Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He woke up to a vision of blackness and a massive headache.                                                                                        

Was this what death was supposed to be like?

No, that could not be possible, he refused to be dead! An attempt at moving was made, which made him realize that he was wrapped up in some sort of black cloth.

Now, he wasn't sure what death was supposed to be like, but it should not be half-suffocating in a black cloth for all of eternity. He tried to free himself, but for some reason the infuriating fabric wasn't feeling very cooperative, and he was only getting tangled up more and more.

“Bloody hell, what's that!?” A slightly familiar voice exclaimed from beyond his black cocoon.

Interesting, it might be one of his followers. He was just about to demand that he be freed, when he felt a hand on him. The suddenness of the gesture made him jolt, and he kept very still. Hopefully the person would free him now;He was however of course immediately obliviating whoever the soul was that had to see Their Lord this way.

Where was his wand though?

Whoever it was the voice belonged to was making quick work of freeing him, soon he was able to do the last bit of freeing himself, even if he still hadn't found his wand frustratingly.

The black cloth fell open and he closed his eyes at the sudden abundance of light. A shiver ran down his spine, for some reason, he felt very 'bare' without the cloth entrapping him.

He heard a gasp he could only identify as 'horrified'. Hmm, perhaps it wasn't a Death Eater that had freed him after all? Voldemort squinted and slowly opened his eyes as they adjusted to the light.

He noticed a very tall shadow looming over him, still squinting, he zoomed in on the face of whoever it was and had to let out a gasp as well, but his was more a gasp of despair.

So he was dead after all, there was no other explanation for James Potter staring down at him like he was about to faint.

The fainting part seemed a bit peculiar however? Wouldn't James Potter only be exhilarated, knowing that his wife's murderer had finally gotten what he deserved?

Voldemort's eyes narrowed even further as he studied the features of the man, still staring at him. He actually estimated this man to be older than James Potter had ever been. Perhaps it was what he'd have looked like were he to be still alive in this age and time.

Then his vision actually focused on the man's eyes and he felt a sensation he could only describe as his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

It was actually Potter!

Well, he supposed he'd concluded that earlier, but it was Potter, Potter, The Potter.

Everything came back to him then, their 'final fight' in which he'd been determined to finally rid the world of the teenager forever. He'd even tried the special spell, different from Avada Kedavra, of which he'd been sure it'd end Harry Potter for good. At first he'd tried to use his favorite of course, but seeing as Potter had risen from the death yet again, he'd gone to plan B. Apparently things had still gone wrong somehow, even with him wielding the Elder Wand.

Voldemort felt like screaming in frustration, but it wouldn't do to do that when Potter was standing in front of him with a dazed expression. Voldemort supposed he should try to flee for this time, no matter how frustrating that was. He would of course have engaged Potter in a fight again if he only knew where the wand was, but that was for later.

Voldemort stood, his legs were shaking madly and he was still shivering all over. When he glanced at Potter again two realizations hit him. The first thing was something he should've realized earlier, as he had first thought that the man was an older James Potter. Harry Potter looked far older than he had been when Voldemort had last seen him.

He was around his mid-thirties maybe?

Strange, seemed like the spell had worked, but not to the extend he'd have liked.

The second thing was perhaps the most disconcerting, Voldemort had to crane his neck to look at the man's face properly. From this he concluded that he was, much, much smaller.

What was this? A shrinking curse? Whatever it was, Voldemort was not amused. He wouldn't give Potter the satisfaction of ridiculing him however, he had to stand his ground.

“Potter,” he tried to say menacingly, but it came out wrong, and way too high pitched.

Potter looked at him, not stopping his silent staring contest. Voldemort looked around him in panic, as if something in the vicinity could explain his voice and height, or fix it. Of course there wasn't, where even were they?!

It didn't matter, he spotted a pond of sorts and made his way to it, stumbling over his own two ridiculously tiny feet. Potter didn't even try to stop him. Voldemort knelt down by the water and just stared at what he could only assume to be his face.

A familiar face stared back at him, grey-blueish eyes, messy black hair, a small nose.

It was him.

He looked like he was about four years old.

His last thought before he passed out was that, that was another spell that had backfired on him big time. The list only kept growing it seemed.

 When Voldemort woke up, it all came back to him like some terrible nightmare that he'd had. For a second he actually believed it to only have been a nightmare, but that was before he noticed he was wrapped up in the black cloth again, which by now he realized were his robes. At least he wasn't trapped in them again, instead just comfortably wrapped up like some baby. That thought made his face contort into a scowl.

Voldemort sat up and saw Potter sitting in the grass, watching him with a unidentifiable expression. He stared right back at him, schooling his expression.

Of course Harry Potter hadn't killed him in his sleep, especially since he looked like a four-year-old, and this was a Griffindor he was talking about. Couldn't he however at least have restrained him or something?

Or left him?

Leaving him seemed like the most logical choice, it was what Voldemort would've done, if he'd been a Gryffindor at least.

Potter coughed, as if he didn't have Voldemort's undivided attention already, and simply said: “So..”

Voldemort tried to raise an eyebrow-an old habit from when he still had them-but as he was in the body of a four-year-old right now he didn't quite manage. Inwardly shrugging, he regarded Potter for a while, analyzing the situation, and the way he should go about it. He probably couldn't get away with playing like he hadn't retained his adult mind and had suddenly reverted to being a child mentally. His reaction to all of this had ruined that possibility, though it could've been fun to possibly get Potter to actually care about him only to betray him.

He supposed he'd have to come up with a more solid plan later, right now he'd follow Potter's lead.

“You're not suddenly deaf too, right?” Potter sounded almost amused.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes and sent what he hoped was a somewhat menacing glare Potter's way. It seemed not to do much of anything and Voldemort sighed.

“Patience Potter, let me process this for a second.”

“I've let you process 'this' for what were probably about five minutes. It's questioning time now.”

Voldemort almost snorted, as if he held all the knowledge of where they were, or what had exactly happened to them. Nevertheless, he supposed it could help to gather their thoughts and paint a clearer picture.

“Fine then, what do you remember?”

Potter narrowed his eyes at him, probably having wanted to question Voldemort exclusively or something. He seemed to compose himself, taking a deep breath to hold whatever cutting remark probably had been on the tip of his tongue back. Voldemort smirked, apparently being in the body of a four-year-old did not diminish his ability to get under Potter's skin.

“Good well, we fired a spell at each other. In my case, it was an Expelliarmus,” Voldemort's smirk grew at that,” in your case, I'm not sure.”

“Well of course, it was something I had saved as a Plan B of sorts, and obviously that was needed, since you decided to become The Boy Who Lived Twice.” Potter seemed almost thoughtful after that admission.

“How did that spell exactly differ from the killing curse?”

To tell Potter, or to not tell Potter, the spell hadn't worked of course, but that didn't mean it may not be handy to keep this information to himself. The thirty-something man sighed as he came to the realization that the 'four-year-old' wasn't going to be very cooperative.

“My guess is that it had to do something with aging?”

Potter was correct obviously, but Voldemort didn't feel like confirming anything, or explaining himself. He himself did go over the specifics of the spell in his head. The spell-work had been a rather tricky for it, but with the Elder Wand it should have worked perfectly, especially with him now being its master.

Wait a second, that thought brought back a strange feeling, like he should remember something. His mouth fell open and he stared up at Potter, who simply frowned at him. In the heat of the moment Voldemort had dismissed almost everything that came out of Potter's mouth, simply because of his need to finally be rid of the pest, but now that he'd somewhat calmed down everything came back to him. The moment before they'd unleashed their spells, had not Harry Bloody Potter declared himself the true master of the Elder Wand?

It had been a truly dumb Gryffindorish thing to tell your enemy, but he, Voldemort had not even found a way to take advantage of the fact that Potter had been handing out all this information!

He balled his fists, driving his nails into his flesh until little red crescent shaped moons appeared. Voldemort looked in Potter's direction again. The man appeared quite annoyed. Well, Voldemort would keep it this way. If he had any brain cells, Potter could probably figure out what happened all by himself.

The Elder Wand had clearly not wished to kill its true master, instead reflecting the spell to Voldemort, but still influencing Potter somehow. And when you took Potter's disarming charm into that mess, somehow that equated to finding themselves who knows where in bodies way younger or older than they should be.

Voldemort was startled from his spiraling thoughts by Potter's grating voice.

“You're talking to yourself Tommy boy.”

“Don't call me that.” Voldemort had been trying to glare again, but Potter simply snickered.

“You'd do well to remember who you're actually talking to,” Voldemort tried to warn, but this time Potter simply rolled his eyes.

“I'm sorry, but I'm not afraid of you, especially how you are now.”

That comment brought back a thought Voldemort had had earlier, along with a surge of annoyance Voldemort was too tired to really get worked up about.

“Potter, you do realize you could have left me here right? I know with your bleeding heart you wouldn't have been able to murder me in cold blood, but leaving me should've done the job.”

“I wanted answers, still do, plus I'm not really sure where we are. We both would probably die, if I did that.”

Voldemort had to concede to that point, the body he had right now had its limits-he was already exhausted- and as far as he knew they didn't have their wands with them. Apparition wasn't an option either, since they both didn't know where they exactly were.

Wait a second, Potter might have a wand, or the Elder Wand even. If he had the Elder Wand he might be able to get out of this mess immediately by disarming Potter somehow and reversing the spell on himself. That is, if this could even be reversed. He certainly hadn't wanted to take any chances when taking out Harry Potter, but he should hold on to a sliver of hope that the Elder Wand's interference may have influenced that somehow. Voldemort certainly didn't wish to be a four-year-old again for much longer, even if he still possessed his own mind, it already felt peculiar and wrong, and he didn't feel like he held any control over his magic.

He caught himself before he actually let out a yawn.

“Yes, I do suppose that would be a wise action from your perspective.”

Voldemort wanted to ask him about the wands, but knew that even Potter would be smart enough to lie about that, if he did have one.

Potter simply nodded and said: “I actually propose we stay together, at least until the next inhabited place.” Voldemort didn't like the idea, but had to concede it was probably for the best to play along. For now, traversing through the woods as his four-year-old self alone was less appealing than suffering Potter's presence.

“I agree,” Voldemort answered, hopefully they'd of course resume their duel earlier rather than later. Perhaps soon he'd be able to stumble across a wand somehow, and return himself to normal, so he could rid himself of the last obstacle and finally conquer The Wizarding World.

Potter looked somewhat surprised at his easy acceptance of coming with him, but made no further comment on it. “So,” he began after an uncomfortable silence, “where do we even start?”

“I can't travel like this,” Voldemort said, gesturing to his way too large robes which hid his tiny naked body.

He half-hoped this predicament would prompt Potter to pull out a wand from somewhere, it didn't. Potter scratched his neck in contemplation, the man's own clothing still fit him well enough Voldemort observed.

“I think I might be able to achieve a wandless shrinking charm, it's not that complicated,” Potter said, more to himself than anybody else. “Take off those robes for a second, wouldn't want to make you any tinier than you already are.”

Voldemort huffed, as if Potter could ever manage something as complicated as shrinking down a human wandlessly, he even doubted the man's ability to be able to do the charm on the clothes alone. He decided on humoring Potter for now, mainly because it wasn't like he had any better ideas, or had enough control of his magic to accomplish shrinking the clothes himself. Luckily, it was pretty sunny, wherever they were, even if Voldemort still couldn't hold back his shivering.

“Reducio!” Potter cast, and miraculously enough the robes actually obeyed.

Voldemort said nothing as he quickly pulled the clothes on, well as quickly as he could with the ridiculous amount of buttons his robes held. He let out an almost childish cry of frustration. For some reason with everything going on he'd been feeling like giving up, curling into a ball and crying his heart out, for some time now, but the adult in him managed to stay in control thankfully.

If Potter noticed anything off about him, he didn't comment about it.

Voldemort finally fastened the very last button. There, he already felt more in control now.

“Let's set up camp for today,” he said, trying to sound authoritative, but instead probably sounding more like a whining toddler ready for his bed time. Voldemort decided that he really was losing himself to his exhaustion.

“With what?” Potter asked, not holding back his clear amusement at Voldemort.

“Let's just find or create shelter for now.”

They began inspecting the clearing and found enough branches to built something against a tree, with which Voldemort meant that Potter found enough branches to have built something against a tree. He was simply sitting on a rock, not doing much, except nodding off occasionally. Potter had by then been building a small fire, lighting it with a subtle flick of a finger. It had started to feel like he was not as incompetent with wandless magic as Voldemort had expected of him. Voldemort was almost impressed when he saw Potter transfiguring two more sticks into containers to hold some water from the pond in.

“You know, you could've at least pretended to help me,” Potter commented, after he spotted Voldemort's location.

“Why? You're the adult here, and I'm a four-year-old technically.”

“That sounds like a lame excuse, but fine, be that way.”

They made their way into the shelter, Voldemort would usually never even have considered sleeping on a dirt floor, let alone in Potter's presence, but as soon as he actually laid down on a bunch of leaves he was fast asleep.

Nightmares were something very foreign to adult Voldemort, but to a four-year-old him they had been quite the commodity.

It had started simple enough, in that damned orphanage, always that rotten place. He had walked around aimlessly, until he heard the voices. They were all of people that he had known, talking about him, berating him. They turned into shadows that were chasing him, their forms reminding him of dementors almost.

It was utterly ridiculous, and Voldemort felt quite ashamed of himself waking up with a gasp, his cheeks wet from tears. He glanced over at the dark unmoving form next to him, removed as far away from Voldemort as he could be in the small shelter. Thank Salazar the man was a heavy sleeper. Imagine, the great Voldemort being plagued by childish nightmares conjured up from his apparently four-year-old subconscious.

If he wasn't the one being affected by all this it would've fascinated him how an adult reduced to being a four-year-old, even with his memories intact, seemed to regress to a more basic sort of emotional system. At least it felt that way to him, in his memory he hadn't felt certain emotions for years, and except for a few specific ones, he'd thought he'd rid himself of them.

In fact, he couldn't quite remember his time or mindset as a four-year-old and had always assumed he'd never really felt these sort of things in the first place. Not that he actually felt much of anything right now, other than perhaps the slightest bit of shame. He wiped away the lingering tears and closed his eyes again.

This time it took a while to fall back asleep, but somehow he managed, still being exhausted.

Potter would pay for this when it all was finally over.

Voldemort would make sure of it. He'd gladly dump the blame for this on the Gryffindor too, even if a little voice in the back of his head told him he only had himself to blame.

Chapter Text

This awakening wasn't any more pleasant than the last few times he'd woken up.
Voldemort didn't even feel like he'd slept much at all actually. He rubbed his eyes, stood, and went over to the small pond to wash his face. 

If Voldemort had hoped that last night while he'd been sleeping he had reverted back to his true self, he was sorely mistaken. This face really wasn't something Voldemort wanted to get used to, just seeing himself this way made him want to retch. 

“Had a good night's sleep?” Since when had Potter been able to sneak up on him? Voldemort decided to stay silent, never having been a person who appreciates small-talk with an arch-nemesis. His silence was interrupted however, by an embarrassing sound, which Voldemort refused to acknowledge had come from him! 

“Hungry?” Potter was still trying to get some sort of reaction from him, but why Voldemort didn't understand. “I found some blackberries, if you'd like some?”

Voldemort sighed and simply nodded, before following Potter. It was doubtful Potter had actually successfully managed to identify anything, so it would do good for Voldemort to check Potter wouldn't ingest poison. His obvious eagerness had absolutely nothing to do with that strange noise from earlier. 

Potter led them to the other side of the pond, where several thorny bushes were heavy with fruit. Voldemort actually squealed before starting to gather some, even if his surprise at the sound that had come out of his mouth made several of the hastily gathered berries fall out of his hands. He sent what he hoped was one of his trademark sneers over in Potter's direction, daring him to say something, but the man stayed silent.  

Once he'd eaten a few of the bitter things, with more still in his hands, he turned to Potter, whom himself  had been putting berries in the same kind of container he'd transfigured for the water yesterday. Voldemort silently watched him work, as he ate the last of his 'breakfast'. What were they going to do now? 

Obviously they couldn't stay here forever, but they didn't even know where they were exactly. Perhaps they should somewhat try to get an idea of that first. A possibility could even be that he would be able to grasp a glimpse of wherever Potter might have hidden a wand, if he had one that is.

Potter finished with gathering the berries, storing them in an unassuming bag Voldemort guessed he must've transfigured from something too. The man stared at Voldemort in silent contemplation for a while, maybe thinking along the same lines as Voldemort had earlier. It was thus surprising that the only thing that came out of Potter's mouth after such a long period of seemingly deep reflection was: “You should really wash your face and hands.” 

Voldemort had to curb in another pathetic attempt at raising an eyebrow while being in this body, before actually looking down at his hands. They were pretty purple; He had the sudden urge to touch his face, but that would only serve to make it even dirtier than Voldemort assumed it already was. 

The juice stains were impossible to wash off, no matter how hard he scrubbed. It was frustrating to say the least. He should just try and brush it off, dare Potter to make a 'joke' about it, particularly ones pertaining to the things muggles liked to call 'clowns'. His future revenge would be all the sweeter that way. He dismissed that thought and glanced over to where Potter had been sitting to wait for him. 

“Any idea on the direction we'll take?” Voldemort asked, after approaching him. 
Potter bit his lip; His eyes took on a glassy look behind his spectacles. 
“I know a charm, but I'm unsure as to if it will work with what I have in mind.” 
“Which charm?” There wasn't anything that sprung to Voldemort's mind. He'd actually assumed they might be traveling at night, helped along by constellations and the Pole Star. Potter appeared hesitant before finally giving an answer: “It's called the Four-Point spell. It acts as a compass.”

Strange, Voldemort had never heard of such a spell. “What is the incantation?”

“Um, Point Me.” 

This had Voldemort more confused than he already felt at not knowing the spell in the first place, because not many spells had an actual English incantation. “It only works with a wand though, as far as I know, so I'm not sure how to solve that predicament.”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes at the implication of that statement. Did Potter truly not have a wand, or was he hiding something? 

“I'm hopeful it might work with just a stick,” Potter said, and showed an insignificant looking branch, he probably broke off from one of the larger ones of their night's shelter. A sigh escaped Voldemort's mouth. 
“Just try it.” 

Potter held the branch flat in his hand and cast the unknown incantation, nothing really happened, it seemed Potter's luck with wandless magic had run out for now. 
After about five minutes of Potter willing the branch to do anything, it was thrown into the pond by a very bristled James-Potter-lookalike. 

“Well, that clearly didn't work,” The man said, more to himself than his audience. 

“Obviously, was that even an existing spell?” 

Potter ignored him in favor of pacing around in small circles.
“Do you know anything? You're supposed to have more knowledge of magic than me.”

“There is this thing called Astronomy.”
The man ceased his pacing and turned in Voldemort's direction in an almost Snape-like fashion. 

“Right, of course, but we'd have to wait until nightfall for that, and then we still haven't really decided on which direction we should take.”

“We could always just start walking, to get a feeling of where we are.”
It wouldn't do to just start heading into a direction blindly, but as long as they marked the places they'd come from,so they wouldn't be getting any more lost than they already were, it couldn't hurt to survey the area. They were clearly in a forest with many deciduous trees, and with the weather being what it was Voldemort guessed it was Spring wherever they were. This guess made him believe they were at least in the Northern hemisphere still, even if he never could be completely sure. 

Potter shut down his racing thoughts with an: “That's an idea at least.” 

True to their words they headed further into the pretty dense forest. The trees made him feel claustrophobic in a way, considering his current height. They loomed over him and gave the impression of an endless green tunnel. Unfortunately, this seemed to indicate not many humans came here, which meant the only path-like ways they could find, had been made by animals when coming to drink from the pond. Voldemort glanced at Potter. Speaking of water.....
“We'll have to find another water source, whichever direction we'll ultimately take.” 

It would not do for the great Lord Voldemort to die of thirst, in the body of a four-year-old, while never accomplishing much of anything. After all, he knew he was meant for greatness, surely a time would come when he'd be compared to Merlin himself. Everything he'd went through in his life would be worth it once he was the one at the head of society.

“Why do you talk to yourself so much? In love with the sound of your voice?” 

Voldemort sent a glare Potter's way, which he hoped conveyed his desire to rip out the man's guts and bathe in his blood, if he ever suggested something along the likes of that again. He definitely didn't like having the particular voice he had right now.  Couldn't Potter have stayed silent for at least another hour! When he realized he'd voiced that sentiment out loud too, Voldemort almost cursed.

“Well, you're not exactly silent yourself, you know? You have a habit of muttering unintelligible things to yourself.” 

“And? You don't have to listen.”

Voldemort knew he'd had that habit, but he'd thought he'd long since killed it, at least his followers had never remarked upon it. Of course, if they ever should have done so they would have found themselves at the wrong end of his wand, that might have had something to do with that. However, Voldemort had always made a case about staying on top of the thoughts and gossiping of his Death Eaters, and he couldn't quite remember ever, recently, encountering something about his mumbling. Being an adult dealing with a four-year-old body, emotions, and other ticks that had apparently returned, definitely sucked. 

“Neither do you, hypocrite.”

“I am not a hippogrif..gr..” 

Potter had the audacity to roll his eyes at him, and Voldemort had the sudden urge to have a spell that would combust a person's eyeballs be the very first thing to cast at Potter once he'd gotten his body and wand back. 

“You're the very definition of a hypocrite Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

Voldemort felt his body flinch at the name, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything about Potter using it to torment him, right now. “Am I now?” He spat, not trusting himself to say much more before this devolving into a childish game of 'am not' and 'are too'. Instead, they continued on in silence. 

It was strange actually how silent the forest was. No birds or other animals to be spotted or heard anywhere, even if they clearly lived in the area, judging by the path they were walking on now. Voldemort suppressed a gulp, this might not bode well for them. 

“Say Potter, have you spotted any animals since last night?”

“Not really, why?”

Voldemort sighed deeply, Potter was hopeless sometimes, well all the time. .

“This might be an inden..indication of an unknown threat.”

Potter started subconsciously tapping a finger against his lips, while his eyes took took on that glassy look again. “We'll deal with it when we encounter it.”

Voldemort snorted, though it sounded more like demented cough of sorts. Of course Potter wouldn't even consider thinking ahead, he needed other people to manipulate him to be able to do anything. Fine then, was there any leverage he could use to get Potter to do.... something? Voldemort wasn't even sure of what he had in mind, and he apparently wouldn't receive any more time to figure it out, because Potter had stopped abruptly. 

Voldemort walked straight into his back, which caused him to fall to the ground, to his embarrassment. He glared up at Potter, who just stood there. “Hey Tommy-boy, have a look at this.” The man gestured to something next to the path. 

Large hoof prints were visible in the sand. The beast, whatever type of goat it was, seemed to have been here very recently judging by the freshness of the print. An involuntary shudder ran down Voldemort's spine; He had to actually force himself to keep from letting out what could only have been a whine. 

“Well, seems like that solved your earlier question,” Potter said, almost nonchalantly. “Let's hope this 'probably very scary murder goat' already ate for the day.” His voice was irritatingly optimistic sounding, which grated on Voldemort's nerves, and turned whatever the shudder had been into anger. The suffering 'four-year-old' closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before counting to ten. Trust Potter to turn his justified wariness into what Voldemort wasn't even sure could qualify as a joke. 

“Wait a second...” The man mumbled something unintelligible, straining his eyes behind his round glasses. Voldemort followed Potter's gaze and noticed the other prints. His breath caught in his throat. With a sharp turn Potter turned in Voldemort's direction, but before he'd opened his mouth to ask the obvious, Voldemort said: “Yes, it is what you think it is, probably.”

“You don't even know what I was thinking though!”

“Of course I do, it's laughably obvious!”
The large snake-like trail, in between the hoof prints, of the beast's probable tail spoke for itself, after all. It would be too much of a coincidence otherwise; The hypothetical snake never deviating much from its path following the prints. 

Potter had begun tapping his finger against his lips again, occasionally shifting the finger he used for this task, like he was playing a silent piano on his mouth. 

“Should we continue or track back?”

Voldemort shrugged, it wouldn't matter either way, if the Chimaera was out for blood, and they often were, it would find them and kill them wherever they were. At least they could be 90 percent sure they were in Greece somewhere, that was at least better than possibly having ended up in Japan or something. Not that they could apparate yet, unfortunately. Attempting apparition from the middle of nowhere in Greece to somewhere in Brittain would be suicide. 

They would need a Portkey to be able to return. Voldemort had really hoped that they would still have been in the British Isles at least. Not that it surprised him that much at this point. His life had always gotten worse before it got better. He just hoped the pay-out for this would be a very dead Boy-Who-Ruined-His-Plans-Several-Times and a very alive new ruler of the Wizarding World. 

Potter had resumed walking while Voldemort had been musing, at least that's what Voldemort assumed when he came back to earth once more. He found he'd been almost instinctively moving his legs to keep up with the man. Frustratingly enough, his legs were actually starting to hurt after only about an hour of hiking. His four-year-old body needed to rest or it would likely collapse at some point. Not that he would ever ask Potter for a break, pride was a thing he liked to pride himself on.  Of course, considering  the likely Chimaera, resting might not be the most desirable of choices anyways. 

They weren't going back the way they'd come from. Voldemort prayed to Merlin that the Chimaera hadn't noticed them, or had perhaps never had any interest in them in the first place, despite the bloodthirsty nature of the creature. 

He should have known never to let any of his optimistic side talk. 

The next sign of the Chimaera that they came across was a dead stag. It should've been funny to Voldemort, especially considering the look Potter had sent the corpse, but it only served to give him the fear that this beast killed not for food, but simply for the fun of it. However, Potter surprised Voldemort somewhat with his next question: “Think we can eat it?”

“Do you want to be dragging along the heavy corpse of a bleeding animal, whilst the predator that killed it is probably sneaking up on us right now?”

“Good point.” 

They ignored the carcass and went on their merry way. The trees seemed to loom over him endlessly, their shadows growing, as a firm breeze seemed to push them onwards. 
It was as if the wind was telling them to hurry, to break out into a run. Voldemort noticed he was almost running actually, but he stopped himself. 

Potter seemed a lot calmer than him, which left a sour taste in his mouth. He had always considered bravery to be an inadequate trait to define a house, after all you could argue that bravery was not so much a personality trait, as it was a situational thing. Additionally, this notion that Griffindors had to always be brave led to dumb decisions on their part. However, Voldemort had to concede that Potter at least was channeling this Griffindor-stupidity in a way to be able to push forward. 

“Are Chimaeras particularly afraid of fire?”

“Hmm it might make them hesitate a bit before attacking something.”

“Guess that explains us not being attacked last night.”
Voldemort hadn't even thought of that, but he supposed Potter was right. That, or no Chimaera actually lived here, even with the evidence hinting toward it. 

“Should we maybe create a fire, like a torch or something?” 

That could actually be a decent idea all things considered, and he was about to comment just that when the both of them heard a sound and froze in their tracks. 
Voldemort suddenly felt like they were being scrutinized by invisible feline eyes and had to suppress his immediate instincts to turn tail and run. 

Care of Magical Creatures had never interested him much in his life, of course he had gotten an O in it for his Newts, but that had been the end of that venture.  He just hadn't really cared all that much to do extensive research into Creatures after, not even when he'd begun traveling the world. The only Creatures he knew more than just the basics of were probably Werewolves and Vampires, and that was because he'd used them for his side. Potter seemed to at least have more knowledge of what to do other than 'Do not run', and just suddenly seemed to have decided that picking up Voldemort was a great idea. 

Voldemort held back a pathetic whimper, but wasn't very successful. 
Potter just stood, silent and tall, his head cocked to the side as if that might make his ears work better. Time appeared to stand still, while in reality it might have only been about ten minutes before the pressure the presence of the Chimaera brought with it began to lessen, and Voldemort got the impression that the animal was moving away from them again. 

They did nothing for what were probably at least another ten minutes, before Potter begun moving with purposeful strides, still carrying Voldemort in his arms. 
Occasionally, he threw a glance over his shoulder for any signs that the beast may have decided to stalk them after all. Both of them said nothing to each other.
They didn't even sigh in relief, as if that might jinx them and bring the beast upon them suddenly. 

It was a while before the rational side of Voldemort's brain booted up again. 
By then, everything was starting to feel safer again. He prayed the Chimaera had left them alone for good, maybe because it saw a potential threat in them? They were probably unfamiliar and thus potentially dangerous creatures to it after all. 
Of course, Voldemort would actually have been a threat if he was in his right body and had his wand, but that was irrelevant at the moment. 

He finally dared to let out a sigh, closed his eyes and subconsciously nestled himself further into Potter's arms.  One good thing that had come from this, he supposed, was that it hadn't been necessary to ask for a break. Perhaps he could pass the time by thinking up ways to persuade Potter to always carry him like this? 

It was not terrible, well when it wasn't because there was a murderous beast contemplating if it desired you for desert or no, but still... 

Not terrible.

Chapter Text

Potter didn't put him down again until he'd apparently decided they required a break on one of the rocks they had come across. The terrain was starting slope a little and the steeper the path the more rocks could be found scattered around.

It was honestly surprising that Potter had managed to carry him for as long as he had. Voldemort had half been expecting that the man would stumble and drop him or something. Not that that thought had deterred him from thoroughly enjoying the sounds of exhaustion the man had made, all whilst he was comfortably nestled against his chest.

He had thus let out a small sound of protest when he was transferred from his warm comfortable look-out spot, to a hard, cold surface. Potter had simply collapsed and draped his whole body all over the stone, releasing a sigh of relief. The action made Voldemort want to raise an eyebrow, because that man was odd. Still, he supposed the coldness of the rock that was mildly unpleasant to him, must be a relief to Potter.

“So what now?” Potter asked with a muffled voice, his face resting on the rock. It was the first thing he'd said after the whole carrying business, which must've lasted for at least a few hours. Voldemort had been thankful for the blessed silence while it has lasted, but he supposed this was an alright enough question to break it.

“Well, to be honest I think we should continue this way.” Voldemort gestured to the rocky terrain, only later realizing that Potter probably hadn't been able to see it.
Still, the man seemed to understand what he'd been getting at, as he simply groaned loudly. The man lifted his head like it weighed a thousand pounds and simply kind of glared. Voldemort was unimpressed by the man's dramatics, so he started explaining: “I'm actually hoping this may lead to a sort of vantage point, so that we might get an impression of the direction of where this forrest ends and civilith..zation begins.”

Potter simply sat himself upright and shrugged. “I suppose you're correct.”
Voldemort wanted to roll his eyes at that statement, because of course he was, in his life there had never been a time when he'd ever been wrong really. “But shouldn't we also talk about the 'literal very scary murder goat' we encountered a few hours ago?”

Now it was Voldemort's time to shrug, because... what was there to say really. Honestly, if the animal had felt like it it could've finished the both of them off in a heartbeat. He really didn't wish to examine that thought too closely, or anything related to "the literal very scary murder goat" and potential other dangerous animals wandering around here to be honest.

Potter had apparently taken his silence as a sign for him to keep on talking however.
“I mean, I don't know too much about Chimaeras.. but seeing that it has the body of a goat, and like I remember watching this documentary about rock climbing goats once, couldn't it you know... follow us?”

Voldemort gifted him with his best deadpan look, which he hoped made Potter at least a little uncomfortable, and said: “The animal could literally follow us in any other direction we'd travel to as well.”

“Well, are you even going to be able to traverse this terrain, because I'm certainly not going to carry you all the time.” That made Voldemort want to pout, but he managed to keep the urge only inwardly. “I will manage,” he simply said, as he crossed his arms and looked away. Okay, so maybe he hadn't been able to keep his emotions about this all that inwardly after all. In his defense, it was only really fun when Potter was suffering traversing the terrain whilst he personally was not. Merlin knew he desperately needed some fun in what constituted his life right now.

The man had the audacity to snort, which Voldemort ignored for now, but it did go on his mental ‘Reasons Potter must die’ list. The list, unsurprisingly probably, seemed to grow only more extensive the more time was spent anywhere in Potter's vicinity.
It was infuriating really, not even being able to at least torture the man in small ways.

Oh well, he would just show Potter that he could cross this terrain perfectly well without his assistance. He began by trying to slide off the rock Potter had placed him on, which he also hoped would serve to signal to Potter that he'd had enough of this little break. It didn't go the way he would've liked however, because he lost control and started falling forward. The infuriating adult caught him by the elbows just before he fell on the sharp rocks beneath. Voldemort glared up at him, as the man gently put him down.

“Wouldn't want the great Lord Voldemort to die of a tetanus infection now, would we?”

Voldemort clenched his fists, but didn't deem the man's mockery worthy of a response and just started walking. Potter could catch up with him if he wanted to, if he didn't, well that was fine too. He'd survived a random forest in Europe before, he'd do it again.
What did he care if he had a smaller body and the magical control of a toddler, if you really thought about it his time in Albania had been so much worse.

It was then he noticed Potter almost casually following him, and he held back a trembling sigh, unsure if it would've been one of relief or exasperation.

“You really don't want to at least eat or drink a little something first?”

Some water wouldn't be unappreciated, but he really wasn't feeling much for having more of those berries. They had only done so much to quell the hunger that was gnawing in his stomach. Voldemort almost wished that they would've somehow found a way to bring the killed stag with them after all. He wasn't completely sure how one should go about preparing the meat of such an animal, but he was sure the end result would've been more satisfying than more of those berries. Still, it was the only food they had at the moment, so he should be grateful for it.

“I suppose that would be suffif..cient.”

Potter apparently saw this as his cue to haul Voldemort on a huge rock again. Voldemort sighed and tried to make himself as comfortable as one could make themselves on that particular surface. He drank from the water Potter handed him greedily, as he didn't remember drinking anything since this morning. Apparently Potter seemed to have come to a similar realization, because he said: “You should stay hydrated you know, I'm fairly certain you're not immortal anymore.”

That had been very much the wrong thing to say, and this memory was certainly going to be added to ‘The List’, but there was some truth to saying that he used to sort of forget taking care of basic needs these past few years. He of course had had better stuff to do to spend his time, with the way his body used to be it hadn't really mattered all that much either, but now.... He scowled down at his pinkish skin tone and ridiculously small hands then looked into Potter's eyes with what he hoped was an intimidating glint. “Why should you care if I stay hydrated or not?”

Honestly, the man would probably be happy if his longtime enemy suddenly decided to drop dead, and Voldemort knew that perfectly well. The question was more because it seemed like since the start of this situation Potter sometimes put up this infuriating mask of what could only be described as ‘almost amicability’, and it was so clearly fake it made Voldemort want to retch. Perhaps it was Potter's way of coping with this situation, but it was simply so annoying.

“Well, if you were to suddenly die the only use I'd really have for you was eating you or something. I'm not quite sure I'm feeling starved enough to chance turning into a wendigo *that* badly just yet.”

“Was that some vague attempt of humor?” Voldemort asked. The adult simply smirked and shrugged. Sometimes Voldemort just had this overwhelming inclination to give up on social interaction altogether, only speak in Parseltongue, and simply Crucio people who had no idea of what he was saying to relieve some stress. Unfortunately, this was not possible in this situation for multiple reasons.

“I suppose it wouldn't be all that funny to you since you would obviously not have any qualms at all about eating me, if I die. I do vaguely remember someone thinking it a great idea to drink the blood of a unicorn after all,” Potter said dryly.

This coping method of Potter's was starting to become more annoying by the second, especially when he probably thought he was being subtle with his thinly veiled disgust hidden behind these quips that were almost certainly meant to invoke a reaction of sorts. Well, no more, he was done being this man's entertainment for the day. The guy desired a tantrum? Sure, he'd just pretend Potter was wearing some sort of invisibility cloak. Not that he hadn't already been doing that for most of the day, and Potter hadn't seemed to have minded all that much to be fair, but it was the principle of the matter!

“Well, anyway, you seem to be done with that, so?” Potter prompted, as he simultaneously made a gesture towards the road ahead and the now empty wooden flask. Voldemort inclined his head in agreement, but otherwise didn't graze Potter with his acknowledgement. An idea dawned on him, and he managed to put the flask somewhere within his own robes for safekeeping after a minute of fumbling. No reason to make himself become even more dependent on Potter than he already was in this situation.

The man himself seemed to observe this action silently, and didn't feel the need to protest in the slightest apparently. Voldemort began a second attempt at a successful descent from one of these rocks. This time Potter didn't try to catch him, even when he stumbled and almost fell. His lips curled into an expression that was usually just reserved for when his Death eaters had had their rare moments of not being too incompetent. He almost felt like directing his smile at Potter as some sort of deranged way of reveling in the fact that he had been able to slide off a boulder on his own. Of course he didn't actually carry out that action, he wasn't a lunatic.

His expression changed into more of a frown once he noticed how Potter had easily maneuvered himself from the large rock onto the ground. The frown only continued to deepen as he desperately tried to not keep a tally of the many times Potter had to help him continue moving forward in the following hour. At first the tally helped him stay motivated by fueling his hatred of Potter, but by now it served as a reminder of his many embarrassingly clumsy attempts to not depend on him.

Logically Voldemort had of course known that he needed the man, or he was probably going to die a horrible death, and he had accepted Potter's offer to stay together because of that, but it was only after this day kept confronting him with his vulnerability in this state that he had begun to to begrudgingly accept that logic.
Even in Albania he hadn't been alone in the end.

Potter came to an abrupt standstill and Voldemort had to fumble and hold onto the man's robes in order not to fall, again. He peaked from behind the man curiously and saw they had reached somewhere where there were less obstacles obscuring their vision and they could get a decent outlook of wherever they were.

The terrain stretched on in an endless uneven sea of green trees, hills and occasional grey rocky blotches. If you squinted and had the experience you could perhaps see a shimmer of the magical barrier separating the magical part of this forest from the muggle side of things somewhere in the distance. Since Potter had technically not even graduated from Hogwarts yet, whereas Voldemort was in his seventies, this was a prime moment to show why Potter had brought him along and hadn't abandoned him the second he saw him.

“I can see a barrier, if we manage to reach it we should at least be safe from the more magical perils this forest has to offer,” Voldemort told him. The man's eyes narrowed into slits, and he tapped a finger against his mouth. However, it soon became clear that Voldemort had at least this ability to distinguish himself from Potter with. The knowledge of how to spot a barrier like that hadn't suddenly disappeared from his mind thank Merlin.

“Okay fine, when do you think we should be able to reach this apparent barrier?” The man asked with a voice dripping with what could only be classified as suspicion. A sigh escaped Voldemort's mouth. “Why would I lie about this Potter? I want to leave this god forsaken place as soon as possible too!”

The hand that the man had still been holding near his mouth dropped down to his lap. He turned in Voldemort's direction fully with a look that seemed almost a bit... confused? Then he asked: “Who said anything about lying?”

“You did!”

“No I didn't, were you having an internal dialogue with some version of me in your head or something?” Voldemort sputtered a bit at that, perhaps he had been reading Potter's tone incorrectly somehow? Social interaction was something that he hadn't practiced all that much since before his ‘defeat’ but... No, that couldn't be it. This was surely simply Potter being weird for the purpose of maintaining his obvious coping method of making light of all of this.

Voldemort made the decision to ignore this whole altercation and after sending the man a quick glare, just answered his earlier question instead. “Considering our unique.. z.situation I would say around four to seven days.” The time needed to reach that barrier really depended on the road ahead.

Potter groaned and mumbled something incoherent under his breath, probably something either expressing his hatred of Voldemort, or his possible hatred of traversing all that distance. It might even be a combination of both of those. Merlin knew that Voldemort himself wasn't looking forward to spending so long in his arch-nemesis' proximity.

Though maybe only the distance annoyed Potter. The man toed off his shoes with a triumphant expression, then proceeded to plop down against a rock with a sigh.
“Let's set up camp somewhere around here.”

For a man that was apparently obsessed with Quidditch Potter sure didn't seem to have at all enjoyed the physical workout he had been privy to today. The thought that the man's now age could've maybe brought this upon him made Voldemort almost smirk. The fact that he himself was sore all over too could be ignored in the face of Potter's pain.

That stupid spell had at the very least caused Potter just as much bodily discomfort as it had caused him, if he hadn't been in the body of a toddler he would've enjoyed taunting the man about it. Instead he tried to sit down on the earth with a bit more grace than the man and wondered aloud: “Do we still have some of those berries?”

His hunger had only intensified since this afternoon, and Voldemort thought they'd either have to find something more substantial this evening or tomorrow morning, otherwise they could hardly set out for the barrier. He was actually becoming a little lightheaded. Voldemort actually wasn't sure if it was because of his appetite, or the fact he had been walking all day.

Potter wordlessly handed him some berries which had mostly become a sort of lukewarm goo over the course of the day. Still, he wolfed it all down the way he had done with his food when he'd come to Hogwarts the first time, all those years ago.
He finished within what felt like less than a minute, and as he had guessed before, he still felt just as ravenous as he had been feeling the whole day.

In the meantime Potter had put on his shoes again and had apparently started creating some sort of shelter for the night. There were three larger rocks that were already quite close to one another and Potter had decided to cover these with a cloth, which he appeared to have made by enlarging his jacket, strengthening the sides by placing down smaller rocks. He left one opening where air could come in and started building a fire. Voldemort half heartedly helped by gathering some dry sticks.

In the end, this impromptu tent wasn't much of an improvement compared to the shelter of the night before, but at least they had a very nice view of the sunset according to an obnoxious comment of Potter. Voldemort himself didn't feel that happy with the setting of the sun since it meant that the temperatures would start dropping soon as well.

At least the small shelter meant that they received a fair share of body warmth from each other. They laid down with their backs to each other and as far away from each other as possible, which meant only a few centimeters. Voldemort felt quite exhausted, and he knew Potter was too, but it was very hard to get comfortable, especially with sore muscles on a cold hard floor.

Eventually Voldemort must've managed it though, because before he knew it he woke up from another delightful nightmare. In his fitful sleep, his body had apparently moved much closer to Potter's than previously. It could even be be said that he had pretty much cuddled up to him. That moment, he was unable to really fault his childish subconscious. It felt somehow more grounding than embarrassing for him, probably because he hadn't reached enough consciousness for that yet. The embarrassment would arrive tomorrow he guessed.

He promptly fell asleep again, not moving an inch from his spot snuggled against the adult's back.

Chapter Text

That morning Voldemort was very happy to have awakened before Potter had, since he'd been practically using the adult as his personal bed. In his sleep he'd somehow managed to sort of climb on top of the man with his body positioned on Potter's chest and his head resting in the man's neck.

Now, he just had to remove himself from Potter's person before he would wake up, and no one but Voldemort would ever know of what was certainly one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. Still horrible of course, and Voldemort would probably obliviate himself when this all was over, but it was still better than Potter knowing.

“So, you’re finally awake huh?” Potter said, and Voldemort physically jumped, stumbled and fell down on his butt. The man chuckled a little and rolled his neck from side to side, but Voldemort could only gape up at him. After Potter apparently concluded that Voldemort wasn’t going to say anything, the man shrugged, and left their cramped shelter.

Voldemort stayed inside for what were at least five minutes before he crawled out too. When he stood, he attempted to straighten the many creases of his robes with his hands, as if that would get rid of his feelings, like a dog would shake off water. Speaking of his robes, he supposed he should be grateful that they were black. They smelled awful though and he wondered if he should ask Potter to try and cast a scouring charm on him.

The fact that the first solution that had come to his mind included asking Potter for help, brought a scowl to his face. Potter, who, now that he thought of him was nowhere in sight. No matter, the man had probably left to ‘do his business’ and would be back soon. In the meantime, Voldemort sat down and leaned against a small rock.

Indeed, after about another five minutes Potter appeared with in his hands what appeared to be quite a sad looking bouquet of dandelions, roots included. “I brought breakfast!” He said, and held out a few already washed flowers to Voldemort, who grimaced. The sight of the flowers reminded him of his younger years and feeling so hungry that even weeds looked tasty.

“What’s with that face? These are actually quite rich in fiber, so you’ll probably feel full after eating them.” Potter sounded as if he spoke from experience and Voldemort frowned, but said nothing as he took the flowers and began his breakfast. The petals were the best part of the flower as they were quite sweet, but both the leaves and roots were very bitter, with the taste of the roots actually reminding him a bit of coffee.

“I unfortunately haven’t found a new water source yet,” Potter said, “but I reckon we still have enough to last us today at least.” The man had used up a bit of water when cleaning the flowers for consumption, but they still had two filled containers with water. Potter stored the rest of the flowers he had found away for later, and as if by an unspoken agreement the two of them went back to the vantage point where Voldemort had first spotted the barrier yesterday.

“So we have to make our way down, yes? That should probably help us find a water source too.”

Voldemort nodded, and tried to determine a fast, but still not too dangerously steep way for them to make their way down. Potter however, for some reason thought he’d already found the ideal path, because he began to half climb half slide down pretty much from their look-out spot. Unfortunately, Voldemort had no other choice but to follow the absolute fool. Predictably, within minutes his traitorous body had already tripped, fallen, and then rolled a few meters down before his fall was broken by a thorny bush he managed to grab hold off.

Because of the adrenaline he didn’t feel the pain at first, only shock, as he began to cry uncontrollably. When he looked down to see bloodied hands, and noticed a throbbing in his left leg, he only cried harder. The tears were out of his control and he couldn’t have stopped them if he tried. His breathing was starting to pick up too, and his heart seemed to want to find a way out of his chest.

Potter’s blurry shape a few meters below him had begun to crawl in his direction quickly, but Voldemort barely registered that fact, until he felt a sudden hand on his shoulder. He flinched from the unexpected touch, but the hand didn’t leave him. In fact, soon there were two arms that awkwardly encircled his body, while a voice was telling him things in a tone that was probably meant to be soothing, but it came out slightly panicked.

At first, his ears hadn’t really been able to pick up any of the words that left the man’s mouth, but gradually he calmed down by the mundane ramblings, until he was breathing calmly again. The crying didn’t seem to want to stop however, but for some reason Voldemort was fine with that at the moment.

“....And did you know that aconite and monks wood are the same plant, also called wolfs bane?” Voldemort nodded against Potter’s shoulder, whilst sniffling, the crying finally reduced to a few stray tears. The man gently released his arms from around Voldemort’s body. “Good! Now, can you show me where you are hurt?”

Voldemort held up his still bleeding hands. “Legs hurt too,” he said in a small voice. “Alright, lets take care of your hands first, okay? I don’t know healing magic well enough to take of those wandlessly, so I’m going to bandage them alright?”

Potter carefully held his hands in his and began cleaning the wounds using water and some clean cloth he’d probably transfigured from something, then he bandaged them using more cloth. “Okay, now your legs. Do you think you can stand?”

Voldemort shook his head fervently. “Then I’m just going to take a look at them, okay? So I can see what’s wrong.” The adult inspected both of his legs, and healed a few minor scrapes with wandless magic.

When he came to Voldemort’s swollen left ankle he said: “Oof, yeah, that looks sprained at the very least. I’m also not familiar with the bandaging charm well enough to perform it, so I’ll have to try that myself as well.” He began wrapping more cloth tightly around Voldemort’s ankle, it was an unpleasant sensation to say the least, but when the adult was done the pain had lessened slightly.

“I’m going to pick you up now Voldemort.”

Somehow the man managed to make it safely down the steep slope with a tiny child swung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Voldemort’s brain still felt very out of it, a fog of exhaustion was clouding his thinking. When they finally reached the end of the slope the adult sighed a deep sigh that reverberated throughout his whole body.

“I’m very sorry for all that. This was my fault, I should’ve put more thought into my actions, but I thought I might’ve spotted a water source and my enthusiasm overtook the rational part of my brain.”

“Since when do you have a rational part of your brain?” Voldemort asked in a raspy voice. Potter laughed, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it. He carefully maneuvered Voldemort from his shoulder into his lap, and handed him some water to drink.

Voldemort drank the water greedily, an action which calmed him down significantly. Now, he just felt bone-tired, even though it must’ve been only a little less than two hours since he’d woken up. He couldn’t even muster up the strength to feel embarrassed or at least angry about anything that had happened in the last hour. Well, at the very least now he wouldn’t have to make up any excuses as to why Potter should just carry him all the time now. That was something at the very least.

He supposed that in the future he could also use Potter’s guilt about this whole ordeal in order to manipulate him into doing something his way, but for some reason that idea didn’t bring him much glee at the moment. A flicker of a thought about how nice it was to be touched by a person in a positive or comforting way flashed through his mind, but it was quickly dismissed.

It was time to start focusing on their situation again, so Voldemort took a deep breath and focused on bundling up this whole mess in a tight ball of ‘might deal with this later, but lets preferably repress it for eternity’. He however had a strong suspicion he might obliviate himself of this whole experience, instead of only a few moments, once this was all over.

“So, a water source?” Voldemort said.

“I thought I saw something in the near distance. It’s probably farther away than I first assumed, but it seemed like if we walked a straight line from here we should come across it eventually.”

“Alright, let’s do that then,” he said, to which Potter maneuvered him over his shoulder again and began walking. The adult had long since ceased marking where they’d come from since encountering the Chimaera, but he started doing so again. The foot of this particular rocky hill would be their new ‘starting point’.

In contrast to the time of that the Chimaera had let them go, now Potter seemed almost desperate to not let silence fall between them. He filled it up with the same kind of endless chatter that had grounded Voldemort moments before. Surprisingly enough most of it was about potion’s ingredients and the plants that they came across along the way.

Snape had always relayed to Voldemort the impression that Potter was not very bright, which Voldemort had always gladly accepted as the truth, but Potter certainly seemed to have a good memory.

“You know quite a lot about potion’s ingredients,” he said eventually, after Potter had gone into detail about a plant they’d come across that was used in the Pepper-up potion. Potter shrugged, a motion which jostled Voldemort a little.

“Let’s just say Snape’s teaching wasn’t completely lost on me.”

“Hmm, really?” Voldemort said.

“Yes really.”

Now it was Voldemort’s time to shrug, even if that movement was kind of impossible while you were positioned over someone’s shoulder. He had no doubt there was more to the story, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to get it out of Potter today.

“I z..suppose it makes sense for one pursuing joining the Aurors to finally pay attention to their Potion’s classes.”

“Who told you I was ‘pursuing’ joining the Aurors?”

Voldemort snorted at that, no doubt Potter should be able to deduce that one by himself. “The traitor, who else?”

“If you are so ready to call him that, why would you believe anything he’s ever told you?”

Potter made a good point. He couldn’t really trust anything ‘his’ spy had told him, could he now? Especially when it came to things concerning Potter, including his notions about the man’s intellect and character. He’d have to disregard those in favor of his own observations, and many of those had already begun to reform the image of Potter he’d formed in his head.

“Well, glad to hear that, I guess?” Potter said, not sounding very glad.

Voldemort’s face heated at the return of his subconscious mumblings, but he pushed that feeling down with the others he wasn’t planning on ever touching with a ten foot pool.

They continued on in silence, and Voldemort felt almost sorry at the loss of Potter’s random potion ingredient facts. Luckily they’d finally arrived at the water source Potter must have spotted before. This time it was more a small lake than the pond they’d found before, but the water was still as unmoving as the water of the pond.

Well, beggars can’t be choosers in this situation. They just had to hope they’d find a way out of these woods before either of them potentially got ill from something in the water. For Potter it would probably be okay anyways, since he was an uninjured adult wizard who was in control of his magic.

His own magic had felt pretty weird ever since he’d woken up in this form, and he wasn’t sure how well he would be protected. At least most diseases that were of a more Muggle origin were quite easily cured by a potion, so when Potter set him down by the lake he began scooping up the water in his hands to drink it.

“What are you doing?! Stop that you idiot!”

A jolt went through Voldemort and he looked up at Potter. “W-what do you mean?”

“I mean that I haven’t purified the water yet. You could get sick.”

“Purify the water? Do you mean with a spell?” Voldemort didn’t know of any spells like that, though that might be because he’d never had a need for it.

“Yes! It’s the next best thing when an Aguamenti is impractical or impossible.”

He looked on curiously as Potter put some water of the lake in the container Voldemort had claimed as his own, before he handed it back to him.

“And putting the water in these containers makes a difference how?”

“When I made them I imbued them with a water purifying charm, it lasts for five days before they need to be renewed. It can be cast wandlessly unlike the Water making spell.”

It was a pretty handy spell in their situation, and it once again drove all the more home the fact that Voldemort needed Potter. He probably needed Potter more than Potter needed him. That blasted prophecy had always spoken of the two of them as equals, but Voldemort had never quite believed Potter to ever be able to truly become his equal. Now, they were still far from equals in Voldemort’s eyes, but in a very different way.

At the moment, he wasn’t himself of course, so it didn’t quite count, his mind whispered to him. However, some small barely repressed part countered that he’d actually never felt more like himself again than in these past days. The thought frightened him.

“Very intriguing Potter,” he said, after what he reckoned had been a bit of an awkward silence.

The man simply nodded and offered him another dandelion, which he refused. He didn’t feel very much like having one of those for a snack, right now.

“Well I suppose we should begin going around this lake,” Potter said, “perhaps we should set up camp somewhere on the other side. We won’t have travelled too far today, but we will have some time to scavenge for more food.”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘No’?”

“We both want to leave this cursed place as soon as possible, let’s keep going until dusk at least.” The sooner Voldemort was out of this place, the sooner he could hopefully find a way to return to his regular self again.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, if we do that we’ll probably be exhausted and very hungry tomorrow and we’ll probably make less progress in the long run.”

“Sure Potter, do whatever you want. You’re such an es..xpert about thinking ahead after all,” Voldemort said.

Potter’s eyes narrowed. It wasn’t exactly the guilty expression Voldemort had secretly hoped for.

“I know I’m not perfect,” the unlike some others was implied, “but isn’t it obvious I’m trying to learn a lesson from my mistakes here?”

Suddenly the grass was looking very interesting, and Voldemort began tearing out some strands and fiddling with them. Potter let out a deep breath.

“I promise that if we make good use of resting, we’ll ultimately travel quicker than if we run ourselves into the ground,” the man said.

Voldemort silently conceded to the point, feeling a bit silly in a way. His somewhat childish emotions had overtaken his rationality there for a moment. A bit ironic how those emotions had been fueled by his desire of going back to his old normal again.

He allowed his ‘Potter shaped express’ to pick him up again, and was very glad when the man started his ramblings about ingredients again. Like this, Voldemort would hopefully be distracted from his own treacherous mind.

Chapter Text

“These so called cattails, besides their uses in some potions, are actually edible, did you know that?”

Voldemort did not know that actually, it wasn’t a type of plant he’d ever thought about eating before.

“Actually we should probably harvest a few of the younger shoots,” Potter said, apparently he had only just now come to this conclusion. He put Voldemort down on the grass and approached the muddy shore of the lake where numerous of the aforementioned plants were growing. With both hands he traced the stem of a plant until just above the water surface, then after wriggling it around for a little bit, he pulled it out with a large splashing sound.

“Not sure if the rhizomes will be very nice to eat right now, since it’s only Spring, but the shoots themselves should taste a little like cucumber uncooked.”

Voldemort didn’t particularly like or dislike the taste of cucumber, so he said nothing much as Potter harvested another one of the plants before he decided that was enough for two people. The adult swung the plants over one shoulder and carefully placed Voldemort over the other. It probably would’ve looked quite comical if someone had spotted them at that moment.

He should probably be thankful he didn’t have to suffer the presence of another person besides Potter. Only imagining how this ‘trip’ might have been if one or more of Potter’s cohorts had joined them made shivers run down his spine. Somehow he suspected they might have been less ‘friendly’ than what he’d experienced of Potter so far, even if he still thought the man mainly acted this way as a coping mechanism.

“What potions did you say these plants were used in again?” he asked, to pass the time.

“Well, they’re primarily used in veterinary potions for Crups ironically enough. And once I read this hilarious account of how some potioneer accidentally used them in his potion instead of actual cat tails.”

“Is that what you actually wish to become?” Voldemort asked. Not that Potter would have a future, if he had a say in it, but he had been curious ever since Potter had denied having any desire of joining the Aurors.

“What? A magical veterinarian? Not particularly.”

“Why do you know of an obz..scure potion for Crups then?”

“Well, when you’re bored out of your mind sometimes you turn to questionable literature.”

Potter’s tone implied he wasn’t being completely truthful with him, but at this point Voldemort would take any small insight into his mortal enemy’s actual personality. Upholding the proverb ‘Know thy enemy’ was something Voldemort had always prided himself in after all, even if he had very much failed it when it came to Potter. Now, the information he had gathered so far suggested that..

“Doesn’t that proverb also tell you that you should know yourself as well as your enemy?”

“What..” Voldemort felt so disturbed by his thought patterns being interrupted so suddenly, that he didn’t even care that he’d apparently been mumbling to himself again, and so close to Potter’s ear no less.

“Isn’t it something like: If you know yourself and your enemy you’ll basically be set for every battle. However, if you know only your enemy, but not yourself you’re very likely to lose just as many battles as you win,” the man said, “of course if you don’t know either of those things you’ll just plain lose.”

“That sounds like something that bumbling old fool might have said,” Voldemort said.

The adult snorted and said: “That’s a very long sentence for telling me that you think it’s bullshit.”

Well it was, ‘knowing yourself’, what would even classify as ‘knowing yourself’? It would be impossible for a person to not know themselves right? Perhaps the proverb was more meant to be about using the resources you had to the fullest? He certainly knew how to motivate his ‘resources’ into doing his bidding for him.

Deep inside the notion of ‘knowing yourself’ struck an almost painful cord in him however, especially considering his earlier repressed thoughts. He shook his head in a vague attempt to once again rid himself of these thoughts, but they didn’t go away as easily as before.

He’d formed a slight suspicion after spending a while in this body. A suspicion which he hadn’t wanted to examine too closely, but his brain had just kept coming back to it today.

Now that he had been reverted to a state before he’d created his first Horcrux, it was impossible to refute how much that action had changed him mentally. And now that he was able to compare the two states of mind with a mind that was undoubtedly a lot ‘saner’, he found that he much preferred his four-year-old brain, over his Horcrux influenced one.

This fairly horrifying conclusion led to a feeling not unlike the one he’d felt when he’d fallen down and injured himself this morning. Suddenly it felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air to breathe. Black spots had started dancing in front of his eyes. He had a passing thought that this certainly felt like he imagined dying would feel like. That particular thought only seemed to worsen his panic however. It was as if he’d been placed under a cruel curse that made him lose control of his own mind.

For what seemed like hours he didn’t process anything of his surroundings. Someone was asking him something, but he didn’t register the words. His mind felt very floaty, almost as if he were already half-dead and only just barely hanging onto the threads of his life. Oh Merlin, he was really dying, wasn’t he?

Someone was touching him, putting one hand on his shoulder and another one on his belly. They were saying something in a gentle voice. Especially the hand on his belly felt ‘grounding’, as if that single hand was preventing his mind from fully slipping out of his body. He felt like he was able to breathe a little better somehow. Slowly his mind returned to a less disconnected state, even if he still wasn’t able to stop hyperventilating.

“..shh, just breathe. Yeah, there’s a good boy.”

The person’s voice was saying the most nonsensical things, but it didn’t matter what they said. Hearing their voice in and of itself greatly helped Voldemort with controlling his breathing.

“There we go, in and out. You’re doing so well.”

Eventually, Voldemort calmed down enough that he was left sobbing quietly in Harry’s arms. What was with him today? Scratch that, he’d already known from the first moment he’d woken up in this body that his brain worked differently now. And while it came with some perks, like once again being able to use reason, it had also apparently decided to torture him with nightmares, alarmingly frequent bouts of crying, and other types of mental breakdowns.

He sunk further into the adult’s embrace, apparently the man had moved him into his lap at one point, presumably before he’d decided on helping Voldemort calm down from whatever *that* had been. His injuries were throbbing lightly, but other than that Voldemort felt almost relaxed.

“Let’s set up camp somewhere around here. You look exhausted,” the man said.

Voldemort didn’t grace him with a verbal answer. Today had possibly been the single most emotionally draining day of his life, and he just wanted it to be over already. He allowed Harry to assist him with drinking some water. That action, in combination with Harry practically cuddling him the whole time, made him feel very small in a way he’d rarely felt before. That particular feeling brought with it an alien sense of warmth and safety.

It made him think about the very rare touches he’d let people bestow on him before this whole ordeal. It had only ever been if he’d felt it was absolutely necessary, but this was very different. For one, there was absolutely nothing even remotely sexual about it, which had pretty much been the only type of touch Voldemort had received semi-regularly when in his adult body.

He imagined going up to any of his followers and demanding a hug. It would surely result in many types of hilarious situations, and would shatter any type of credibility he had ever held with them. That thought sobered him slightly, but if he really thought about it, what did it matter how he behaved right now? Perhaps seeing him in this vulnerable state might make Ha..Potter hesitate in attacking him once he was adult again, which was something he could use as an advantage to eliminate Potter.

‘It would also give you an excuse to not feel embarrassed about potentially wanting to cuddle with Harry more in the future,’ his brain whispered to him.

“Hey, do you mind if you had to wait here for a bit while I go look for some supplies?”

Voldemort stiffened in the adult’s arms, but was unable to find the energy to supply him with a verbal answer.

“I’m guessing that means no. Merlin, what even is my life.”

Potter carefully stood, with Voldemort situated in his arms. He noticed the harvested cattails had been placed on top of Potter’s bag. For the moment, they left the bag by a smallish rock near the lake.

“I was thinking about using my jacket as a sort of tent covering again, it seemed to work fairly decently last night.”

After Potter’s first few clumsy attempts at constructing a decent shelter while carrying a four-year-old, Voldemort regretfully had to concede to the man putting him down.

“You can guard the bag alright?” Potter said, as if that would somehow make him more agreeable to the situation. Voldemort didn’t reply, but knew quite well that he was probably pouting a little.

Potter gave Voldemort a final pat on his head, before the man returned to his task with much better results than before. Their shelter for that night was built with the help of a low hanging branch, Potter’s once again enlarged jacket, and some strategically placed rocks.

When Potter returned to Voldemort’s side, after having finished, Voldemort’s arms moved up without much conscious thought. The adult picked him up again and moved him into the shelter. He looked on as Potter built a small fire with a few leaves and sticks he’d quickly gathered.

“I suppose you must be starving.”

Actually, he didn’t have very much of an appetite if he really thought about it, so he shook his head.

“Well, you will certainly eat something. You’ve only had the flowers this morning.”

Potter forced him to finish another flower and a piece of the young cattail shoot, which indeed tasted like cucumber. After he had eaten he actually felt much better than before, so he guessed he must’ve been somewhat hungry after all.

Somehow he ended up with his head in Potter’s lap, falling asleep while the man carded a hand through his hair. One of the last things he saw before losing consciousness was an expression on Potter’s face that could only be described as confusion.

The wonderful gift his subconscious had come up with this time, consisted of vague visions of a character that was a blend of Bellatrix and one of the matrons of the orphanage, interacting with his four-year-old self. When he woke he didn’t recall much more details than that. However, the feeling of emptiness that the nightmare had left him with told him enough.

He noticed that Potter was still asleep, his body half slumped against the tree trunk. The fire had long since burned out. Judging by the dawn all around them it was probably very early in the morning. Voldemort didn’t feel much like returning to the land of dreams, so he just laid there.

His neck felt slightly sore after spending a few hours in one position, so he maneuvered himself into a sitting position. His injured hands stung a little as he did so, but it was nothing too terrible. Potter suddenly moved and made an incomprehensible sound, before slowly opening his eyes.

“Wazzit?”

Perhaps the man wasn’t the heavy sleeper Voldemort had hoped he was.

“Nothing, just woke up,” Voldemort said. His voice sounded very hoarse, and it hurt a bit to speak.

“Hnn, bit early. S’what five o’clock or something?”

Voldemort didn’t say anything, it wasn’t like he felt he had enough control over his magic to cast a quick Tempus to check. Meanwhile, Potter stretched himself like a cat, it appeared like he also wasn’t planning on trying to sleep again.

“So, we definitely need to talk,” Potter said. The sudden declaration felt a bit like Voldemort had been struck by a bolt of lightning.

“T-talk?! Why?”

“Because these last few days have left me with some questions.” The determined tone these words were spoken in, told Voldemort that he wouldn’t be able to get out of this. Whatever it was Potter had decided they need to ‘talk about’ couldn’t be good.

“Frankly, I’m quite unsure how to treat you sometimes,” Potter said, “I’m aware that you have all of your memories, and I should keep that in mind, but sometimes you don’t really.. act your mental age, so to say.”

Voldemort took a deep breath. He internally debated on the pros and cons of sharing his own observations so far. The man had probably been able to deduce some of it on his own by the way Voldemort had been acting, so completely lying was probably out of the question. Would being mostly honest benefit him though?

“I.. well, I have found that the spell probably influenz.ced my brain, with the exception of my memories,” he finally said.

“So you have the brain of a four-year-old?” Potter began tapping a finger against his lips in thought.

“Basically.” That was the best explanation Voldemort had been able to come up with anyways.

“So should I see you as a four-year-old with Voldemort’s memories, or as Voldemort trapped in a four-year-old body?”

“Would it really make make much of a difference?” Voldemort felt very bemused by all of this.

“Mostly in the way I will treat you going forwards,” Potter said, “I’m obviously going to treat someone who is a four-year-old first and Voldemort second a bit differently than how I’m going to treat just plain old Voldemort.”

“You’re making no sense.” It was true that right now Voldemort felt very different from his adult self, but did he really want Potter to treat him like a child? He didn’t think so. Then again, hadn’t he had a thought earlier about how being vulnerable in front of Potter now, might work in his favor later?

“Okay, so, the way I have been treating you, especially yesterday, has been influenced by the fact that you look, and often act, like a child. And I’m just not certain if you actually want me to treat you like that?” Potter said.

Voldemort scratched his head. It really surprised him how ‘considerate’ Potter was being right now. He wasn’t really sure why, but it sounded like the man had actually thought about this.

“It’s fine,” Voldemort said, after he finally came to a decision.

“What is fine?” Potter had a very blank expression on his face, which made it difficult to discern what he was really thinking. Oh Salazar, he was going to have to state this very explicitly, wasn’t he? Griffindors really tired him out.

“The way you treated me yesterday.”

Potter looked at him with a face that now pretty much screamed: ‘Yes, go on.’ Voldemort got the impression that the man knew perfectly well what he’d meant, but he just enjoyed torturing Voldemort. Not that Voldemort could really judge him for that of course.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake. Yes, I would prefer for you to treat me the way you did yesterday.”

He really didn’t feel like saying that he ‘wanted to be treated like a child’ out loud. Potter finally seemed to have chosen to understand him, and didn’t ask for any more elaborations. He didn’t look very surprised, as if he’d already been expecting Voldemort to proclaim that he wanted to be treated more like the age his body currently was.

Maybe this hadn’t been his brightest idea after all.

“So I suppose that was the first part out of the way,” Potter said.

Wait a second, first part? There were going to be more questions? Well, if it was going to be like that Voldemort might as well try to get something out of it as well. He crossed his arms and said: “I want to ask questions too, then.”

“Alright, ask away.”

That had certainly been easier than Voldemort had thought it would be. He considered what question he actually wanted to ask. Sure, there were a lot of things he didn’t know about Potter yet, but what would be the most important to know? He could finally press for a serious answer for why Potter knew so much about potions and the plants used in them. What finally came out of his mouth though, was not a question related to that at all.

“Why do you even care about how you should treat me?”

Chapter Text

Potter was quiet for a few moments before he finally gave his answer: “I don’t know.”

“That isn’t an answer Potter.” Voldemort did his best to sound calm, and not aggravated. He wasn’t sure he’d succeeded, but at least the adult thought for a while longer before elaborating.

“Well, I suppose that I’m just not the type of person who wants to needlessly terrorize children?” There was something sharp in his tone of voice, which for some reason gave Voldemort an urge to wince. It was quite obvious what Potter was actually saying. A flicker of an emotion played over the man’s face, and he let out a deep sigh, before he slapped the sides of his face with both of his hands.

“I apologize, that wasn’t fair of me, especially since we just now established that I’m going to attempt to save all of that for ‘Adult-brained’ grown-up you.”

He felt himself simply stare at Potter with what was probably a face that looked a little constipated. That apology hadn’t really been necessary. It wasn’t like his four-year-old brain would immediately be traumatized by any type of mention of his adult self’s actions on Potter’s part.

“Anyways, the other thing that I wanted to talk to you about. The way you were yesterday, was it triggered by anything I did or said?”

Voldemort opened his mouth to say something along the lines that it was none of the guy’s business, but it felt like some kind of cord started to tighten around his throat by even the mention of yesterday. Potter shuffled himself closer to Voldemort with his hands, so that their sides were touching. The physical contact calmed him, and he found himself saying: “Well, I z..suppose it was something that has been building up since we arrived here. I had been having some.. thoughts, but it all boiled over yesterday.”

“What kind of thoughts?”

“I-I’m not sure I want to talk about it.” No, Voldemort didn’t even want to think about it, even if he knew he had to. He had to, because he had to find a way to fix his ‘adult brain’ when they found a way to reverse the spell. That much was obvious.

“Are there certain topics you want me to avoid in the future then?”

He shrugged, again not convinced that Potter simply mentioning anything would trigger something like that again. “I’m not sure,” he said.

“Alright, but if that ever changes, please tell me, okay?”

He didn’t give Potter any sign of confirmation, instead he stayed silent and leaned a bit more into the adult’s side. After only a few days of being like this, he didn’t even feel that embarrassed or annoyed at the wants of his brain anymore. Physical contact was just nice. It made him feel so peaceful somehow.

“Again, I’m just wondering why,” Voldemort said with a soft voice.

“Well, I basically agreed to sort of parent you a moment ago.”

Voldemort had meant to return to the topic of the question he’s asked Potter before, now that Potter might’ve had the time to come up with a more satisfactory answer than the ones he’d already given, but the nonsense that had now come out of the man’s mouth threw him for a loop. Potter must’ve felt his body stiffen, because the man said: “At least, that’s what I asked you basically amounts to?”

“What?”

“The way I treated you yesterday, the way you said you want to be treated, it’s me parenting you, sort of.”

“W-what, I-I mean..” Voldemort hadn’t thought of it like that really. He’d mostly been thinking about future opportunities that might arise from this ‘arrangement’. The longer this talk went on, the more he began to think that he’d been a bit hasty with this decision. Somehow, he didn’t think his regular adult self would have ever wished to be treated like this, and he really wasn’t sure how to feel about that fact.

“Eh, it’s not like I’m saying I’m going to be a an actual ‘parent-parent’, or anything like that, but just kind of caring for your physical and emotional needs? I think the verb ‘parenting’ fits well.”

The man did have a point, even if Voldemort wasn’t sure he liked it. He supposed he could retract his earlier words about how Potter should treat him, but he didn’t really want to. Potter could label it whatever he wanted. They shared a comfortable silence for a while. The adult began carting a hand through Voldemort’s hair, which almost caused the boy to fall asleep.

“Now then, we should probably have some breakfast?” Potter said, but he didn’t move his hand from Voldemort’s hair for a while yet. After they’d eventually eaten and Potter cleaned up their camp, they went back in the direction of the lake once more.

“Would you like to bathe? Perhaps I could clean your clothes for you as well?”

Voldemort considered it for a moment. “Cleaner clothes might be nice yes, not sure if going into the water would be smart though.” He looked pointedly at his bandaged hands and foot.

“Ah, right, let me check those.”

The man pried the now blood caked bandages from his hands as gently as he could, which still didn’t feel very pleasant. Voldemort let out a pained whimper. The adult made a soft shushing noise, rubbing a hand on his back in soothing circles, before his hands were bandaged again with a clean cloth.

The bandages around his foot were not removed however, something that Voldemort was completely alright with. He didn’t want anyone touching those until they were back to civilization.

“For the scouring charm you should probably remove your clothes so that I can clean them, otherwise it might focus on you, and wash out your mouth.”

Voldemort nodded, aware that the spell was a common punishment in some wizarding homes. He began the arduous task of removing his robes, which was made even more difficult than it already was because he couldn’t stand. Potter ultimately had to assist in pulling off the clothes. Then the man handed him his ever handy jacket which covered Voldemort’s whole body. After the clothes were as clean as they were going to get with the help of the charm, Potter also helped with buttoning up.

Finally, they were on their way, and nearing the end of the lake where the denser foliage returned. Before they left the area Potter gathered more cattails and water. “We’ll never know when we’ll come across a new water source,” he said, as if he had to explain it.

Voldemort finally spotted the first animals that weren’t either dead, or an extremely dangerous predator. A small herd of deer grazed on the other side of the lake, Potter didn’t seem to have noticed yet. “Look there,” Voldemort said from his place on the man’s shoulder, pointing in the general direction of the animals.

“Oh, nice I guess.”

“Not going to make any comments about potentially eating one of them?”

Potter chuckled and somehow managed to pet Voldemort’s head with one hand. “You’re so weird,” he told the man, who apparently had decided to start doling out physical touch left and right since yesterday. Voldemort liked it, and didn’t exactly want to complain about it, but it was still a bit peculiar honestly. He didn’t think his earlier ‘Potter coping with the situation by treating him with fake amicability’ theory held anymore. This felt like it went far beyond that.

“Am I now?” the adult said, the smirk on his face audible in his tone of voice.

“Yup, the weirdest.”

Potter poked him lightly in the side. For some reason this caused an airy feeling type of laugh to escape from Voldemort’s mouth, one he’d never heard himself make before. “Someone is a little bit ticklish, isn’t he?” Apparently, he was.

He noticed the deer had probably noticed the strange creatures not far away from them, because the animals all quickly disappeared into the forest. Well, there went their ‘dinner’, figuratively speaking at least.

“Hmm, we should basically head in the same direction as those animals, correct?” Potter asked him.

“Yeah, well, we want to reach the barrier.”

Technically any direction would be fine for that, but he guessed they’d reach the barrier faster if they went in a straight line from their starting point. Not that reaching the barrier would be the end of everything of course. After that they still had to find their way to wizarding civilization and find a way back to Britain, but it was a plan, and plans were good.

Potter carved out a cross in a tree with a sharp rock, in order to leave another mark of where they’d already been. Now that they were heading away from the openness of the lake they were really going to need it, so that they wouldn’t be going around in circles.

The trees and plants in this area were even closer to one another than in the parts of the forest they’d been before. Animals trekking to the lake for water had created a small path, but it still wasn’t ideal for humans, especially for one human carrying a smaller human. Potter still tried to fill up the silence with words, even through labored breaths. Voldemort stayed mostly quiet, and for once didn’t even mutter to himself, at least as far as he could tell from Potter’s behavior. Usually, the man would react if he heard him muttering.

Suddenly, Voldemort realized something very obvious. Potter had just been explaining something about the usage of some kind of fruit in potions, and it hit him. “You want to be a Potion’s master, don’t you? Or at least are interested in it?”

Potter’s body stilled completely for one moment. The man stayed silent for a few seconds, but then began laughing. Great, so Voldemort had once again been completely wrong.

“No, no, you were right,” the man said, “it’s just funny.”

“I really don’t get you.”

“It’s funny, because you are literally the first person in the world besides me to know this.”

Voldemort still didn’t get what was funny about that, but then again he had never exactly been known as someone with a good sense of humor. When he’d been younger, his go to strategy when someone had made something he’d identified to be a joke was to laugh, regardless if the person was actually funny or not. It tended to make people feel at ease, well if he had been correct in identifying if someone had actually meant to make him laugh or not.

His being able to read facial expressions and voice tones had gotten a lot better over the years, but he still remembered how difficult it had been when he’d been younger. Once his Voldemort persona had been firmly established he’d been able to stop doing that. Or was it just that after he created the third or fourth Horcrux he’d just stopped caring about stuff like that? He didn’t want to think about this anymore. It was overwhelming in more ways than one.

“Hey, are you okay?”

He shook his head, because he most decidedly was not. Why was Potter so annoyingly observant, all of a sudden?

“Okay, that’s okay,” Potter said. The man maneuvered Voldemort from his shoulder to cradle him in his arms, and sunk down to the forest floor, so that Voldemort now sat in his lap. He buried his face in Potter’s belly, and the man encircled him with his arms.

“It’s okay,” Potter repeated, “I’m not feeling great all the time either.”

That statement was probably the understatement of the century, but Voldemort didn’t react to it. Instead, he just sat there, slowly relaxing as Potter began playing with his hair. Finally, he looked up at the man, whose eyes looked tired. Perhaps the man was already fed up with the way Voldemort had been behaving. For some reason that thought filled his stomach with terror.

“I’ve been thinking about the Horcrus.xes,” he blurted out, and immediately he felt that cord around his throat again. Why had he felt the need to share that with Potter, of all things? Well, he knew why, but it was really not the thing to share.

“What do you mean?”

Potter’s tone of voice was very neutral, and his face didn’t give away much either. Voldemort found himself unable to answer for at least a few very tense minutes.

“Mistake,” he finally managed to say, barely more than a whisper. The adult let out a very audible breath, so Voldemort guessed that the man had heard him.

“Were you thinking about that yesterday?”

Voldemort found himself nodding against the man’s chest.

“May I ask why you’ve come to that conclusion?”

He hesitated before answering. The things he’d realized were probably not what Potter wanted to hear as the main reason he thought the Horcruxes should never have been created. The logical thing to do would be to give some sort of sob story with a false reason to placate the man, manipulate him a bit. Yes, that would’ve been the logical thing. Voldemort wasn’t feeling like being very logical today, of course.

“Well, the fact that my brain very clearly works a lot better now that’s in its ‘four-year-old state’, than when I was an adult seems like a big clue.”

“Hmm, yeah I reckon that would clue someone in.”

For some reason, Potter’s almost flippant sounding reaction hurt him a little. His tone of voice and face made it difficult to properly discern what he truly thought of Voldemort’s conclusion.

“Are you making fun of me?” he asked, because he needed that clarification.

“No, but the way you said that was a little funny.”

He didn’t think it was funny at all, and let out a huff. He saw that Potter just barely suppressed a chuckle at his actions, which caused him to pout.

“Sorry, really, but for some reason I just keep thinking that.. never mind.”

“What?”

Potter shook his head, and tightened his arms around his body. “Just a dumb thought I had, not important for you to know.”

Voldemort got a feeling that this would be another thing for the man to save for ‘Adult-brained’ grown-up him. He felt unsure if that fact should have made him feel relieved, annoyed, or both. Instead, he decided to forget about Potter’s comment for now.

“I want to fix it,” he said eventually.

“Yes?”

“I’d rather not be insane again, if I can prevent it.” He doubted he would’ve been able to rule over anyone effectively in the long term, with the way his brain had been. This time Potter did chuckle, but Voldemort tried not to feel too offended. For a moment, he considered laughing with Potter in a shadow of a reflection of what he used to do when he was this age the first time around, but really he didn’t have to pretend in front of Potter, he thought. It wasn’t like Potter was more, or less likely to hit him, if Voldemort laughed or not.

Of course, Potter had other and more valid reasons to hate him than the people Voldemort had ‘encountered’ as a child. At least, if Potter decided physical violence was the answer it would be because of something he actually did, which was more than fine by Voldemort.

“And how would we go about that?” Potter said.

Voldemort had absolutely no idea to be honest, and Potter even less probably, since he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with details concerning the spell they were under. Wait a second, had Potter just said ‘we’?

“You know, I‘d still like to know more details. Who knows, I might be able to help come up with a solution?”

A few days ago, Voldemort would have sincerely doubted that statement, but now he knew Potter was far more competent than he appeared. He hesitated for a bit, his knowledge of the spell was one of the few things that truly protected him against the adult just leaving him to fend for himself. Strangely enough, he found himself trusting, or at the very least hoping, that Potter wouldn’t be like that.

“The curse in its original form is meant to age someone towards the extreme they’re furthest away from, until they die. Somehow it affected both of us, but didn’t kill us.”

Potter took in that information with a very thoughtful expression on his face.
“Huh, the fact that you were affected by it might be explained by the fact that I’m the master of the Elder wand, but you didn’t die, and I was affected by the spell too.”

Voldemort had heard the unspoken question in Potter’s words, but now that he really thought of it he hadn’t really been thinking about what exactly had happened with the spell these last few days. He’d mostly been focused on making it out of this forest and trying not to have too much of a mental breakdown.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Voldemort just said.

“Well, I had been thinking we might be able to solve this with just aging and de-aging potions, but that probably wouldn’t repair your adult brain.”

“Yeah, no, a potion like that would only work for you, I think.”

Potter patted Voldemort’s shoulders with both of his hands. “We’ll come up with something, two heads are better than one after all.“

With those words their break was apparently over, because Potter positioned Voldemort over his shoulder and stood. Judging by the position of the sun it was around noon, so they still had quite a way they should probably travel today. The last thing Potter said to Voldemort before he resumed the long hike was: “Thank you for telling me so many things today. It was very brave of you.”

Voldemort had never been told that he was brave. He’d never associated the adjective with himself. Potter calling him that, or praising him in other ways, made him feel weird, but not necessarily in a bad way. Maybe.

It was still under review in his brain.