let me go, hold me close

Three whole days and endless internal arguments later, he is finally ready for step one in the plan.

Find Harry Potter. 

The most difficult part.

Well, meet Harry Potter was the difficult part, finding him was as easy as reaching out in his head for that feeling. That longing within, which had remained steadily ignored. That want he could not sate. 

Not again!

He would conquer it today!

After breakfast, ofcourse. Breakfast that feels like gravel in his mouth, each bite echoes his uncertainty about this course of action. The change it would bring. 

(He cannot hide and wallow at Riddle House any longer)

He had to!

He had to face that boy! 

And he could make no missteps this time. 

Every step was to be delicate, deliberate, if he was to fully ensnare Harry Potter. 

(To have him wrapped around himself in that way they were when they awoke, those precious moments when all that existed was Them)

No!

He would ensnare Harry Potter as prey! With the intent to kill! 

He would attain every objective he desired!

He would—

Apparate sometime today?

Aagh!

A deep breath, a clearing of his mind, a singular focus on plans that gets derailed instantly as thoughts of the boy take over.

Well, he had to find him somehow.

He focuses instead on that calling within him, on that longing. On the boy he knew and loved and missed and—

Was going to kill! Had to find!

Once more, as the feeling of Harry dredges up again, cocooning him in those memories—

(Harry, how he has missed the boy he loved so much) 

Harry, who's currently a sideways lump on Tom's favourite couch at Stone House. His hands rest under one cheek, head supported by them and Tom's favorite pillow, hair lightly falling over those closed eyes.

Such a difference when compared to that scrawny little boy he had failed to kill time and again. A man, more so than his own form at the moment. Taller. Broader. No glasses, no scar, no Muggle relatives to lock him out of sight, out of mind. 

Why does he care what the boy looked like? It doesn't matter!

Also, he wasn't here to gaze at the sleeping boy, all lovelorn, he was here to trap him, free himself and get rid of this problem entirely! He should get on it, wake the boy up right now, ask or demand his cooperation and free himself, the sooner the better!

Should he?

What if the boy wasn't amenable to his 'request?'

How could he prove to the boy Lord Voldemort wasn't interested in killing him? —Yet.

Since only actions really mattered, as he knows, could he perhaps show the boy in action? By not killing him now, when he was caught, vulnerable?

What if the boy attempted to kill him instead?

(The bond would allow neither to harm the other.)

Well, that made things easier then.

He twirls his wand between his fingers one last time as he considers his actions, before he lays it right next to Harry's hands and face, it would be the first thing in the boy's line of vision when he woke. Then, he walks over to the armchair nearest to the couch, diagonally in front of the boy and sits down, eyes never leaving his sleeping form.

His mind is captured by the imaginings of what the boy's first words for Lord Voldemort would be. 

Would he continue speaking his chosen name past the first syllable this time?

Would he call him 'Tom' in an attempt to aggravate on purpose, knowing Lord Voldemort couldn't harm him?

Well, if so, he would attempt his best to silence the boy, Bond or not! With his bare hands if needed!

Or perhaps, Potter would apparate away this time. He would leave as Lord Voldemort attempted to speak, before even a name could be uttered in its entirety.

Or maybe. Maybe, just maybe, Harry Potter would try to Kill him this time. For the very first time. 

Maybe he would hear the boy attempt those two words for the first time, for him. On him. Maybe he wouldn't be that meek sacrificial lamb who had walked to its own slaughter in that clearing, foolish and defiant.

Maybe he would be more like that ginger haired Weasley boy, who had—

No!

Even as memories of that—

The solid silver piercing through his middle, the bones as he felt them crack within him, his mouth opening on a gasp as he longed for air he couldn't—

Blood filling up in the back of his throat—

Eyes rolling to the back of his skull as that darkness embraced him, as he sank into that void, that empty limbo of nothingness.

Where he was certain he existed, yet there was nothing to validate such a belief. 

He was and he wasn't—

No! 

Never this!

His Magic felt stronger than ever, his wandless abilities seemed better than they ever were, so why did his Occlumency—

He takes in a deep breath, he was back to being a teenager but this time he was unable to instill within himself any discipline at all! He had been a master of all, his Magic, his control over himself and his mind at thirteen, having read every book at the Hogwarts library that had captured him within the first page. Occlumency had been discovered at what seemed like the very beginning, so how was Tom so weak it was affecting Lord Voldemort so. He was a Master of all he touched! He was the most fearsome Dark Lord to ever exist! So how—

Even this! This rumination at his inability and misfortune! This was beneath him, and yet here he was! He was going mad!

He needs a distraction!

The boy has yet to stir. It had already been thirty minutes, as a string of numbers appears in the air before him at the internal inquiry. 

He shifts in place as he now rests his chin on closed fists, elbows resting on his knees as he hunched over in the most terrible fashion to study the boy from much closer. 

Harry had an almost translucent, alabaster skin, paired with that pitch black accent of his hair. And those green eyes, of which he now had every hue and shade memorised, even as his eyes remain deprived in the present.

As his hands remain deprived of that—

He is deprived of nothing! He does not want the boy so! This was a study solely to collect information about his sworn enemy!

(Information, huh)

He continues to study the rest of the boy's face, well, the parts he could see. Those pink-red lips as they gained a little pout by the lift provided by his hands. That nose as it flared slightly at every inhale, that one eyebrow half the size of the other, covered by the backs of those fingers. 

(Those fingers he longed to hold within his again) 

That chest as it expanded and fell in rhythm, those legs that twisted together against another pillow. His wand that lay on the table above him.

Why wasn't it in his holster? What if someone broke in to try to kill him? Tom's wards were alright, but they weren't the greatest, he had left himself too vulnerable without such a forethought. 

Well, wasn't that a good thing? He would be much easier to kill if he was never on his guard.

(No, he couldn't kill his Harry)

Yes he could! He would! Yes he would!

And it was never his Harry! The boy was his nothing!

One of his hands breaks away from his face to attempt to pick his wand back up but he snatches it right back to himself as Harry moves.

Or not moves, shivers.

Was he cold? 

It seemed impossible in the heat outside, yet, if he was cold—

He waves his hand in a familiar gesture for a blanket to accio to him from the cupboard downstairs. As it hits his hand, he stands to shake it open, before he holds it by the corners to drape it over Harry, gently laying one end at his feet before he drug it all the way up to now open green eyes—

The corners of the blanket are dropped like hot coal! In fact, embarrassingly and truly alarmingly, he had almost yelped!

Yelped!

Him! Lord Voldemort!

Impossible!

He falls backward into his earlier chair as the words leave him before he can stop them, "You shivered in your sleep and I thought you were cold so I got a blanket and I—", before he realizes himself.

"Voldemort."

Direct. The word is an accusation. It is a statement of fact. It is a plead, it is a denial, it is an acceptance. It is!

"Harry Potter, the Boy who failed to die once more", he mocks only himself, really.

He had been elated to find out he had at the very least bested that prophecy before the end and yet—

"What have you done with Tom?" He can hear the rising anger in each word. He can feel it. 

Along with a growing despair.

"I have done nothing to Tom", the truth even as saying that name he hates burns him, "this is all a result of your foolishness Potter. Had you disagreed with even one of the boy's demands, especially that last one—", he raises one eyebrow meaningfully at the boy. "Well, I did nothing. And, before you begin another interrogation, I know nothing and I have found nothing."

He pauses to consider his next words. A perfect segue, in fact.

"As for what I want—" "Nothing", Harry interrupts, copying his earlier tone, his face a mockery, but he ploughs on. "I want to be free of this bond, Potter, and I know you do, too. And I will be. And you will help Lord Voldemort. Or he will be paying this James and Lily Potter a visit, and soon." 

His words a promise, to hell with diplomacy! What was he, a bunny or a Dark Lord?!

The boy sits up instantly at those words, that blanket falling down to pool around his waist.

"If you even think of hurting them I will kill you, don't think I won't." He has Lord Voldemort's yew wand in a bruising grip at that, sparks shooting out of the tip in his rage as it aims directly towards his heart.

How? Why? Oh!

Yes, he knew about their shared core but he had never seen his wand respond as such, and to someone who was not its owner! Emitting emotions as Magic, it was a curious wonder.

"Well, Potter, I'm not thinking of hurting them if you're helping me think of other things", like that strong calloused wet hand sliding around him in that steady motion, "like how to break this bond. This seemingly Unbreakable Bond that Lord Voldemort is sure he could break. If you—"

He is cut off, "Umm. If you could just, never ever speak in third person again, that would be great. And don't kill my parents, but especially the first one. Well, both. And don't kill any other member of my family either. Or hurt or harm—"

"Potter, you will stop with that now or you will see what Lord Voldemort—"

"I told you don't talk about your self in third pers—"

"You will stop, Potter!" "But it sounds so dumb!"

"Potter!" "Tom—"

Hearing the name brings with it such intense rage he reaches over in an instant to snatch his wand back to his grip, the boy scrambling back and then to his right, grasping for his own Holly wand at the table even as his eyes never leave Lord Voldemort, oscillating between his face and his wand.

"You will quit referring to me as such boy, or you will be shown a suffering only Lord Voldemort—"

"Again with the third—"

"Crucio", the word is out before any thought except pure rage, yet it emits not a single spark. This spell had been used repeatedly for a lifetime of perfection, failure was impossible, incomprehensible, and yet! Why!

Harry is a still statue for just a moment before his face starts to split open into a slight smile. "You've really got to mean it, you know", and for a moment that tone takes him back to Tom. To him and Harry sitting at their library table, making conversation about Magic. (Simpler times) No!

"I meant it, Potter", his tense tone belays his outrage as he stands up and Harry flinches back at the movement. He does not make any move towards the boy though, going instead for that empty space in the room as he starts to pace absent-mindedly.

His one and only objective from this whole operation was to gain Harry Potter's trust and not hurt him, even the attempt to hurt him was counter to every intent!

And yet—

And now the boy was fully aware of exactly how Lord Voldemort felt about him!

Back to the drawing board. 

He doesn't know what to say, even as he knows the boy had eyes only for his moving form, he himself studying his enemy (love) in his periphery. 

"Why are you even here?" 

He stops and turns to fully study the boy again, grateful for the provided opportunity, no he was not. 

"I do not know how you got me here, Potter, but I refuse to be bonded to you for eternity! Lord Voldemort is bound to no one, do you understand?" He speaks over another interruption. "He shall free himself of these chains he is now shackled with, and he shall set you free after, but until then, you will stay right here for any and all rituals I can think of. All of them, Potter. And I can think of quite a few. And you will not be an annoying pest in my presence either. Seen and not heard is what I expect from you Potter, are you listening to me?"

"I think you're the one being heard more than seen right now"

He stops at that. 

A moment—

"And also, were you saying something just now? I was too busy thinking of some Quidditch. Seems like such a nice day to stay indoors huh?"

Fair enough.

"I will attempt to be civil if you agree to cooperate until this bond is broken, Potter."

A laugh in reply, "It's going to take a lot more than just civil. And attempt" the last word is a scoff. "Honestly, I could care less about the bond. I just—"

"Couldn't." He can't help himself.

"What"

"You couldn't care less. Could implies—"

"I don't need grammar lessons from Mr Mouldy Pants himself"

"Crucio", he can't help himself, an ingrained reflex. 

The result is unchanged, an echo of his first attempt. 

"Oh, is your favorite spell not working for you anymore?" The tone makes him itch for a third attempt, and yet, wasn't that the very definition of insanity?

And he definitely had all his facilities intact, sound of both mind and body after many decades without. Millenia. 

"Potter", a warning.

The boy does not care. 

"Voldemort", he is mirrored. 

What in Merlin's name was the boy's issue in understanding! How dare he, as only he had ever dared, and yet!

The definition of insanity crystal clear in his mind, he walks back over to his earlier seat, hands coming together in a pleading gesture as he sits down again, "I will be civil, Potter, you have my word. I might even be pleasant at rare moments, try not to let it spontaneously combust you. So, do we have an understanding?"

It gets him a half smile, quickly buried and yet, a sign he had been successful from his first step. 

"Like I said, it will take a lot more than just civil. Maybe, how about an Unbreakable Vow that you won't hurt me or my family in any way. And you won't lie to me. And you will figure out what's happened to Tom, and you will create yourself another body like before and leave him alone once we figure out how, because you—"

"Enough with that Potter, it is impossible!"

"It's not! Nothing is impossible with Magic, you were the most powerful Dark Lord ever, weren't you, and now you're saying you can't even—"

"Potter", he cannot take much more of this. "You are making this attempt at civility an extremely difficult task."

"You will take Veritaserum to answer my questions. You will swear an Unbreakable Vow not to hurt or kill me and my family, and you will find a way to bring back Tom, as he was! Those are my terms."

"Unacceptable, Potter. I will answer questions you may have without the use of any potions, and you will have to take me solely at my word. I will vow only not to kill to your family, hurt could mean too many things", he once more ignores the attempted interruption. "Do try your best not to be a complete idiot, Potter. An Unbreakable Vow has to be extremely specific, it does not allow for loopholes. If they gained a paper cut from opening my present at Christmas for example, it could kill me", an unlikely scenario, in all aspects, and yet he is sure the boy doesn't know better.

"That could be my Christmas present", and he cannot even be mildly offended as the smile on the boy's face overtakes everything. 

To experience it as himself for the first time—

"This is your best attempt at civility, Potter?"

"Oh, forgive me your highness", comes the boy's sarcastic reply.

"It's 'Forgive me My Lord'"

"There's really no need to call me your Lord, although it is a bit funny if you think about it a little."

"Potter!"

"Yes, yes, civil. I will attempt my best, I suppose" says the boy, an imitation of himself earlier.

"I will too, Potter. Now on to the impossible part of your demand, I cannot bring Tom back", he doesn't know for certain, yet he has this growing foreboding. A pause as he tries to consider his next words.

The truth was a terrible thing, and yet, it had perhaps the best chance to win Harry over.

"It is impossible as I am not just Lord Voldemort at the moment Potter, I am also every single one of my Horcruxes and the Tom Marvolo Riddle you grew up with." Helpless as the last words are a scoff.

As the feeling of His Harry envelops. Plates made at Gryffindor table. Mornings that started with Harry and nights that ended with Harry. Days spent in a haze of Hogwarts and Harry.

"How do I know you're not just lying to me about that? And how it that relevant to why you can't leave and bring Tom back?"

"You are truly an imbecile, Potter. I cannot bring him back because I am him. I am who he was and I am who I am and more. More than he could have ever dreamed, he—"

"He was a good person, unlike you. He was kind and thoughtful—"

"He is not dead, Potter. He's just not answering the door anymore, so to speak."

A good metaphor, even if all it gets him is a bark of hysterical laughter. Perhaps he could drive the boy to madness, that would certainly be one solution.

"Answering the door! Do you even hear yourself—"

"Potter, you must control yourself this very instant!"

"You're crazy!"

He stops to look at the boy.

"You will quit with your insults this very instant Potter. Lord Voldemort can be merciful, but it is not without its limit."

"If you won't bring Tom back I will not be helping you."

"Am I to take that as permission then?"

The boy studies him, curious. "Permission?"

"James and Lily Potter?"

"Don't you dare! Expelliarmus!"

His wand stays in his hand, he would not be caught by such cheap tricks. "You're going to have to do much more than simply disarm me, Potter"

"Sectumsempra!" not a spark as the boy spoke words to the laceration curse Severus had created. (Severus, his rage for the traitor, his pride and affection for his protégé)

"A wonderful attempt, Potter. Didn't think you had it in you."

The boy does not match his jovial mood at the confirmation that it indeed wasn't him! It was the bond! His Crucio was fine, it was Potter who was the issue! Harry Potter the unsolvable problem!

"What do you know about me anyway", the boy's tone is bitter as he turns away to finally stand up from that couch. "Nevermind, I don't care enough to know what your Death Eaters told you about me. All the groundbreaking journalism the Prophet published through the years, I'm sure."

"Potter—"

"I said nevermind. You will not harm my parents and I need some breakfast before we continue this conversation. You can either come with or stay here, up to you. Or, and I'm hoping this is the one you'll go for, you could leave. Back to whichever—"

"Potter, you do realize that your attempts at civility are severely lacking, yes?"

"Well, considering the kind of morning I've woken up to today." A pointed look at him at those words, those green eyes have him still. 

Fair. 

(He also kept being overly familiar with the boy, impulsive and without restraint, his attempts at mindfulness a failure)

He considers his next words carefully. 

He could only step in one direction.

"I apologize for the morning you've had, Potter. Please, get your self some breakfast, it was not my intent to—"

"Stop! That just made it about a million times worse! Just stop talking to me until I've had some tea, please, for the love of Merlin." The boy storms off in a huff, making his way out, presumably to the table. 

He doesn't want to follow, and yet, he had to keep an eye on Potter. He would not repeat a single mistake, especially underestimating the boy. 

He had done that too often, and even now, knowing his circumstances did not equal knowing who the boy was. 

Infact, knowing his circumstances only made the boy that much more absurd. The decisions he had made were so much more puzzling.

He doesn't have time for a repeat of this internal curiosity for nonsense within him, as he stands to follow the boy. Although, maybe he could solve this mystery as well, he was to spend quite a bit of time with the boy after all.

And he does so hate riddles of any kind!