He suspected that it had something to do with his soul seer inheritance, rather than wanting to care for himself meticulously, leading him to have a certain sensitivity to magic that made it uncomfortable to feel it wash directly over his body. It was not painful or invasive in any way, it was just… uncomfortable and, over the years, he became dreadfully aware of when other people’s magic touched him as well.

He took his time in the shower, though when the bathroom became so hot he felt woozy, he stepped out to dry himself and sat at his vanity to begin his skin-care routine. Willow observed his reflection while he washed his face and hydrated his face with various products. He really only looked at his reflection when he was sat at his vanity.

There was really no need for him to take care of his skin and body so faithfully since his appearance had never changed from the time since he’d been cursed, but he did it because it felt nice. It was hard to say if he would be considered attractive, since he had received various negative comments in his lifetime, saying that his eyes were creepy or that he looked like a woman.

He did not know why it was considered an insult to say he looked like a woman, but Willow did not mind since he knew that he was not. He really couldn’t fault people for mistaking his gender, either, since his facial features were rather soft, with a small, pointed nose, heart-shaped lips, and big icy blue eyes. It was not as if his short stature and long hair helped him in any way.

Nevertheless, he put those thoughts away as he finished his routine and stood, walking into his bedroom to find clothes to put on. He didn’t have much variety in his closet, he mainly wore brown slim-fitting pants and creamy silk shirts with whatever robe he could find at the time, though he only wore a robe if he was going out.

Willow thought that wizarding robes were actually quite restricting, but he wore them to fit into his surroundings better. He figured that he should at least try to blend in a little since he already drew a lot of attention with his albinism, a condition which was especially uncommon in London. 

He finished dressing and took a look at the painting he was working on. The piece was taking longer than usual given the tempestuous nature of the soul, which belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange. Willow couldn’t figure out why a woman such as Lestrange would want a painting from him, but he decided not to question it.

When she first came in, she had a maniacal gleam in her eye as if she was plotting something to do with the painting after it was finished. It made Willow want to turn her down as a client in case she would expose him to the general public, but he decided to accept her as she had an interesting soul.

Unlike most souls, which formed an orb-like shape and used wispy tendrils to investigate occasionally, Lestrange’s formed a messy spider web and the tendrils were more like fast jabs of lightning. Overall, it was very chaotic.

However, this made it difficult to paint as Willow was forced to schedule more meetings with her than usual to inspect her soul in order to make it accurate. From this, Willow discovered that the maniacal gleam he saw when they first met extended to her entire being. The woman was insane, plain and simple.

Though he probably should have known that considering he could see the state of her soul. 

Willow sighed, looking away from the painting and out of one of the many windows around his room. How he had managed to get a place with so many windows in Knockturn Alley, he was unsure, but was thankful since it suited his work.

The weather outside was lovely, he noted, and then realized he hadn’t left the house in quite some time. Between researching Horcruxes and slaving over his commissions, he simply hadn’t thought to. He glanced back at the incomplete soul of Bellatrix Lestrange and decided that it would be good to take a break and revisit the chaos later.

Pulling out a robe to throw over his clothes, Willow grabbed a messenger bag to take with him. He knew it was quite unusual to carry around a bag as a wizard, but he liked it. All he ever took with him was his wand, the shop key, and some art supplies in case he wanted to sketch.

He then walked downstairs and out of the shop, locking the door behind him. Willow wasn’t sure where he wanted to go, so he just made his way out of Knockturn and into Diagon Alley.

Being able to walk freely and enjoy the weather was a joy he did not often experience, but it was something that he treasured greatly. This was because he could remember back to a time where he could never go outside, forced to sit inside the same room day after day. So he walked leisurely around Diagon Alley, observing witches and wizards as they went about their days.

Willow wondered what it would have been like to live a normal life, perhaps to create a family and find a meaningful life purpose. He found himself looking at the various magical folk around him and imagining what they did based on their looks.

Some people walked quite slowly, chattering with their friends or family beside them, whilst others maintained a brisk pace, with a clear goal in mind for their visit to Diagon. 

He didn’t stop at any stores, though he did glance through the windows of various stores to see what kind of people lurked inside. Eventually, Willow looped back to the entrance to Knockturn and he wasn’t quite sure what else to do, he was unaccustomed to spending his time doing nothing. It seemed as if there was always something to be done. He supposed there was a simple pleasure in doing absolutely nothing, but Willow quickly found that he could not loiter aimlessly for long.

Willow looked at the unusually clear sky of Britain briefly before deciding that perhaps his time was better spent reading. He thought back to the various books he collected back at his shop, but he wanted to read something new.

Reaching an agreement with himself, he promptly apparated to Egypt where he knew the fabled library of Alexandria would be located. Like London, the sky was clear, but the temperature was much hotter than that of Britain. Willow quickly shed his robe, stuffing it in the messenger bag he brought with him, and made his way to the hidden library. 

It didn’t take long before he entered the building that obscured the library from even most Wizarding folk. However, Willow stopped in his tracks as he made eye contact with Lord Slytherin inside.

“What a coincidence,” the man stated with a shallow smile on his face.

Chapter Text

Willow would have preferred that Lord Slytherin not greeted him. That way, he could’ve gone about his day without an irritating confrontation. 

Despite his feelings, he returned the greeting with propriety, “Yes, good afternoon, Lord Slytherin.”

Then, with no further attempt at socialization, Willow walked to a random bookshelf and tapped a specific book with his wand. He did not see the strange gleam that flashed through the man’s eye when he walked to stand beside Willow.

Willow ignored the man and went on to ponder how the library had remained concealed from the majority of magical folk when the way in was simply to tap a book. He considered that the entrance is impervious to most detection charms. Nevertheless, Willow would expect that more wizards would make painstaking efforts to scour Egypt with how famous the tale is.

Eventually, a door was revealed and Willow entered. The entrance was not an immediate break into a vast expanse of shelves and books, but to a hallway that was filled with ornate carvings in the walls depicting both beautiful patterns and images that told stories. 

Willow made his way through the corridor, permanent Lumos charms lighting his way. Lord Slytherin continued to walk beside him though Willow ignored the man. Perhaps he was traveling with Willow simply because they were headed to the same place.

The silence between the two didn't last long, however, when Lord Slytherin deemed it amenable to strike up a conversation.

“When did you discover the library?” He inquired. Willow tossed a sideways glance at the Minister as he considered the question. 

“A long time ago.” He vaguely answered. It was the truth, since he had found it around 400 years ago now, but he didn’t want to be specific. The less people that knew about his immortality, the better. The less people that even knew of the existence of Willow Fenski, the better.

Willow disregarded the tremble of Lord Slytherin’s soul. He did not want to look at it.

The two paused for a moment to greet the young librarian who was sitting at a desk to the side, where the hall had finally opened up to reveal the library. 

Willow made his way through the shelves, perusing the books at a leisurely pace. Lord Slytherin continued to follow him.

“Is there a reason you are following me?”

“I wanted to see if you made any progress on what I asked of you.” He replied. Willow almost wanted to bash his head into the stone bookcase which shelved texts pertaining to various theories of the intertwinement of romance and prophecy. 

“I have not looked any further into the matter since the last time we spoke. I will continue to peruse books of my choosing disregarding the fool’s journey you have sent me on today as well. Now, if you would, Lord Slytherin, leave me be.” Willow promptly turned on his heel, the force of it sending his braid over his shoulder to his back, and stalked to another hall of shelves.

When he turned around again, he thankfully did not see the Minister on his heel. 

Willow considered what type of book he wanted to read. He held a considerable curiosity for new knowledge, a thirst he could never seem to quench, so he turned his attention away from fictitious works immediately.

He explored and ultimately found himself roaming aisles that pertained to the magics that resided in objects and creatures. Willow thought it should be a rather interesting topic considering the fact that magic and souls are intertwined.

His finger dragged lightly over the various titles that were protected by magical preserving spells. Perhaps it was not the smartest thing to do considering that tomes in wizarding culture tended to be cursed more often than not, but Willow was not concerned. He had survived many things thus far, it was unlikely that a meager curse on a book would cause him much harm.

Ultimately, he landed on a tome titled Magick Naturae and pulled it from the stone shelf. He paused to appraise the tome’s condition, appreciating the worn leather that encased the tome and the pages that couldn’t help but darken with age.

Willow not only appreciated the knowledge held with a text but also the tangible form that such knowledge took. Nevertheless, Willow finished his inspection quickly and walked from the shelves to sit at an empty table.

He opened it and slowly began to learn more about the magic of the earth, content with how his day was turning out. As he thought, it was a fascinating subject. It elaborated that all objects held a magical essence, as did creatures, since they were directly tied with nature. The earth held an intrinsic magic that extended its reaches unto all beings and provided life itself.

It helped Willow explain why the soul and one’s magic were interdependent, but also not. A wizard held their magic in their magical core, linked to their soul, but wizards were also able to call on the magic of the Earth through diverse rituals.

He began to ask himself whether or not one could speak with nature. The full question was; if one could speak and work with nature itself, without the use of rituals and the like, was it possible that wizards could pull magic from the earth and not use that of their magical core. At that point, it may just be as if the wizard is a conduit for earth’s magic, just as a wand is a conduit for a wizard’s magic.

Willow fell deeper and deeper into the text, his world revolving solely around the information inscripted through black ink. Time eluded him as he read, completely enthralled with the tome. One would think it improbable that Willow still had much to learn considering his lifespan, but the evidence was found in the fact that he was always able to ponder new questions.

He was not cognizant of Lord Slytherin’s presence across the table from him, who had found and was reading his own book. If he had, perhaps he would have commented to himself that the man was at least not as infuriating when he kept his mouth shut.

Eventually, he was abruptly startled out of his focus at the feeling of a leg brushing past his. His gaze shot upward to the Minister who maintained an elegant posture whilst reading. Willow was vaguely alarmed that he had not detected the man’s presence because he was so concentrated on the words in front of him.

Willow sighed lightly and cautiously closed the ancient book before moving to stand.

“Done already, are we?” Lord Slytherin’s gaze briefly met Willow’s before turning his attention back to his book. Willow did not deign to respond and instead strolled back into the stacks of books to return the one currently in his hand and seek out a new one.

He had not finished the text, but he had discovered a more fascinating question from what he had read. Now, he searched for tomes that had a narrowed focus on how human’s magic and the earth corresponded. 

Luckily, he did not have to search for long as he shortly came across a pertinent book, aptly titled The Symbiotic Connection of Magic between Earth and Man. He returned back to the table, barely taking a glance at the Minister across from him.

The two sat in a prolonged, comfortable silence that was only interrupted by the gentle but eager turning of pages. Willow felt that the man was a little less intolerable now that he knew that they shared in the hunger for new information.

From the tome that Willow read, he gathered that, yes, a wizard could call on nature to perform magic rather than their own magical core. However, if nature is unwilling, it is more like necromancy. This is because the wizard will begin drawing upon the life essence of nature itself, rather than the earth acting as a conduit for reaching into magic’s greater core.

Based on that, Willow assumed that nature had an ability to think. Perhaps it would be more fitting to say that magic was coherent, and extended its conscience upon nature. To connect with nature would bring great boons because nature will be willing to help even if you don’t call upon it. 

It would be entirely appropriate to describe nature as a potential friend. The tome explained it all rather vaguely, which forced Willow to mostly come to his own conclusions. It focused more on the fact that natural magic and the magical signature of wizards was similar, and theorized why that might be.

Willow pulled himself from the book to look at Lord Slytherin. It seemed as if he hadn’t moved an inch for hours, though Willow knew that couldn’t be true.

He observed the man’s soul, which faintly quivered though it still sat firmly anchored into his chest. Willow thought that the only reason the soul showed movement at all was due to the presence of a Horcrux, though Willow was not sure which one. It did not matter.

As he inspected, Willow began to notice a slight difference in the soul before him. It was barely noticeable, and Willow only saw it because he was looking so intently, but the jagged ends that previously held a piercing quality had now softened minutely, one minuscule tendril reaching to the direction of the Horcrux. 

“It’s rude to stare.” Lord Slytherin said, eyes still trained on the book he was reading. Willow hummed but didn’t look away, observing as the wisp danced for a moment more before snapping back into the soul. Lord Slytherin shut his book to pay more attention to Willow.

“How long have you been carrying that specific Horcrux?” Willow asked. Lord Slytherin’s eyes darkened dangerously and he threw up an overpowered Muffliato. 

“I ask that you use more discretion when picking the time and place for this discussion.” He warned. Willow looked around them to see no one in the ancient library. He turned back to Lord Slytherin with an unimpressed look on his face, to which the man responded, “it is always prudent to exercise caution, no matter the circumstances.”

“Which Horcrux is it, and how long have you been carrying it with you?” Willow asked again. Lord Slytherin tossed him an appraising look.

“I have worn the Gaunt ring for the past 5 days.” Uncaringly, Willow grabbed at the man’s hand to slip the ring off his finger. He ignored the look of irritation on Lord Slytherin’s face at the lack of decorum.

As the ring was separated from Lord Slytherin’s being, the Horcrux seemed to fight against him. It clearly wanted to stay on. He inspected the life essence stored inside quickly, noticing that, unlike the Minister’s soul which had softened, the Horcrux remained sharp and bitter.

He handed the ring back to Lord Slytherin and watched as he put it on again. Both Horcrux and main soul quivered for a moment before settling precariously. 

“I suspect interacting with the Horcruxes as they’re meant to be used is beneficial. I cannot yet be certain, but the soul piece did not want to part with you. It leads me to believe that the stronger your connection, the easier your soul will mend because the soul pieces will recognize each other.” Willow explained and brought his eyes to meet Lord Slytherin’s.

The man gave a brief nod, though he commented, “I thought you weren’t going to work on the ‘fool’s journey’ I sent you on today.” Willow showed him the title of the book he had been reading. 

“I wasn’t.” Willow stood and prepared to leave. It was important that he wrote down what he learned from his observations of the Minister’s soul before he forgot it. Lord Slytherin made no move to stop him, he just turned back to his book.

—

Lord Slytherin was an infuriating man and had neglected to inform him of pertinent information, but it didn’t stop Willow from finding it. One would think that a man who is the Minister for Magic would be more forthcoming with relevant information when asking for help. 

Therefore, Willow took a turn in his research. He turned towards the Dark Arts, which is a subject he did not like to delve deeply into considering its addictive nature. Nevertheless, his soul magic could only get him so far when attempting to reverse a ritual which was clearly Dark. 

Eventually, Willow found the book in an obscure section of the library of Alexandria that Marvolo Slytherin must have used to create Horcruxes, called Magick Moste Evile. He pushed down his irritation at the man when he picked it up.

He opened it only for the dreaded book to let out a loud wailing of which he immediately silenced. Willow held no patience for books that fought back, though he could appreciate it as a protection for the knowledge within.

The tome vaguely described Horcruxes as a means of immortality, one of which the wizard had to kill another to split a piece of their soul. It also explained that the only way to reverse the damage done and bring the Horcrux and the main soul back together was to feel remorse. Willow snorted and put the book back on the shelf. 

He wanted to know the specific runes used in the ritual as it would be important in creating a new ritual circle. Willow pulled out his wand. It would be dangerous to do, but he figured it would be a little safer considering the rarity of the subject.

“Clavis Verbumus Horcrux!” He waved his wand as he incanted. As he expected, despite the library’s vast collection of books, only two met the requirement and floated towards him.

Willow gathered the two heavy tomes in his arms and brought them back to the cluttered table where he had made his workstation. Before he began to read, he made sure to record down the names of the books in his journal for future reference.

‘Magick for the Treacherous Soul and Vitality Rituals,’ he wrote. The first book seemed to be drenched in a Dark energy, so Willow put that one aside in favor of Vitality Rituals. All things considered, the books of rituals most likely contained what he was looking for, anyway.

He opened the tome after checking for curses and began flipping through the pages. Much of it was harmless, containing ritual circles that increased the fertility of a woman or helped crops grow faster.

Willow could see the diversion tactic easily, however, as he began to reach the end of the book where the Dark magic was located. It was simple but careless, but Willow could at least see the logic in putting the Dark rituals at the back in an attempt to hide them from prying eyes.

Since he knew what he was searching for, he found the information quickly. The tome explained the process along with a diagram of the ritual circle required to make a Horcrux, but the book was old and the pages too worn to make it out completely. Willow lamented. 

He was able to see a majority of the inscribed runes, however, and copied them down into his journal, careful not to imbue magic within the markings. It would be most unfortunate if he accidentally split his own soul in the process, though he knew it wouldn’t be possible since he had not committed any egregious acts within the required time span. It was best to be cautious.

Willow set the book aside and swapped it with Magick for the Treacherous Soul . He was surprised that the library had brought forth even two books, and did not know what to expect to find when he opened the second book.

As Willow opened the book, however, he immediately closed it again. He put his head in his hands, grief ripping through his being. Horcrux was the first word. 

—

It was when Willow was finishing up a commission that his wards alerted him to someone entering the shop. As per the protections he added, they also warned him that the person was someone new.

Willow cautiously set down his paintbrush and grabbed his wand, angling it behind him, and walked downstairs. Ever since the false alarm he had become more paranoid, especially since new clients usually wrote that they were coming beforehand.

“I was beginning to wonder if I got the right place.” A voice said sheepishly as Willow finally made it to the bottom of the steps. Willow relaxed minutely when he saw Harry standing by the door awkwardly.

“You did, but I was not expecting you to come back.” Willow said, relaxing his wand arm to hold it by his side rather than behind him. Harry glanced at the wand with slight reluctance in his expression. 

“I will not attack you, I was expecting someone else.” Willow explained. He did not know why he felt the need to clarify to the man as he usually would not care to explain his actions to others. 

“Oh, well, I was wondering if you had time today?” Harry asked, hiding his nervousness in his tense form. Willow glanced back up the stairs where his nearly finished painting sat.

“If you would like to watch me finish a painting, then I will be free.”

Harry nearly beamed at Willow’s answer and nodded his head. 

“In truth, I was quite curious about your work when you mentioned you were a painter last time.” Harry babbled behind him as the trailed back up the stairs and into Willow’s room. Willow realized he did not think far enough ahead as he practically invited the man into his bedroom, but he decided that it was not a big deal. 

Willow did not watch as Harry glanced around the room, only levitated the leather wingback near his workstation before sitting at his own stool. Harry sat a moment later.

“If you get bored, you may entertain yourself somehow.” Willow supplied. 

He picked up his paintbrush and inspected the work he had done so far. He was still working on Bellatrix’s soul, but was close to being done with it. After he had figured out the way that the woman’s soul liked to move, it became easier to breathe life into the piece.

“What is this?” Willow was briefly surprised at the question, but regained his composure.

“A soul. I paint souls instead of portraits.” Once again, Willow didn’t know why he was explaining so much to the green-eyed man. Perhaps it was because Harry’s soul was the purest he had ever seen, completely guileless — perhaps that had led to the odd trust Willow held.

“That’s so cool! I’ve never actually seen someone painting a Wizarding portrait before. Will it be able to move like a normal portrait?”

“Yes.” Willow answered, finally dipping into a deep black paint to smudge a spider-web like tendril into the background a bit more. Eventually, he forgot about Harry’s presence and continued working on the painting. He did not notice when Harry quietly left the room to go downstairs.

Usually, Willow would have made the background of his works black so the soul would stand out, but in Bellatrix Lestrange’s case, her soul was too dark for that. Instead he opted for a deep blood-red color which was a reference to her madness.

He pondered the idea of beginning to match the backgrounds with the owner’s soul based on the outward characteristics he’s noticed during their brief interactions. The only reason he had never done it before was simply because he had not thought about it, but the idea actually excited him. 

However, it would be difficult because he only had brief encounters with each client, and he was inspecting their soul. Maybe he should state that he needs to go to a social event that the client is attending so he could see how they candidly interact. 

Shelving that concept for another time, he finally put the finishing touches on the soul and stood back to examine his work. A few times he walked close to the piece and altered something but after some time he deemed it complete. 

It was then that he turned, caught a glimpse of his wingback chair out of its usual spot, and remembered that Harry had stopped by. He looked around the room, void of the man and wondered if he had left. 

Cleaning up all of his painting supplies, Willow went to search downstairs. It did not take him long to find Harry, luckily, who was moving around in the kitchen.

“Sorry for invading your kitchen, but you gave me blanket permission to entertain myself if I got bored.” Harry laughed, “Mistake number one.” Willow cracked a barely visible smile at that, the purity and light of Harry’s soul was truly a reprieve from the one of madness that he had been staring at for hours on end upstairs.

Harry placed a pot down on a heating pad that sat on the small table in Willow’s kitchen, “you hungry?” he asked.

Willow did not respond, but instead levitated the necessary dishware for two place settings over to the table. Harry grinned and pulled out a chair. The man manually spooned a portion of the soup into each of their bowls by the time that Willow also sat down.

“I used what I could scrounge up from your cellar, which wasn’t much to be honest.” Harry supplied. Willow was briefly surprised at the blunt quality of Harry’s words, but not offended.

“I do not eat often,” Willow picked up his spoon and ate a potato from the mixture, “this is delicious.” Harry beamed at him, easily pleased by Willow’s meager compliment.

“I’ve cooked since I was young, so I guess I’ve gotten a bit good at it,” Harry took a bit of his own, “for a while I stopped cooking, but I picked it back up again because it’s relaxing and I wanted to cook for Sirius. He’s my Godfather.” 

Willow was content to listen to Harry’s ramblings as he was not one to speak much. They both continued to eat that way, with Harry talking and Willow humming when necessary to show he was still listening. 

When they were finished, Willow took it upon himself to clean and put away the dishes magically before storing away what was left of the soup. 

“Thank you for the meal and for your… company.” Willow said awkwardly. He had become unused to social interaction outside of business encounters due to his self-imposed isolation, and found himself on uneven footing.

“Yeah, of course! Would I, er, be able to come over again?” Harry asked, smiling nervously. Willow was momentarily bewildered at the request.

“I am amenable, but I fail to see what you are getting out of our interactions.” Harry’s smile faltered and Willow was momentarily anxious that he had said something that would cause the young man to never come back. Willow wasn’t sure why he wanted Harry to come back.

“I just want to make friends outside of my small circle, and you seemed like a good bloke when we first met.” Harry explained. Willow raised an eyebrow with hidden mirth as he thought back to their first encounter.

“You mean when I blatantly ignored both you and Black?” He asked. Harry let out a small laugh.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be happy either if someone ran straight into me and caused me to fall to the ground. Er, sorry about that again.” Harry glanced to the side with a mild embarrassment in his expression.

“There is no need to apologize, Harry. If you are in the vicinity, you may visit again.” Willow let an uncommon smile grace his features briefly.

Harry did not respond, just blushed a violent red and fumbled his way out of the shop with a ‘goodbye’ tossed clumsily over his shoulder. Willow stood in silence, caught off-guard at Harry’s sudden departure. And wholly unaware of what flustered the young man so much.

Chapter Text

Harry made his way through the Ministry after the latest Wizengamot session. Recently they were focusing more on creature rights, and it was making Harry frustrated at Wixen’s backward ways. Every step they took forward seemed as if they were taking two steps back.

“Lord Potter.” He was suddenly greeted. Harry stopped in his tracks to see the Minister standing before him.

“Hello, Minister.” Harry felt suspicion fill him at Minister Slytherin’s sudden appearance. He had nothing against the man, the Ministry had improved more under his care than under any other Minister of Magic. However, he wasn’t charmed like everyone else seemed to be, though he could admit to sneaking peeks at the handsome man. 

“I would like to invite you for a cup of tea in my office to discuss the legislation we have been working on in the Wizengamot, if you are amenable.” Minister Slytherin asked with a handsome smile, though it was more of a statement rather than a question.

This was not the first time that the man had managed to speak with him under the guise of inviting him for tea. Every time that Harry agreed, the Minister would keep him for hours, interrogating him on whatever the Wizengamot was discussing at the time. 

Was the man grilling him to make sure he paid attention? Sure, Harry may have nodded off a few times, but he always got the important information. Anyway, Harry was not pleased. 

However, he also couldn’t decline seeing as they were standing directly in the center of a busy hall of the Ministry. Harry narrowed his eyes at the man’s subtle trick.

“I will have to decline, Minister Slytherin. Unfortunately, I had plans prior to our… meeting.” Harry decided that he did not care that they were in the middle of a busy corridor where there were now Wizards and Witches whispering around them. Though he did try his best to be cordial, if only for the fact that the person he was talking to was one that could literally kill him and no one would care. It also seemed like the Minister wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, though.

“I see, then, how about we meet tomorrow for lunch?” Harry’s eye twitched. He supposed the man would’ve gotten nowhere without persistence.

“That would be acceptable.” Though Harry was known for his extroverted and friendly personality, he did not smile at Minister Slytherin. The only reason he didn’t continue declining is because if the meeting is inevitable as it usually was, he would rather just get it over with. He wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing.

“Then I shall meet you at Le Magnifique at noon tomorrow. I look forward to our next meeting.” The man wore a congenial expression before turning and walking away. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and went on his own way.

—

Unfortunately for Harry, tomorrow had come sooner than he wished and he found himself dawdling just outside of the posh French restaurant. This really wasn’t where he imagined he would be on a casual Friday. The only good thing about the meeting being during lunch was that Harry would be able to slip away with the excuse that he had finished lunch and would need to get back to work.

Harry reluctantly entered the restaurant and was greeted by a hostess standing behind a marble counter, “do you have a reservation?” Harry paused. Surely the Minister would’ve created a reservation when he was the one who offered an invitation.

“Er, under Marvolo Slytherin?” His statement came out as more of a question, but when the hostess made a noise of affirmation, he internally sighed in relief. She guided him through the fancy restaurant, past customers hidden by snowy glass walls, and to a private room at the back of the restaurant.

Harry thought it was a bit overkill to book a private room, but it wasn’t his money that was being spent. The hostess opened the door for him and he awkwardly entered. The room was rather small and intimate, but not claustrophobic, and a large window let natural light in even though there was a crystal chandelier up above. Minister Slytherin was already seated at the table, waiting for Harry.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered us both some wine. Would you like to take a look at the menu?” The man asked. Harry nodded, sat down, and grabbed the menu from the table. He quickly realized that it was all in French and he didn’t even know what he was looking at, but he pretended to scan the pages anyway.

“I assume you come here often, so I’ll just get whatever you recommend.” Harry said a moment later. An amused glint crossed Minister Slytherin’s eyes at Harry’s words, clearly knowing that Harry did not speak French. Harry quietly scowled as the man called a waitress through a magical button on their table to tell her their orders.

The waitress took an embarrassingly long time to leave, clearly charmed by the Minister’s good looks and hoping to woo him, so Harry took the opportunity to observe. Harry snorted silently to himself. He, too, found his eyes straying to the man more often than not, but he did not fall all over himself to try and catch the man’s attention. Frankly, he did not know enough about Minister Slytherin to even think about him outside the scope of his working hours.

All he knew was that man was charming enough to work into the position as Minister of Magic and annoying enough to bother Harry incessantly. He should consider himself lucky that he was handsome, or else Harry would curse him instantly for being such a bother.

“Are you enjoying the view?” Harry was snapped out of his thoughts by the devil himself. The waitress had clearly been sent on her way, as it was just the two of them once again.

“Let’s not get too full of ourselves, shall we?” Harry gave a mock smile, “Now, what was it that you invited me here for?” He asked, trying to get to the point. Minister Slytherin’s eyes tinged red for but a second before it disappeared again.

“I noticed that you seemed to be very knowledgeable on the creature legislation the Wizengamot has been going over, and I wanted to discuss with you more regarding them.” The man stated, quite candidly.

“I’m sure you know quite a lot, already, on creature rights, Minister.” Harry took a sip of wine cautiously. He really wished the man had gotten water or something because Harry and alcohol did not mix.

“It is always valuable to try and glean more information from one’s peers, Lord Potter.” Minister Slytherin encouraged.

Harry sighed, “I can tell you what I know, but it won’t be much. Really, the person you should be talking to is Hermione Granger, my friend. I don’t know why you keep talking to me about these things. She is much more knowledgeable and passionate about the subjects that the Wizengamot covers, but she is finding it difficult to participate in the sessions due to her status as a Muggleborn.” Harry stated bitterly. 

Hermione was one of the smartest Witches he knew, but she was seriously being held back just because she was a Muggleborn. Though, knowing her, she definitely wouldn’t let it hold her back for long. The girl could be a nightmare when she had her eyes set on something.

“Hermione Granger? I shall see about reaching out to her as well, then,” Harry was surprised that the Minister did not reach out to his best friend sooner, considering how often Harry mentioned her, “but for now, I am merely curious about your opinions.”

“Fine. What creature specifically did you want to talk about?” Minister Slytherin just seemed to observe Harry for a moment, as if he was a particularly unusual specimen. Harry resisted the urge to fidget under the man’s scrutinizing gaze. Unfortunately, instead of fidgeting he found himself rambling.

“It’s important to specify which magical creature because every one has different limitations under the law. For example, Goblins can’t wield a wand but werewolves can— which, werewolves shouldn’t even be classified as a magical creature, but they are. House elves have, well they have no rights at all since everything is dictated by their master, and—” Harry cut himself off abruptly when he realized that he had begun to go on a small tangent.

The Minister kept that same penetrating look to his eye, almost as if he was seeing Harry for the first time. Harry nervously licked his lips nervously and then was silently relieved when the waitress knocked on the door and entered with their food.

“Thank you.” Harry said to the waitress and smiled kindly after she had put their food in front of them. She left quicker than the first time, which Harry was simultaneously grateful for and yet wished that she would come back so he wouldn’t be left alone with this odd creature of a man.

“Right now, the Wizengamot is going over the rights of all magical creatures, yet we have not focused on one species in particular.”

Harry rolled his eyes and, without thinking, he said, “well that’s because the Wizengamot is not going over the rights of magical creatures, they are debating whether or not magical creatures even have the right to be debated on. They think that magical creatures are different from humans on the basis that they look different than us. Which is racist. Speciest?”

“So you are saying that the Wizengamot is thinking along the lines that sentient magical creatures are instead comparable to animals—without the capability of thinking.” Minister Slytherin summarized.

“Yes! Though I’m sure you knew that already, since it takes intelligence to be able to become the Minister of Magic.” Harry stated sarcastically. The man hid a grin behind his wine glass. 

“It is true that I already knew, but it is refreshing to see that not everyone on the Wizengamot lacks logical acumen.” Harry blushed at the sly compliment and turned to his food in embarrassment. He reminded himself that the Minister was like this to everyone he was trying to bring to his side, but it didn’t make it any less flattering. Not that it would work on Harry anyway.

“What is this?” Harry asked. He could see that it was a soup of some sort with seafood in it, but he at least wanted to know what it was that he was being forced to eat.

“It is called Bouillabaisse, it’s a fish soup originating from Marseille.” The Minister explained. Harry nodded, and grabbed a fork, though he was entirely unsure if that was the proper way to eat it.

“Use a spoon, first, to try the soup, and then eat the fish.” Minister Slytherin was not unkind in his explanation, but Harry wanted to defy the man simply on the basis that Harry did not like following directions. Harry followed the directions.

He was not disappointed when he found that the soup complimented the fish quite well and he looked towards the Minister with wide eyes. The man threw a smirk his way and turned to his own meal. It was after a minute or two of dining that the conversation was started back up.

“I think it is wise to hear your opinions on werewolves first, considering that they are the ones under closest scrutiny currently.” Harry paused briefly, but put another piece of fish in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Glancing at the man across from him, Harry had to hold back a snort as he realized that Minister Slytherin was not used to being made to wait.

“First off, werewolves can not be considered magical creatures since lycanthropy is more of an illness. It is relatively simple to treat, but it is because of people like Fenrir Greyback that led Wixen to believe that werewolves are more beast than man.” Harry shuddered, then added after a moment, “I actually think that the only reason they were labeled a magical creature in the first place is because Wizarding Britain is afraid of Dark magic, and lycanthropy can be considered Dark since it is transmitted through blood.”

The Minister hummed.

“Is it so simple to make though, when the Wolfsbane Potion is so hard to come by?” The man countered. Harry glared.

“Must you make me do all the work, or are you not the Minister?” Harry slurped some of the soup, “We have plenty of skilled potioneers in Britain. The Wolfsbane Potion is hard to come by not because it is so difficult to make, but because the Ministry is just not interested in making it.” 

Harry found himself, once again, mildly irritated at Minister Slytherin’s way of pulling information. If it was as the Minister implied previously, he already knew the answers to the questions that he was asking Harry. Was he trying to gauge whether or not Harry would be on his side when they finally got around to the Wizengamot voting?

The two continued on like that, with the Minister pressing Harry for his thoughts, until Harry finally decided that he was fed up with the man.

“—Anyway, lunch is almost over and I am finished, so I think it is time for me to leave. Have a good day, Minister.” Harry then left the restaurant without giving Minister Slytherin time to say his own goodbyes.

Minster Slytherin, meanwhile, tapped his finger on the table in quiet contemplation for a few minutes and eventually got up to leave as well.

“How similar.” He thought, the image of a white-haired man coming to mind.

—

By the time Bellatrix Lestrange had left Willow’s quaint shop, painting in hand, it was sundown. He had called her to pick it up soon after he had finished varnishing and magicking the painting dry, but of course their exchange couldn’t be so simple.

Willow was not an impatient man, but he couldn’t help but be miffed when Lestrange proceeded to question everything about it. Why does mine look different from the others? Are you sure that’s what my soul looks like? Why did you use those colors — that one, Willow assumed she was referring to the sharp red he used rather than a Slytherin green. 

Near the end he honestly couldn’t tell whether she liked it or not, but she took it and paid him, so it must’ve been acceptable. Willow thought about it, realizing the only reason he was so irritated with her questions was because it had been so long since someone questioned his abilities.

Willow sank down into a wingback chair and propped his head up with hand, heaving a deep sigh. He was unsure if it was the incessant commissions or his recent work on Horcruxes, but a heavy exhaustion had managed to settle itself in his bones nonetheless.

He enjoyed painting, it had been his passion his entire life, but he felt stifled. Yet he didn’t know if it was the painting itself that stifled him, or the life of running. Perhaps it was a combination of both—everyone was fixated on his soul seer inheritance, which was most clearly seen on a canvas.

When was the last time someone actually looked at him? Willow knew that the answer was never, since he was sequestered away for the first hundred years of his life and on the run for the rest. Willow knew that he was absolutely, completely alone. He also understood, though, that he did not put enough effort in for someone to want to put the time into getting to know him. Briefly, Harry’s face flashed through his mind.

He couldn’t get attached, he had to leave soon. Willow was sure they had found him, though it confounded him on how they found him so fast. Letting out a self-deprecating laugh, Willow knew that even if he did try to make himself more desirable to be around, it would just lead to a metaphorical heartbreak.

Willow rubbed a hand down his face. He needed to occupy himself lest he follow this train of thought into a rabbit hole.

Getting up from the comfy chair, he went upstairs and set a clean canvas on his easel. He already had a new commission to begin, but instead of recalling the soul to memory to begin, he took a few steps back and stared at the blank slate, unable to drag his mind away from his growing desolation. 

Now that he was taking the time to think about it, he couldn’t remember the last time he had painted or drawn something simply because he wanted to. When was the last time he drew something he wanted to? It had always just been a means to an end, regardless of his sincere love for art.

Conflicted, he walked to the easel and picked up a paintbrush, dipped into a blue paint, and stroked across the canvas. He took a few steps back again.

He felt… lost. Willow was not renowned by any means, his circumstances would not allow it, but he had honed his talents with an intense precision, he surely was one of the best painters that could exist. 

So why couldn’t he just paint something? Why was he struggling to come up with an idea—why did he need an idea?  How was it that he was not able to express his feelings through the one thing that had stuck by his side for so long? Willow had become so accustomed to using a reference, having a subject, that he didn’t know what to do without one. 

Perhaps it was because Willow did not know what he was feeling. He often didn’t, in his attempts to crush down his emotions so he wouldn’t have to live with them in the eternity of his every moment.

He walked back up to the marred canvas and made a violent brushstroke. His eyes began to burn with tears that threatened to escape. He made yet another mark. There was no subject in the painting, just a gross mix of colors that represented nothing other than his own resentment and frustration.

The sun had long since set, yet Willow stood there, throwing more and more clashing colors upon the canvas. At one point, he stumbled back from his work to wonder at what he had created, but he just took one look before crouching down and wrapping around himself with a loud sob.

All that resulted was a muddy painting and a ruined canvas that somehow served as a token to the subject of Willow’s sorrows. He felt sick as he sat on the ground, crying. This entire time, for nearly five and a half centuries, he thought he was free. He was still trapped, and the freedom he thought he knew was just an illusion.

What was the point of being free if he just continued to paint the same thing. Willow thought that he was doing something different because he wasn’t painting Wizarding portraits, but was not painting the soul the same as a portrait? It is more intimate, yes, but it is the same.

Willow had not escaped, he just ran away to a bigger cage. He finally realized that what he was feeling was betrayal from the one thing he thought could never do so—his own art.

He stood suddenly and found the sketchbook he had hidden taken to carrying around with him when he went out. Flipping through the pages, all he saw were renditions of random people’s souls. Willow continued further into the sketchbook, but it was all the same.

It was almost desperate, the way his hands shook as he looked at each page. He didn’t remember being happy to sketch these souls, he only remembered being fascinated at the way each one was different. He dropped the sketchbook to run down the stairs and out of the shop and out into the abandoned street. 

Willow needed to find someone, anyone. He roamed Knockturn, face frantic and chest heaving with too many breaths and yet not enough, before he finally came across someone.

The Witch stopped to look back at him, which he could tell through the tendrils of their soul reaching out in curiosity towards him. 

But… 

Her face was overshadowed by the density of her soul. Eyes were the easiest to pick out, but the rest of her face was difficult to distinguish. Willow tried focusing on picking out her features. He was able to see her hardened, suspicious face and ebony hair, but once she walked cautiously away, her image left his mind instantly. All that was left was the memory of her soul.

When did it get this bad? How had he not noticed ? 

Willow stumbled to a storefront window to gaze at his own reflection to see the opposite was true for him. He could see his face clearly, just as he had observed it for 600 years, but his soul was a meek, frightened thing.

It was not vibrant and curious, but withdrawn and dull. Willow’s eyebrows furrowed though when he realized that it was nearly impossible to tell the difference between his soul and his magical power. 

His core seemed to fill his entire body in place of his soul, similar to an Occlumency shield to protect from prying eyes. He reached out to touch his reflection but flinched back when he remembered that he was showing weakness in the middle of Knockturn.

Willow could not die, but he was not stupid. He would be a fool to be caught off guard in one of the most precarious places in Wizarding Britain.

He looked away from the window and back to the dark streets of Knockturn. Willow felt defeated. Only now was he learning that while his body escaped imprisonment, his mind had not. He walked back home with a resigned look on his face.

Chapter Text

He didn’t know how much time had passed, only that he had been running through the forest for far too long. His appearance was completely disheveled, his hair had come out of its usual braid and his clothes were dirty and tattered from the times he tripped and fell to the floor in a panic.

He felt like he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs, and his heartbeat was too loud in his ears, but he didn’t know if he could stop yet. He didn’t know if he had gotten far enough away. So he continued running, fueled only by his magic — he was not naturally athletic, and his circumstances did not support it, either — through the trees, dodging branches and tree roots with the grace of a newborn child. 

He could not stop yet. He could not stop yet. He could not stop yet. He could no—

A shriek escaped him as a gruff hand had managed to sneak up on him and wrap around his middle to yank him backwards. He thrashed wildly in an attempt to break the hold and escape, but his attempts were met with cruel violence, a fist to his stomach which caused him to double over, and a kick which caused him to fall to his knees.

The grip did not loosen, only grew harsher as they met the forest floor.

“Now, who taught you to run like that, little beauty?” A voice growled at him, “You know you can’t escape. Do you remember what happens when you try?” The man stood and instead his hand grabbed at his tangled hair close to his scalp. He whimpered, his own hands wrapping around the one that held him captive. Overwhelming fear.

“I-I’m sorry! I won’t—I won’t do it again, p-please!” Terrified tears left his eyes, and he met the harsh gaze of the man who towered over him.

“No. You know what happens when you try to run." A laugh filled his ears, causing him to struggle again before someone shot a spell at him, causing his world to go black.

—

Willow let out a short, terrified scream as he gracelessly fell to the floor with a harsh thud. Panicked, he was breathing heavily as he whipped his gaze around, expecting to see the room they always took him back to. 

Seeing all of the windows around his room reminded him that he had escaped long ago, but his panic remained and made it difficult to find air. Willow struggled out of the blanket he was entwined in and kneeled on the floor, forehead to the hardwood. 

“I’m fine,” he gulped in oxygen greedily, “it’s—it’s fine.” He stayed there for a moment more, kneeling, breathing, before he stumbled to his feet and towards a window. He tripped over a stack of books, falling again before he could make it to the window. He was about to get up again until his wards alerted him to someone’s presence in the shop.

If he were a little less panicked, Willow might’ve realized that the wards also told him that it was someone he knew, but his brain kicked into overdrive. He was not going back to that godforsaken place again, he wouldn’t let them take him . Accio ’ing his wand to him, he rose to his feet unsteadily, quietly left his room, and descended to the first floor.

Willow was not yet rational enough to take in the broken soul that belonged to Lord Slytherin, he wasted not even a second as he shot off a spell.

“Depulso! ” Lord Slytherin, though obviously caught off guard, managed to erect a shield around himself before his own wand slipped from his sleeve to securely in his palm. The duel began, with Willow too far gone into his own mind to comprehend who he was actually fighting and with Lord Slytherin acting in self-defense.

“Stupefy! Expelliarmus! ” Lord Slytherin deflected all of the relatively harmless spells that were thrown his way and began wordlessly shooting off his own curses, to which Willow mostly shielded or occasionally dodged.

Fire, ice, and various elements were sent back and forth, causing them to dance around the room to avoid the damage it caused to the furniture around them. If it weren’t for the wards that kept the foundation of the building intact, Willow’s shop would have been gone by now. 

The magic was so heavy in the air that it developed a taste, and the wards seemed to tremble as it tried to keep the immense power from escaping the shop and alerting other residents of Knockturn. Willow would thank himself later for adding such a protection to the wards.

The duel only got more dangerous as time passed, spells shifting from magic intending to incapacitate to those intending to kill or seriously maim. Willow’s shop was in complete disarray though neither seemed to notice in favor of keeping their attention on the other as well as the brightly colored spells coming their way.

As the altercation reached its climax, Lord Slytherin’s and Willow’s wands met, battling each other with a heady stream of pure magic, colored black and ice blue, respectively. The room lit so brightly that it was difficult to see anything other than their wand hand held out in front of them. 

Finally though, the magic within the shop and between their wands seemed to explode, blowing both back into the damaged walls. The room was only filled with the sounds of magic quietly cracking in the air and their heavy, exhausted breathing. 

After what must have been a couple of minutes, Willow and Lord Slytherin both rose to their feet. Willow looks at the man across the room, shock briefly covering his face when he realized who he had been fighting.

“Are you quite finished?” Lord Slytherin bites out, his breathing almost completely settled. The man pretended to be unimpressed, and Willow, with a hand covering his face in a mixture of exhaustion, disbelief, dizziness, was none the wiser to how Slytherin’s soul betrayed his facade. He leaned back heavily against the wall. Whilst his lungs didn’t hold quite the same burning sensation as they had minutes prior, they were still working overtime.

“Apologies.” Willow breathes out and, still unaware of the man’s new fascination, glances to glare up at him. Black spots dotted his vision and his limbs began to feel numb, causing Willow to furrow his eyebrows in confusion .

“I don’t—” Willow’s world went black.

—

Marvolo watched calmly as Fenski fell to the floor, not bothering to catch the man. It was clear that he was exhausted, though Marvolo was sure that it wasn’t from their duel. It was also clear that he had no idea that he was fighting Marvolo until their altercation finally ended.

Marvolo was mildly frustrated that he didn’t know what caused Fenski to act as he did, since he made it a point to know everything about the people he worked with. He had tried. He assigned Lucius, who was particularly exceptional with investigative work, to find more information about him, but Lucius had reported nothing of substantial use. How disappointing.

Though perhaps now was the time to take matters into his own hands, since such a perfect opportunity presented itself. Marvolo cast a hovering charm on the man and waved a hand to guide the unconscious body upstairs. Thoughtlessly, he brought Fenski over to his bed and canceled the charm before setting to work.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he walked up here, or if he had any expectations at all. Marvolo just knew that he needed to get some sort of blackmail material in order to hold leverage over Fenski. It wouldn’t due to let him have so much power over Marvolo, only protected by Unbreakable Vows.

So he began his search, first mapping out the room. It was absolutely drowned in windows, letting an inordinate amount of light in, though Marvolo was sure that the windows were charmed so that no one would have the ability to look in. Near the stairs was the entrance to the bathroom, to which Marvolo could see inside because the door was left open.

The bed was in one corner and there was a messy easel that sat at another corner of the room, accompanied by a side table filled with various painting implements. There were bookshelves shoved along the one wall that didn’t have windows, which was left to the stairs, and a leather wingback chair sat by itself. Around the wingback were stacks of books that couldn’t fit into the bookshelves.

Without a second thought, Marvolo walked over and began sifting through the various blank canvases and drawers of the side table. Marvolo didn’t know why he decided to start there, since it was the least likely place for something incriminating to be located. And Marvolo was right, there was nothing interesting to find, until a half-covered canvas caught his eye.

It was shoved back behind another canvas and covered with a linen cloth, and Marvolo wondered why it was that Fenski seemed to want to hide it away from view. Nevertheless, he revealed the canvas to see a war of colors. Violent shades of violets and blues that were so dark they were almost black, leaving almost no light in the painting.

It was not a portrait, which would have been expected of the man, nor a landscape. It was nothing. Yet the painting screamed of an immense magical power, the material and paint on the canvas was practically infused with it.

Luckily for Marvolo, his talent in seeing magic in the air and recognizing magical signatures allowed him to see the intent behind the piece. He supposed that this was why Fenski had hidden it — because he could see it too. He would think about that later.

But for now, Marvolo knew he was not easily shaken, yet this piece screamed too similarly to how he did.

It was almost like looking at his own reflection. Agony, despair, loneliness, fear, all wrapped up in the amalgamation of colors on canvas and chaotic residual magic. Marvolo did not know how Fenski had managed to replicate those feelings with paint or even experience them for himself in the first place. These were things that Marvolo felt deep in his soul for the longest time, had experienced and tread beside as if he they were his closest friends.

So, perhaps it was of no surprise that Marvolo shrunk the canvas and stored it away for further purview in his pocket. He would not remember its presence until later, where he would spend hours unable to tear his gaze away.

After that, he set back to work, turning to the bathroom. Marvolo decided it would be best to work on the bookshelves last so he could say he was just looking for something to read while he waited for Fenski to wake.

Marvolo entered the bathroom, which was rather large for such a small shop. It had the basic amenities, the shower, toilet, and a vanity — though the vanity was clearly the most well-loved, with the various items organized across its surface and the seat that sat in front of it. 

In fact, the vanity was the only personal touch that was added to the bathroom. Everything else was cold and impersonal, but the vanity was a dark and warm brown, with many drawers, a plush vanity stool, and a large mirror. 

Walking over, he opened various drawers and was met with a large amount of skin products. He was not ignorant to some of them as he took care of his skin as well, but clearly Fenski’s wealth of knowledge regarding the subject outweighed his own.

Unfortunately, however, there was still nothing that could be used as blackmail material. Marvolo walked back into the bedroom and began to peruse the bookshelves, which held a large variety of novels and academic tomes.

Marvolo saw many fictitious novels and academic texts, though they weren’t organized by genre. In fact, they weren’t organized at all, which gave him a slight headache but he forged on ahead nonetheless. 

Despite the clutter, it didn’t take him long to come across books which focused on matters of the soul. While interesting, though perhaps to be expected given the man’s line of work, that too was not enough. There were many branches of magic that Marvolo had quickly revoked as being specifically Dark once he became minister, one such being magic pertaining to the soul.

The only thing that could be used as blackmail would be the journal Fenski kept on the Horcruxes, but that would also implicate Marvolo. He was irritated that the man kept his secrets so well, though perhaps that was a good thing since it meant that he clearly had something to hide.

This meant that Marvolo would have to resort to needling the man himself into giving away his secrets — something that he happened to be an expert in. The only problem with that is that Fenski was rather frosty around Marvolo, meaning it would be hard to charm the man into giving him what he wanted.

No problem, however. There was nothing beyond Marvolo’s capabilities of solving. For now, Fenski owed him some answers as to why he attacked him on sight. And if the man was unwilling to answer, Marvolo would simply make him so angry that he accidentally let something slip. With those thoughts in mind, Marvolo grabbed a random book that caught his interest and sat down with it to wait for Fenski to regain consciousness.

—

Willow woke up some time later, and he groaned as he sat up from his bed. His body felt incredibly tense, which was most likely due to all the jumping around he was forced to do during the duel. He groaned again and put his head in his hands when he remembered who it was that he had been fighting.

“Awake, are we? I took the liberty of levitating you upstairs since we utterly destroyed your sitting room.” Willow looked towards Lord Slytherin and decided not to comment that they were wizards and a simple Reparo would have fixed mostly everything.

It didn’t matter, the second floor of his shop had nothing to hide anyway. 

“I… I apologize.” 

“I believe you expressed your regrets to me before you passed out. The only question I have now is why you deemed it acceptable to attack me on sight. I was not aware that I had offended you so much as to acquire your apparently deadly ire.” Lord Slytherin closed his book and stood as Willow shuffled to sit on the edge of his bed. 

Willow did not often feel awkward, but at this moment he did not really know what to do with himself as Slytherin gave Willow his full attention and demanded an explanation.

“I was not thinking straight.” Willow offered quietly and avoided meeting the man’s gaze.

“Clearly. That does not answer my question, however, and I believe I deserve an explanation.” Unwillingly, Willow snapped his eyes up to glare at the arrogant Lord.

“And yet I cannot offer one, I have already told you why I attacked you.” Willow retorted, irritated.

“How can you assure me that this will not happen again, then? What would your clients think if they knew that you attacked just anyone who walked into your shop looking to commission you?” Willow did not mention that he was rethinking his occupation, but instead stood up so Lord Slytherin did not tower over him as much.

“You may rest assured that I do not attack just anyone . In fact, this was the first time. Besides, I didn’t know you thought yourself so incapable as to feel threatened by our duel. You are clearly powerful.” Willow attempted to deflect by delivering a blow to the man’s ego, but it seemed that he was not easily deterred.

“And yet, you attacked me.”

They sat in silence for at least a minute, Willow glaring up at Lord Slytherin. Had it not been for his practice in Occlumency, he wouldn’t have felt the slight prodding at his mental shields when their gazes met. Willow did not mention the attempt at his privacy, however.

“It will not happen again,” Willow began quietly, “I just woke up from a dream and was thrown abruptly into a flashback when you happened to walk in. It is not a commonplace occurrence, and it will not happen again. Now drop it.” Slytherin hummed and lifted his wand to turn the wingback chair towards the bed.

“Take a seat, Mr. Fenski. I would implore you to not do it again, lest I be forced to make a decision in order to protect my own wellbeing as the Minister of Magic. For now, however, I did come here with a purpose.”

Willow did not sit down, he glared at Slytherin. He was irritated that the man thought it acceptable for him to pry into his life, and threaten him when he did not get satisfactory answers. Nonetheless, he decided to let it go. The less the Minister knew, the better.

He sat down heavily on his bed and wandlessly called his journal to him, since he knew that Lord Slytherin would want to talk about the Horcruxes. Willow paid no attention to the odd look in Slytherin’s eyes, a reaction to the casual display of power, as he flipped the notebook to a new, empty page.

“There will be no need for that, unless you have made progress and wish to inform me.” Willow held back a sigh and closed the book, crossing his legs. “Today, I have come to bring my own findings.” 

Lord Slytherin pulled a small journal from his pocket and undid the charm that shrunk it. 

“This is a record of my Horcruxes and the things I have experienced that I believe are correlated.” He handed it to Willow, who immediately started flipping through it. It was surprisingly well-kept, for how long it must have been around.

Inside were dates with entries detailing the side effects of the Horcruxes, similar to how a diary would look.

“It didn’t cross your mind that this might be important information for me to have?” Willow could not help but ask bitterly. The man was proving to be quite difficult to work with, and Willow was not pleased. 

“Yes, which is why I brought it to you now.” He replied, to which Willow just kept reading the entries. After a minute of silence, Willow hummed in contemplation.

“Well, while interesting, these will not impact the ritual itself. They will be more useful as a guide for what to expect after the ritual has been completed.” He closed the book shut and set it atop his own journal, “I will keep this and continue writing entries alongside your own, which I expect you will want to add after each ritual.”

“Indeed. Fortunately, this will be a great addition to the academic community, though I will of course be altering parts so it cannot be traced back to me.” Both men stood, today’s meeting decidedly finished. Willow made a vague swirling gesture with his hand to turn the leather wingback chair back to its previous position, once again missing Lord Slytherin’s look of keen interest.

“You do not like me.” Slytherin spoke up when they finally made it down the stairs. The man said it casually, quite confident in his statement. Willow just stared at him for a moment.

“You are correct.” He replied simply.

“Why?”

“Based on our previous interactions, I find your character undesirable as you judge quickly and are quite arrogant.” Willow did not mince his words, but despite that, he saw Lord Slytherin raise an eyebrow in mild amusement.

“My judgments are often correct.”

Willow did not comment on the fact that often does not equate to always.

—

Marvolo found himself leaving Fenski’s shop feeling as he often did in Harry’s company; vexed yet intrigued.

If not for their duel, perhaps Marvolo wouldn’t have paid any attention to the man at all. So much power, almost dismissed by his own casual disinterest in other people. Whilst Marvolo could not bring himself to regret his negligence, he would still admit that he had been extremely lucky to catch a glimpse of that heavy magic.

If not for the fact that Fenski was clearly not thinking straight, he may have even given Marvolo a run for his money. Marvolo conveniently chose to ignore that their duel had gone on for at least ten minutes with Marvolo exerting just as much effort as Fenski was.

Fenski became even more interesting with the news that he kept his cards close to his chest — it was unusual that Marvolo found absolutely nothing he could use as blackmail. According to the file Lucius gave him, it was as if Fenski had appeared out of nowhere two years ago. 

However, whilst interesting, it also made him dangerous. If not for the man’s abilities and promise to put Marvolo’s soul back together, Marvolo may have been tempted to kill him. Fenski was still treading on thin ice, however, since that promise was never really a promise, just a vow to keep Marvolo’s secrets to himself. Marvolo was being generous by not making the man bind himself to Marvolo’s service with another vow.

Regardless, though Marvolo was interested in Fenski, his sights were set on someone else at the moment. At first, Marvolo approached Harry with the desire to get close and either bring him over to his side, or get some dirt on him. Harry, as the Lord of the most ancient and noble house of Potter as well as the Heir to the house of Black, was too dangerous to be left alone.

He expected Harry to be like the other pureblood children who were solely focused on their status and what it could bring to them. Marvolo did not like dealing with arrogant children, but it was necessary in order to maintain his position of power. He might have enjoyed working in the shadows as the Undersecretary, but he found that it was much easier to sway the public when he exposed himself to the limelight.

In their first meeting, however, Marvolo found himself pleasantly intrigued by what he gleaned on Harry. It was not that Harry was arrogant, but he carried a natural confidence and nonchalance well. Unlike others, Harry did not despise nor like Marvolo, merely holding a vague suspicious air around Marvolo. Despite that, he said what was on his mind quite bluntly. He truly did not care, and that surprised Marvolo.

Never had Marvolo met someone who was so unapologetically themself.

And as they began to meet more, Marvolo realized that though he did not appreciate Harry’s martyr tendencies, the brain of the young Lord is what pleased him. One would not think it at first glance, and it was furthermore not obvious through the man’s seemingly reckless actions, but Harry always thought things through before he acted.

Marvolo only figured it out because he had forced Harry time and time again to engage in various intellectual conversations about the Wizengamot, magical theories, or simple philosophical questions. It is also through their discussions about magical theories that Marvolo had learned that Harry often bulldozed his way through the laws of magic.

Though Harry would certainly argue that there were no laws, and Marvolo supposed that is just another thing that makes him special. To have such a flexible and creative mind was a stunning quality, and it somehow fit Harry’s odd nature perfectly. Perhaps only one such as Harry was truly capable of being such a way.

There was no doubt, though, that Harry’s genius was aided by his magical core, which was on par with Marvolo’s own, despite the fact that he was upwards of 50 years Harry’s senior. With all of these traits combined, it was no wonder that Marvolo found himself enthralled by the Lord.

There was no other more perfectly suited to Marvolo than him.