Chapter 3
'Thoughts'
‘Internal speech’
August 1995
Harriet’s POV
Voldemort was leaning close to Harriet as if drawn by some unnatural force. Her crimson eyes held an almost manic gleam, clearly revelling in the information she was bestowing upon Harriet. She enjoyed absolutely shattering everything Harriet thought she knew about the world, the war, Voldemort, about herself.
Meanwhile, Harriet was practically absent, no longer paying attention to anything Voldemort might be saying as she blankly stared at her hands. Her mind raced as her trembling increased and tears flowed down her face in rivulets. This couldn't be true. Logically, maybe, it made sense, but Voldemort had to be lying, right? No way would she flip her attitude this fast unless she was going to kill her.
Yes, Harriet thought to herself, that must be it. There was no way that she belonged to Voldemort in some sick way, that she was meant to be by her side. This was all some elaborate plot to get her to lower her guard. To catch her unaware, so that Voldemort could deal the finishing blow. She was playing with Harriet before she killed her. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of being Voldemort's. No, that simply could not be true.
'Oh Harriet, it wouldn't be all that bad. Even you can't say she doesn't take care of what is hers.'
Oh great bloody Merlin, this is just what she needed. Her insecure subconscious having a laugh at her expense. Harriet squeezed her eyes shut against the traitorous voice, trying to block it out, but to no avail.
'You have to admit it makes sense. The dreams, the visions, the prophecy... "Marked as her equal". You've been marked as hers since your infancy, haven't you Harrie? One of the Dark Lord's most prized creations, proof of her greatest accomplishment. For the rest of eternity--'
"Are you listening to me, Harriet?" Harriet glanced up quickly, nearly on the verge of sobbing. Frustration seared through her as she fought herself. How could she think such things? Want such things? Why else would this voice be saying these things if not because, on some level, she just wants to belong?
‘Even if that belonging comes from-’ Harriet bit her toungue harshly.
"Sorry," Harriet rasped out reflexively, knowing her inattention had been blatant.
Voldemort reached out, quick as lightening, to grasp Harriet's chin in a nearly bruising grip. She forced Harriet’s gaze to meet hers, unamused red eyes searing themselves into her memory. Belatedly, Harriet remembered just exactly who she was dealing with. Horcrux or no, she didn't feel too safe in the assumption Voldemort wouldn't torture her if the mood struck her.
"You will listen to me." Voldemort's grip tightened, nails digging into thin flesh. "It would do you well to remember that I do not speak idly, and I would not waste my breath imparting this knowledge if it wasn't necessary. This will be your last reminder, Harriet."
Voldemort gave her one last searching look before slowly releasing Harriet once more. Harriet's skin tingled exactly where Voldemort's fingers had lingered. A bright, unnatural warmth had bloomed under her touch and surprisingly, no pain. Harriet idly rubbed her chin, mindlessly trying to rid herself of the feeling.
Voldemort was not spared this sensation. Harriet watched from the corner of her eye as Voldemort rubbed her fingers together, brows furrowed. So she didn’t know what that was either. Harriet’s heart sunk slightly. It seemed they were both running into this blind. The sudden realisation that she had been relying on Voldemort to feed her information and guide her was not lost on Harriet. She scowled once more, wanting nothing more than to run from the Wizarding World and never come back. How else would she escape someone like Voldemort?
Harriet was brought back from her brooding by the sound of Voldemort’s voice.
“You must understand, Harriet, that I no longer wish to kill you or bring you harm. You are invaluable to me, and proof of my greatest accomplishment. Together, we will be immortal forever more,” the impassioned gleam had one again returned to Voldemort’s eyes, and Harriet was terrified to be honest. An eternity with her parents’ murderer didn’t sound like the future she wanted. But did she even have a choice in this? Was it really death or a life by Voldemort’s side? How else could she get rid of this Merlin forsaken horcrux except through death?
Unbidden, Harriet began to hatch a plan within her mind. If she could just warn the Headmaster, he would know what to do. He always knew how to fix everything, right? She just needed to get to him, he probably knew of a way to remove the horcrux, she wouldn’t have to live alone with Voldemort, forever with the woman who ruined her life.
“But now is not the time for the rest of our lives together. You have your schooling to complete, and I have a war to wage. No, we do have all of eternity to spend together,” Voldemort stated, eyes boring into Harriet’s. The flickering fire light gave her a haunting look, casting shadows across her cheekbones. “While I would love nothing more than to keep you here, to keep you safe and help you become stronger, I know these things take time. They take patience. And I never want you to hate your time with me, Harriet. You despise me now, yes. But one day, you will see the truth. I’ve never lied to you before, why start now?” The Dark Lord leaned in once more, her bowed forward, as if sharing a secret with Harriet. She unwittingly found herself leaning towards the captivating woman, despite her internal turmoil.
“You belong by my side, and nothing will change this fact. You feel it, don’t you? The pull towards me, just as I feel a pull towards you,” Voldemort nearly whispered, reaching a hand forward to brush a lock of hair behind Harriet’s ear. The tender touch at odds with the intense gaze in her eyes. Harriet flinched violently, yet Voldemort seemed to pay it no mind. She merely watched her.
Pure revulsion filled Harriet. To ever accept that she felt a draw (she didn’t, right? Right?) to the murderer of her parents would be the worst betrayal to their memory. How could she live with herself if she were to ever entertain the idea of any positive contact with Voldemort? Her fingers once more curled into the comforter, hoping beyond hope that this nightmarish evening would just end already. Hey eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched against the supposed fate of her future. Fire burned through her veins. She didn’t know how much more she could bear before she physically attacked this mad woman. Just who did she think she bloody was, speaking in absolutes about her life? It was infuriating how Voldemort acted like she knew who Harriet was and what her future would be. That fire blazed brighter. Harriet Potter bowed to no one, thank you very much. Much less a psychopathic womman such as the Dark Lord. If she were to have any type of life after this war, if she even survived it, it would be on her own terms. She would be dictated by no one.
A heavy sigh left her as Harriet resolved to do her own research on Horcruxes. Voldemort can claim all these “facts” about their connection and what it meant, why it came to be. But Harriet refused to believe a single one of Voldemort’s words without any proof. She knew this couldn’t be her reality. She refused to accept it. Not unless she could be presented with unbiased information, and she knew Voldemort is about as biased as a woman could get. If, and that was a big if, what Voldemort was saying was true… well Harriet just desperately hoped that it was not. She’ll deal with that if it ever came to it.
Harriet reluctantly opened her eyes again and watched Voldemort back, gaze roaming over her face as she contemplated her words, mulling them over in her mind. Harriet stopped on the sharp curve of her jaw, the slope of her neck, as she pondered her monologue. The Dark Lord intended to let her go? Harriet wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, but she just didn’t understand why. What about Voldemort’s secrets? Was she not worried that Harriet would tell people exactly how to kill her? Harriet had the knowledge to destroy her and she was just letting her walk free?
“You mean to let me leave?” The savage beast in Harriet’s chest calmed as this. The fire raging in her heart dimmed. At least she would not be trapped here, one prison exchanged for another. She tentatively believed that she could walk free, but also knew there was a chance the Dark Lord was simply playing games with her mind.
A chilled, flat look entered Voldemort’s eyes. Her content expression fell and she looked… displeased. Her shoulders tightened before she spoke once more.
“Yes. It goes against every one of my instincts, but I will let you go. You are in your fifth year, aren’t you? You will continue your schooling, and I will arrange for protection. I refuse to let you risk your neck as I know you have done in the past. I will provide you a form of protection, and you will be watched. You will be safe. You are free to do as you want, to tell anyone you’d like about our connection. But I will require an Unbreakable Vow in exchange for your silence on the rest of my Horcruxes. If you’d like, flaunt your own. But I will not have you jeopardising the rest of mine. You may tell anyone you’d like, so long as you have them swear a Vow of silence beforehand, Harriet,” the Dark Lord stated, as a mischievous gleam suddenly passed through her eyes. Harriet was immediately suspicious of this change back to a seemingly good mood, but was too relieved over having her freedom back when she was so certain she’d lost it again. Her hands unclenched the comforter for a moment, before falling to fidget in her lap. Harriet idly thought this information over, knowing she was missing something. Something important. It didn’t make sense for Voldemort to allow Harriet to put her Horcrux at risk, if her ardent attitude over them thus far was genuine.
‘She knows something I don’t,’ Harriet thought, but quickly put it to the back of her mind. The exhausting task of figuring out the inner workings of Voldemort could wait for later. For now, she would do what she had to so she could get out of this cursed Manor as soon as possible.
“Who will be watching me? And I’ll swear the Vow. Just let me go,” Harriet nearly demanded, nearly pleaded, too unnerved to play the games Voldemort seemed so fond of.
“Severus Snape. I’m sure you know of the Vow he’s already sworn to protect you, Harriet? What’s one more, when he’s already shown his willingness to swear it to another master?” Voldemort said, a cold anger tingeing her voice. Her wand hand twitched, as if more than eager to punish the man for his betrayal.
Harriet’s jaw dropped, dumbfounded. Severus Snape Vowed to protect her? She would laugh if it didn’t make a strange sort of sense. She thought his presence in many of the life threatening situations she found himself in meant he might have had a hand in them. Maybe he’d had a hand in saving her instead? That rage she heard in Voldemort’s voice, that she saw splashed across her face… no, that was genuine. This was no lie, Snape truly had made a Vow against his Master. She was displeased, and Severus Snape was the reason.
Before Harriet could respond, confess that she hadn’t know of this Vow, Voldemort was speaking once more.
“Winky. Bring me Barty.”
Merope's POV
Merope saw the girl blanch at her order, clearly connecting “Barty” to the infamous Bartemius Crouch Junior, Azkaban escapee, imprisoned for his crimes committed under his Lord. Namely, for torturing the Longbottom couple into insanity.
Did she mention she was quite proud of Barty’s talent with the Cruciatus Curse?
The house elf popped into existence once more, bowing low before her newest Mistress, with Barty at her side. As Winky left, Merope saw the girl tense in her peripheral, more fearful of the convict than the Dark Lord herself. When had the girl started to relax in his presence, Merope wondered idly.
At her feet kneeled Barty, head bowed low, as if in prayer. It never got old, seeing such loyalty to her and her cause. The blond man was dressed in potioneer’s robes, presumably having been working in the Manor’s potion’s lab before he was called.
“How may I serve you, my Lord?” He had yet to look up at his Lord, waiting to be addressed before he dared. Merope did not require this of her followers, but such was Barty’s devotion and fanaticism. Merope could not lie and say it did not please her.
“I need to summon Severus, Barty. Your arm,” Merope said, and only then did Barty raise his head. His attention was immediately caught by the figure beside his Lord, and Merope bit back her amusement at the girl’s reaction. Harriet had gone ramrod straight beside her and Barty merely grinned, a clear hint of madness in his eyes, recognising the girl from the many Defence Against the Dark Arts classes he taught in disguise.
Barty dutifully rolled up his robe sleeve, baring the Dark Mark in the firelight, gaze locked with the Saviour of the Wizarding World all the while.
Merope leaned forward, wand in hand, to grip the proffered arm. She gently pressed the yew wand to the darkened skin, feeling Barty shift in place and relax as a wave of heat ran through him. The Dark Mark was magic complex enough to manifest a physical sensation, and Merope frequently took advantage of this feature. It could be pleasantly warm, or it could burn, and Severus would most certainly feel the burn of her wrath. After all, it was not everyday that Merope had a rat in ranks. To find one in her Inner Circle of all places, was beyond disappointing. Such betrayal would be punished, and punished severely.
Once the Call had been sent out, Merope released the man before sitting straight once more. Barty was grinning at Harriet once more, revelling in her tense posture and side long glances. Barty was curious, she could tell, about the Potter girl in her bed, but his questions would wait. She had more important matters to deal with at hand.
“You may leave Barty. Wait for me in my office in an hour’s time.” Barty rose at once, spared a last look at the stiff girl, before bowing and leaving with a murmured My Lord. The sound of his unhurried steps faded into silence before Merope felt a shift in the wards, indicating a Marked wizard had entered the property. Only she and her followers were allowed entrance to the Manor and its grounds, and yet the Potter girl had made her way through the wards. Merope’s eyes slid to his girl’s form once more. How curious, indeed.
Merope took in the slump of Harriet’s shoulders, clearly relieved that Barty was no longer in her presence. It amused her to no end that Harriet preferred her company over that of her Death Eaters. It seems that the girl truly believed she meant her no harm any longer. A subtle show of trust, but one all the same.
Just then, the door to her chambers opened once more as Severus followed the Call of the Dark Mark to his Master.