Chapter 7
Tom felt like he'd been punched in the throat.
For a moment, all he could do was watch - wide eyed - as Harry stuffed his belongings into a bag. Then his eyes turned cool, and he marched forward, grabbing hold of his fiancé's arm.
As if he could somehow keep him there.
"You're not leaving. I won't let you."
Harry's gaze turned to him, blazing. It speared him to the spot. In any other circumstances it would have had him grinning, melting beneath the heat only to be fired up more as he'd press Harry up against the wall. Kiss him hard. Kiss him harder still, as if he could leave a permanent claim on the man's mouth if only he tried hard enough.
"You can't stop me."
"You're being ridiculous," Tom hissed. "This is-"
"-Ridiculous?" Harry snatched the word viciously, a slight crack in his voice. "Right, yeah. No. Ridiculous is a half-blood championing blood purity. Ridiculous is Lord Voldemort. Ridiculous is you expecting me to just stand there and watch as you denounce me and people I care about for your own power. Because we both know that's what this is really about. That's what it's always about with you."
Of course it was. He didn't care about blood purity, he only cared about the position that the system could give him. Pureblood meant power, and so he would emulate pureblood and had. He passed now among the best of them, didn't Harry see?
"And I thought you got into this, knowing that," he said, jaw tight. "Don't act like I somehow duped you on the true nature of my personality. I never did that. And I thought that, when you loved someone, you stood by their views. That's what you said. That's what you told me love was. That we supported each other. No matter what. That's what we promised. What you promised. No matter what. Or were you lying when you said that?"
He could feel his voice picking up, faster and faster, more clipped with each word.
"And what about my views?" Harry asked, more quietly now, looking at him. Tom furrowed his brow.
"What do you mean?"
"Why should I be the one sacrificing everything for you? That's what you're asking for. What about my views? My dreams?"
"Of course you can still do whatever you want," he replied, confused. That was the point. With power, they could both do anything. "We talked about this. When I rule the world-"
"When you rule the world," Harry stated. There was a peculiar blankness to his normally expressive features now.
"Yes, when I-"
"When did we become I, Tom?"
He paused at that, cut off, eyes dull. Harry continued to stare at him, expression hard. Eyes cold and distant. Tom tried to think when that had happened, too. His mouth had gone strangely dry.
His fingers flexed around Harry's arm, trying to think.
"I'll be better. Stay. I-" his shoulders stiffened, squared. "I need you." It was barely audible, and he had to force the words past his teeth. But he meant them, sincerely.
If he didn't, saying it would be easy. Maybe he should lie. Lie and sweetly tell Harry everything that he wanted to hear. Put on the act of the boy he used to be, before everything happened. It wouldn't be the first time he'd charmed someone to his side.
Though Harry had never been so oblivious to his manipulations.
"No, you don't," Harry replied – in that same, awfully calm tone. Tom hated it. Harry was many things; uncommonly kind, brave, stubborn, hot-headed. But he wasn't calm. Not like this. "And you said that last time."
It sent a chill down his spine, and he hated that too. Hated the way that all Harry had to do was look at him, and it felt like everything he'd accomplished was reduced to nothing.
He felt he could kill Harry for that, sometimes.
"Harry-"
"Don't," Harry said, softly. "Just…don't. Just let me go."
"No." He didn't even have to think about it. "No, don't you dare even say that, after everything." His voice dropped low, deadly.
He could feel rage starting to overtake the churn of confusion in his gut, and he took a slow step even closer, until there was barely a breath between them. What gave the bastard the right to walk away as if they'd simply shared a carriage? To think that Tom could ever let him go so easily when for better or worse, despite his all of his best efforts, his lover had made a home in his head that he no longer knew how to shake.
Harry immediately had his wand against Tom's throat.
Tom didn't know when that had become Harry's instinctual response either. Things between them weren't so bad – he'd know if they were! He'd always done his best to ensure that Harry was happy. He could do that, now. Before, he'd lacked the power to give Harry everything that he wanted to, everything that his lover deserved…
But now? Now he could give him the whole world, and what could possibly be better than that? And now, to…
"If you really think I'd ever let you go, you're deluding yourself," he continued.
His own wand hit his palm too.
Harry sucked in a sharp breath.
"Voldemort goes, or I go, Tom. It's that simple."
How had this happened? He could admit, things hadn't been great between them recently, but they'd argued plenty of times before. They argued all the time! They always got through it. This could hardly be the end of it all.
He shook his head, mutely, for a moment.
Harry turned and slammed his case shut on all his clothes, wrenching his arm free of Tom's grip.
"Please." It was even quieter, than the words before, when he realized his silence to Harry's ultimatum had stretched too long. Said too much.
"Are you going to stop this Voldemort shit?" Harry raised his brows.
Tom flared again, eyes flashing.
"You complain about making sacrifices for me, but you seem perfectly fine making the same demands of me. You hypocrite-"
Harry was already heading for the door. Heading for the door where Tom would never see him again, as if Harry could just leave him like this and remove himself from Tom's life, still wearing the ring Tom had given him…
He lost it. Snapped.
Everything tunnelled and hazed bloody as he lunged forward. Harry turned, just in time, and they were both crashing into the corridor. His hands closed around his lover's throat, as Harry's eyes widened with shock, and then widened further still when Tom crushed their lips together.
This was just – just how they worked. Harry grumbled about Tom's plans, but loved him anyway and…Tom didn't know if he loved Harry, but he certainly never wanted to let him go. He couldn't. He needed him.
They'd tussle, and Harry would kiss him back like he was doing now. All tongue, and teeth, and the heat of their hearts burning in all the spaces in between and-
And Harry shoved him away. Tom landed hard on his back, as they panted for breath. Harry's eyes squeezed shut, for a moment, where he'd shoved himself up to sit. Gently rubbing his throat.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I just – I can't do this. Not anymore. I tried. And I can't and-"
"Give me my ring back then," Tom cut in coldly. Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. Maybe he should have expected Harry to leave him. People did that. Even when they promised they never would.
People couldn't stand the force of his undiluted personality. Some lasted longer, but in the end he eroded them down like the ocean against even the most unyielding cliffs.
Harry froze, looking down at the sliver of gold on his finger blankly for a moment. He looked back up at Tom again. He wouldn't do it. He'd see what a mistake he was making, surely? It didn't have to be like this. Then the other man just slowly slid the ring off and threw it at him.
Tom didn't catch it, merely watched it bounce off him and come to a deceptively innocuous halt by his left leg.
He'd actually done it. Harry had actually done it.
"Goodbye, Tom." His lover straightened up. "I'd prefer it if you didn't try and contact me. Please don't follow me either. That would probably be for the best."
He was going to be sick. He felt like something monstrous was clawing up his throat, and he didn't know why.
"You miserable traitor-" he was barely able to get the words out, and Harry just kept walking away. Maybe he'd never loved him at all. Tom surged to his feet, incandescent with fury. "If you come crawling back I won't forgive you. Not this time. Understood?"
Harry's shoulders tensed. But. He. Still. Just. Kept. Walking.
Tom took several steps after him, fists clenched.
"I mean it, Harry," he continued, voice growing louder and louder in comparison to his partner's uncanny silence. "I'm never going to forgive you for this, if you leave."
The other man finally stopped, turning to face him, fractionally. His eyes were suspiciously red-rimmed. Tom should have felt delighted, vindicated. That's what he normally felt, when people were pathetic enough to cry in front of him.
He didn't.
He softened his tone.
"I love you. Come back."
Harry gave a mirthless laugh at that, a strange smile twisting his lips.
"You don't love me, Tom. You don't love anyone. Not anymore. Maybe you never did. I don't know."
Voldemort went cold. Ears ringing. Head swimming.
Maybe it was true. Maybe if Harry got so close to him, looked at him and saw nothing but a black pit devoid of such warm humanities, it must be true.
Certainly, he trusted that out of the two of them Harry would recognize love, not him.
"If you leave, next time we meet – I will kill you." He managed a harsh whisper that still seemed to scream across the chasm between them. He silently urged Harry to stay, to not be this stupid, to not put Tom in this position. To not leave him.
Nobody had the right to make him feel this helpless. Not anymore.
Lord Voldemort was above helplessness. That was the whole point.
He saw Harry's throat bob.
And then he apparated.
It took a month for it to sink in that Harry really wasn't coming back this time. That he wasn't going to be coming back.
And he would have done anything to make it stop hurting.
"Are you feeling better?"
Harry looked up at the question. He immediately got a rather horrible flash of déjà vu, considering he was bent over the bed stuffing his meagre belongings into a bag.
By the way Voldemort stilled, bloody gaze moving over his stuff, it seemed he wasn't the only one making a connection.
Harry cleared his throat.
Honestly though, he couldn't stay in this house. In this damn room. It was his room. He hadn't missed it, hadn't forgotten. Hadn't missed that Voldemort had kept his room in perfect condition as if waiting for him to return either.
It was choking. He couldn't go back – he just couldn't. It had been hard enough leaving the first time. Oh, not because he was scared, not really. It had never been a matter of fear. He knew Tom well enough to know that threats were the bastard's way of pleading. It wasn't remotely functional, but…
And Tom hadn't, despite his threats, killed him for leaving. Actually, as far as he somewhat kept track of in the war, Voldemort had even gone to some small effort to avoid attacking him.
It was funny. Both eventual leaders of their sides, refusing to face each other for the fear of old ghosts and promises. Laughable. And instead they pushed their soldiers at each other, and claimed their justifications for honour and idealizations.
"Yes," he said politely. "Fully recovered, thank you. I have people identifying how the poison could have got into the truce meeting. Weak points. Traitors."
"Yes, I imagine your lot are good at figuring out sabotage. Betrayal is practically your trade," Voldemort said, too softly for it not to bite. Harry stiffened a little. "Are you going somewhere? I told you, you and your resistance are perfectly welcome to stay here-"
"-I'm staying with Alphard. The resistance are staying here, more or less. We appreciate your hospitality." His voice was carefully neutral, as if he was back in the political meetings again.
"Black? I'm afraid you'd prove a distraction to his duties."
"Oh, I'm sure that's it," Harry murmured, looking over his shoulder. "I can't stay here. It won't work. You know it won't."
"We've always managed to work as a good team-" Voldemort started.
"-Yes." Harry didn't bother denying that. "But we're not exactly good at professional boundaries, are we? If you want a truce between us…"
"You're scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You're running scared." Voldemort moved closer to him. "Because you still have feelings for me. Even after all this time."
Harry's jaw clenched, and he swallowed.
"And you could have let me die," he countered, quietly. "You didn't. Even if it would help solve your rebellion problem."
"You trust me enough to leave your resistance in my care?"
"Is that a threat?"
"Merely an interesting note," Voldemort said. Harry turned to face him properly, folding his arms.
"I'm not staying in this room."
"It's your room."
"It hasn't been my room in years. Stop being a petty bastard."
He'd had a whole life here, once upon a time. It was a hub of memories, a snapshot of a different Harry Potter in its way.
"Stay in my room then," Tom smirked. His eyes, however, were serious. Harry sighed.
"You're already acting unprofessional," he pointed out. "Hardly fitting for the Dark Lord to have a dalliance with the half-blood leader of the Order of the Phoenix, is it? Hell, it was hardly fitting for you to be seen with me before I could be executed for treason, it's definitely not." Harry gave a sweet smile, just because he knew it would make the words jab harder. "You made your priorities clear to me a long time ago. We've already had this conversation. Hopefully this is the last time."
"So cold."
The man's hand came out, tracing along his cheek. Harry didn't flinch.
"I learnt from the best. So maybe you should remove your hand before I curse your fingers off."
Voldemort's hand dropped. Though he didn't step back, examining him.
"I suppose you have Miss Granger now."
"I'm not dating Hermione. We're just good friends. Some people still have those," Harry replied. "I'm not dating anyone, before you get the urge to arrange accidents. Not that it's your right to do so anyway, certainly not now. I highly doubt you've spent the last four years celibate."
Maybe they should just get this conversation out of the way. It was pretty bloody obvious that the awkward ex conversations needed to be cleared out of the way. Even if to call Lord Voldemort his 'ex' seemed too pale a description, though it was true.
But still. He hadn't allowed it that Tom made demands on exclusivity that the Slytherin Heir didn't reciprocate when they were still just Tom and Harry, let alone now.
"Abraxas told me – in more subtle terms – that I should get a wife. Apparently it would humanize me for PR."
Harry snorted, even as he wanted to bloody well throttle Malfoy for reasons he refused to examine. God, this was a mess.
"Poor girl. Though I imagine Walburga would jump on the chance."
Though that didn't really answer the question.
"I dare say plenty would. It's an instant status upgrade. Whoever I choose could have a lot of power."
"And a lot of fun as a trophy wife, too. I'd know." Harry laughed, without humour. Maybe just to break the tension.
"I didn't try and make you into a trophy wife."
"You did get a bit obsessed with buying me expensive robes and making sure I looked pretty for the prophet. And then all those charity events."
"You're a do gooder. You like charity events," Voldemort said. "And trophy wives are there to make the husband look better. Most of the time, you definitely didn't. I do believe that was the problem."
"Oh, right yeah," Harry flared. "I was the problem. That's why I said tried to make me into your trophy wife." He shook his head and turned away.
"You were dating a politician, I don't think being aware of your public image could have been too much of a surprise for you."
"You're completely missing the point," Harry bit out. "Who is she then? The new fiancé. Did you give her the same ring you gave me?"
Of course, he and Tom had never been legally engaged. Such a thing was not possible between two men, but…in everything but the legality of it by the end…
"I am still considering my options. I believe there are a number of candidates I'm supposed to meet."
And of course Voldemort, the miserable bastard, felt compelled to tell him all about this. Harry bloody well regretted asking.
"I'm sure you'll be very happy together until you're overthrown. And you will be overthrown. Men like you are always overthrown, in the end," Harry said.
"Do I detect a hint of jealousy?" Voldemort sounded infuriatingly smug now.
Harry gritted his teeth.
"Unprofessional. This is what I'm talking about. Fuck you, don't you dare reduce my beliefs and the resistance down to a question of whether I fancy you or not."
"There's no question if you fancy me or not. You do," Voldemort replied. Harry nearly slapped him. The truce really wasn't going to last long at this point. "But, regardless… I am not currently seeing anyone either."
"Well thank god we covered that," Harry said, sarcastically. He grabbed his bag. "Are you going to excuse me now?" His voice was stilted once more. "Did you come in for anything particular or merely to interrogate me on my history of lovers?"
"On the topic of PR," Voldemort said, voice measured. "And various charity events and politics that you are already aware of, despite running off to play Les Miserables as if you were a Gryffindor not a Slytherin."
"I would have made a fantastic Gryffindor." It was a stupid thing to pick up on, but it made him feel better right now. When he really wasn't sure he knew how to deal with Tom anymore. No. He knew how to deal with Tom – Voldemort was harder.
The dictator ignored him.
"There is a press conference tomorrow regarding the events at the truce dinner. I also have a meeting with France in the evening. Dufort has requested you attend. St Mungos are opening a new wing-"
"Oh, no no no. I'm here to help you with the investigation of poisoning. Not with whatever social networking you have to do. Invite someone else. Druella, perhaps."
"You're better looking."
Harry wasn't sure if Voldemort was being serious or not with the last comment.
"Regardless."
"Regardless," Voldemort interrupted. "If you are serious about a truce, we need to present a united front to our enemies. You are not so naïve as to not realize that."
"Oh, I realize that," Harry snapped. "Hence, I'll come to the press conference, and the meeting with France and whoever else to do with the contents of our truce. I am not open to you using me as a propaganda tool to suggest that the resistance is no longer active because I'm spotted opening a hospital ward with you." Voldemort opened his mouth to argue, and Harry's eyes narrowed. "Don't even try it."
"Fine."
"Fine!"
"Though leaving to stay with Black hardly presents a united front. People might start speculating that the past is not so firmly in the past with your behaviour."
Merlin, the git really did spend the last four years in politics.
"What time is our first engagement?"
"The Press Conference is at 9. We should go over what we intend to say tonight. I'll have dinner brought to the office."
It was easy to remember why he left this mess in the first place, outside of hatred for Voldemort and his blood purity ideals.
…And far too easy to remember why he'd stayed as long as he did too.