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Summary
He didn’t bow his head. Merely waited as Voldemort reached a pale long finger out and brushed his fringe back. “The symbol of my downfall.” Voldemort hissed, face drawing into a scowl. Harry tilted his head to the side.
“Or your way to victory.” Harry said, smiling. Voldemort’s eyes pressed into his and he said nothing for a long moment. “Use your magic on me. You’ll realise. You’ve always been smart and knowledgeable.” Watching Voldemort parse through the meaning of those words, he waited. Then a tip of that long finger pressed against his scar and that heady magic enveloped him. His eyelashes fluttered in pleasure from the contact. Then it was gone abruptly as it’d pressed in.
🐍My horcrux.🐍 Voldemort hissed, eyes widening slightly. Harry nodded his head and thought about rising but decided against it. This position was hardly hurting him, and he knew to the outside world it’d put him more in their favour as it looked like he was following their Lord. “You knew.” It wasn’t a question, but Harry nodded anyway. “And what is it you want?”
“Simply.” Harry let a smirk, dark and cold, lift his lips. “You.”
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