let me go, hold me close

Sounds of the forest overwhelm even the nausea of the portkey, the loud clicking of a million insects on the leaf covered floor, the birds that scream at each other in a deafening cacophony, it all but forces him to cast a muffling spell around them for some relief. 

"And a cooling charm", Harry adds as he casts one on them both, necessary defense against the humidity that already has him halfway drenched. The boy too, most likely. "So, what now? Where are we?"

Well well, wasn't he such a natural at following orders, if only— Not that he can make any mention of this, as he turns around to study his surroundings. "I believe we are at the closest portkey point to the tribe, they are quite isolated. We should enter their land in about three kilometers, that way." If his memory served him right, and it has never failed him yet, he remembers this endless green.

"So we should reach the tribe in about three kilometers, then?"

It makes him laugh, unintentional as it was on the boy's part. "No, we enter their land in three kilometers. They live precisely in the middle, a hundred or so kilometers deep in from all sides. Did your Godfather not prepare you for the week long trek to and back?"

"You're fucking joking!" "There's no need to be crude, and I assure you I'm not."

"Why couldn't we just fly there on brooms?" "Foreign magic, Potter, honestly. Weren't you listening? They live on sentient, unplottable land."

"Well, excuse me for not knowing every single detail, seeing as it's my first time." That he would dare speak to Lord Voldemort in such a tone!, but he says nothing in response. 

And honestly, the boy was entitled to some rudeness at the surprises in their journey. Hadn't he been outraged by this very thing himself, once? "No matter, Potter. Yes, it should take us about a week to reach the seer, a week which also counts towards letting the forest see us, or whatever rot she insists on. Although, after a moment of contemplation, perhaps we should extend the duration of our trek there to two weeks, spend even less time with them. A terrific idea, one I should have had last time", he ends to himself.

He is already quite a few feet away when he turns back to face the boy who seems to be lost in some thought. "Potter! Today would be great", even as he wonders. 

"Hmm, oh, yeah", Harry sprints to close the distance, stopping beside him. "Lead the way."

The very beginning of their trek starts in a resounding silence, broken only by one truly loud bird. Most likely magical for it to have broken through his Muffliato as well, although he cannot place the source or its species.

The next hour is a terrible kind of awkward, especially considering how close they were forced together on the tight trail, unable to obtain any kind of space. 

Then, Harry's foot slips on a particularly muddy step and his arm reaches out as a reflex to grasp Tom's own in an attempt to prevent himself from falling. This, however, causes his arm to wrap around (Tom's) waist in such a familiar way, the déjà vu almost blinds him. He still manages to steady the both of them, despite Harry's slightly larger build, and casts a mild sticking charm at Harry's shoes to prevent a repeat of that. 

It lasts only those three kilometers, he can feel instantly when his Magic buries itself within him upon that first meeting with the forest's overwhelming Magic. 

"Oh", says the boy as they cross the barrier. 

"Yes, it is quite the disconcerting feeling. There's no need to worry, however, we have quite some time to practice your wandless magic." Why was he reassuring the boy at all?

"I don't know if my Magic wants to listen to me at all, especially wandlessly." "It will listen to your wand even less. You'll grow used to the feeling soon enough, you just need practice." The truth.

Harry says nothing in response as they keep walking deeper into the forest. 

Another two kilometers in, they come across a small solid black 'cat' with eyes green enough to rival Harry's own, quite fetching. He knows it is a mistake just as the boy bends one knee into the ground, his lips pursing to make cajoling sounds. They certainly have its attention, as it's ears perk up and that tail rises high in a warning. 

"May be best to leave it alone", he goes to say just as it bares its fangs in a hiss, pouncing forward in a wide arch, a clear aim for the boy's face. His magic lashes out in an instantaneous response, paralyzing it in mid-air before it is forced against a random trunk in a sickening crunch. 

"Wha...?" "Did I not warn you? It is dangerous. Follow my lead, and do not call out to any creatures in this forest, no matter how cute they seem." 

"Cute cats turning into monsters and Lord Voldemort agreeing they are cute, what is happening!" Harry mutters to himself, so he does too, "And I am sure it will only get worse for you. With that recklessness, these are the least of your worries."

Especially as the sun sets further. Perhaps, it would be better to set up camp now, while some semblance of daylight still existed?

Louder now, "Would you like to stop here for tonight? We are in a suitable spot, already past the boundary, and it is to be a moonless night."

"If you think that's best. You're in the lead, remember?" 

"I'm glad we are in agreement", even as his heart beats faster for some reason.

Quite luckily, they had stumbled upon one of those rare, magically weak spots in the tribe's land; finding them last time had been quite an unforgettable nightmare. A necessity, however, if they were to set up their tent, the enlarging charms and other enchantments on the tent wouldn't react well in an area that suppressed foreign magic. 

He forces his Magic to clear out a few feet of space on the forest floor, uprooting just one tree, not enough to be noticeable. Setting up the tent wandlessly, however, is quite the ordeal, even with the boy's help; unexpected, but not unwelcome. 

It still has all its enchantments, all four ornate bedrooms and the large common sitting area, including a fireplace, although it was unconnected to the floo. The kitchen is also a fully stocked masterpiece, obviously Lily Potter's touch, helpful as they couldn't have an elf. 

It was sure to be a long trip, he realises as he walks to his room, especially fending for themselves in a Magical jungle as almost Muggles. 

Getting rid of his sweat and humidity drenched robes was the first order of business. Putting dinner together was second, although, Harry has already taken over the kitchen when he's back from the first. 

"Thought we'd have some steak in celebration of us still being alive at the end of our first day." 

He understands it is said mostly in jest but he cannot help himself. "We will start our first day tomorrow, Harry. These are only the few hours before it starts." 

"Right—"

Why did every conversation between them end up with this sort of tension? Why?!

"Well, i guess we can celebrate us not getting killed at the gate? Even if one cute kitty did put up a valiant effort. That was kind of a horrible end for it though, ugh, the sound." He shivers as he reaches over to flip one steak over.

"If only that has you so disturbed, I wonder how the boy hero will fare in these next few days. You were the one who asked Lord Voldemort to come here, don't forget."

"Don't call me that! You've been calling me Harry ever so often, why not stick with that?"

"I—" haven't been, he wants to say, but he knows it's untrue. "—suppose I will, then."

"And I can call you Tom?" Harry transgresses.

"You will never call me that, never, if you value your life!" 

"Okay, okay", arms rise up in a defensive position at that, his rage was pretty vehement. "Well—"

"You may refer to me as 'Voldemort'."

"I am not calling you by that ridiculous name, nevermind. Let's eat, it should be ready, I'm starving."

And that, he doesn't know how to respond to.

Ridiculous, huh?

Dinner is spent back in that silence again.

Even considering the lack of sleep last night, his mind does not tire from keeping him up again, with worries that are a mix of quite possible and outrageously impossible. It matters not, he spends an equal amount of time on both, creating solutions now so he wouldn't have to devote much time to it in the present, should it ever happen. 

Illogical really, when his priority should be sleep. Even more illogical, that most of these worries were related to Harry, and should something happen to the reckless boy...

Most illogical, however, was that he cared about this nonsense, and he couldn't even deny it to himself anymore, it had taken over him.

It is only exhaustion that forces his eyelids shut, even though the bed feels terribly foreign, and the occasional stray bird call still breaks through the enchantments.

Morning brings with it the smell of eggs and bacon and a grumbling in his stomach, even though last night's dinner had been quite substantial. It takes a moment to reorient himself to his surroundings; the forest, and the way it made his Magic feel, once more in stark contrast.

"Morning! I managed a stasis on your plate!" A tad too much excitement in Harry's voice for the early hour when he walks out, and yet, two trained wizards were definitely better than one, even if that one was him.

"Well done, Harry." "Uhm...huh—", Harry keeps his eyes trained on his plate. How interesting, to see the boy shy from a compliment. He refrains from focusing too much on it, choosing instead to lift the cover off his own plate. "And breakfast is nicely done too, as always." (Always)

"Who are you?" Who indeed—

"At present we are partners, are we not?", why was he explaining himself at all?

"Sure", comes the reply even as Harry's face is confused. 

He continues regardless of hesitation. "Well, then, I am grateful for your contribution", he gestures towards his plate. "Which also benefits me, and so it is obvious I would want to cultivate these—"

"You know normal people don't think of it like that, right?"

"Normal people?", too defensive, his tone. "And what exactly is your insinuation?"

"Nothing. Well, I just mean, normal people don't view relationships all transactionally like that. If a friend of mine thanks me for something I did for them, they're really saying 'thank you' because they know that I care for them, that I will be there for them. It's not about the act itself, even if they're maybe also saying thank you for that. And compared to that, your gratitude is a bit...meaningless, no?" No malice detectable in his tone or his eyes when he ends on that slight question, especially compared to his blunt words.

"Well, Potter, I don't think we will ever reach a point where I thank you for being there for me." It gets him a small, bitter smile.

"No, I don't think we will", the boy agrees.

He looks back at his plate, this gift, still piping hot in the boy's spell. "We could attempt to be friends, however?" It is out of him before he can stop himself, even as he watches the boy's face turn into a shocked disbelief. 

What does he (Lord Voldemort) know of friendship anyway?

"What? You? Lord Voldemort?", the boy echoes the disbelief in his thoughts, "Want to be friends?" Was it truly that incredulous?

Keep your enemies closer and all that, even if the boy seems less an adversary and more a puzzling dilemma he could not decode. Like some obscure, ancient, and forgotten Magic. Equally as frustrating as the bond that held them both in its grip. 

He focuses on spearing a piece of egg as he attempts another explanation. "And why not? It's not like we can kill each other anymore."

"Definitely not normal", it is whispered in a certain tone of wonder, before he takes in a deep breath. "Perhaps not the best reason for the formation of any friendship, but why not", he says out loud. "Sure, let's be friends, Voldemort."

"I'm not sure I like my name said in that tone." "I'm pretty sure it's the only way I'll manage to say it out loud", Harry refutes. 

(On second thought, he was absolutely insufferable and not worthy of even the mirage of a friendship with Lord Voldemort!)

They set off soon after at a leisurely pace, not strapped for time in the least. He wanted to spend as little time with her as was possible.

This excess, however, leads the boy to an attempt at conversation. And not one he is particularly inclined to. —Or at all.

"As your now 'friend', can I...ask you something?", he begins, a bit tentative.

"What is it?", even as he keeps his eyes peeled.

The next sentence ruins his focus. "What happened? After? What happened to my friends? Please, I need to know." The plea is useless, rage overwhelms in an instant, equally as pervasive as that once-familiar helplessness. 

This is the very last thing he wants to think about, this loss in concentration could be extremely detrimental, and still, Harry continues. "Did you kill them all? What happened? I need to know, I need answers, please. I've waited long enough. Please."

They pull at something within him, mingling with the memory of a real stabbing pain, those eyes—

—They did beg so beautifully.

"I only managed three before the youngest Weasley boy speared my chest with Godric's sword." He offers, the truth. "His sister, her friend the blonde who attempted to assist, and the Longbottom boy who dared kill my familiar." The words are matter of fact, as if they mean nothing. (They do)

It means nothing now, those memories. There is not a chance for a repeat of those particular circumstances, in any kind of way. He had slowly brought himself around to consider sparing Harry, after, if the boy refrained from meddling in his affairs, but that was definitely contingent on his behavior. 

Never again would he return to that void between worlds!

"Ron?", Harry manages finally, his voice is disbelief. "Ron stabbed you with the sword after Neville got Nagini?"

And then, in the same breath, as a cry. "Neville! You killed Neville, and Ginny. And Luna. Why?", most likely rhetorical as he drops to the ground in a slump, arms wrapped tight around himself.

"Get off the ground this instant!" is the reply he chooses.

"Wh...huh?", that green is flooded when it turns to him, cheeks glistening in the filtered golden light of an early day among the trees, the forest's green so perfectly complimented those eyes, even through the tears. 

"Many species of magical ants march the floor of this forest, including the Amber Gravedigger, which, as you know, burrows itself under any accessible skin and eats its way to your heart. Most others just have a venemous bite, but either way, it won't be pretty, even if it will be quick."

"What?", Harry just repeats in a hopeless fashion.

It makes him close the distance between them, reaching down to grab Harry by his arm, forcing him upright once more. Those eyes are now only inches away, and even more beautiful in the clarity of closeness.

"You may take a minute if you need one, but not sprawled on the ground", he insists to a boy who's still not listening.

"And Hermione? Hagrid? Remus?", is what Harry breaks through with.

"Only three, Potter. Although, I understand if that's not quite a consolation. I'm sure, if none else did, Bella would get my due." (A consolation for himself) "Maybe she left your ginger family a drooling mess like she did the Longbottoms once, if only he hadn't done as he did." 

It felt weirdly free to speak about this thing that had until then only bothered him—

—but Harry did not revel in the knowledge of his defeat even once.

And so, his own words feel excessive after, in the face of tears that still flow, this time only inches away and crystal clear, they run down Harry's cheekbones and towards the point of his chin, dripping steadily onto the ground.

A certain emotion takes hold of him then, it grips him until even breathing seems impossible, his tongue closing up in his throat as his jaw clenches tight and it courses through him.

(Regret?) A rarity. 

(Regret for what his actions had resulted?) Impossible!

("I'm sorry") Supressed before it is even started!

"All speculation, of course. Like I said, only three after you." Even an attempt at a real apology would burn his throat, this was as close he could come to a comforting gesture at the moment. 

(How many apologies does he owe Harry?)

How can one ask for the forgiveness of a million sins in one breath? An impossibility.

Brows furrow as the eyes they frame stay trained on him. "Why are you like this? Why aren't you anything like—", words crack in the attempted whisper.

"I—", he knows not how to continue, trapped by those tears.

Still beautiful. Even more so, contrasted by the pain within him, but any possibility for enjoyment has been snatched away by the iron grip of emotion that still has hold.

How many he has tortured through the years, to hear them sing in screams, but even Harry's quiet hurt is—

Even the hitch in his breath is—

Anger and helplessness again! He wants to scream at himself, for both.

He forces himself let go of that arm, even if the close intimacy remains.

"It seems...I may have overstepped", he cannot allow any more than that.

"My own fault for asking", is the response as those eyes finally close, but Harry only cries more.

"Would you like to stop for the day?", he offers, it wasn't even midday yet.

"And continue this conversation? I, just, no. I'd rather not." The resignation in those words eats at him inside as he watches Harry shake his head with eyes still closed, before he breathes in deeply as he blinks a few times in succession, his wet lashes reflecting a glint. 

(Apologies...they don't cross the boundary of his lips.)

"Very well, then. After you", he decides on finally, with a gesture of his hand as he moves away, mind still focused on tears that don't stop, even now.

Harry does not follow, instead raising his right palm to his lips, curling in his fingers and thumb to create a hollow as he spoke into it with a rasped, "Aguamenti."

His voice like gravel, it does not work. He clears his throat and tries again. No, the only water is the one that still drips from eyes, slowed down yet steady.

A foolish decision, one that would newly haunt his sleepless night, he closes the distance between them again. Harry's hand moves away automatically as he brings the edge of his own palm up to those lips.

'Aguamenti', he casts both silently and wandlessly into the palm of his hand, willing water to pool up to those lips.

The longest minute of his entire existence, 

—feeling those lips against skin once more—

—before the boy pulls away for a second of reprieve, before eyes regain their demand for his focus instead of lips.

He pulls his now overflowing hand back to himself, moving to quench his own thirst before he realises his lips touch the same spot those had. 

Knees grow weak at the sudden comprehension. 

He still continues to drink. 

He knows not what Harry's face looks like in the moment of, but after, it is wiped of its earlier intensity as he finites the spell and meets those eyes once more.

"Thanks", it is muttered at him without inflection as Harry starts walking away.

Back on their way through the wilderness, heavy silence surrounds them again.

This time, it is not broken for quite a while.