Chapter Text
The Dursleys were not at King's Cross to get Harry. That was a new low. Which lined up with the rest of this year, didn’t it? Dumbledore was dead, he had a useless fake horcrux, and now he was stranded in muggle London without any muggle money to get back to Privet Drive. Maybe he could find Hermione or another muggleborn who hadn't left yet and ask them for a ride. It would be horribly embarrassing normally, but Harry’s capacity to care was greatly diminished after the past three years of loss and trauma.
He set out across the station, looking around for an owl cage or a house scarf through the crowd of travelers. After nearly 30 minutes of searching, he had to admit to himself that his fellow Hogwarts students were probably long gone. With a heavy sigh, he walked to the nearest toilet and tried to come up with a plan. He had no sooner closed the door behind him than he heard it click open again. It was the last thing he knew before everything went dark, and an arm wrapped around him as he fell.
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"Harry Potter."
This day continued to bear fruit. That was, undoubtedly, the voice of Lord Voldemort. He was sure the man knew he was awake, so he didn't bother pretending to sleep. He opened his eyes to the serpentine monster before him and muttered tiredly.
"Voldemort. Why aren't I dead?"
The man seemed a bit taken aback. His cruel smirk froze on his face for a moment before he responded.
"Do you wish for death, Harry? Whyever do you always fight so hard to live, then?"
Harry frowned as he attempted to move his frozen muscles. He wouldn't really say THAT.
"I don't wish for death, I'm just kind of... indifferent to it at the moment. I'm tired, you know what I mean?"
Voldemort clearly didn't. He looked at Harry with a mixture of anger and mania. It was pretty much his standard expression whenever Harry saw him.
"No, I do not. Death is for the weak, and if you are not interested in life then you should die."
Voldemort stood and swept about the room, casting various silent spells that Harry didn't recognize. Speaking of, where the hell was he? He glanced around at the spotless and hilariously ornate room he was in, feeling a hysterical laugh bubble in his throat. Just picturing the Dark Lord, in all his shoeless, great-snake glory sweeping ominously around this bright gilded room was strangely hilarious. There was some kind of crystal statue in the corner of a peacock. A peacock! It was so fitting yet ludicrous for the melodramatic man in front of him.
Harry was suddenly able to move his limbs freely, for a few seconds. Voldemort had transfigured the ornate bed in the center of the room into a long, upright table. He waved a hand, and Harry was suddenly pinned to the table, his feet dangling a few inches above the floor. It was then that he noticed that the snake themed decor pieces in the room were moving; the serpents on them separating and slithering across the floor towards him to wrap around his limbs and the table tightly.
"Kinky." Harry commented.
Voldemort had been inspecting a tray of various knives and things that Harry was going to assume were for torture when he whipped his head towards him irritably. The Dark Lord's mouth popped open slightly, and instead of more hissed insults, he simply looked away and pretended he hadn't heard Harry at all. Was he... blushing? It was pretty obvious on his bone white skin, but really... why??
Harry glanced down at himself as he felt the snakes shift along his body and saw that the one wrapped around his waist was pulling his shirt up to his ribs, and the snakes around each of his legs were tightening high on his thighs, pulling his pants down low enough to expose most of his hip bones. There was even a snake's tail wrapped around his throat whose head slid under his collar and sleeve to attach itself to the table. Its rough scales had caught on his shirt and one of his nipples was now partially exposed. Ah. He stood by his comment then.
Voldemort cleared his throat and said evenly.
"Before you die, you will tell me everything you know about the remaining Order of the Phoenix members, their headquarters, and plans for the upcoming war."
Harry laughed. As loudly as he could with the fake snake wrapped around his throat. Voldemort looked like he might just skip past the torture part and go straight for the killing.
"You think-! You think they tell me anything?"
Harry could feel tears gathering in his eyes.
Voldemort lashed out at him. Not with any of the weapons on display - with his bare hands. A sharp sting sliced across his cheek before Voldemort's long fingers wrapped around his jaw.
"Do not laugh at me, Harry Potter."
Although it was in English, the words were hissed like Parseltongue. Harry merely stared back at him as he felt the blood drip sluggishly down his jaw. Well, he couldn't really respond if he wanted to. The man's grip was pinching his face so uncomfortably. Voldemort seemed to realize he wasn't going to get any information from Harry while he was holding his jaw shut too; because he took a deep breath and removed his hand slowly. He stood there in front of Harry for a moment, a cold and pale looming shadow over Harry's shaking form.
He hated this part. The fear of the pain. It was easier when Harry was in the midst of things. When he was running and fighting, adrenaline and survival instincts taking over. This was a whole different beast. This was helplessness and tension and dreading what he knew would come, so he wished it just would already.
Voldemort remained silent, but he tilted his head in thought, before seeming to come to the same conclusion. He smiled cruelly at Harry and backed away from him at last, heading for the door. He paused just before leaving to give his parting words to Harry and the snakes.
"Hold the boy until I return and tell you to release him."
"Yesss Speaker"
The strangely animated snakes hissed in return.
Harry kept his face as blank and uncomprehending as possible. Clearly, nobody had told Voldemort that he was a Parselmouth.
"I will give you some time to think about how slowly you would like to die, Harry Potter. Nobody is coming to save you. I killed your relatives before I took you from King's Cross."
With that last, shocking statement, he turned and shut the door firmly behind him. Harry felt his breath freeze in his lungs, and all his thoughts of escape stalled. The Dursleys... could he be telling the truth? Is that why they weren't at the station to pick him up? He had just thought they finally decided to abandon him.
He was too stunned to feel much other than a vague sense of guilt that more family may have died for simply being related to him. His mind raced, trying to reason out if Voldemort would actually do this. On the one hand, everyone knew he was alive, and Dumbledore was dead now, so why not? On the other, the deaths of his whole family would be too conspicuous to hide. The Wizarding World would know immediately that he was taken, including the Order.
If Harry was honest, the Order didn't seem like much of a threat to Voldemort. More like a nuisance. He might have very well announced his kidnapping of Harry to the world and simply trusted he could handle the consequences. Bitterly, Harry thought that he probably could. There had never been much of an effort to protect or save Harry, and he wasn't expecting anything now. The safe bet was Voldemort was telling the truth. The Dursleys were dead.
In his shock and guilt, one thought broke through his mind to give him the will to continue with his attempted escape.
"Hedwig." He whispered.
Then, in Parseltongue:
"Release me from the table, friends."
It didn't take long once he'd embraced his ability for Harry to notice that serpents responded much better to direct commands than requests.
"Speaker! But the other Speaker said not to let you go..."
"There is no need to let me go. You may let go of the table and keep your hold on my body. I am very warm."
The decorative snakes hissed agreeably. Even though they weren't true living creatures, Voldemort must have animated them incredibly well, because they exclaimed in pleasure as they released from the cold table and wound firmly around his limbs.
Right. Now how in Merlin's name to get out of here? This place looked fancy enough to have an owlery. Ron had once told him that most rich purebloods like Malfoy had one at their homes. There was no reason for them to kill Hedwig just because she'd been with him at King's Cross. She was probably just fine, at the owlery. She was probably fine.
Harry crept towards the door, surprised when the handle turned under his hand. Wow, Voldemort had been pretty confident in these snakes. He padded quickly but quietly down a similarly lavish hallway and looked for a window to climb out of, but once he came across one his heart dropped. He was at least three floors high, and he'd definitely break some bones jumping that distance. He didn't have his wand, so he couldn't do much to break his fall... well, he'd just have to look for a staircase.
After a bit more exploring, Harry cursed colorfully. Of course. The man could fucking fly, so there was a big empty space that dropped down to the ground floor where a staircase must have once been. Voldemort, in all his paranoid assholery must have vanished the thing so nobody else could easily get to and from his rooms. No wonder he didn't bother locking the door. The snake currently wound in his hair hissed in freight as it looked down at the lethal drop, so Harry moved it to drape around his shoulders. Its little wooden head bumped gratefully against his cheek.
Harry took a few deep breaths to calm himself and decided to search for his wand. If he could get a hold of it, he could cast the necessary spells, so he didn't splat on the ground under the window. He opened doors randomly, freezing just inside the third door as he felt it. Something in this room was calling to him. Cautiously, aware that this could be a trap, Harry stepped through the door, closing it behind him with a nearly inaudible click.
This room was something between a study and a library. There were leather armchairs around a roaring fireplace plus a heavy looking desk and chair. It would have looked cozy if not for the towering piles of books everywhere. Every wall was lined with shelves, but they were so packed that Voldemort, presumably, had simply started stacking them about the room. He was pretty sure that several of the precarious looking towers were being held up by magic, just like The Burrow.
On the desk, however, lay the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen - his wand. He sprinted towards it excitedly.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? THIS IS MASTER'S PLACE!"
Harry drew up short at the giant python now blocking his path.
"Hello, Nagini." He hissed in reply.
The serpent stilled at his words. Her forked tongue whipped out to taste the air as her head bobbed, seemingly taking in the false snakes wrapped harmlessly around him.
"Your scent is familiar. You know Nagini's name and you Speak. Who are you to my master?"
Harry recited a mantra in his head to keep calm and act casually. He did NOT want to fight a giant snake without magic again. He rubbed at the scar on his arm from the Basilisk fang absently as he thought up a response.
"Your master brought me here and left me with these new friends."
Harry gestured to the snakes adorning him, and they hissed happily, cooing about what a nice Speaker he was. Nagini bobbed slightly, and Harry got the impression that she was weighing his words, searching for a lie. Harry was NOT lying though, so eventually she sunk to the ground, watching him wearily. Harry realized his chances of escape had now dwindled to zero, but at least there was one thing he could still do. He summoned his wand to his hand and pocketed it before looking to Nagini.
"Do you mind if we stay here until your master returns? I'd like to write something on that parchment there."
Nagini's large head flicked between the writing desk and Harry's innocent face before hissing a reluctant answer.
"Very well. But you will stay with Nagini until Master returns."
Harry nodded agreeably and grabbed some ink and parchment. He decided to sit in front of the fire for his little serpent friends. Strangely, they were nice company. Perhaps any company was nice when you knew you were about to die horribly.
He would not tell Voldemort the little he did know. The Dark Lord could probably tear it from his mind, but he would not cooperate even to make his death quicker. Most of what he did know was about his friends. So, he sat and wrote under the watchful but thawing gaze of Voldemort's familiar and chatted with his new friends.
"Ah, you... on my wrist. Can you move further up so I can write easier?"
"Yess Speaker."
Harry canted his head in consideration.
"Call me Harry. Do you... er. Do the rest of you have names, like Nagini?"
The animated snakes obviously did not, so Harry amused himself coming up with names for them as he waited.
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Voldemort had not known the depth of excitement he felt today except when he'd viewed Bellatrix's memory of Dumbledore's death. He finally had Potter - alone, defenseless, completely at his mercy. He had reluctantly left him to attend to a matter with his Death Eaters, but there was no escape for him in his quarters, regardless of how slippery Potter usually was.
Harry Potter had been missing for three days now, and before he was able to tighten his grip on the Ministry and Daily Prophet, they had already written several articles of hysterical drivel about the deaths of his relatives and his disappearance. Apparently, Dumbledore had placed a Squib to watch over them, so she reported their messy deaths immediately.
None of this was important or concerning. It was, however, time-consuming to deal with. He'd had to leave Potter in a magically induced sleep since taking him, because he wanted to be the first thing he saw when he awoke. Voldemort had been unable to resist hovering over his nemesis whenever he had some free moments as the young hero slept. He’d longed for these three days to see him open his eyes, to fight and struggle against him. It was... not as satisfying as he'd anticipated.
Those startling green eyes had looked upon him with such stark resignation, the fire in them extinguished. Even restraining him didn't create an appropriate amount of fear. Voldemort was incredibly skilled at animating objects and the few times he'd set snakes on his followers; they'd whimpered in terror. Harry Potter made a quip. An inappropriate one too - what were they teaching children nowadays?
Well, he supposes that Potter wasn't really a child now. He'd be turning 17 in a month; and he certainly didn't look like a child anymore. Voldemort irritably pushed the thought away. Yes, the Chosen One was beautiful. He always had been, and his appeal only grew with time. He still had to die. He was a beacon of resistance and a threat to Voldemort's power. Additionally, a few of his Death Eaters had gone missing, and the Dark Lord needed to maintain order in his ranks. They seemed convinced that the missing men were taken and hadn't just fled.
Voldemort only cared about the situation if they had betrayed him and left willingly. If they'd been taken by the Order, then they were too weak to bother with. Appearances were important though; so, Voldemort would at least pretend at concern when he was among his ranks.
He bypassed the wards on Malfoy Manor and went straight to his quarters. Perhaps now Harry Potter would be willing to talk. He didn't remotely believe that the hero the Order had pinned their hopes on knew nothing about their operations. Perhaps he'd even know where they might take captured Death Eaters.
He froze with his hand halfway to the door. Harry Potter was not in there; he could sense it. He flung the door open with a crash against the opposite wall and snarled at the confirmation. The table was still there, but the snakes and his nemesis were gone. His fury mounted, and the ridiculous decorations in the manor's master suite vibrated from his outpouring of magic.
No. He did not escape. The wards would have alerted him. He was here somewhere, trying to escape. Voldemort just had to find him first. He tore through the halls, opening each door he came across until he heard the most unimaginable sound in this situation - Harry Potter's laughter.
He silently opened the door to his study and was immediately proven incorrect. The most unimaginable sound was Harry Potter (the Golden Boy, the Hero of Light) speaking his ancestral language of Parseltongue.
"Yes, I believe he's out hunting, Nagini."
"Why did he not take you? Nagini takes potential mates hunting to observe their skills."
Harry laughed again, the sound bright and warm in a way he can't recall feeling for many years.
"I do not believe I am a potential mate, Nagini. Would you mate with me? Because that is how different I am from your master."
Voldemort stood, stunned in the doorway. HOW did this -any of this-come about?
"Sasha would mate with you, Harry. Sasha does not know how, but you are warm and kind and sweet smelling."
One of the snakes he had animated... a bloody wooden snake, which was wrapped gently around Harry's shoulders hissed at him.
"Er, thanks, Sasha. That's very nice of you."
"Roshka would not mate with you Harry, but only because you could not provide Roshka with offspring."
The snake made of gold-plated metal hissed this absurd comment at Harry from its spot around his waist. Voldemort had heard enough of this.
"How quickly your charm works."
The Boy Who Lived jolted and looked over at him.
"Welcome back."
Did Harry Potter just - Had he gone insane?? He would not let him see the Dark Lord flustered, however. He must maintain control.
"How is that you are a Parselmouth?"
"I don't know, I just am? I'm surprised Lucius Malfoy didn't tell you - actually, no I'm not. He must have been too scared to tell you how he got your diary destroyed.".
Harry Potter stood and walked over towards him cautiously while he processed that information. He would be having a decidedly painful conversation with Lucius later.
"So, last request. Before you do whatever you're going to do, can you at least tell me if my owl is okay?"
Voldemort blinked at the question and the return to English. He hadn't realized how... pleasing it was to speak to another person in Parseltongue. He'd only ever had the dubious pleasure with his revolting Uncle Morfin. Voldemort stared at his perplexing nemesis for long moments while he shifted restlessly. The cuts he'd left on his cheek had already healed. Even for a Wizard, that was fast. How much power did Harry Potter have? He hadn't known the man was a Parselmouth; what else did he not know about Harry?
"I have told you that I murdered your relatives. And you are concerned only with your owl, Harry Potter?" A strangely mixed look crossed the young man's face, but before he could respond, another voice interrupted.
"What are the Speakers saying? Roshka wants to know."
He had forgotten about the damned animated snakes, which were all looking at him curiously now. Nagini was as well. She had slithered up behind Harry and was casually coiled on the floor next to him.
"... you named the snakes, Harry?"
"Of course. This one is Sasha, this is Lorcan on my arm, the twins around my legs are Lalith and Lohith, and obviously THIS is Roshka."
The insane Gryffindor gestured to the golden serpent around his waist and looked back at him oddly, as if he was confused why Voldemort was looking at him like he'd grown an extra head. Perhaps he'd damaged the Savior's mind when he put him to sleep. But he would sense that, wouldn't he? They had that inexplicable bond...
"So, about my owl. She's really smart; you could just add her to the owlery-"
"Silence! I'm thinking."
To his continued surprise, Harry merely sighed and retook his seat by the fire. Nagini wrapped her large body around his calves and feet, so at least he didn't need to concern himself with an escape attempt.
His instincts were telling him that the bond was the answer to everything. He had never read about a similar link between two wizards. It was almost like his connection to Nagini. But that link with his familiar only existed because she was -
"Harry, come here."
It couldn't be. He would have felt it!
Harry stumbled over, Nagini now winding up his legs to join the other serpents clinging to him. He grasped the silky black hair of his nemesis in one hand and pressed his other against his curse scar. Harry showed his first sign of true fear, flinching back immediately from his touch.
He was right. Somehow, by some miracle of fate or magic -
"You are my horcrux, Harry Potter."