Chapter 2
'Thoughts'
‘Internal speech’
August 1995
Harriet’s POV
Harriet woke slowly, eyes fluttering against the warm lighting of the room she was in. She groaned a bit, her mouth feeling unbearably dry, lips chapped. Her head felt as if it were full of cotton, but surprisingly she didn't feel any pain. Just a dull pressure behind her eyes. She took stock of her body, noting that not only did her head not hurt, but she felt no pain whatsoever. Harriet knew she took quite a beating and was immediately suspicious of the fact that she could no longer feel the effects of it. She wracked her brain, trying to remember what happened before she passed out. She remembered the rain, a gravel walkway… ah, shite.
Harriet bolted straight up, heart thudding in her chest as she searched desperately for Voldemort. How was she still alive? Why wasn't she in pain any longer? Where the hell was she? Did the Order even know where she had been for the past week or so, much less where she was now? Questions ran through her mind as her eyes flew across the ostentatious room. Subconsciously, she noted the layout and exits of the room. She could see bookshelves stacked against the far wall of the room. The dark hardwood floor was polished and shone under the warm firelight coming from the fireplace. The door was on the farthest wall of the room, and between her and her escape was a sitting area. A love seat and two armchairs were upholstered in a rich green leather. And sat upon one of those seats was Voldemort herself.
Harriet locked eyes with the woman and felt her heart crawl into her throat. A cold sweat began between her shoulder blades. Voldemort was watching her, the firelight playing across her features and throwing half of her face into shadow. Her dark hair curled over her shoulders as she tilted her head slightly, studying Harriet. She seemed relaxed, one ankle crossed over her knee with a book opened in one hand. Harriet didn't buy this calm façade, she knew the woman had to be planning something, had to be luring her into a false sense of security to strike when it suited her. Harriet's breathing picked up, prepared to sprint from the bed-- wait, bed?
She looked down wildly around her finally realising that she was on an honest to Merlin bed. It couldn't be Voldemort's, could it? She really started panicking now. Harriet had expected to be thrown in a cell, maybe in the dungeons. Not to be healed and placed on the softest bed she had ever had the privilege to lay on. Her eyes flew up to Voldemort once more, noting the intense gaze focused solely on her. She could see faint amusement in the light of her eyes, in the slight curl of her mouth.
Anger struck like lightening. 'She’s doing this on purpose', Harriet thought furiously, 'She’s trying to throw me off.' She felt her cheeks grow red in her rage and she could do nothing to combat it. All she could do was glare at this madwoman. She refused to be cowed and confused, she refused to play whatever game Voldemort had orchestrated.
"What did you do to me?" Harriet asked, teeth gritted to stop herself from cursing the woman out. For she knew Voldemort had to have done something to her. She felt violated, terrified that this woman could've done anything to her while she was unconscious and at her most vulnerable. While Harriet had resolved to not play into Voldemort's sick games, she wasn't stupid enough to out right provoke the woman. Who knew what she had planned? Harriet desperately wanted to survive this fever dream of an encounter, so she knew she had to play nice. For now, at least. Just until she had enough information to escape and find the Order.
'Had they even looked for you? Why hadn't they come for you?' A familiar voice echoed through her mind, one which always tried to instil doubts within her. A figment of her tired imagination, Harriet was sure. Of course they'd look for her, right? She shook her head as if trying to clear her thoughts, yet never took her eyes off Voldemort.
Harriet saw the woman grin before she set her book down on the side table and sat forward in her seat.
"Why, I only did what you came here for, Harriet. You had asked so nicely for my help, after all," the woman practically purred, voice like warmed honey. Voldemort's red eyes darted across Harriet's face, seemingly cataloguing every minute reaction. Alarm shot down Harriet's spine as she desperately thought back to her arrival. What had she said? What exactly did she ask for? Please help… I didn't know where else to go… Bloody hell. Why had she said that? Why had she come here, to the woman who wanted her dead, for help?
Feeling more confused than ever, Harriet tried to grasp onto her lagging anger. Rage was better than this aching confusion. It was familiar and always got her through unbearable situations. But she just... couldn't. She felt so entirely lost in this moment. She had wanted, no needed, somewhere safe. That's what she thought of before she blindly Apparated. By the gods, why had her magic brought her here?
"Why aren't I dead?" Harriet whispered, eyes on her clenched fists. She couldn't bear to look at Voldemort now, entirely overwhelmed and lost and ashamed.
She heard the woman shift, heard her foot steps echo across the polished floors before they came to stop by the bedside. Harriet tensed once more, but refused to lift her head. She kept her eyes firmly trained on her white knuckles, hands bloodless under the force of her grip. She nearly gasped as she felt the bed dip, and finally her head shot up to look at Voldemort in utter fear and confusion. This proximity could mean nothing good. While it seemed that she was to be kept alive for now, that didn't mean she could let her guard down around the woman.
Harriet watched as the woman turned her body to face her. Harriet gulped under the hypnotic red gaze. Voldemort looked completely human, with dark hair that fell in soft waves. She had a strong nose and plush lips. Her cheekbones were slightly hollowed and her jaw was strong. She was all sharp angles and shadows, softness and stone combined to create a truly haunting form of beauty. Beautiful, as the decay and rot of the earth is beautiful. Harriet shifted uncomfortably, noting Voldemort's broad shoulders and the way she completely towered over her. She had to crane her neck just to meet her eyes. Harriet knew she didn't need her wand to hurt her.
How had this madwoman gained such a human appearance once more? Where was the snake-like visage that haunted her every nightmare, her every waking moment?
Voldemort smiled slightly (and wasn't that a terrifying sight?) and leaned into Harriet's space before speaking.
"I've come to realise, Harriet, that you are indeed... invaluable to me. Precious, if you would."
Harriet's eyes widened comically, all breath leaving her as her heart stopped. What the fuck?
'No, I have to be dreaming. I'm dreaming. This can't be real. I must be hallucinating off of whatever I was given in that basement,' Harriet thought, internally panicking, heart racing more than ever. This just didn't make any sense, there was no way that Voldemort would value her. She had tried to kill Harriet multiple times. She had nearly succeeded! Voldemort had been after her since she was a baby, what could make the Dark Lord change her mind so suddenly?
"W-what do you mean?" Harriet asked, tongue like lead in her mouth. All life had left her face when she heard those damning words. Harriet was more frightened than ever before, completely adrift. Voldemort had been nearly predictable in her rage and bloodlust before. But this? This could mean nothing good for Harriet, she no longer had any idea what Voldemort was thinking. She would rather face her ire than whatever this was.
Voldemort merely smiled softly at her, indulgently.
"Tell me, Harriet. Do you know what a horcrux is?"
Merope's POV
Merope watched avidly as Harriet's brow furrowed in confusion momentarily, the girl thrown by the direction the conversation had taken. She greedily took in the bob of Harriet's throat as she swallowed, saw the confusion in her eyes as she looked to Merope for answers. It was heady, having Harriet's undivided attention. This was how it always should've been. Harriet by her side, looking to her for everything she needed.
She knew she should be cautious, knew she shouldn't indulge in the fierce possessiveness that had sprung once she discovered Harriet was her horcrux. Then again, when had Merope ever been one to resist temptation? She had stumbled across the one Fated to be by her side, the one to share in her immortality. For as long as Merope lived, so too would Harriet. How could she not desire to keep this girl with her? To crack open her mind and see inside, to make herself a home within Harriet's soul? Yes, she would take things slow with her little horcrux. But she would have her see that she belonged at her side. Her girl would come to her willingly, a beautiful corruption.
"No, I don't know what a horcrux is...?" Harriet said, hesitancy causing her to phrase it as a question. She was trembling like a leaf, endearingly afraid (or was that rage?). Merope anticipated this answer, knew that her innocent girl would know nothing of some of the Darkest Arts to exist. The poor thing seemed to expecting some rebuke for her ignorance.
"As I expected," defiant anger dully flashed through those green eyes once again, "but that is no matter. I will explain what a horcrux is, as it is the reason why you are alive. But only if you agree to honestly answer a couple questions for me. Is that acceptable, Harriet?"
Merope saw the girl pause, weighing her options. Harriet quietly watched her, suspicious and distrustful. She could practically hear the girl’s thoughts whirring. Merope had purposefully made her proposal sound innocuous, appealing, to increase the chances that Harriet would agree. While she had an idea as to how her horcrux operated, she needed to spend more time with her to really understand her thought processes. Once she did... well it would be all the easier to get what she wanted from Harriet, wouldn't it?
Harriet opened and closed her mouth a couple times, seeming to falter under the weight of her decision. Ah, so she was aware there was more to this than meets the eye. Clever girl. She understood the gravity of the situation. Yet, Harriet's understanding would not change her reluctant acceptance, this Merope knew.
"Fine," Harriet nearly spat, frustration apparent on her face. Poor thing wasn't happy.
She smiled at the girl once more, pleased with Harriet's obedience. "Good, Harriet. Now to start, how do you feel?"
Merope took no small amount of delight in off setting the girl. She took great joy in seeing the usually righteous Harriet Potter sputter in confusion. She must've been expecting to be questioned on the Order of the Phoenix, or Dumbledore's plans, or maybe even how to get into Hogwarts. No, Merope knew what she needed to win this war. She had ways of obtaining more information, ways to stay up to date on the happenings around Albus Dumbledore. As of this moment, what intrigued her far more was her horcrux.
"Um... I feel. Fine. I feel f-fine," the girl stumbled over her words, unnerved beyond belief. She stared at Merope from the corner of her eye, too distrustful to look at her head on. Merope smiled indulgently at her, taking in the tight set of her shoulders hidden beneath her ratty clothing. Harriet was analysing her like a caged animal. Which, Merope supposed, wasn't too far off from the truth.
"No pain anywhere? Any stiffness or soreness?" Merope pushed, just to see how Harriet would react. She wasn't disappointed.
"Look, I don't know what bloody game you're playing, but I'm not doing this. Don't act like you care when you will kill me once you have what you want. So just ask what you really want to know and get this over with," Harriet bit out, finally at the end of her rope. Her face was flushed with her frustration. Her back was pressed into the pillows behind her to put as much space as possible between herself and Merope.
Once more, Merope simply smiled down at her horcrux. Humouring her as one would an errant child. The girl’s indignation only increased at this, as Merope could see her practically vibrating with it.
"A deal is a deal, Chosen One. This is a game of questions, which, if you remember, you explicitly agreed to. But if you truly desire to know why your body isn't cooling on my bedroom floor, who am I to deny you?" Merope saw Harriet balk, her jaw slightly dropped. Merope could not tell if this was at the revelation that this was indeed the Dark Lord's bedroom, or because of the blasé discussion of her hypothetical death. Quietly amused, she continued.
"A horcrux, Harriet, is a vessel. This contains a fragment of the soul of the witch who creates it. Through this vessel, the witch is immortal, untouchable by death. A horcrux is the Blackest of magics, only achievable through committing one of the ‘most heinous’ acts a human being possibly can. Can you tell me what crime this would be, Harriet?" Merope asked, red eyes piercing into Harriet's. She watched her swallow, and knew Harriet had the answer. After all, her girl must have a brain under all that Gryffindor bravado to have survived this long.
"Murder," Harriet practically whispered, all emotion gone from her voice.
"Precisely. Through this murder, the witch is able to perform a ritual which will anchor the split soul into an object. She is then immortal. No one in history has made more than one horcrux, Harriet. Until me. I have gone farther than any wizard before me, pushed the boundaries of magic, tested and continue to test its limits. I had intended to see how far I could go, to discover what is possible with magic when one is not too weak nor afraid to attempt great things," Merope breathed, her passion for the subject lending a gleam to her eyes that few have seen in recent years. Harriet eyed the woman, contempt clear in her gaze.
"Murder doesn't count as a 'great thing'," Harriet hissed through gritted teeth, glaring at Merope even as her entire body still trembled with adrenaline. Her shoulders and hands trembled nearly imperceptibly. Merope wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been hungrily taking in every detail about the girl.
"Simply a means to an end, Harriet," she dismissed. Merope could practically feel the disdain and disgust radiating off the girl. She ignored it and continued. "I have made multiple horcruxes. They come with certain inherent abilities. They are able to possess people or animals, while I am able to possess them. Some have their own sentience, and some are able to feed off another wizard's magic to fuel themselves. I am able to see the world through their eyes through dreams or meditation. Emotions can filter from me into my horcruxes, and vice versa if the horcrux is sentient. Its abilities largely depend on what the horcrux is contained within. As you might’ve guessed, this connection I have to my horcruxes, and my horcruxes to me, is unbreakable and undeniable. There is nothing that can hide them from me and there is nothing anyone can do to destroy the soul in the container. And as I would never willingly absorb certain horcruxes, they will remain as horcruxes for all eternity. As long as my soul is contained within the object, it will remain untarnished by the sands of time. Do you understand, Harriet?" Merope watched her girl expectantly.
"Why are you telling me this?" Harriet asked wearily. She shifted back into the pillows further as she took in Merope's shark-like grin.
"Think, Harriet. Think back on what I've told you about horcruxes. Dreams, possession, sharing emotions. Is it not familiar? A touch too similar. I know I don't need to lead you by the hand, Harriet. You are smart enough to figure this out."
The colour drained from Harriet's face as she put together the pieces of the puzzle that were so neatly laid out for her by the Dark Lord. Her eyes began to shine with unshed tears. She looked to Merope, practically begging for her to tell her that what she was thinking isn't true.
Merope took a moment to savour the picture Harriet painted in front of her. The Saviour of the Wizarding World, in her own bed with tears leaking from her pretty green eyes. The way her fingers clenched and unclenched the comforter below her, desperately trying to ground herself against this crude truth. Once again, Harriet was looking to her for answers, her eyes searching Merope's face for confirmation or denial. Yes, the Saviour’s descent has begun. Her fall from grace would be most beautiful.
"Yes, Harriet. You are my horcrux. You are mine. Mind, body, and soul. Mine to protect, mine to punish, mine to cherish. Mine in every way there is.” Merope reached forward to cup Harriet’s jaw, feeling the girl flinch below her and yet the woman did not pull away. Neither of them did. Harriet gazed up at her with pure hatred in her eyes. ‘Truly a beautiful sight,’ Merope thought to herself, thumb smoothing over one jagged cheekbone.
She continued, “Do you understand, Harriet? You would not be here, you would not be who you are, you wouldn't even be alive, if it weren't for me. Ironic, isn't it? My prophesied enemy now the vessel for my soul. Your prophesied enemy the reason for your being. By the Gods, I would've seen you dead that Samhain night, but it seems that the Fates had other ideas. And truly, how can I reject a gift such as this from the Fates themselves?
"Your coming here tonight was Fate. My discovery of my soul within yours was Fate. Don't you see? The way events lined up to bring you back to me? You are meant to be by my side, Harriet. A missing piece of my soul now found. Trust and believe, my Harriet, that I will never be letting you go. Not again, not ever again."