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"Harry Potter-Black…" Voldemort whispered, tone soft and eyes menacing. "I've finally caught you."
The man he'd been hunting and stalking for more than half a year stood defiantly before him, posture rigid and hands bound behind his back by a shackling spell, cleverly designed by his Death Eaters, useful for both physical and magical restraint. The plain black cotton of his robes were a stark contrast to the opulence of the room around him - Voldemort's private study and soon to be the stage of the Dark Lord's triumph.
Voldemort had been awaiting this day. Soon, he would meet his One.
"You know where they are."
Potter-Black answered with a glare, his eyes lambent in the fire light.
"It is treasonous, you are aware, to have aided in the kidnapping of Lord Voldemort's soulmate."
He circled the man - boy, really - reveling in the power he now held over Potter-Black and the way Harry's gaze followed him warily. The other wizard had been evading him and keeping Voldemort's soulmate away for far too long. It was unacceptable.
Harry knew who his soulmate was and more importantly, he knew where Voldemort's soulmate was. Every time he'd come close, Potter-Black had managed to slip through, taking with him the anticipation of finally meeting his One, his star.
"I didn't kidnap anyone." Harry snarked.
Voldemort drew himself to his full height, taking advantage of Potter-Black's shorter stature to loom above him. The slit, serpentine eyes of Lord Voldemort dilated, dark pupils blooming into black marbles. His nostrils flared and the scales on his face glittered in the fire light. "And yet you are always conveniently nearby when my soulmate calls for me."
"I don't know what you're referring to."
"Don't play coy, child. You know very well what I speak of. Why else would you run?" He circled Harry, waiting until he was behind the boy to lean in and speak in his ear. "Shall I remind you?" He could feel the shiver down Harry's spine, try as the boy might to keep his reaction hidden.
"The Malfoy's Fall Equinox dinner ball."
The fortuitous night Voldemort learned Potter-Black was acquainted with his soulmate through one overhead conversation and a stray thought. The same night Harry refused to provide details and fled to home in clear defiance of the Emperor.
"Diagon Alley."
Where Voldemort first cornered Harry after a week of info gathering, of analyzing his life and acquaintances attempting to discern where and when Harry could have met Lord Voldemort's soulmate. He'd had Barty watching the Potters and tracking their communications; had Regulus keeping tabs on Sirius; had Draco discreetly arrange a chance outing to allow Voldemort to appear incognito.
Harry strayed from his godfather exactly as Voldemort had predicted and the Dark Lord took the opportunity to confront him. Even in the light of day, the brave little lion had remained mysteriously tight lipped, fleeing again the moment Voldemort's attention wavered. Luckily, he hadn't anticipated the tracking charm Voldemort snuck on him. A key move as Potter-Black disappeared from society shortly after and no amount of interrogation or bribery brought Voldemort closer to finding him again.
"The field in Wales."
Their first meeting of the new year, months into Harry being on the run while Voldemort chased behind, always just missing him. One of the boy's old year mates had ratted him out, so he'd rewarded the child handsomely before setting off. He'd been prepared; anti-apparition wards, the anti-magic shackles, Barty as back up. The roiling of Voldemort's magic had been agony, nearly uncontrollable as his soulmate called out, so near yet out of reach. Potter-Black hadn't expected them at all, darting from the decrepit shack he'd holed up in out to the frosted field only to encounter the anti-apparition ward in place. He'd put up a good fight, green eyes taunting as he dueled Voldemort, showcasing the prodigious skill that had brought him accolades as a schoolboy yet were still no match for the Dark Lord's decades of knowledge and experience.
He'd had Harry, had him at his knees, at his mercy, when the boy called out to someone. A flash of fire in the window of the shack - No! His soulmate! - and then Dumbledore's blasted phoenix swirled into existence above Harry and spirited him away in a whirlwind of flames. Dumbledore!! The wretch must have orchestrated this scheme decades ago, continuing to impede Voldemort from beyond the grave. Voldemort's ire had been monumental.
"The Minister's office."
That incident had been most galling of all. It was the closest Voldemort had come to seeing his soulmate for the first time in person. He'd burst in through the doors too late. The Dark Lord had caught a second's glimpse of a figure - his soulmate - in the fireplace before they'd been whisked away. His eyes then met Harry's, the bright emerald of the other's gaze defiant and taunting, before Harry too was gone down the floo.
"Do you recall now?" Voldemort hummed, lips still by Harry's ear. "You and the knowledge you hold have been on my mind."
"Why are you so obsessed with meeting them?"
"Why would I not be?"
Potter-Black hadn't the faintest inkling of the depth of Voldemort's yearning. The trail of shooting stars across Tom Riddle's chest had been one of the only reasons he'd survived the hell of his childhood. It had kept him company on cold nights, tethered him through ridicule and hardship, been a constant as safe and reliable as the magic he wielded. His One had comforted him through war and heartbreak, journeyed with him through pain and triumph. He'd desired to meet them long before he'd known soulmates shared magic and learning this fact had only intensified his need to seek them out.
Nineteen years ago, his shooting stars began to soar across his chest. A joyous occasion marked shortly by the death of Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort's ascent to Emperor. Somewhere out there, his star had been born and was calling for him, their magic existing together in the same time, if not yet the same space.
"They are everything to me. I must see them."
"What if they don't wish to see you?"
"How can that be?" Voldemort asked. He brought one scaled hand up to Harry's cheek, allowing the other to feel the tumultuous eddies of his magic, the way it swayed back and forth to the silent call of a far off moon. "Do you not feel the longing in my magic? How it respondes to the yet unanswered call of my soulmate."
Harry's eyes fluttered at the sensation. He seemed shaken, unable to play dumb. He licked his lips before sighing. "Magic is always moving. How are you so sure?"
"Stupid boy," Voldemort sneered, stalking off again. Even with the clear evidence presented, Potter-Black chose to be pedantic. "Those of you without soulmarks would not know. They have been calling me for years. I can feel it. Magic does not lie to Lord Voldemort."
"Let's say they are calling you, how do you know it's intentional?" Harry had turned to look at him. His eyes were sharper than Voldemort had ever seen them. "Look at you. You're a monster." Voldemort snarled, offended, but Harry continued, striking another verbal blow before the older man could respond. "They've told me already. They do not wish to see you."
"LIES."
Voldemort was not prone to physical violence, he found it distasteful, but Harry's words brought out the phantom of Tom Riddle in him. He moved without thought, his anger driving him to backhand Harry across the cheek. His claws raked new marks across the soft skin, drawing blood, and Harry, the smarmy child, did not cower. No, he smirked back at Voldemort, his attitude unaffected by the fast swelling marks on his cheek.
"You're afraid, Lord Voldemort." Harry spat. "You know what you've done - what you've been doing - is wrong. Your soulmate can't condone such crimes. They refuse to."
He had no more patience for this. Voldemort drew his wand, the deathstick dark and ominous as he pointed it at Harry. "Enough. You've admitted to the crime. Tell me where my soulmate is and perhaps Lord Voldemort will find it in him to show you a modicum of mercy."
"I will tell you nothing!"
Harry released his hands and reached out, wordlessly summoning for his wand. When had he broken his shackles? The magic on them was more complex than most were familiar with; only a cursebreaker or a determined wixen could have undone them. Potter-Black must have been picking at them the moment they'd gone on.
Voldemort fired an incarcerous, but the boy was already moving, sprinting for the fireplace - a futile effort as Voldemort had closed it off before bringing Harry into the room - but the boy was full of surprises. Rather than grab for the floo powder, he instead tore off one of the decorative snakes lining the wall.
Voldemort knew at once he had a traitor in his ranks. Someone had planted a spell on the snake for Harry's future use. A contingency should he ever be captured.
The Dark Lord shot another spell as he lunged, long legs crossing the floor of the study in only a few strides. Harry, small and agile, dodged the spell while also twisting out of his path causing Voldemort to miss by scant millimeters, but the older man turned again and managed to grab a fistful of Harry's robe. When Harry tried to wrench himself free, the sleeve of his robe tore, affording Voldemort a glimpse of the soulmark that ran up his left arm - a long, prickly plant ending at the crook of his elbow where a distinct magenta flower hid. He had not known the Potter-Black heir had a soulmate. The soulmate status of wixen was considered private and not typically shared, but this valuable intel should have already been communicated to Lord Voldemort by one of his Death Eaters. The Potters and Sirius Black must have colluded for years to maintain the secret.
Harry's face drained, fear bleeding into his gaze for the first time that night. He had not meant for Lord Voldemort to see the mark.
Then the portkey - for it must have been a portkey - activated and Harry was gone, whisked away once again and with him the knowledge of Lord Voldemort's soulmate.
Voldemort stared in fury at the now empty spot on the carpet, the scrap of Harry's robe dangling in his hand, magic churning in his chest, aching for its missing half, before loosing a scream of frustration.
Harry could run, but he could never hide. Voldemort would find him wherever he was, at all cost, and he would carve the secret of his soulmate free from the boy's wretched mind one way or another.