Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry had never felt lonelier.

He was thoroughly on his own, in hiding from the very person he relied on the most. To make things worse, he had no way to contact Hermione or Ron without being tracked.

It was the worst day of his life. Just 12 hours earlier, he was in Dumbledore’s office, hands shaking as he held evidence that soon, some grotesque attempt at his life would be made by the very headmaster he had allowed to guide his life. Worse, even, he discovered that Dumbledore had been the one to drop him off at his aunt and uncle's.

He had spent twelve years of his life living in a literal cupboard, being yelled at, ordered to cook and clean, deprived of friends and families, not knowing how or why his parents had died… and it was all Dumbledore’s doing?

His mind replayed the moment of confrontation vividly, reminding him of how Dumbledore had furiously snatched the documents containing the headmaster’s plan to kill him, effectively ending the horcrux Harry never even knew about. Those tear-filled green eyes looked up at the man whom he was supposed to trust, and all he found was annoyance.

It was then that Harry realized that he had been groomed. Groomed for codependence, for trust, and eventually, for death.

Looking back, Harry wished that he had played things cool, that he didn’t have the entire ministry looking for him, trying to return him to a man who wanted to kill him without sympathy. But here he was, hiding in some random hamlet under a bridge.

He was underage, and he would be tracked via The Trace. Everywhere he went, he would be followed if he cast a single defensive spell. How was he expected to live with such a target on his back?

***

In the dark meeting hall of Malfoy Manor, the Dark Lord remained blissfully unaware of Harry, his unintentional Horcrux, and the situation with Dumbledore. He was busy menacingly demanding updates from Yaxley when Lucius stumbled into the room, late and out of breath

Silence filled the dark room, with only the sound of Lucius’s harsh, rushed breathing in the background.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord drawled. Death was looking over his shoulder. He was late, he had ignored his master's call, and he had interrupted a meeting.

"Master, please, forgive me! I have news—urgent news!"

“Spit it out, Lucius!” Voldemort snapped, watching the blonde aristocrat scurry to his seat, “There has been a situation with the potter boy- a HUGE development, master!” He squeaked, taking an annoying amount of time to settle down into his chair, “Dumbledore claims that the boy has gone mad, that he has run off- but that’s not true!”

Immediately, the Dark Lord’s frustration with the man vanished, and he snapped up from his chair, “OUT.” Lucius blinked slowly, as if his brain simply didn’t understand what his master wanted from him, “What?”

"OUT, Lucius! This is not a matter for a public audience. This is something only for me to hear." Lucius clumsily stumbled up, attempting to match his master’s rushing pace. Bellatrix began to follow, too, but Voldemort snapped at her to sit and stay there.

Lucius found himself in his master's office, a place he really didn’t care to be. Worse, even, his master paced in front of his seat, listening too carefully to each word. “I eavesdropped on Hermione Granger and that stupid weasely boy inside of Hogsmead. According to the girl, Potter found out that that old bat was going to have him done in.” Lucius said, still carefully perched on his chair, hands folded in his lap.

Voldemort stopped his pacing, looking perplexed in a way he was never transparent enough to let Lucius see before this moment. “Done in? Dumbledore wants him dead? Why?” Lucius hummed stupidly, looking around at nothing, “Um… Well, I don’t know what a horcrux is, but the Granger girl mentioned Harry being one-”

“WHAT!?”

Lucius jumped out of his skin, instinctively shielding himself as his master shrieked. He expected some outburst, some angry tantrum, or a burst of violence. However, when he peeked out from between his fingers, he found his paster hunched against his desk, eyes wide, head in his hands. Had Voldemoert had any hair, he would have been pulling it out.

Saying anything that would interrupt this tantrum would be unwise, Lucius knew, and thankfully, he didn’t have to be the one to break that silence. There was a brief knock, and then Severus was flowing into the room, looking rather tense.

Surprisingly, Voldemort hardly moved when Severus entered. Briefly, Severus looked at Lucius and hesitated with the sensitive information he was about to spill.

“My lord.” Severus drew a deep breath in through his nose, “I see that you have been informed by Lucius Malfoy. I have more… pressing matters to bring to your attention.” Again, Voldemort didn’t really move.

Severus continued, “Master. The boy, he… I have studied the form of dark magic you used to gain your immortality. I understand how this could have happened, and I have studied the connection the best that I could.” There was a brief pause; the room felt too quiet in anticipation. “I find it almost… paternal.”

Voldemort’s head dropped to the desk with a final thud. Despite his obvious anguish, Severus didn’t pause, “Children contain pieces of their parents, it’s no secret. Your accident created a situation in which Harry now houses a piece of your very soul.”

Lucius looked confusedly between the two men, sensing he was not meant to be a part of this conversation. Snape, however, didn't seem to care. "Your emotions can affect one another, and under the right circumstances, Harry can see through your eyes. You have even passed down hereditary traits to him. He is a Parseltongue."

With that, Voldemort shot up, as if all of Severus’s words had hit him at once. It was as though Harry speaking Parceltongue was the final straw, the most damning evidence of this so-called ‘almost paternal connection.’

“You’re sure? The language is only of my bloodline! It’s- It’s-!”

“Exactly.” Severus interjected, “The boy has grown up with traits that should only be hereditary. All of which leads back to you.”

Voldemort began to pace, clearly disturbed and struggling to process why his magic had failed him so dramatically, but Severus just wouldn’t let him catch a break, “But Master, that is the least of your concerns. The ENTIRE ministry is looking for the boy, Dumbledore wants him dead. He is a piece of you-” Severus paused, refraining his words, “A piece of your soul that Dumbledore seeks to destroy. We have to find him first.”

For the first time since this entire debacle began, Voldemort was alight with energy, looking thoroughly panicked as he abruptly straightened himself out. “Search for him! Find him! End out my followers, whatever you need to do, just find him!”

“Yes, My Lord.” And with that, Severus apparated with a pop.

Chapter Text

It was now a race against time for Voldemort and the Ministry. Both rushed to be the one to find the boy before the other got a hold of him.

Voldemort had dropped everything and personally began to hunt for the boy. Between all of the chaos and rushing, Severus had several serious conversations with the dark lord. The latest left Voldemort in a screaming, crying, throwing-things fit when Severus accidentally struck a chord relating to family that he had not known was there, and raw.

Lucius, being new to the mess that is being in the loop with the Dark Lord, attempted to soothe him… Which actually worked. Unfortunately for Lucius, that made Voldemort view him as his one and only true emotional outlet. So many nights since, Lucius found himself speaking flowery words about children with the Dark Lord slumped somewhere nearby.

“It is natural to desire children, Master!” Lucius breathed, his hand hovering over Voldemort’s shoulder. “Even Gods wanted them. Powerful patriarchs, noble men, and Gods alike seek to procreate. It is natural to realize that you desire them too, I…” Lucius cringed, a sympathetic apology on his silver tongue. But he couldn’t, no, he wouldn't-

“It is not your fault that procreating is not an option for you. It is *ok* to not desire sex, that is no weakness. I am very sorry that you can not create your own baby.”

The Dark Lord went completely rigid, and for a moment, Lucius believed that he would be struck down. Instead, the long silence was broken by loud, unfiltered sobbing.

Lucius’s hand finally rested on his Master’s shoulder.

***

Harry had recently sensed a shift in the atmosphere. He had seen a LOT more Death Eaters out in the open, and they were obviously searching…

Searching. Of course. Harry wanted to bang his head off the wall.

He had gone over and over in his head on places he could possibly run to. Shamefully, Harry had briefly considered Voldemort in a moment of true desperation. The thought quickly passed, of course. It was simply unthinkable.

With nowhere to go, Harry had to make do. Using a wand in the vicinity of an adult or a family home would confuse the trace. Spells to hide his identity to enter stores, spells to warm himself, spells to fix broken glasses.

He was miserable all of the time. There wasn’t a lot to do, so he found himself reflecting a lot. Every happy memory at Hogwarts felt manufactured. He missed McGonagal, he missed his friends.
He was so tired, and for once in his life, he wanted to be protected. He had not truly known care; not with Dumbledore, not with the Dursleys, and not now. He was being hunted by the only adult he had ever truly trusted to care for and protect him. He was a pawn, and he was so sick of being one.

Harry needed to buy food again, which means he needed to conceal his appearance… Again. He trudges to the nearest family home in the hamlet he was hiding in, and hides out back just long enough to use glamour. The jinx feels like ash on his tongue.

Making his way to his temporary spot under the bridge, Harry realizes that he’s out of matches. Fuck. He groaned as he sat down, and without even thinking, he cast incendio.

A full beat of silence passed before Harry realized his mistake and shot up from his seat, “Shit!” The newly purchased food fell to the ground in his haste to run away.

Scrambling out from under the bridge, his eyes darted frantically around. The woods? A nearby shop? The ministry would be here any minute, and they would comb through every inch of nearby land if they thought he was here.

Just as that thought grazed his mind, several ministry officers appeared in the distance with an audible ‘pop,’ followed by several figures shrouded in black, and… a cloud of smoke? Wait… Fuck!

Harry dove under the nearest porch. Sure enough, Voldemort appeared, but Dumbledore did too. Immediately, chaos ensued.

Harry closed his eyes tight, staying hidden as he listened to the sounds of battle feet in front of him. Colors of red and green danced in front of his closed eyelids. He jumped at every word Dumbledore and Voldemort spoke until the only voice audible anymore was Dumbledore’s.

“WHERE IS HE, TOM?!”

Fear gripped every part of Harry, Voldemort was never silent. It was so unlike him. If Voldemort were dead, there would be even less of a reason to keep Harry alive. What would Harry even do? Harry never had a plan, Dumbledore WAS his plan, his mentor…

Harry dragged himself across the ground by his forearms. He felt so sick as he made his way to the small opening under the porch. “You would do good to tell me, Tom. WHERE. IS. HE.”

Harry felt so helpless at the sight, Dumbledore had him up in the air,snakes of red magic wrapped his neck. Voldemort’s wand lay under where his feet hovered. It was hard to look at, and even harder to realise that Dumbledore was just as bad as his worst tormentor. Harry didn’t want to look up, but the sounds of choking and struggling only got louder.

He dared to look out and almost immediately caught the blurry eyes of Lord Voldemort. Even though Voldemort’s eyes were glazed and his vision was surely blurry, he managed to lock eyes with Harry, and his eyes almost immediately dilated impossibly wider with fear.

Harry felt so gross… Witnessing something so vile that was hurting both of them, and not being able to do anything about it.

He was utterly helpless…

Or was he?

Slowly, his eyes found a nearby shard of loose glass that had been dislodged from a window in the chaos of battle. His hand found it next, and before he understood what he was doing, he was reaching out from under the porch and severing Dumbledore’s achilles tendon.

Immediately, the strings of magic relinquished. Harry heard the thump of a body hitting the ground, and the sounds of choking and scrambling for a wand. Dumbledore, sensing his own growing weakness, apparated away, only leaving a blood-soaked circle of grass in his wake.

Harry realized that he was still in deep danger and scrambled back further underneath the porch. Voldemort was just outside, still on the ground, heaving and touching the angry, bruised lines on his swollen neck.

The underside of the porch made every terrified breath echo. Harry was terrified and shaking, trying to back out of the porch before Voldemort had a chance to gain his bearings. The heel of Harry’s Converse got caught on a wooden plank, and it creaked loudly.

Voldemort’s head snapped up immediately, his eyes finding Harry under the porch from where he still lay on the ground. A sharp pang of panic shot through Harry’s spine and down his back. He tried desperately to scramble backwards, as fast as he possibly could. He didn’t have enough space to use his wand properly.

“Cease the running, Boy!”

Harry did not.

“Do you want the ministry on your back!?”

Harry winced, obviously not, but being anywhere near Voldemort was a thousand times worse… But was it? Being hunted by his supposed allies is pretty terrible.

His feet were out from under the porch on the opposite side before Voldemort could fully get himself together. Shooting up from the ground, Harry turned to sprint, only to run directly into something.

Someone, actually. Lucius Malfoy, Harry realized as he frantically retreated, only to trip over the ledge of the porch.

Lucius stepped forward, his hands up as if he was approaching an unpredictable animal. In a way, he was. “Slow, love. Calm now, we don’t want to harm you-”

“LIAR!” Harry put his soul into that scream. He felt tears prick his eyes almost immediately, angry and scared. He raised his wand, but struggled to find a spell.

“Shh, now. Just give us a moment to explain, and everything will be alright.” Lucius’s polished boots inched forward, despite how testy and uncontrolled the boy in front of him was being.

Alright… Alright? How could anything just be alright? The moment Voldemort got over here he was done for! He just felt so helpless, so utterly unable to fend for himself, so vulnerable… It made him so sad, and so, so, so angry that things had to end up like this. All because he thought that he could trust his mentor.

Just as the thought passed through Harry’s mind, a disoriented Dark lord came stumbling around the corner, desperately searching with still blurry eyes. Harry felt sick at the way his pupils dilated when he saw him, pathetically cornered against the wall of the house he had been hiding under.

And suddenly, Harry was crying like a small child. Hiding in his arms, face buried in his knees, and away from certain death.

But death never came, in fact, Harry heard no more footsteps for several long minutes. When he finally did, they were soft and tentative, one dragging and limping lightly, one careful and eloquent.

“Cease the useless crying, boy.”

“My lord, please…”

“...”

Harry tensed, not looking up at the two men who stood mere inches from him. He was too busy soaking in his own misery, though he couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t dead yet. “Now, now. Let’s not cry, we need to get out of here immediately. Here, Boy, take one of our hands.”

Take their hands? To go where? Harry raised his head, looking utterly pitiful with red eyes and a tear-streaked face. He found Lucius first, looking down at him with a gloved hand extended. Harry tried not to look at Voldemort, but he could feel those eyes burning into him. Slowly, he turned his head only enough to see him standing just beside Lucius, blurred vision on him, wand lowered.

What was this?

“But… What do you even want from me? Just kill me already if that's what you want!” Harry lashed out. Lucius took a deep breath, and Voldemort actually flinched the tiniest bit. It’s just his injuries, Harry told himself.

“No, no, there will be no death. As I’m sure you know, you are… special to the dark lord. We just want to put you somewhere safe.”

Safe? Harry looked at the blonde aristocrat incredulously. However, before he could protest, the Dark lord reached down towards him. One large hand wrapped weakly around Harry’s forearm, and every fiber of Harry’s being screamed at him to yank himself away, to run, but… he just didn’t want to hurt him more, and… he didn’t want to be like him, or Dumbledore…

Before he had a chance to react, Lucius joined them, and they apperated away.