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It was the two hundred and twelfth loop.

Harry opened his eyes. The Forbidden Forest surrounded him, the rustle of leaves in the wind mingling with the quiet creaks, squeaks, and crackles of twigs. There was merely a little light filtering through the branches of the trees, the moon and the fires at Hogwarts lighting up the night, but it was still not quite enough to dispel the dark shadows.

Harry took in the damp smell and looked around. He was standing by an old tree stump and nothing had changed: he remembered every detail of the tiny clearing where he usually started his day. A fallen tree lying to the side, spiky bushes. The winding path led back to Hogwarts, and Harry knew exactly what would happen if he were to take it. Virtually nothing good — only tears and screaming. Harry was glad to sway from it.

He began to move towards the lake. The meeting spot was always the same: the scatter of rocks on the shore was visible from afar, and Harry could easily spot the tall figure waiting for him. Voldemort stood at the water’s edge, letting the lapping waves brush his bare feet. The wind ruffled the hem of his black cloak, his form resembling a Dementor in the twilight; immobile and therefore all the more terrifying. He tried to contain his anger, but it still showed in the features of his menacing face: in his pursed lips, his angry squint, and furrowed brows. Before, Harry had always thought that Voldemort’s face had lost its human vividness after his rebirth; but that wasn’t the case at all: it had been distorted beyond recognition, but remained expressive. All Voldemort had to do was raise a pale eyebrow for others to understand his feelings.

He didn’t turn around when Harry approached.

‘Didn’t work,’ Harry remarked.

‘What’s with the bad habit of stating the obvious?’

‘What’s with the bad habit of arguing from the get-go?’ Harry teased him. He didn’t move when Voldemort finally turned his head and gave him an irritated look — Merlin knew his creepy face no longer scared Harry. The angry glares only provoked reciprocal resentment: arguing did nothing to improve their situation and only slowed progress. Voldemort was responsible for making them lose a hell of a lot of loops, but Harry tried his best not to think about it. He was always genuinely horrified by the sudden realization that he was spending his days in the company of a man who had killed him.

He preferred not to think about it. It was easier that way.

‘I don’t want to go to the library today,’ Harry said. He kicked a stone into the water and watched the circles crash against the waves.

‘Got any better ideas?’

‘Yeah,’ Harry glanced at Voldemort awkwardly. ‘How about we do something fun?’

The man blinked.

‘Fun? Like what, take over Hogwarts again?’

‘We’re definitely not taking over Hogwarts!’

‘But it’s fun,’ he shrugged innocently.

‘You know damn well it isn’t,’ Harry gave him an offended look and turned away. Voldemort had indeed wasted a few loops trying to take control of the school; almost all of them had been successful, as at some point Harry simply stopped trying to oppose him — it was absolutely pointless, as with the last rays of the setting sun, everything fell back into place. He was back in the forest and Voldemort, surrounded by his loyal Death Eaters, was waiting for him in the thicket. Harry didn’t want to relive the deaths of his friends over and over again, so he simply led them away from the castle: at first, he had tried to explain the situation to them, to get them to help him with honest advice or fresh ideas, but then gave up on that plan.

Hermione suggested going to the Hogwarts library each and every time, and Harry had to explain that he and Voldemort — he and Voldemort, who would have thought! — had already been there. And at the Malfoy Manor library, and at Grimmauld’s, and at the Department of Mysteries…On quiet days, it was a part of their routine: meet by the lake, argue for a bit, and then head to whatever library Voldemort deemed was most promising this time. Harry dragged along, well aware that he had little to no chance of breaking the loop on his own. Voldemort was exceptionally skilled in complex magical arts, spoke several foreign languages, and had great research ability — Harry, on the other hand, could probably only boast of being able to fold paper planes so perfectly that they could fly through the library like fighter jets.

The Manor Library was his favorite of the options. Not only because of the Malfoys, who always watched their master and his guest with an expression of indescribable horror on their faces but also because of the elves: they were very friendly with Harry and cooked anything he dared to ask for.

But he didn’t want to go there today — he was tired. Time after time Voldemort tried something new: spells, rituals, artifacts…Nothing helped, and Harry was beginning to lose hope. Maybe it wasn’t a time loop after all — maybe it was some kind of afterlife they’d entered after the very first Avada Kedavra? What if Voldemort had died too, killing Harry, and now they were condemned to exist in this moment for all eternity? Such thoughts didn’t make for a positive mood, and Harry was gradually losing optimism — and with Voldemort’s mood rarely rising above the «satisfactory» mark, the situation was beginning to look really lousy.

So Harry just wanted to relax a little.

‘I want to go to London,’ he said. ‘Ride the wheel or the rollercoaster. Wanna come with me?’

‘Of course,’ Voldemort spoke monotonously. ‘Because I’d rather waste my time on useless nonsense.’

‘As if we don’t have enough time,’ Harry snorted. ‘One day won’t change anything.’

‘We’ll be a whole day away from solving the situation at hand.’

‘You were the one who spent weeks chasing me through the forest,’ Harry reminded him. ‘If you had listened to me from the beginning…’

‘You’re a child, Potter, and you have no understanding of what’s going on.’

Harry instantly flared up.

‘Oh, so when it comes to carrying your books around, I’m an adult and should make myself useful, but as soon as it comes to having an opinion, I’m suddenly a child?’

Voldemort was still looking at him indifferently.

‘Exactly,’ he replied graciously. ‘And now we’ll go to the Lestrange’s. I think they have a few more books we might need.’

‘You know I hate going to the Lestrange’s!’ Harry shouldn’t have been so upset, but he was. He was really getting fed up with it all, and he’d sworn something about twenty loops ago that he’d never set foot in Bellatrix’s house again.

‘A single dash of the Crucio Curse, and now I’m stuck listening to your incessant whining for a whole month,’ Voldemort replied irritably. ‘Remind me, who isn’t a child here?’

‘You know what? Fuck you.’

‘Potter. We’ve already talked about your bad manners.’

‘I don’t care!’ Harry turned around abruptly and rushed down the bank towards the border where he could Apparate. He was excepting a green flash to come at him from behind, or the torturing curse to remind him of his place, but neither happened. Instead of pain came a stupor and Harry froze in an awkward pose. He waited, slowly boiling inside: Voldemort was in no hurry to catch up with him. He walked down the shore at a leisurely pace, gazing melancholically at the lake. His pale skin looked almost paper-white in the moonlight.

‘Let me go,’ Harry hissed.

‘As soon as you put an end to this tantrum.’

‘There’s no way I’m hanging around the Lestrange’s,’ Harry managed to turn his head slightly. ‘Though, if you let me fight Bellatrix…’

‘Need I remind you that the last time she killed you, we were thrown back into the forest, which caused me to lose all my notes?’ Voldemort shook his head. ‘No. Not a chance. You’ll be learning Latin.’

‘I can’t memorize anything without taking notes.’

‘As you said, we have plenty of time,’ Voldemort snickered, revealing his sharp teeth in a predatory grin. Harry winced; the immobilizing curse had dissipated and he stumbled, almost falling to the sand.

‘You’ll be fine without me there,’ he suggested, finally regaining his balance. ‘You were the one who said I was useless.’

‘Not at all. Seeing you suffer from boredom gives me great satisfaction. Besides, it means my soul is safe and sound.’

‘Considering the shitty places you’ve kept your other Horcurxes, you’re practically carrying me around in your arms,’ Harry mumbled gloomily.

Voldemort visibly cringed. They rarely spoke of the Horcruxes, for it placed a dangerous pressure on their fragile world, but sometimes Harry was incredibly tempted to tease him about it. After all, when — if — the loop broke, they would need to work something out…

And with everything else too.

Because everything had changed. Changed the day Harry killed Voldemort.

It was quick. He hadn't even had time to take in his own triumph when the loop closed and they were back in the forest. The sight of wide open red eyes, frozen in genuine amazement, and the second the other man’s body fell to the ground were etched in his mind: Harry spent several long minutes in the forest, breathing heavily and trying to make sense of what had happened.

He should have felt joy, elation, and triumph — but there was only fear. A sticky feeling of disgust at everything.

That was the first time he’d seen Voldemort on the lake shore. He stood still, looking out over Hogwarts; Harry had never seen him so relaxed and calm. He rarely got the chance to examine Voldemort, but then he noticed how many of Tom Riddle’s features were still in his face. He had lost his perfect nose, but the line of his jaw, his high cheekbones, and his proud posture remained the same. Did he ever regret his lost beauty, sacrificed to dark rituals? Or did he not care at all?

Harry never asked. But the war had stopped.

* * *

The Lestrange Manor wasn’t the most exciting place. Perhaps it was the fact that it was the home of an obnoxiously awful family, but Harry tried to remain objective: he didn’t like the gloomy building surrounded by flat lawns, didn’t like the dark hallways and the dark cherry wood-paneled walls, didn’t like their library with its dim lights and uncomfortable couch…Most of all, of course, Harry disliked the owners, but he could at least laugh at them, taking advantage of his total freedom, and the rest he had to strongly put up with.

Voldemort always occupied the armchair by the fireplace, while Harry had to sit on the couch, which a grey Kneezle with a torn ear, long tail, and sharp mustache was always trying to jump on. Harry would never have guessed that the Lestranges had any kind of animal in their house, but as time went on he realized that the creature was a perfect portrait of its owners: aggressive, vindictive, and cocky. The Bastard, as Harry called him, ignoring his idiotic name of Scipio, never approached Voldemort, but he had definitely made Harry his number one nemesis from the very first second. Harry tried locking the library doors, using charms, closing the Kneezle in a cupboard, but it still always managed to escape and attack him.

‘I bloody hate him,’ Harry announced, angrily eyeing the Bastard. It sat on the table, tail twitching and hungry yellow eyes following his every move. It didn’t move an inch as Harry watched it, waiting.

‘I’m genuinely astonished at how you've managed to hide from me for so long,’ Voldemort’s eyes remained glued to the pages of the book he was reading, ‘when you can’t even take care of a cat.’

‘It’s a Kneezle,’ Harry put his legs up on the sofa and glanced sadly at the Latin handbook that had been graciously thrown on his knees. ‘They’re much smarter than normal cats. It’s trying to please its sick owner.’

‘It’s named after a great military leader, so there’s nothing surprising about it wanting to protect its territory.’

‘Why isn’t it attacking you then?’

‘It knows I’ll kill it if it dares.’

‘I won’t stoop so low as to kill cats, even such annoying ones.’

‘It’s a Kneezle,’ Voldemort corrected him with a slight chuckle.

Harry grinned sourly and picked up one of the textbooks. Most of the books that contained dangerous and rare knowledge were written in ancient languages: Ancient Greek, Latin, Old French…Voldemort could understand most of these texts quite well, but he needed time to decipher them: he didn’t want to admit that he had lost a little skill, though Harry had suspected it anyway. He should have started caring about his education, so he could read complicated books and be useful, but he just couldn’t bring himself to memorize any of it.

Maybe it was all pointless. What if there was no way to break the loop? Then these agonizing days of reading, dusty libraries, and gloomy thoughts of magic had been a complete waste of time. The world froze around them, Harry and Voldemort the only changing variables. They grew, while everything else stayed the same.

It was almost a year now. What if it was two? Five? Ten?

But there were a few upsides to the whole ordeal — no more deaths, no more war, no more pain in his scar. It was all in the past, and Harry had no desire to return to the old ways. Fighting and losing loved ones again? Fearing the serpent face that appeared in the darkness? The loop was holding not only him back, but Voldemort as well, and if that was the price — well, he was willing to pay it.

Sometimes it wasn’t even that bad.

‘Tomorrow I’m running away,’ Harry said, putting the book down.

‘Oh, are you now?’ Red eyes scanned the lines.

‘I’m going to the amusement park. I’ll take Ron and Hermione, we’ll be eating hot dogs and having fun. Don’t you dare come. I’m not inviting you anymore.’

‘Potter…’

‘Give me at least a few days to rest. I’m not used to reading so much.’

‘I’ve noticed,’ Voldemort glanced at him irritably. ‘You are an example of exceptional ignorance.’

‘Literally no one knows Latin,’ Harry mumbled.

‘Any wizard worth his salt should.’

‘Why?’

‘Most magical sciences require its use.’

‘Well, then I guess, science is a closed path to me,’ Harry lay down on the couch. He stared at the fire: it reminded him of Hogwarts, but in the silence of the library it was hard to believe that his beloved school was still burning. It was always dark here, and the rustling of the pages was the only sound that broke the suffocating silence. Voldemort had left him to return to his reading, and Harry spent some time alone with his thoughts.

He shifted his gaze to stare at the man’s hands. His long fingers were softly turning the pages, stroking the spine of the book. There was something gentle, and caring in the gesture — Harry couldn’t have imagined this man in such a casual setting before. He had denied anything human in Voldemort, picturing him as a monster that spent every living second in anger and rage, plotting his evil schemes and scaring others into submission. And yet…there were moments like this? When he ate, when he drank when he simply looked out of the window or turned the pages of a book, trying his best not to damage the fragile paper. Sometimes he rolled his eyes in frustration, sometimes he sighed, sometimes he rubbed the bridge of his nose or his temples to drive away the exhaustion…

Harry shuddered as he realized that Voldemort was examining him as well.

‘What?’ the man asked.

‘What are we going to do if this is forever?’

‘That’s not the case.’

‘But what if it is?’

‘Then we’ll read all the books in the world,’ Voldemort replied.

‘So we’re just going to spend an eternity sitting here?’ Harry sat up. ‘Don’t you ever get bored?’

‘I do. For example, during such conversations.’

‘That’s not…I’m talking about serious things.’

Voldemort sighed slowly and put down his book.

‘Your inability to concentrate doesn’t equate to a serious conversation. You wouldn’t be so bored in the library if you paid at least an ounce of attention to your education.’

‘You sound like Hermione.’

‘In that case, I probably would have preferred to be stuck in this loop with her.’

Harry squinted.

‘I’m doing everything I can,’ his fingers gripped the fabric of the sofa. ‘I’m trying! The least you could do is not call me worthless, useless, and annoying every single day. For the record, all the useful discoveries we made were at Grimmauld’s or the Department of Mysteries, and those were my ideas.’

‘I made those discoveries while you were incapable of learning a few cases.’

‘A few? There’s a lot more than a few in there! I would have learned Latin faster if you had explained it to me instead of just throwing a book in my face!’

‘I learned Latin on my own.’

‘And I’m not you.’

‘That is crystal clear,’ Voldemort leaned slightly forwards. ‘You are nothing without my soul, Potter, and you should be grateful for that gift, for it brought at least an ounce of consciousness to your empty brain.’

Harry rose to his feet.

‘God, I hate you so much,’ he said sourly.

‘The feeling is mutual,’ Voldemort stood up too, taking advantage of the fact that he was much taller than Harry and could glare down at him. Harry flushed and turned away, just in time for the Bastard to take advantage of the distraction and lunge for his leg. A mere second later, sharp claws dug into Harry’s ankle and a ferocious growl echoed through the library.

‘Shit!’ Harry grabbed the Kneezle by the scruff of its neck and angrily threw the creature away. It arched its back and hissed. ‘Bastard! Sit the hell down.’

The door suddenly burst open and Bellatrix appeared on the threshold. Her black hair was disheveled, heavy curls falling messily over her shoulders. Her scarlet lips were parted slightly, her dark gaze flicking from face to face...

‘My Lord! What’s going on? Have you taken Potter hostage?’

‘I have,’ Voldemort said wearily. Harry squinted.

‘Not at all,’ he retorted out of sheer stubbornness. He threw a glance at the astonished Bellatrix and snickered. ‘He said I’ll be living here now and you’re all going to have to move out.’

Bellatrix squinted. Before Harry could even blink, her wand was in her hand.

‘My Lord,’ she took a few steps forward, menacing and stately, ‘allow me to teach this brat a lesson.’

‘If she lays a finger on me, you’ll never see me again,’ Harry said, turning to Voldemort.

The man watched them as if they were but little kids, tiring him with their constant running. His pale face expressed immense disappointment, and even his red eyes had somehow lost their shine.

‘I can find you anywhere in the world,’ he reminded lazily.

‘Well, good luck wasting your precious library time chasing after me.’

They glared at each other. Voldemort tilted his head slowly to one side.

‘What are you trying to achieve, Potter?’

‘I honestly don’t even know anymore,’ Harry admitted quietly.

Somehow those words worked better than any of the previous arguments. Voldemort’s harsh face softened.

‘Fine. Tomorrow you have the day off.’

‘My Lord, what is the meaning of all this?’ Bellatrix still stood there, wand in hand. ‘The others are waiting outside Hogwarts for your orders. The school can’t resist any longer, and if we’re going to take control today…’

‘Cancel everything,’ Voldemort waved his hand indifferently and returned to his book. ‘I’m not to be disturbed. That is all.’

‘But…’

‘I said, that is all,’ he turned, and for a moment the mighty power that used to terrify Harry rose within him.

Bellatrix shifted her gaze to Harry, pursed her lips, and slowly began to retreat. It was clear from the look on her face how much she actually wanted to intervene, but she didn’t dare disobey the Dark Lord’s orders. It was a pleasant turn of events, but Harry knew that she would return in a few hours under the pretext of asking for further instructions to the army, while actually trying to find out the truth about Harry. She had attacked Harry several times, thinking that he had enchanted her precious master — one such attempt had ended miserably for Harry, all others had been interrupted by Voldemort. Nothing new.

‘You should take the day off too,’ Harry remarked as the door closed behind Bellatrix. ‘You’re tired.’

‘Not at all.’

‘You haven’t had any sleep in almost a year,’ Harry returned to the couch Bastard was sitting by. ‘I’ve noticed that if you get some sleep first, you feel better in the next loop.’

‘I have no need for it.’

‘For someone who’s immortal, you’re making such a fuss about time,’ Harry picked up his Latin textbook. ‘A few days won’t change anything. We could go somewhere…’

‘We? You hated my guts just a few minutes ago.’

‘I still do. But you’re the only person I can talk to normally, so it’s not like I have a choice. Maybe if we spend some time in a less threatening environment, my desire to strangle you will diminish.’

‘What an interesting desire,’ Voldemort snickered. He was now watching Harry with curiosity. ‘What about your stance on murder?’

‘I’ll make an exception for you.’

‘Try it.’

Harry shuddered. He never really allowed himself to cross the line — it was his way of dealing with the madness. He felt that if he lost the boundaries that formed the core of his personality, he wouldn't be able to pick himself back up. He had always been against violence of any kind and wasn’t going to indulge in it, taking advantage of the lack of consequences — because that was just a lie. Everything that was going on affected him, Voldemort, their relationship, and the foreseeable future.

Still, Harry looked at his neck. He wasn’t going to do it, of course, he knew he couldn’t, but he just wanted to see a glimmer of surprise in the man’s eyes. He paused for a second, then stood up and lunged forward, resting his knee on the armrest of the man’s chair. His fingers tightened around Voldemort’s throat, soft skin brushing his palm. Harry could feel his pulse beating underneath, his breath.

Voldemort was not surprised, only looked at him in silent anticipation.

Up close, his face was much more human. Wrinkles had gathered at the corners of his eyes and lips, the capillaries in his whites had burst in places, his lips were dry and tense. Harry blinked.

‘That would be far too easy.’

‘Not at all,’ Voldemort disagreed, as calmly as if he didn’t have a hand around his throat at this very moment. ‘Strangling someone isn’t easy at all.’

Strong fingers suddenly squeezed Harry’s throat. He gasped and tried to pull away, but a second hand grabbed the back of his hand, holding him in place. The grip was so tight that Harry actually began to doubt the possibility of a peaceful end to this joke — had Voldemort gotten so fed up with him that he had decided to put an end to this shitty day? But he wasn’t trying to kill him; he was just holding him on the very edge, letting him grab onto his shoulders in an attempt to keep his balance. His vision began to darken, his head began to spin — Harry stumbled.

Voldemort shoved him away sharply and Harry fell to the ground, coughing. Bastard jumped up onto the couch to take his place and pushed the Latin textbook down with its tail.

‘You can stay on the floor,’ the fingers that had been squeezing his throat tightly just a second ago suddenly touched his hair, ruffling it playfully.

Harry pushed the man’s hand away and rose back to his feet: he wouldn’t be caught sitting on his knees in front of the Dark Lord.

Pushing Bastard back down to the floor, Harry returned to his Latin lessons.

* * *

Harry realized all too late that a void had formed between him and his friends. At first, he’d spent each new loop by their side, recounting events and seeking support, which was natural — everything was still the same. They hated Voldemort and hoped to find a way out of this trap; they were together, as they had been every year before, and Harry couldn’t even fathom the fact that something (someone) could stand between him and Ron and Hermione. It had always been the three of them — or so he thought.

Only in this loop, Harry was without them. If it had been very light at first, the feeling that his friends couldn’t understand him at all grew like a snowball. They really didn’t understand him: a moment ago they were stuck inside the burning school walls, mourning their family and friends, waiting for the next attack — how could they have looked at the events differently? The attack on Hogwarts and the fear of Voldemort was their immediate reality, while for Harry it was nothing but a glimpse of the past, more and more distant with each loop.

Eventually, he just stopped coming back. They couldn’t help him get out of this trap: Hermione did try to come up with something, but she was tired and broken, the constant tears had left muddy trails on her cheeks, while Ron hadn’t had enough time to stop thinking about Fred’s death. This instant — fatal for many — wouldn’t allow them to be distracted from the horrors happening around them, and all Harry did was upset them with his attitude. He cared for every person trapped under the roof of Hogwarts, but he couldn’t waste his inner strength on fighting, grief, and pain anymore — after all, everything would be back to how it was by sundown. It didn’t make sense anymore.

He had intended to spend his day off — a lawful day off that Voldemort wouldn’t ruin with his sudden appearance — with Ron and Hermione but changed his mind at the very last minute. He knew that his friends wouldn’t agree to waste the day strolling around London eating treats — to them, it would be a mockery of the pain inflicted on the defenders of Hogwarts — and Harry wasn’t about to waste time on another pointless discussion of the loop. Merlin knew, the hundred previous discussions had been enough, especially as they ended up going nowhere: every day he found himself back in the forest, and the feeling of disconnection from his old life only squeezed his heart tighter.

Harry just wanted to get distracted. He’d had a long sleep at Grimmauld’s, and then made his way to stroll around the centre of London, looking around and using magic freely left and right. The Ministry wouldn’t track him anyway, so Harry didn’t have to worry about the consequences of breaching the Statute. It could have been fun, even amusing, but he had no one to share those feelings with. Harry was already getting sick of the repetitive conversations, and the only person who could understand him was stubborn as hell and denied himself the smallest of human pleasures — that is if you omitted the part where he was a total arsehole.

Even if he wasn’t — what would they do together? They could coexist in an almost peaceful world when it came to joint efforts, but strolling around London looked nothing like forced cooperation. Harry didn’t know how to feel about this: on the one hand, he should definitely feel confusion and resentment, because six months of acceptable behavior couldn’t erase Voldemort’s horrifying past, but on the other hand — maybe that was the whole point? The loop obviously had something to do with the Avada Kedavra curse, which was supposed to destroy the Horcrux but didn’t. So what did this magic want? It had to be between the two of them, and Harry was almost certain that dusty books from other people’s libraries weren’t going to help them find the solution hidden between them.

Maybe they should go for a walk after all. Harry stopped in the middle of an unfamiliar street and looked around: if he was going to follow through with this idea, he would need a good excuse. Voldemort’s appearance would frighten the people around anyway, but there was even a bit of fun in it — perhaps, it would have relaxed his always tense form. Harry was convinced that the man was just being stubborn, refusing to admit his exhaustion and despair.

His gaze suddenly fell on a brightly lit sign, and it took Harry a few seconds to snap out of his thoughts and understand what was written. «The Best Time Travel Films of All Time», read one of the posters in the window, behind which towered long shelves of videotapes. Deciding that he was facing a true sign of destiny, Harry crossed the street and went inside, the bell above the door chiming cheerfully.

The inside was quiet and filled with a strange smell. A young girl, not much older than Harry, stood behind the counter. As soon as she noticed the unexpected visitor, she quickly put down her book and chocolate bar and smiled.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

Harry stared at the shelf of science fiction films.

‘Yup. Do you have any films about time loops?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Um, you know,’ he hesitated for a bit, ‘where someone keeps reliving the same day over and over again or something like that?’

’12:01?’ the woman guessed. ‘Groundhog Day?’

Harry waved his arms. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d watched a movie; he sometimes peeked at the television in Dursley’s living room, but for the most part, the pictures went all past him. The girl, interpreting his hesitation in her own way, handed him a tape in a shiny box.

‘It’s a story about some guy who gets stuck reliving the same day,’ she tapped on the box. ‘A comedy with elements of drama. I thought it was very good.’

Harry bit his lip. It wasn’t a bad idea after all — they kept looking for answers in magical texts, but perhaps they should have paid attention to the Muggle culture? What did it matter where they got the answers to their problems when most of them turned out to be useless anyway?

‘Are you taking it?’

‘Just a second,’ Harry took the wand from his pocket and cast a Patronus. The girl’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She dropped the tape and it fell onto the counter with a loud thud. Harry ignored her and shifted his attention to the shiny stag. ‘I’ve got an idea. Come see me.’

The stag shook its head and disappeared.

‘Jesus Christ,’ whispered the girl behind the counter.

‘Please, just don’t scream,’ Harry said. ‘Or I’ll have to enchant you. An…acquaintance of mine will show up here in a bit, and he looks sort of extravagant, so don’t be scared of him, alright?’

‘What the hell, dude, ‘she raised her hands in the air. ‘What the hell…’

A glowing snake suddenly formed in the air. It looked more precise than a regular Patronus, reflecting a purple light. It looked a lot like Nagini, and its rings were clenching menacingly as if preparing to pounce.

‘I’m not wasting time with your stupid nonsense,’ her mouth announced.

Harry rolled his eyes and summoned another Patronus.

‘I’m being serious,’ he said irritably. ‘It’ll only take five minutes. You don’t have to be such an arse about it. Ron and Hermione aren’t even here.’

He thought he’d have to cast a few more Patronuses before Voldemort would grace him with his presence, but the man decided to surprise him. A second later there was an audible clap and a figure in a long black robe stood in the middle of the small shop. Voldemort never showed that the Apparitions had any effect on his condition: he always kept his back straight and his chin slightly raised. Just like now — he turned his head in his typical stately manner and looked around the place he found himself in.

‘Potter,’ he said half angrily, half desperately, ‘if this is another one of your wild quirks…’

‘Wild quirks?’ Harry snorted. ‘Name at least one.’

‘For example, you eat while reading.’

‘Huh?’ Harry glared at him. ‘Literally everybody does that!’

Voldemort raised a brow.

‘Urgh, doesn’t matter,’ Harry brushed it off. ‘I was just thinking we could look for a solution in the Muggle world.’

‘Great idea,’ Voldemort nodded. ‘After all, Muggles are notorious time travelers.’

‘Why can’t you ever take me seriously? I’m well aware that Muggles don’t time travel! But they have films and books about it! Maybe some of them could help us? Look.’

He jumped up to the counter. The girl stood motionless, her hands still in the air. She looked at Voldemort in horror and hidden curiosity, and Harry could only hope she’d be wise enough to keep quiet. Voldemort paid no more attention to her than to the random flower on the shelf, but that could change in a heartbeat — Harry didn’t want any unnecessary casualties. He took the tape from the counter and waved it in the air.

‘The character here also gets stuck in one day.’

‘Potter,’ Voldemort spoke slowly, ‘do you really think your Muggle nonsense could be any more useful than the work of Phillip Leppo, who studied the anomalies of time-turners back in the fourteenth century?’

‘Don’t know, but this movie came out five years ago, maybe it has more up-to-date information?’ Harry mumbled. ‘We’ve been researching your Phillip guys for so long and so far none of them have helped us! Let’s give something new a chance.’

‘It’s your day off, you can do whatever you please,’ Voldemort waved his hand graciously. ‘You don’t have to get in my way for that.’

‘We could watch it together,’ Harry suddenly felt flustered. ‘What if I miss something important?’

‘Potter…’

‘I desperately need your wise judgment on this research,’ Harry showed a wide grin. He ruffled his hair, hoping he didn’t overdo it — Voldemort’s sense of humor was still a mystery to him. But he didn’t seem angry, only examined Harry with a hint of doubt in his eyes.

‘Your desire to spend time together is starting to worry me,’ he announced in the tone of a scolding parent. ‘Weren’t you the one striving to spend the day off away from me?’

‘I’m glad you recognize who the main cause of my stress is,’ Harry shrugged, ‘but you’re the only one who remembers the details of our conversations. It’s just that…well, it’s a day off. Can’t you do just something for me for once? Please?’

It had an effect. Voldemort glanced around with disgust once more.

‘You’re an incredibly insolent child. I have no idea how Dumbledore handled you.’

‘He didn’t,’ Harry lowered his eyes. ‘Do you really think I’d be getting into all this trouble if Dumbledore «handled» me?’

‘Depends on whether you used those sneaky tricks on him.’

‘What tricks?’ Harry smiled mischievously and tilted his head to one side. ‘Can’t say no to your soul, can you now?’

‘Potter…’

‘So, yeah, um, the movie,’ Harry took a step forward and pressed the tape to the man’s chest. ‘Have you ever seen films?’

‘You’re perfectly aware of where I grew up.’

‘Those were ancient times! Did they already make movies back then?’

Voldemort snickered unwillingly.

‘I suppose I should be content that you at least know how to read.’

‘For the record, I was a good student.’

‘Heard tons about it.’

‘Have you really tried to find out about my grades?’ Harry smiled. He suddenly thought of Snape, and the desire to talk about school sharply dissipated. He looked away. ‘Who knows, you might even like it. We just need to find a tape player.’

A wild thought suddenly visited Harry’s mind. In the past, he couldn’t even have pictured a scene like this, but now…He felt that the madness he had tried so hard to protect himself from was still finding its way into him: how else was Harry supposed to explain that he was now standing in the middle of a videotape store with Voldemort, trying to convince him to spend the evening together watching a film? Voldemort was a monster, he had caused Harry so much grief and pain — and he was well aware of the wound that was still bleeding somewhere inside him. Did he ever regret what he did to him? Or did he not care at all?

But Harry could show him something they had in common — their childhood.

* * *

The Dursley’s house was just as he remembered it. The last time he had been here was when the Order had come to collect him, which felt like thousands of years ago. Back then they had tried their best to hide Harry from Voldemort, risking their lives, and now Harry had brought the man to the doorstep of his old home. No charms prevented them from opening the door and stepping into the dark hallway.

Harry tapped the lamp with his wand and the house lights came on all at once. Everything here remained the same: the rug on the floor, the ottoman, the shoe rack…Still that staircase leading up to the second floor, and Harry only had to throw a single glance at it to remember which steps were particularly creaky. The knob on the cupboard door gleamed brightly, catching his eye.

‘I suppose the Muggles found this house to be decent,’ Voldemort informed him. He stood behind Harry, his chest almost stuck to the boy’s back.

‘If you compare it to the orphanage, then sure thing,’ Harry responded sharply. He heard Voldemort seep in the air with his nose, but it didn’t scare him. ‘The Dursleys were pretty rich, probably. But I lived here with the rights of a house elf.’

‘Oh did you now?’

‘My room,’ Harry stepped forward and kicked the familiar door to the cupboard.

‘That’s a closet.’

‘Yeah, well, I lived here. I was moved to the actual room upstairs when I got my letter. I guess they got scared that I was going to blow up their cupboard or something.’

Voldemort studied him intently. With his dark magic and creepy face, he looked completely out of place in this neat hallway. The peach-coloured walls almost seemed to mock his sinister appearance. His presence here was totally absurd, but for some reason, Harry wanted to etch this moment into his mind, memorize every little detail — he wanted to destroy the painful world that was stored in the depths of his memory. He shouldn’t fear it.

Voldemort couldn’t do anything to him. Not anymore.

‘I’m not about to gauge up who’s life was worse,’ Harry warned. ‘After all, you have the huge advantage of the Second World War, though I’ve got an obsessed maniac on my side. He was stalking me, can you believe it?’

Harry walked into the living room, his every step raising heavy clouds of dust from the carpet. The TV still stood in place and the VCR was just below it. There were still soft cushions on the couch and a lace napkin on the coffee table.

Harry looked around sourly.

‘I’d forgotten how lousy this place is.’

‘And you were complaining about the Lestrange’s.’

‘I’ll appreciate the leather and wood paneling much more from now on.’

Voldemort approached the wall where some photographs still hung. He examined with disgust the one of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia smiling broadly as they embraced a five-year-old Dudley.

‘She knew your name,’ Harry suddenly said. ‘My aunt.’

‘I knew her name too,’ Voldemort turned away from the wall. He looked almost confused, it was obvious he didn’t even want to touch the surrounding objects with the corner of his cloak. ‘She’s the reason I couldn’t get in here.’

‘Dreams come true, I guess.’

‘Can we go now?’

‘Nope,’ Harry waved his wand to clear the dust from the couch. ‘You already agreed to this!’

‘And I already regret it.’

‘Just this one time, please?’ Harry fell to his knees in front of the TV, thinking about how to use the VCR. ‘It will only take a few hours. Might even lead us to some interesting observations.’

‘If my Death Eaters only knew what I’m up to…’

‘As if you care about their opinion,’ Harry pressed the button that opened the vault that would contain the tape. ‘I’m sure that if you said this kind of decor was your taste, Bellatrix would have the whole place painted over by tomorrow.’

‘For the sake of tomorrow coming, I’d even tolerate the color pink.’

Harry heard a strange noise and then the rustle of Voldemort’s cloak. He turned around: Aunt Petunia’s soft couch had been transformed into a black leather monstrosity from the Malfoy library. Its legs were serpent shaped and the upholstery looked as fresh as if it were still alive. Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to the tape.

He managed to control the technology rather quickly. The intro to the film finally appeared on the screen, accompanied by upbeat music, and the opening credits rolled along with the clouds. Harry smiled with satisfaction and carefully sat down on the couch. Voldemort crossed his legs one on top of the other, his elbows resting on the armrest. The look in his narrowed eyes screamed doubt and fatigue, but the flow of sarcastic comments was interrupted.

It all felt like a fever dream. The movie was actually good: Harry laughed out loud a few times and was really sympathetic of Rita, who reminded him of Hermione, which had caused him to twirl in daydreams about going to the cinema with his friends for a while. There were so many tapes in that tiny shop: they could have watched a different movie every day, eaten good food…Sooner or later they would have gotten bored with it, but at least for a little while they would have been able to indulge in the life of their dreams — but instead, Harry was stuck with Voldemort, who had to be persuaded for a single movie night. He was silent as he watched, following the new material: he never laughed, of course, but sometimes his eyebrows would rise only so slightly to indicate his interest.

He must have enjoyed it. When was the last time the man had relaxed? When he wasn’t reading books, he was studying various artifacts, creating new rituals, trying out spells…Voldemort was exhausted too, and Harry was more aware of it now than ever before. He could see the tension in his shoulders and the focus of his gaze…He really did look like a snake: a predatory creature, rings clenched, ready to pounce. Maybe that’s what he really was? After all, Voldemort’s life had been far from relaxing, despite the posh decorations of other people’s estates. It was full of murder, betrayal, and threats. Could he even allow himself a single moment of vulnerability?

Harry suddenly realized he’d been eyeing him for a few minutes already. Voldemort didn’t look like a monster anymore: behind all those grotesque changes in appearance, there was just a tired man, nothing more.

He slowly turned his head and looked at Harry.

‘What?’ his voice was slightly hoarse.

Harry smiled at him and turned his attention back to the film. He was curious to see how it would all end — that was the main reason for bringing the Dark Lord to his childhood home. They were in desperate need of any way to break the loop, any way at all, and this film suggested something no magical book could. But it didn’t really fit their situation, Harry saw that immediately.

The credits appeared on the screen and Voldemort stopped the technology’s rumble with a wave of his wand. The TV switched off, a silence reigning again.

‘That was a good movie,’ Harry looked up. ‘Did you like it?’

Voldemort turned to him.

‘It wasn’t as repugnant as I thought it would be. I even developed a passion for helping elderly women in broken automobiles.’

‘Really?’

‘Obviously not,’ Voldemort snorted. ‘But Dumbledore would have loved it. Full of Christian allusions and an ever-winning love.’

‘Maybe…we should think about it?’ Harry hinted. ‘Have you ever…even just a little?..’

‘No and I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘But listen,’ Harry turned his whole body towards him and pulled his leg up, ‘we’ve tried everything. It’s obvious that the loop has something to do with us. Maybe that’s where we should be looking for answers, not in other people’s libraries?’

‘And what do you suggest?’

‘Maybe you just need to…change? Like Phil did.’

Voldemort rolled his eyes and sighed in disappointment.

‘You think the loop will break if I start helping grannies, wheezing grandpas, and stupid women? This is unimaginable nonsense, and I regret wasting my time on it.’

‘Of course it won’t work if you think about it this way,’ Harry was starting to get angry. ‘But maybe…do you really not feel anything?’

‘Of course, I do. As of now, I feel annoyed.’

‘That’s not what I’m talking about,’ Harry waved his hand. ‘Do you really like being an evil wanker all the time? Like, every minute of the day?’

‘That’s just your immature view of me.’

‘Don’t you dare say I’m wrong!’

‘Of course you are.’

‘I’m just saying it can’t go on like this,’ Harry looked him straight in the eye. ‘I think you know that too. If there was a way to break the loop, we’d never find it in your books. You’re just being stubborn and refusing to admit how powerless your precious science is.’

‘Because you offer an alternative that consists of watching amusing Muggle comedies.’

‘Aha! You admit that it was funny, at least.’

‘Amusing doesn’t equal funny. I enjoyed the suicides.’

Harry smiled involuntarily.

‘And I liked the part where he ate all he could at the cafe and met a bunch of girls.’

‘I have no doubt that was the part that attracted you most.’

Harry decided it wasn’t going all that bad. Voldemort was still sitting on the couch, watching him, entertaining this conversation — there was no way he didn’t realize that Harry’s words made sense. The loop was wrapped around them and the murder that happened in the woods. Maybe it really was the divine punishment? Maybe God wanted to punish Voldemort and make him repent, and Harry was just dragged into this hell with him because of the Horcrux?

‘But you agree that it has something to do with us?’ he asked, the «us» being used exclusively to define Voldemort.

‘Naturally.’

‘Have you never allowed yourself to think that it was because of what had happened? Maybe if you repented…’

‘Didn’t Dumbledore tell you what would happen if I did?’

Harry looked away.

‘You will die,’ he replied quietly. ‘But we’ve both died before. What if everything goes back to normal, but this time will be the last?’

‘That’s impossible.’

‘Why?’

‘I can’t repent for something I don’t regret.’

His red eyes examined Harry’s face intently, making blood rush to his cheeks.

‘Don’t regret? You tried to kill an innocent child.’

‘You should know best of all that I never managed to kill him.’

‘And you’ve never regretted what you’ve done? How can you be like this?’

‘Of course I did,’ Voldemort winced, his fingers gripping his wand even tighter. ‘I’d been incredibly stupid. You were a baby — I could have just covered your face with a pillow and the deed would have been done. But I’ve always had a weakness for grand gestures.’

Harry pressed his arms to his chest, something tugging painfully in his heart.

‘You’re just an impossible person,’ he shook his head in disappointment. ‘Why would I think you could change?’

‘Maybe you’re the one who should change?’ Voldemort raised a pale eyebrow. He rested his arm on the couch and leaned forward slightly, staring Harry straight in the eye. In the past, such closeness would have brought along unbearable pain, but their connection within the loop worked differently. Harry frowned.

‘How so?’

‘When I killed you in the forest, I nearly destroyed a piece of my own soul. I believe this unnatural process created the loop, and its purpose is to reconcile a rebellious Horcrux with its owner.’

Harry froze.

‘You never told me about this theory.’

‘I just chose to hear the nonsense about love and repentance first.’

‘As if your theory isn’t nonsense,’ he turned away, having no desire left to hold that heavy gaze. He was used to seeing Voldemort’s face, but sometimes a shiver still ran down his spine. ‘We’re not trying to kill each other anymore, how is that not reconciliation?’

‘We still hate each other, don’t we?’

‘It can’t be otherwise. You’re a horrible person.’

‘And yet, your soul belongs to me.’

‘It doesn’t!’ Harry exclaimed. ‘My soul and your stupid Horcrux have nothing in common. You’ll never be able to prove that you’ve had any effect on my intellectual or magical abilities.’

‘On the contrary,’ Voldemort squinted, his nostrils flaring. ‘I bestowed upon you the ability to talk to snakes. Your wand only chose you because of your connection to me. And I’ve heard you were exceptionally good at Defence Against the Dark Arts, a subject in which I always excelled.’

‘That doesn’t mean anything!’

‘Perhaps in some ways I’m even closer to you than your own parents.’

Harry didn't realize what had happened, but the next thing he knew, his arm twitched in pain and Voldemort’s head snapped to the side. Harry froze before him, clutching his palm to his chest. He didn’t mean for this to happen, he really didn’t, but to hear something about his parents coming out of that snake’s mouth…Shivers ran down his spine as Voldemort slowly turned his head: his red eyes were wild and burning, full of the desire to tear Harry to pieces.

‘If you ever dare to do that again,’ he spoke in a terribly calm voice. ‘I’ll chop your arms off. There are plenty of easier ways to inflict pain on someone than Crucio. We haven’t tried that yet, have we?’

Harry stared at him, eyes wide. The hissing voice seeped into him like poison, and everything inside him filled with fear, rage, and resentment. Harry suddenly realized with painful clarity that this countless number of loops had made him warm up to this man a little: they fought, threw spells around, but their battles had long since lost the spark of true hatred.

But…

‘Don’t ever speak of my parents again,’ Harry said firmly.

‘You are in no position to order me around,’ Voldemort curled his thin lips. ‘You’re but a vessel for my soul and I will do with you as I please.’

He suddenly towered over Harry, reminding him of a Dementor crouching over its prey. His long fingers slipped into Harry’s hair, tugging back harshly and causing him to collapse onto the horrible couch. Harry hissed in pain and clawed at his arm, but instantly froze as Voldemort’s black cloak covered his body. He suddenly felt truly helpless and utterly betrayed. He froze like a tiny rabbit.

‘Maybe that’s where our answer lies?’ Voldemort suggested slowly. His fingers reached Harry’s face, his red eyes scanning his body. Harry trembled under that greedy gaze. ‘And I should just take what’s rightfully mine?’

Harry suddenly lit up like a match.

‘Get the hell out,’ Harry said.

‘What?’

‘I said get the hell out,’ he jerked forward, leaving a clump of hair between Voldemort’s fingers. ‘I never want to see you again.’

‘That’s not up to you.’

‘For a moment I really thought that you…’ Harry turned away, not allowing the wizard to see the truth in the depths of his eyes, ‘that you weren’t so bad…’

‘You’re but a naive little boy who gets attached to anyone who deals him at least an ounce of attention. Even to a monster like me.’

Harry pressed his hands against the man’s shoulders and pushed him away. Voldemort drew back and rose slowly, straightening his robes. His anger had subsided like a passing storm, and his face reflected a complex emotion: disgust alongside curiosity.

But Harry couldn’t give a damn about his feelings.

He didn’t want to spend another second near him.

* * *

For the next three loops, Harry lazily wandered around London, trying to pretend that nothing had happened — which was probably the case, if you ignored the sticky feeling of disgust and gravity that filled him from the inside out. Harry had never felt anything like it before, and he didn’t know how he was supposed to deal with it.

On the fourth loop, he decided to return to Hogwarts. Nothing had changed there, of course: the same miserable students and professors gathered in the Great Hall, the same traces of explosions and battles, the same undying flames…Harry walked through the destroyed inner courtyard and felt as if he were living a long-forgotten dream. He couldn’t and didn’t want to regain his sense of reality: the images that took form before him were so horrific that he already regretted setting foot on the castle’s threshold.

His friends ran out to meet him. Hermione threw herself on his neck, hugging him so tightly Harry started to choke.

‘Harry!’ tears were streaming down her face. ‘God, I thought we’d never see you again! Thought you had gone into the Forest…’

‘You really scared us, mate,’ Ron squeezed his shoulder painfully, ‘Where were you?’

‘I did go into the Forest,’ Harry admitted. Hermione’s hair smelled of smoke.

‘What?’ Ron stared at him wide-eyed. ‘Harry, why would you…’

‘I didn’t want to give up,’ Harry put his hand on Hermione’s waist, feeling her body tremble. ‘I overheard their conversation. They won’t be attacking us tonight. Everyone in Hogwarts can take some rest.’

‘They won’t?’ Ron frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Don’t know,’ Harry didn’t feel like making up with another lie. He really doubted that Voldemort would come to attack Hogwarts: he had long since stopped finding that activity amusing. He was probably sitting in the Malfoy library or rummaging through the Department of Mysteries — Harry virtually couldn’t care less about how and where the man spent his time. Gritting his teeth, he felt a surge of resentment and indignation wash over him and looked away. Voldemort wasn’t going to apologize for what had happened and Harry wasn’t going to swallow his horrible words and run after him just to have someone to talk to.

What he had said then, about attachment. It wasn’t true.

‘Are you all right?’ Hermione caressed his cheek.

‘I’m super tired,’ Harry looked at her and Ron.

The Great Hall was worst of all. Guilt washed over him like storm waves: there were dead bodies lying around, their friends and relatives weeping over them, and he was spending time with the one person to blame for all this…Going back in time couldn’t reconcile the two drastically different images in his mind: the Voldemort who threatened the safety of the school and the one who helped Harry learn Latin. They were the same person, but…Harry wasn’t supposed to know about his softer, more human side. It changed everything.

‘Harry, are you sure?’ Professor McGonagall kept asking him as he sat on a bench, examining the stains on her emerald robes.

‘Yeah. I guess. I just overheard the conversation.’

‘If that’s the case, then we have just enough time to request help and evacuate all the injured,’ Kingsley suggested. ‘Let’s send owls to the other Ministries. They should get back to us.’

Harry rose to his feet. Even if they were willing to hear his opinion, he wasn’t going to share it with them. It didn’t matter what Kingsley did. None of it mattered. He was the only one who understood that.

‘Harry…’ Ginny approached him, ‘Harry…’

She hugged him and burst into tears. It happened again and again, and the feeling — her tears soaking his hoodie, her trembling hands, her disheveled hair — poisoned him from within. She needed support, which Harry couldn’t give: he just hugged her back and thought his life had become completely meaningless. Perhaps he should have investigated on his own. The downside was that every door would open before Voldemort, but Harry alone would have to fight his way into the forbidden sections of the Department of Mysteries.

No one was going to sleep. The elves had opened the kitchens and were slowly preparing snacks for the defenders of Hogwarts. No one wanted to eat in the Great Hall, of course, so everyone scattered around the castle. Harry sat down on the stairs with Ron and Hermione: they were eating potato soup, wielding their spoons without much appetite. Harry thought that if he had chosen to go to the Malfoy Manor, the elves would have prepared a proper feast: Voldemort always rolled his eyes when Harry announced the new menu, but sometimes he even came over to the table and tried some of the new creations. Harry squinted, tapping his spoon against his plate.

‘Something happened in the forest, didn’t it?’ Ron asked him quietly.

‘What makes you think that?’

‘You’re acting weird.’

Harry stared down at his plate. He rolled a piece of carrot back and forth before answering.

‘It did. But I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, okay?’ Harry suggested.

‘Fine,’ Hermione nodded, changing the subject. ‘Don’t you think it’s weird that Voldemort decided to postpone the attack? We’re clearly losing. Why wouldn’t he finish us off?’

‘He’s probably got better things to do,’ Harry snorted. ‘How should I know what goes on in that sick mind of his?’

Hermione blinked and looked at Ron.

‘Harry, are you sure you’re all right? Is it your scar?’

‘Scar?’ Harry had forgotten how much it used to hurt. ‘No.’

‘Then what is it?’

‘I already told you, I’m just tired. How about we get some rest?’

‘I guess we should,’ Hermione agreed, not really convinced. ‘You can lie down here for a bit. We’ll wake you up if anything happens.’

They didn’t understand. Harry sighed and nodded: he really did need some rest. Sleep wasn’t a common occurrence within the loops, but it did help to recover a little. Harry retired to the Gryffindor dormitory: only Neville and Seamus lived there, so his bed was tidy and untouched. Hardly any of his belongings were left: there were quills and scraps of parchment scattered on the bedside table and a few of his old t-shirts lying around at the bottom of the trunk. Harry pulled off his hoodie and shoes and crawled under the covers. He thought about what to do next: maybe he should tell Ron and Hermione about the loop next time, just to avoid having to listen to their suspicions about Voldemort?

Or should he tell them about what had happened?

Harry fell asleep with these unpleasant thoughts and woke up to screams and someone shaking him by the shoulders. He opened his eyes with a struggle and saw a disheveled Hermione standing over him, with the figures of Ron and Neville looming behind her.

‘Harry!’ Hermione practically dragged him out of bed. ‘Get up, Harry, oh God…now!’

‘What’s going on?’

‘The Death Eaters are here,’ Ron pushed a hoodie into his hands. ‘Voldemort’s here too. You were wrong, Harry. Kingsley’s sent for help, but they probably won’t make it. We must hurry.’

‘Voldemort?’ Harry woke up instantly. ‘What’s he doing here?’

‘What are you talking about, Harry?’ Hermione tried to help him put on his hoodie but eventually gave up. ‘He’s looking for you, of course. We have to run.’

‘Run?’ Harry blinked. ‘Where?’

‘Just away from the castle for now.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He was in the inner courtyard when we ran here,’ said Neville. ‘We’ll leave through the Room of Requirement…’

‘So,’ Harry rubbed his face. He quickly pulled on his hoodie and sneakers and slipped his wand into the pocket of his jeans. ‘I’ll talk to him.’

‘Huh?’ Ron frowned. ‘What do you mean, talk to him?’

‘I’ve got it all under control,’ Harry said. ‘Let’s go.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Ron grabbed his arm.

‘I don’t have time to explain,’ Harry jerked his wrist free.

He left the room and the others, frightened and confused, rushed after him. It was a long walk downstairs, but it gave Harry just enough time to think about what was happening. Why did Voldemort come back? Was he pissed off at having to sort the books on his own again? Or was he just being a pain? Harry didn’t allow for the possibility that the Dark Lord had come back to apologize to him — although that was exactly what Harry wanted to hear.

He sprinted out into the first-floor hallway. There was crackling and loud voices coming from the courtyard, but Harry couldn’t make out a word. He rushed for the door, but his path was suddenly blocked by Mrs Weasley, who had grabbed onto his shoulders in a deadly grip.

‘Harry, get out of here, now!’ she shouted.

‘Don’t worry, please,’ Harry struggled to free himself from her arms. He could hear his friends screaming behind him, but he decided not to stay and explain. He wanted to stop the brewing fight.

‘Enough!’ he shouted as he ran down the stairs. His scream was drowned out by the general noise, and Harry, angry, used the Sonorus spell on his voice. ‘Enough!’

The loud command rang out across the courtyard. The crowd dispersed: the Death Eaters and the defenders of Hogwarts stared at him in confusion, but Harry didn’t have a care in the world for what they thought. He was only interested in one person. Voldemort stood off to the side, in the middle of an empty platform — no one dared approach him. The wind ruffled the hem of his black robes. He turned to Harry and his thin lips curved into a satisfied smile.

‘Here you are,’ he said. ‘Had a good rest?’

‘No!’ Harry barked. ‘You woke me up! What do you want?’

‘Harry!’ McGonagall stepped out of the crowd, raising her wand. ‘Stay away…’

‘Please,’ Harry clutched at his hair. ‘Leave me alone!’

‘Potter, stop shouting,’ Voldemort shook his head.

‘And you’d better not speak to me at all! Why did you come here?’

‘How am I supposed to answer if I’m not allowed to talk to you?’

Harry squinted.

‘You think it’s so funny, huh?’

‘Potter, calm down.’

‘I’m perfectly calm!’

‘Harry!’ Hermione’s voice reached him as if through a pool of water. Harry turned around: everyone, both his friends and the Death Eaters, were looking at him with the same expression on their faces. Confusion, bewilderment, and sheer horror. It wasn’t pleasant to see: they didn’t usually start scenes in front of other people. Harry shook his head. They’ll all forget it soon, and he won’t have to explain why he’s arguing with Voldemort in the middle of a battle instead of fighting to the death.

‘I gave you three days of rest,’ Voldemort ignored Hermione. ‘I’ll be expecting you on the usual spot tomorrow, is that clear?’

‘No, it’s not,’ Harry crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I’m not your little lapdog to come running at your beck and call.’

‘We’ve been over this. Or has the emotional turmoil affected your memory?’

‘My memory? Aren’t you the one who forgot what happened recently?’

‘Nothing special. My life has been in chaos for a long time because of you.’

‘You,’ Harry shoved him in the chest, ‘are such a scumbag.’

‘My Lord,’ Bellatrix stepped closer. ‘If you wish…’

‘No,’ Voldemort waved his hand. Apparently, he did consider Harry’s condition, though, for he was in no hurry to grab his wand and curse him.

‘You know exactly why I’m mad at you,’ Harry took a step back. ‘Did you actually mean what you said?’

‘What did I say?’

‘There’s no way I’m repeating that.’

‘Then maybe it’s not that important?’

Harry flushed and looked away. He glanced over at his friends, who were watching the conversation intently. What were they thinking about? Were they judging him? Or did they just think he had lost it?

‘It is important. You’re disgusting. You were going to…’

‘I wasn’t going to do anything to you,’ Voldemort rolled his eyes wearily. He was still standing there, listening to these complaints, and Harry took that as a good sign: maybe he did actually regret what he’d done, even if he tried to hide it under layers of sarcasm. On the other hand, he really couldn’t force Harry to cooperate, as he had no desire to chase him around England and its environs every day. Voldemort gave him a quick glance. ‘Potter, do you really think I’m attracted to little boys? How old are you? Fourteen?’

‘I’m eighteen and you’re well aware of that,’ Harry narrowed his eyes and blushed. He could feel the heat burning his cheeks. Voldemort and sex were two things that never had to cross paths in a million years and it really bothered him that he had to talk about it. ‘Then why did you say that?’

‘To scare you?’ Voldemort mimicked something that looked like a smile, but it was reminiscent of an evil grin. His teeth were sharp and his tongue split, like a snake’s. Harry tried to ignore it. ‘To tease you?’

‘Tease? You can’t joke around with things like that!’

‘You’re so adorable when you get angry, Potter, but it does get a little tiring.’

Harry snorted and turned away.

‘Stop it. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.’

‘Oh, but you’ll have to,’ Voldemort suddenly took a step closer to him and Harry reluctantly jerked his head up to look into his red eyes. ‘If you don’t want to spend the rest of eternity here.’

‘Eternity is a very long time,’ Harry gulped.

‘Very long indeed,’ Voldemort nodded. ‘So I’ll be expecting you tomorrow. Otherwise, your next few loops will be very, very painful.’

‘And now you’re threatening me again,’ Harry said angrily.

‘You should have gotten used to it by now.’

‘Do you think I’m just going to let you treat me like this?’ he took a step back, not wanting to be so close to Voldemort. ‘I have conditions.’

‘I threaten you with torture and you give me conditions?’

‘I suppose, I have gotten used to it,’ Harry smirked. ‘You’re not actually going to torture me. I think I bring some fun into your miserable life and you like spending time with me. I mean, that’s what I thought before you started threatening me with sexual harassment!’

‘Potter…’

‘Firstly,’ Harry held up a finger, ‘I want us to take a day off at least once a week and do what I want. Second, you’ll stop calling me stupid, useless, and other offensive words. Third, you’ll apologize.’

Voldemort even laughed upon hearing his words.

‘Merlin, why did I have to get you of all people?’ he glanced wearily at the crowd. The wizards were all whispering to each other, not sure of what was going on, and Harry was glad that no one was trying to attack them. The whole thing was incredibly awkward, after all. If the loop had decided to break right then…Well, Harry was willing to endure everyone’s judgment and shame just to make it stop.

‘I’m the best thing in your miserable life,’ Harry crossed his arms. ‘So do we have an agreement?’

‘You must be proud of how much I allow you, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, immensely proud.’

They looked at each other for a few seconds. Harry knew that he had won. He felt a strange thrill build up inside him: goosebumps ran down his spine at the realization of the power he actually had over this terrifying wizard. No one in the world would dare yell at him, shove him in the chest, and set conditions, but Harry was easily getting away with it — maybe another two hundred loops, and he’d be able to twist ropes out of him. It wasn’t that bad, really. It was changing them.

When the loop breaks, they won’t be the same anymore.

‘Then I have conditions too,’ Voldemort squinted. ‘No more tantrums and running away. No more slacking off during study time. No more whining that you’re bored and can’t take it anymore.’

‘Fine,’ Harry gritted his teeth.

‘Then, I suppose I did cross a line.’

They were silent for a moment, looking at each other.

‘Fine,’ Harry said. He ran a hand through his messy hair, ruffling it even more. ‘Get me out of here. I’m ashamed they have to listen to all this.’

‘I could kill them all for you, if you’d like.’

Harry rolled his eyes.

‘Very funny.’

* * *

They were spending the next loop at the Lestrange’s again.

The door flew open and Bellatrix appeared on the threshold.

‘My Lord!,’ her eyes flicked between Harry and Voldemort. ‘What’s going on? Have you taken Potter hostage?’

Harry lazily turned his head towards her. He was lying on the couch, reading a Latin handbook: the morning was peaceful and quiet, so he spent it obediently copying and memorizing charts. He’d locked Bastard in a drawer, and it occasionally hissed and shook the tiny door — Harry knew it would hold him off for another two hours at most, and then the Kneezle would manage to escape and take his bloody revenge.

‘Bella,’ Harry waved at her, ‘hi!’

Bellatrix stared at him in a way that made Harry worry that she might be able to kill someone with just one look.

‘Stop that,’ Voldemort stripped his eyes off his book. ‘Bella, leave us.’

‘But my Lord…’ she approached slowly, never taking her eyes off Harry, ‘what is the meaning of all this? The others are waiting outside Hogwarts for your orders. The school can’t resist any longer, and if we’re going to take control today…’

‘Cancel everything,’ Voldemort waved his hand.

Harry put his feet up on the armrest and winked at the witch. She immediately clutched her wand.

‘My Lord, allow me to teach this brat a lesson,’ she hissed.

‘I’ll teach him a lesson myself,’ Voldemort looked at Harry, seemingly angry, but actually smirking. ‘Now go and don’t disturb us.’

‘But…’

‘Shall I repeat myself?’

Bellatrix lowered her head obediently and began to retreat towards the door. Harry couldn’t resist giving her the middle finger. Lestrange gripped her wand so tightly that her hand trembled. Pure hatred bathed in her dark eyes. She hesitated on the threshold, as if weighing her master’s orders against the desire to tear the unwanted guest apart, but left anyway, closing the door behind her.

'And what was that for?’ Voldemort asked calmly.

‘Just for fun,’ Harry returned to his handbook. ‘How do you put up with her?’

‘She’s a responsible and talented witch.’

‘Yeah, and also a crazy sadist who is obsessed with you.’

‘That’s a good thing, in a way.’

Harry lifted his eyes.

‘Really?’

Voldemort squinted.

‘Is it not?’

Harry snorted and continued his reading. He was really trying his best this time: slowly but surely, grammar rules and words were etching themselves into his mind. The inability to save his notes was killing him a little bit inside, but Harry was driven by the desire to impress Voldemort: the man didn’t really believe in any of his talents, and Harry wanted to prove him wrong. He could already understand most simple sentences, though reading complex texts was definitely out of the question.

They read peacefully for a few hours, and then Voldemort suddenly put the book on his knees and decided to ruin everything.

‘I have a new theory,’ he said, and Harry caught a very strange note in his voice. He glanced at the wizard suspiciously: he was staring into the fire, not turning his head. His skin didn’t look so pale in the light of the flames.

‘What theory?’ Harry asked cautiously.

‘You’re not going to like it,’ Voldemort ran a finger along the spine of his book. For perhaps the first time in ages, he seemed uncertain, and that fact was far more frightening than his aggressiveness or irritability. Harry sat up abruptly and put the manual aside. He stared at the book in the wizard’s hands. «La relation primale».

‘I don’t like most of your ideas,’ Harry said, ‘so I’m willing to risk it. What have you come up with?’

‘I have been thinking about my old theory that this was all caused by my conflict with my own Horcrux,’ Voldemort said thoughtfully. ‘For now, I see it as the most reasonable explanation. In that case, it’s not surprising that none of the widely known methods could help us — if such a specific situation did occur before, there must be hardly any information about it. Considering there’s barely any information about the Horcruxes themselves.’

‘So what are you hinting at?’

‘In this book,’ Voldemort turned a few pages, ‘the author argues about a very interesting point, confirming my theory that the loop could be broken if the conflict were resolved.’

‘We’ve already talked about this,’ Harry said.

‘Yes,’ Voldemort nodded, ‘but the absence of arguments doesn’t mean we don’t feel disdain towards one another. Perhaps in five hundred loops or so we will finally develop an unhealthy addiction to each other’s company, but it will be more akin to psychosis rather than an actual improvement in our relationship and a reflection on our past.’

‘Five hundred loops?’ Harry was horrified.

‘I’m not crazy about it either, which is why I thought I’d offer you this…experimental idea. I can’t say I feel particularly passionate about it myself, but it’s got some good basis in it.’

‘You still haven’t said what it is.’

‘I’m trying to lead you to it slowly, to avoid another childish tantrum.’

‘I’m not a child,’ Harry retorted. ‘I can perceive any idea objectively. Tell me.’

‘The author of this book is of the opinion that some curses, born as a result of a conflict in soul or consciousness magic, can be resolved by turning to what he calls la relation primale.’

‘The primary…relation?’ Harry translated.

‘Something like that,’ Voldemort nodded. ‘It correlates well with my idea that I should acquire a certain degree of unity with my Horcrux.’

Harry suddenly went limp.

‘You…’

‘I told you you weren’t going to like it.’

‘You’re not getting no unity with your Horcrux!’ Harry pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.

‘If you say so,’ Voldemort shrugged. ‘We’ll return to this conversation in five hundred loops.’

‘That’s not funny,’ Harry pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down to cover his wrists.

‘Does it look like I’m laughing?’

‘You can’t in all seriousness offer me sex.’

‘I’m not offering, I’m only talking about my new theory.’

‘Didn’t you say you weren’t attracted to little boys?’ Harry squinted.

‘I’m not,’ Voldemort agreed calmly as if they talked about such things every day. Though, Harry probably shouldn’t have felt so embarrassed: they’ve discussed far, far worse things. The topic of sex was much more interesting than murder or torture, but it always made Harry go all wooden. Voldemort examined him with curiosity, as he obviously didn’t feel an ounce of timidity. ‘I’m not attracted to anyone.’

‘And I like girls!’ Harry blurted out. ‘I have a girlfriend!’

‘That Weasley girl, I know.’

‘How?’ Harry tensed u. ‘Wait, did you actually question Snape about my life? Like how school’s going, who I’m dating?’

‘Of course,’ Voldemort nodded. ‘We gossiped about you for hours.’

‘Honestly, I’m not even sure if you’re joking or not,’ Harry hugged his knees tighter. ‘I…No, I don’t even want to think about it.’

‘Got any other ideas?’

‘Do you have any other ideas?’

‘Do you think I’d have started this conversation if I did?’

Harry chewed his lip. He dropped his eyes to his knees, tightly wrapped in his old jeans. What Voldemort was talking about…It was simply impossible. Harry didn’t even want to think about it and he hated himself for having to. If Voldemort was just a normal wizard, a random person, then maybe Harry could have ignored his gender — but there was much, much more between them. Their troubled past, his insufferable character, his horrifying appearance…Harry gave Voldemort a quick glance and immediately turned away, embarrassing himself even more.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to do this.’

‘Alright,’ Voldemort agreed and opened his book. What the hell was he reading there? Harry winced: maybe it was just plain pornography that had given him such dodgy ideas? That would explain Voldemort’s obsession with this library.

Harry began to pick at a small hole in his jeans, right at his knee.

‘I…,’ he began, suddenly wanting to have an open conversation, ‘I’ve never done anything like that before.’

‘I would have been surprised if that wasn’t the case.’

‘And you?’ Harry raised his eyes. Voldemort was only looking at his book: his eyes were scanning the lines, but his lips were curled in a crooked smirk.

‘How old do you think I am?’

‘Like ninety?’

‘Let’s count together…’

‘No, let’s not,’ Harry stopped him. ‘You could have just answered instead of making fun of me.’

‘I thought Dumbledore had filled you in on the details of my biography.’

‘Not that! Though, I suppose you had many admirers at school. I’ve met the Tom Riddle from the diary. He was quite charming until he tried to kill me.’

‘Yes,’ Voldemort’s grin suddenly seemed a little sad to Harry. ‘I was a very charming young man.’

‘And…you had a girlfriend?’

‘I wasn’t interested in such nonsense back then just as I’m not interested in it now.’

‘But you said you’ve had sex.’

‘Sexual and romantic relationships don’t always go hand in hand.’

‘I suppose that’s true,’ Harry agreed sadly. ‘But what about men? That doesn’t seem to bother you. Have you had to do that before?’

‘It’s like I knew I shouldn’t even have mentioned it,’ Voldemort scratched his nose. ‘After all, you’re just a teenager, and at that age, such things seem important and fascinating.’

‘Tsch,’ Harry waved his hand, ‘I’m not the one who started talking about it. So?’

‘Let’s say,’ Voldemort swept his hand graciously and read aloud in an unexpectedly pleasant, almost affectionate voice, ‘Io non so ben ridir com' i' v'intrai, tant' era pien di sonno a quel punto che la verace via abbandonai^[1].’

‘Oh, go to hell^[2]. I didn’t understand a thing.’

‘Your lack of education isn’t my problem.’

‘Until now you were the only one preoccupied with it.’

Voldemort snickered, and Harry reluctantly returned the grin.

‘Anyway,’ Voldemort returned to his book once more, ‘you said you didn’t want to test that theory, so I suggest we close the subject once and for all.’

‘Fine,’ Harry stared at the hole in his knee again.

They were silent for a while. Voldemort was completely calm: he probably wasn’t that interested in the subject. How old was he? Very, very old — in fact, he totally was an old man, which was another reason why physical intimacy was out of the question. If he didn’t look the way he did, he would have had just as much grey hair as Dumbledore. Harry winced: how had he come to such thoughts?

He started clawing at the hole so intensely that within minutes it had sprouted enough for Harry to push a fingertip through.

‘Just hypothetically,’ Harry said quietly and hoarsely, ‘how successful do you think this theory would be?’

‘I don’t know,’ Voldemort admitted. ‘Past theories seemed every bit as good to me, but they all failed.’

‘The price of this theory is far too high.’

‘For one ritual, I drained almost all of your blood,’ Voldemort reminded him. ‘Does that seem less terrible to you?’

‘I didn’t feel anything then,’ Harry rose from the couch and began pacing through the library. His footsteps echoed loudly in the cold hall. He walked up to the window and slightly opened a burgundy curtain, glancing outside: the landscape was as boring as ever. Harry touched the old cupboards and played with the tassel on the drapes. He couldn’t relax. Voldemort followed his every move like a snake frozen in the dark. Harry began to bite his nails, then realized Bastard had finally escaped.

‘Remind me that that arsehole will be back in an hour,’ Harry closed the drawer. ‘What was I saying?’

‘You were saying that an agonizing death from blood loss was preferable to copulation.’

‘Ew,’ Harry winced, ‘don’t call it that, please.’

‘Intercourse? Coitus?’

‘Stop it or I’ll throw something at you!’

He was just laughing at him, but Harry wasn’t in the mood to joke around. He wanted to inform him of how disgusting and unacceptable it all was when there was a knock at the door. Bellatrix peeked into the library.

‘My Lord,’ she murmured in a submissive whisper, glaring hatefully at Harry, ‘almost everyone has arrived…they want further instructions.’

‘Tell them to withdraw the army from Hogwarts and wait for further orders tomorrow.’

‘But what are we going to do about Potter?’, Bellatrix pointed her wand at him. ‘Should we let the school know we have him?’

‘No,’ Harry interrupted her. ‘I don’t want them to worry.’

‘Fine,’ Voldemort agreed. Had the complicated situation made him more compliant? Harry wondered if he’d be able to get anything else out of this.

‘My Lord,’ Bellatrix looked at him incredulously, ‘why are you listening to the boy?’

‘Your Lord wants to fuck me, that’s why,’ Harry snorted. ‘Who would’ve thought it’d work!’

Voldemort laughed openly at his remark. He wasn’t at all bothered by the implications, and Harry liked that: in fact, he felt quite free at his side, able to say almost anything that came to mind. It was hard to get Voldemort upset, and the man himself never shied away from pointing out Harry’s flaws.

Maybe he could have sex with him, just to tell him how disgusting and wrong it was for the rest of eternity. But what about Ginny?

Harry hadn’t thought about that at all. He was barely paying attention to Bellatrix’s shrieks and Voldemort’s orders as he tried to get rid of the persistent woman. He’d killed her a few times when her screams became too irritating, but Harry’s mood always went downhill at such moments: he hated Bellatrix with all his being and wished her death, that much was true, but he still didn’t like to see how easily Voldemort committed murder. His expression never changed: the desire to kill and inflict pain lived within him every second.

Oh, Ginny. Harry stepped back to the window. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her — she had been his haven before, his dream and hope, but everything had changed. Harry didn’t belong in her world anymore.

‘I’ll think about it,’ Harry said as Bellatrix finally landed behind the door. He turned to Voldemort and noticed that Bastard was hiding under the couch. He was far, waiting for Harry to grab his handbook to dig his claws into his leg.

‘Well, we’re in no hurry.’

* * *

For about twelve loops, all Harry did was think about that conversation. They hadn’t touched on the complicated subject again, but Harry spent every minute thinking about the possibility. He’d been reading his Latin handbook or another book about time-turners, but his thoughts kept revolving around sex. Sometimes he simply pictured pleasant images, usually of pretty girls like Ginny or Fleur, but sometimes he did try to imagine what Voldemort would look like during the process. It came out rather unattractive and Harry cringed, covering his face with his book.

Voldemort, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care about his thoughts at all. He wasn’t trying to push Harry into making a decision, not a word or a look to remind him of his offer. Maybe he didn’t care? Maybe to him, it was as simple as killing someone, an insignificant process that would only distract him from his reading for a few minutes.

No. If Harry was going to make such a sacrifice…

‘So where?’ he asked on the thirteenth loop when a faint but still present resolve appeared within him. ‘Where do you want to do it?’

‘Do what?’

They were sitting in one of the rooms of the Department of Mysteries. On the table was an elaborate structure of mirrors, lamps, and magnifying glasses, a time-turner held up on a flimsy wheel. It was the only surviving model: there may have been others, but they weren’t able to find them. It obviously didn’t work: no matter how many times Voldemort turned it, the time-turner remained just an amusing pendant. Now the wizard was studying the runes that covered its thin edges: he was fully focused on the meticulous process, while Harry sat nearby, twirling his feet. There was a lot to see in the Department of Mysteries, and he would have liked to go for a walk, but Voldemort, fearing that he might accidentally die somewhere, kept him by his side.

‘You know what,’ Harry glanced under the man’s arm, ‘that thing we talked about.’

‘Oh,’ Voldemort even pulled away from the magnifying glass to look at him, ‘does the prospect of spending eternity in each other’s company no longer appeal to you?’

‘I just love your sense of humor,’ Harry said gloomily. ‘So? Where?’

‘At the Malfoy’s.’

‘What?,’ Harry snorted. ‘The Malfoy’s? I don’t want to lose my virginity in Draco’s house!’

‘Why not?’, Voldemort returned to the time-turner. ‘Draco’s a very attractive young man.’

‘Of course, if I had to choose, I’d rather sleep with him than with you,’ Harry remarked out of sheer stubbornness.

‘I would also rather sleep with him than with you,’ Voldemort replied in the same tone. Harry was offended to the core.

‘Not true,’ he crossed his arms over his chest. ‘So…’

‘I like the Malfoy house better than any other,’ Voldemort interrupted him. He picked up one of the time-turner’s wheels with tweezers and opened it up.

‘I don’t even know if I want Lucius’ bed or not,’ Harry grimaced.

‘You’ve become very chatty, haven’t you?’ the wizard was obviously trying to concentrate. He usually succeeded, but apparently, his patience was wearing thin.

Harry shrugged.

‘I’m nervous and not ashamed of it.’

‘Do I really need to know about your every thought?’

‘Oh, and now you don’t like it,’ Harry shook his head. ‘Before I couldn’t get you out of my head with any Occlumency.’

‘You’re just completely hopeless at that art.’

‘My Occlumency teacher once threw a jar full of cockroaches at me,’ Harry snickered. He drew his knees apart and grabbed onto the back of a high chair. ‘No wonder I was so bad at it.’

‘Your teacher was Snape.’

‘Did I tell you that already?’

‘I always knew.’

‘It’s a shame,’ Harry thought of Snape, feeling hurt for a moment. ‘I’m sad that he had to die.’

‘Me too,’ Voldemort confessed.

‘Even though he was only loyal to Dumbledore?’

‘Severus was a very talented wizard with a complicated fate,’ he was still engrossed in his work on the time-turner and Harry wondered how in the hell he was able to speak and copy runes at the same time. ‘He was one of the few I enjoyed talking to.’

‘I suppose you knew him better than I ever did,’ Harry said.

They fell silent. Harry slipped off his stool and began to pace around the room, examining the artifacts in the glass cabinets. They’d been in many rooms, and once Harry had even stepped into the terrible archway that had swallowed Sirius...But nothing had changed, he simply found himself back in the Forbidden Forest and the event had been forgotten.

‘So when?’ he asked.

‘You’re in such a hurry,’ Voldemort hummed.

‘I need to prepare myself psychologically.’

‘If you want, I can take you on this very desk.’

‘Jesus Christ!’ Harry almost jumped. ‘Don’t say that to me, please! And why did we just assume that I was going to be, well, um…’

‘I’m not even going to comment on that babble.’

‘Fine,’ Harry gritted his teeth. ‘But without that sort of thing, please. It’s just for the cause, so to speak.’

‘Will you just close your eyes and think of Mother England?’

Harry got flustered.

‘Stop it, please.’

‘Today,’ Voldemort suddenly said, ‘At sunset.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t see any point in dragging this out. Whatever day we set, you’re going to stress and annoy me. If it doesn’t work, I’d rather make the most of tomorrow.’

‘Fine,’ Harry darkened. ‘And how will it be?’

‘Merlin, Potter, just sit down and be quiet.’

‘But I’m nervous. Besides, it’ll be at the Malfoy house, how twisted.’

‘Would you prefer Bellatrix’s house? Or Dolohov’s? Or Hogwarts, right over the bodies of your friends? Or your dead godfather’s house?’

‘Thanks for reminding me of all the reasons why I should hate you. Fine, Malfoy’s it is then.’

* * *

Harry had thought he would be able to take it coldly and objectively, but Voldemort was right: he spent the rest of the day on pins and needles. He paced around the room, trying to visualize what was going to happen. Will it be painful? Disgusting? Pleasant?

Sex was supposed to be an act of pleasure and this one especially so. After all, that was the whole point of «unity»; not just to stick your cock into another person, but to feel something deeper. Harry very much doubted that he was capable of that. But perhaps the Horcrux inside him would feel differently? That was all he could hope for.

Voldemort had been working on the time-turner all day, as if on purpose. He didn’t share any of his thoughts on the matter, but it wasn’t like Harry was asking. He chewed off all his nails and then persuaded Voldemort to take him to the local cafeteria — always a great source of entertainment in itself, with people practically running out of the way. He’d even started t read Voldemort’s notes a few times, a pile of which had accumulated over the course of the day, but he’d never studied ancient runes and had absolutely no idea what they were about.

That evening they set off for Malfoy Manor.

Harry felt like he was stepping into some kind of nightmare. He walked through the tidy courtyard and looked over at the beautiful mansion: lights were on in some of the windows, casting bright spots on the smooth green lawns. Lucius met them at the door, looking just as miserable and shabby as he had been during the battle. His tortured, confused gaze fixed on Harry, who was trudging awkwardly behind the Dark Lord, his hands tucked into his pockets.

‘My Lord,’ Lucius’ voice trembled, ‘you haven’t informed us of…’

‘I want you all to leave the house,’ Voldemort walked past him, paying Malfoy absolutely no mind. He felt in total control of the situation, which always made Harry feel a little uncomfortable. He had no contempt for the Malfoys, but rather a mixture of squeamish sympathy and pity.

‘Leave?’ Lucius looked at Harry.

‘Yes,’ Voldemort nodded. ‘You, your wife and son — I want you all to leave for the night. The elves can stay.’

‘This is so awkward,’ Harry pressed his hands to his cheeks.

‘My Lord,’ Narcissa appeared on the staircase. She was wearing a beautiful light blue dress, which would have looked less out of place on her if the woman didn’t look as miserable as her husband. She walked up to him, her fingers digging into Lucius’ elbow. ‘Bella tells me you have a…guest tonight. Perhaps we should, um…’

‘I’ll give the servants their orders myself,’ Voldemort was clearly bored with this conversation. ‘Don’t distract us any further.’

Narcissa blinked. She slowly shifted her eyes to Harry, and her gaze was suddenly full of pure compassion as if she understood what was going on here. But Harry didn’t deserve such pity — he was certainly suffering a great deal from the prospect of having to submit to this theory, but still, no one had forced him into it. He was sure that Voldemort would step down if Harry changed his mind.

They retired to a small living room decorated in azure blue. Harry liked this place: it was always quiet and beautiful. He felt as if this room wasn’t even part of the house where Hermione had once been tortured, as if it was a completely different place. He dropped onto the couch and drew his legs up to his chest as he watched Voldemort take the chair opposite him. The sky behind the window was beginning to turn a soft, delicate color. They only had a few hours left.

Voldemort snapped his fingers and a house-elf appeared beside his armchair. He was dressed in a simple white pillowcase, tied tightly around his waist. His head hung low: he was too afraid to meet Voldemort’s gaze. None of the elves ever looked at him, but when Harry spoke to them, they always looked up and smiled shyly. They reminded him of Dobby.

‘Bring out the best wine you have,’ Voldemort ordered.

The elf nodded and disappeared.

‘Wine? Are you going to drink?’

‘You’re going to drink,’ Voldemort examined him without an ounce of humility. His gaze was intense, almost burning, and Harry couldn’t help but fidget shyly, not knowing where to hide his eyes. Voldemort’s long fingers stroked the side of his pale jaw and Harry followed the movement.

‘Are you scared?’ Voldemort asked. ‘You weren’t afraid to step out for your death and now you’re scared?’

‘I’m just nervous.’

The elf returned and placed a bottle and two wine glasses on the small table. Harry decided it was a good idea: he’d never been drunk in his life, but it seemed like the perfect day to try things for the first time. Voldemort took out his wand: he waved it slowly and the bottle rose into the air. The cork popped out and rolled across the floor — Harry followed it with his eyes. The bottle tilted and a dark red liquid began to fill the glass.

‘What spell is that?’ Harry asked. ‘To pour wine?’

‘Wingardium Leviosa,’ Voldemort snickered.

Harry blushed even more. He picked up the glass and tasted cautiously: the tart sweetness immediately turned to bitterness. He decided he didn’t like the taste at all. But there was no alternative, so he would have to drink what he was given. Voldemort watched him with a tinge of contempt.

‘Lucius would have had a stroke if he saw you drinking his precious wine like it’s fruit juice.’

‘What can I do,’ Harry shrugged, ‘nobody ever taught me how to do it properly.’

‘I can tell. There are still so many things you don’t understand and don’t know how to do.’

Harry downed a whole glass. A slight dizziness came over him and Harry put his feet down. The bottle was already filling his glass again: did he really have to drink it all? Harry took another sip and winced.

‘Like what?’ he asked to avoid an uncomfortable silence. ‘Besides table manners.’

‘Occlumency?’

‘Oh yeah?’ Harry shook his glass, watching the wine flow from side to side. ‘And who’s going to teach me now? You?’

‘I suppose I could.’

Harry raised his eyes. Voldemort was still studying him with that pensive but piercing expression, and his red eyes seemed black in the twilight. The shadows hid the distortions of his horrific face.

‘Why would you do that?’ Harry drank more. He was already starting to feel quite drunk: it probably wasn’t a good idea to drink so quickly, but he didn’t care. What if it just made him puke?

‘I enjoy a challenge.’

‘You’re just bored and want to make me your new project.'

‘Maybe,’ Voldemort agreed. ‘But in a way I feel insulted by the way you treat your unused potential.’

‘Potential, huh?’

‘You’re a powerful wizard, but you waste your resources on useless nonsense like Quidditch. Have you no interest in the magical arts? I know that your father and his friends were able to become Animagi, and no matter what I think of them, I can’t help but respect such determination.’

‘That’s just the way I am,’ Harry muttered. ‘Don’t lecture me for wanting to have fun. I haven’t had a single peaceful year and it’s all because of you.’

‘You have opportunities now.’

‘How on earth could I skip your precious Latin lessons?’

‘Latin is one of them.’

‘Tsch.’

‘But I could still teach you,’ Voldemort leaned forward slightly. ‘Considering how much magic you have, you should be able to pick up magical practices quickly.’

‘Magic? Harry stared down at his glass. Voldemort’s words reached him as if through a waterfall.

‘Your own power combined with the power of my Horcrux is a potent mixture. I’m not surprised that you’ve always been the center of attention without having to work for it.’

‘I can’t take much credit for that,’ Harry almost pushed his nose into the glass. He finished the wine and leaned back heavily, staring at the ceiling. His head was spinning. He didn’t want to drink anymore, but that wretched bottle was hovering around him, pouring more wine. ‘And that attention was often quite negative.’

‘I know that a lot of students gathered around you and you weren’t even trying to be a leader. They liked you and your unstoppable energy was one of the reasons.’

‘Not everyone liked me,’ Harry hummed. He took another sip. ‘The Slytherins hated me. Especially Draco.’

Voldemort suddenly snickered softly.

‘I’m sure,’ he said quietly, ‘he was head over heels for you.’

Harry shuddered.

‘That’s not true,’ he took a big sip to drown out the strange dryness in his throat. Something tugged uncomfortably at his chest and his head began to spin even more. Harry felt the words struggle to form in his mouth, as if his tongue couldn't keep up with his thoughts. ‘I thought he hated virtually everything about me.’

‘There is much to hate about you,’ Voldemort agreed. ‘Your insufferable stubbornness, your stupidity, your insolence…And your attitude towards clothes, for example. It is an insult to the name of wizard, you should know that.’

‘I don’t care,’ Harry hummed, closing his eyes slightly. It seemed he had almost finished this glass — what was the count again? Perhaps he should stop.

‘Yet,’ Voldemort’s voice practically wrapped around him like a snake, ‘an undying fire lives within you. Even in moments of mental exhaustion, you find the strength for your mediocre humor. Your will to live is incredibly strong.’

Harry opened his eyes and looked at him.

‘I think,’ he laughed, ‘you’re the one who’s head over heels for me.’

Voldemort suddenly stood up.

‘That’s enough,’ he said, snatching the glass from Harry’s clumsy fingers.

Harry swallowed and looked away. He got up from the couch and stumbled, the wine hitting his brain hard. The floor seemed to float beneath his feet as Harry followed Voldemort to the doors. He probably felt a little more confident than before, as everything that was happening around him felt like a fever dream, an infinitely distant reality that just flowed around Harry rather than actively affecting him. He stared at Voldemort’s black cloak, at his pale skin, and obediently walked up the stairs. Where had the Malfoys gone? Had they really left their own home?

At the top of the stairs, Voldemort stopped and turned to him. Harry jerked his head up and looked at him in confusion.

‘What happened?’ he whispered.

‘I want you to close your eyes,’ Voldemort commanded.

‘Why?’

‘It’ll be easier.’

Harry swallowed. Now that Voldemort was standing next to him, Harry could see all the snake-like features that had distorted a once pretty face.

Perhaps he found the features rather repulsive, but they didn’t scare him.

‘I’m not afraid of you,’ Harry said stubbornly.

‘It doesn’t matter. Close your eyes.’

Harry hesitated for a second but followed his advice. He felt a gentle breeze tickle his skin and the next thing he knew, a silk ribbon came over his eyes. He touched it: the smooth fabric clung tightly to his skin. Voldemort rounded him and pushed him gently: his touch stung and Harry suddenly became aware of what exactly he had agreed to.

It wasn’t too late to back out. He had no idea where he was being led, but feverish doubt followed his every step. He heard the faint whisper of the portraits and then the creak of the door. They were in a room: it smelled pleasantly of wood and something fresh as if a blossoming garden had sprung up beneath the windowsill. It could have been the case: a soft flow of wind caressed his cheek.

Voldemort was silent and Harry was in no hurry to break it. He froze as the wizard backed away, listening for the slightest rustle. He had no idea what was happening. He tried to imagine Ginny moving quickly around him, but the fantasy didn’t even hold up for a second: there had never been such a dark, heavy force around Ginny, the force that sent shivers down Harry’s spine. He was still slightly dizzy.

The man’s fingers hooked around the edges of Harry’s hoodie and t-shirt, pulling the fabric up. He shuddered but couldn’t disobey, the cold air on his body startling him. Harry wrapped his arms pathetically around himself, feeling helpless and vulnerable even though this was only the beginning. Couldn’t they have done it quicker? Maybe he should have drunk the whole bottle so he wouldn’t have been able to form a string of words together. So far, the intoxication was only troubling his movements, but his thoughts weren’t cluttered with ridiculous ideas. Harry stepped forward, touched the bed with his knees, and sat down carefully.

Voldemort was near. What expression lay on his face? What he had said to Harry in the living room had been rather pleasant things, though laced with his usual bit of arrogance. Did he really mean what he had said? And how long ago had these thoughts been in his head? After all, Harry wasn’t the only one who had to learn more about his mortal enemy.

The man’s hand brushed across his chest, forcing him down. Harry shivered as his back made contact with the soft sheets. Cold fingers ran down his collarbone, sending a new wave of shivers down Harry’s body. He bit his lower lip: the sensation wasn’t so unpleasant when he wasn’t concentrating on who exactly was touching him. Harry slowly melted away into the sensation: light, quick movements that only tested his skin and didn’t demand anything in return — warmth radiated from them.

Voldemort could probably be gentle if he wanted to. He was quite tender with his bloody snake, and Harry wasn’t just a mouthless vessel for his Horcrux — he was an actual living person, now lying before the Dark Lord, waiting to see what would happen to him.

A sharp fingernail suddenly scratched his nipple and Harry jerked. He froze as the light movements on his body suddenly turned harsh: Voldemort’s hands slid down his waist, across his stomach and thighs, hooking the brim of his jeans. Of course, he had to take his clothes off if they were going to do anything. It was very, very embarrassing. Harry had only ever undressed in the team showers, but there were cubicles with curtains so he didn’t have to see other people naked — or allow himself to be seen. Did it really have to be Voldemort?

He decided to just let things happen. He wasn’t expected to be very active and that was rather fortunate: Harry would probably have felt even more embarrassed if he had had to take the initiative into his own hands. He just gave in to the feeling that someone else was in possession of his body, and the wine was very good at helping him with that. He squirmed under the blindfold as he was stripped of the rest of his clothes. Harry’s fingers gripped the sheets.

‘Oh, you brave little Gryffindor,’ he heard a mocking whisper.

‘Stop making fun of me,’ Harry would have hidden his face somewhere if he could.

‘I’m not doing that at all,’ the man put his hand on Harry’s chest, right over his heart. It was pounding like crazy, Voldemort must have felt it. One of his fingers slowly stroked Harry’s nipple, as if by accident. It felt unexpectedly good. ‘I’m only amused by your shyness. You have nothing to be ashamed of.’

Harry lifted an arm and grasped the fabric of the man’s robes. Of course, Voldemort wasn’t going to undress: he was towering over him in his black cloak, with Harry naked underneath. Voldemort probably liked that: seeing someone else’s vulnerability and feeling his total control.

The man’s hands suddenly spread his thighs apart. Harry immediately covered his face with his hands: he couldn’t stop thinking about the embarrassing heat that had descended from his cheeks to his chest. He was probably flushed by now and the image in his mind wasn’t all too flattering. Besides, Voldemort said he didn’t enjoy this sort of thing: maybe they should just put an end to all this and focus on something else?

Harry gasped at the touch on his inner thigh. He was a little aroused — well, maybe not a little — but the realization that Voldemort could easily touch the most sensitive part of him suddenly scared him. Harry tried to sit up and grab him, but the pulling weakness in his body only allowed him to swing his arm awkwardly. His fingers slid across the man’s face and he suddenly felt…

It was a thin strand of hair that tickled the man’s ear. Harry tensed his abs, one hand leaning back. His hand slid higher, surprised to find his fingers digging into thick, soft hair. It curled slightly and seemed to flow through his fingers — that’s how soft it was. His breath caught. Harry moved his hand lower, touching the smooth, sharp nose, the soft lips…

‘What…What did you do?’

‘What did I do?’ the man’s voice was all the same.

Harry’s finger slid down his lower lip, touching the wet teeth: much sharper, than the average person’s. So it was some kind of charm, a spell that only changed his appearance. Harry would have wanted to see him: he could easily picture the beautiful young man from the Chamber of Secrets. He could see his grey eyes and his charming smirk as if they were real. Harry let out a shaky breath as sharp teeth closed teasingly around his finger, pressing down slightly.

He slowly removed his hand. The man’s breath tickled his face. Harry caught the strong shoulders wrapped in the fabric of his robes. He was aware it was about to happen mere moments before soft lips pressed against his own. A shiver ran through his body: it seemed to spread to every organ, warming them. Something fluttering awoke in his chest and rushed somewhere upwards: Harry felt his own breath trying desperately to escape his lungs. He fell back, Voldemort covering his body — Harry suddenly felt not naked and vulnerable, but protected from the rest of the world. A wet tongue slid into his mouth, and it definitely wasn’t a human tongue, but Harry somehow let that fact slide — or he suddenly didn’t care. He was aroused: excitement slowly filling him to the brim, hardening his cock and blurring his thoughts. He gripped Voldemort’s shoulders, shuffling beneath him, slowly grinding against his cloak — why was this happening to him? Where was this feeling coming from?

His fingers slid down his face, gripping his thick hair. Harry gasped softly as he felt Voldemort press against him, trapping his cock between their stomachs. Everything inside him was filled with something overwhelming and it was still trying to get out, making it seem unthinkable to break this kiss. It was the Horcrux, yes — Harry could feel it moving inside him.

‘I can feel it,’ Harry whispered, tilting his head back. ‘You…’

‘Yes,’ Voldemort’s voice was barely audible. ‘I suppose it makes sense that Dementors take a person’s soul through their mouth.’

‘What if…’ Harry squeezed the man’s sides with his knees, suddenly horrified at what he was doing, ‘what if you can take it?’

‘I’m willing to try,’ he heard a faint laugh.

It felt good — that was the scariest part. Harry could just ignore all other thoughts and waddle into the feeling: he’d kissed before, but nothing he’d ever experienced was like this kiss. He felt like Voldemort was trying to eat him whole: he wasn’t gentle and his every move was full of something devouring, almost savage. Harry felt tiny beneath him, but he simply couldn’t stop responding to his touch: he didn’t know if his own body had betrayed him, or if it was just the Horcrux needy for the closeness of its owner. But now the whole idea didn’t seem so lousy anymore, on the contrary…

Harry couldn’t have thought that this person would ever be able to make him feel good — in his mind, Voldemort had always been associated with pain. But now…Harry panted as the wizard pulled away.

The sharp tip of his wand touched his inner thigh. Harry jerked and almost screamed as a sudden cool sensation ran down his groin and seemed to penetrate his body. He trembled at the realization of what was happening to him. He kept on clinging to Voldemort, feeling strangely comforted.

‘Harry,’ the man hissed in his ear.

Two of his fingers entered him from behind and Harry squirmed instantly.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I suppose I should be proud that I’m about to defile such innocence.’

‘God, shut up,’ Harry pressed a hand to the man’s mouth. ‘Shut up…’

The movement of the fingers inside him was unpleasant, but not at all as horrible as it might have seemed. Voldemort — goodness, Voldemort was doing this to him — could feel his body: maybe the connection was still the same for him, otherwise, Harry wouldn’t be able to explain how he knew exactly what to do. He touched him from the inside, stretching his entrance and sliding along every sensitive spot while Harry could only tremble and grind beneath him. Every touch felt bright and intense: perhaps his senses were heightened because he couldn’t see?

Suddenly, Voldemort leaned down and kissed his neck. His lips slid down his skin to his collarbones. He must have been an experienced lover: how many people had Tom Riddle dragged into his bed to get what he wanted? Harry touched his hair again: it was like a small gift, a slight bit of bliss and an attempt to reassure him. Voldemort had once called himself a monster — did he still feel like one now? Was that why he let Harry think of him as Tom Riddle?

‘Tom,’ Harry whispered.

Sharp teeth closed around his nipple. Harry hissed in pain.

‘Don’t call me that.’

‘But it’s you,’ Harry stroked his hair. ‘I can feel it.’

‘It doesn’t exist,’ his fingers pushed so deep inside that Harry’s back arched, startled by the invasion. But it wasn’t painful, on the contrary, it felt really good…He wanted to move his hips in response, let his cock brush against the man’s stomach — he kept moving, trying to make Voldemort do what he wanted. The man just snickered: he seemed to see right through his attempts at manipulation. ‘It’s all in your head. I’m using Legilimency.’

Harry had concluded that his nipple was swollen: it responded with a painful pulsation to every touch of the man’s tongue. But he probably didn’t care. He whined softly as the movements inside him grew faster and harsher: this was probably the way it was supposed to be.

And then Voldemort pulled away.

‘Why aren’t you taking off your robes?’ Harry whispered.

‘Why would I?’ came an indifferent reply.

Voldemort was completely calm. Maybe he really didn’t feel anything: after all, this wasn’t all that unusual for him, apart from the unique circumstances of the loop. Harry froze, caught by the thought: he didn’t want to feel disappointed that his excitement wasn’t shared. So he just lay there, silent. His body was all hot, but Harry would have preferred to stay as cold as Voldemort — it was probably useful to know how to control your emotions like that.

‘How charming,’ Voldemort remarked. ‘You can be mad at me even at a moment like this.’

‘I’m not mad at you. Just feels unfair.’

‘Oh, does it?’

‘I can’t even look at you and you see everything.’

‘You won’t get any pleasure from looking at me.’

‘I’m not afraid of you.’

‘Really?’

Voldemort lifted his legs. Harry crouched slightly, realizing that he couldn’t even move. Only his hands were free and he decided to do whatever he wanted — so he reached for the buttons on the man’s robes. If it didn’t work out, everything would just go back to normal, and if it did, the ripped-off buttons would be a small price to pay.

‘Then why don’t you call me by my name?’

‘Your name is Tom,’ Harry struggled against the unyielding fabric.

Voldemort spread his legs further apart. Harry tensed his whole body as he felt the large shaft pressing against his anus. There was some pressure and a slow stretch: the spell Voldemort had used had done something to him because it was definitely supposed to hurt more. The man’s length was covered in something slick and slippery, which made the penetrating process easier. But it was so incredibly slow, and Harry probably didn’t want to feel fragile: he’d come so far, he might as well be able to take something real.

He tore at the man’s robes, feeling his way down to the smooth skin. Perhaps part of him wanted to discover snake scales hiding beneath the fabric, but that wasn’t the case. Harry’s palm slid down the wizard’s chest and stopped over his heart: as calm as Voldemort tried to appear, his heart betrayed him — it was beating fast and restless.

‘You’re nervous, aren’t you?’ Harry felt good knowing that.

Voldemort didn’t answer. Harry cried out as the wizard entered him in one deep thrust. He arched his back and immediately felt a wave of heat run down his body. Maybe it was magic? Maybe the loop had broken? Harry wrapped his arms around Voldemort’s shoulders, pulling him closer. The man hid his face somewhere in Harry’s neck: he suddenly began to tremble and thrust in again, this time roughly — and it was painful. But Harry could take it: the feeling of this powerful wizard suddenly becoming vulnerable in his arms was exhilarating.

He swung his hips to match the movement.

Next came a very, very soft moan that was incredibly hard to hear.

Harry felt their connection again. It was as if there was a pulsing thread spread between them, a thread that had broken when the Avada Kedavra spell reached Harry’s body — but now it was back. The Horcrux had created it as it rushed back to its owner, longing to be one with him again, and now the desire to belong to this man filled Harry from within.

‘Tom,’ he whispered.

Voldemort kissed him. He grabbed Harry’s wrists, one hand pinning them to the bedsheets above his head, the other clinging to his thigh. Harry couldn’t move, but he didn’t even want to: he felt as if there was nothing else around him, nothing at all, just plunging darkness and the heat of his body.

It wasn’t as slow as it had been in the beginning — and Harry didn’t want it to be. He moaned loudly as Voldemort moved inside him with deep, rough thrusts: it seemed he had used up the supply of affection and patience he had saved up over the years. But Harry didn’t really believe any of his gentle touches, and the firm, possessive grip seemed more sincere than his attempts to tame him with soft caresses.

And it felt good, really good. Harry’s legs clenched around him, responding eagerly to his movements. Voldemort could have made it seem like this was all a result of coercion: holding his arms, blindfolding him…But it wasn’t.

Harry hadn’t forced himself to give his body away. He was beginning to think that no other kind of sex would have allowed him to feel that deep pleasure throbbing somewhere under his heart. The Horcrux was suffering just as much as Harry was, and it was the first time the helpless, torn entity felt anything good. And Harry really wanted to cum: quick movements inside him brushed against the very spot that made his stomach clench. He felt exposed, more open than he’d ever been in his life.

And Voldemort was still kissing him. Did he even remember exactly who was beneath him at this moment? Or did he only feel his Horcrux reaching for him? Harry probably didn’t care, because they were still the best kisses of his life.

His lips were slowly swelling.

Voldemort suddenly let go of Harry’s thigh and lightly touched his cock. Harry moaned into his mouth, feeling himself slowly approaching the edge. Perhaps the stimulation inside and the way he pressed against the man’s robes would have been enough, but this was even better — his head was heavy and full of hazy images, among which only the desire for more was clear.

‘Harder,’ Harry whispered, pulling away from the man’s lips.

Voldemort snickered softly but willingly complied with his request. He was so pliable when it came to pleasing his precious soul: Harry would have wanted to be offended, but right now there was really nothing to complain about. He tilted his head back, arched his back, and thrust hard against him a few times: he wanted this friction inside him to grow stronger, to open him up even more…Voldemort bit his neck and the wave of pain mingled with the pleasure of his hand and the harsh thrusts against that spot deep inside his body. Harry didn’t even know he could feel something like that; he came onto his stomach and his moan echoed through the room.

Even if the entire Malfoy family was now standing at the door, Harry didn’t care. A wave of weakness washed over him and he froze obediently in Voldemort’s arms, softly kissing his temple. The man moved inside him a few more times before finally growling into his ear. He poured himself out deep into his body and froze. He was breathing heavily: Harry felt his chest heaving.

His lips were still stuck to Harry’s neck, his snake tongue still sliding over the salty skin, crawling to the sensitive spot under his ear.

It lasted for what seemed like an eternity. Voldemort let go of his arms and Harry squeezed his shoulder once more. He would have liked to just lie there for a while, but his dream wasn’t destined to come true: Voldemort slipped out of him and pulled away immediately. Harry felt him leave the bed and immediately felt a loneliness — much stronger and deeper than all his previous emotions. He overcame the pathetic urge to grab the man’s cloak and pull the wizard back and simply sat up, tucking one leg under him.

The sensation in his behind was strange and not very pleasant. Every inch of skin between his thighs was wet and sticky and Harry didn’t want to think about it any longer. He pulled the silk band from his head and stared dazedly at the piece of cloth in his hand before looking around the dimly lit bedroom.

It was all green, of course. Harry almost rolled his eyes at the abundance of Slytherin colors. He was lying on black sheets embroidered with silver thread — well, it was kind of pretty. Harry ran his hand over the smooth fabric and squeezed it: he covered his crotch and threw the corner of the sheet over his shoulder so as not to feel so exposed. A red bite was swelling up around his right nipple and Harry sighed: he probably should have expected something like this.

Voldemort stood at the window. His shoulder leaned against the wall, his eyes glued to the sunset sky. The cloak was slightly open around his chest, but nothing else about his appearance suggested what he had just been doing. Maybe only his mouth: his lips were much brighter than before.

‘How much time’s left?’ Harry asked.

‘Seven minutes,’ Voldemort glanced at the clock above the armchair. Seven minutes. Harry clenched his hands into fists.

‘D’ you think it worked?’ he asked hoarsely.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Are you always this chatty after sex?’ Harry pursed his lips. Of course, he wasn’t expecting any love confessions or anything, but Voldemort looked so distant, as if nothing of importance had happened.

‘What do you want to hear, Potter?’ he was looking out the window.

‘Well, something? Did you like it?’

‘How could I not?’ the corner of his lips curled upwards. Voldemort gave him a mocking glance. Harry relaxed: apparently the Dark Lord could be going through an emotional crisis too. It warmed his soul. ‘Aside from the fact that I fucked a handsome young man, it’s…it’s an unparalleled pleasure to feel whole again.’

Handsome, huh? And he always said that Harry had ugly glasses and ridiculous hair. Harry smiled but decided not to focus on it.

‘Whole?’

‘For a moment, I felt like I’d never broken my soul apart.’

‘Did it hurt? Creating Horcruxes?’

‘A lot.’

They were silent for a few seconds.

‘If it worked,’ Harry squeezed the covers between his fingers tighter and dared to ask the question that had been troubling him for a number of loops, ‘what are we going to do? Celebrate?’

‘I’ll probably fuck you again and then we’ll burn this house down.’

‘Hey,’ Harry blushed, ‘we’re not setting the Malfoy home on fire.’

‘Sometimes I get too emotional.’

‘I’m serious. What are we going to do?’

‘You’ll get your answer when the loop breaks.’

Voldemort turned away and they fell silent. The uncomfortable feeling of shame and loneliness subsided and Harry felt terribly normal. He had probably really lost his mind during this time, but what had happened didn’t seem like such a big deal anymore. There were plenty of other things to worry about, and this wasn’t even the most traumatic experience Voldemort had given him. Harry took a deep breath and prepared to wait.

It was going to be the longest minutes of his life.

He followed the seconds. Now, now…Harry wanted to stay on this bed and he squeezed the covers so tightly as if they could keep him from travelling through time. But it didn’t.

Harry blinked and the next thing he knew he was in the Forest.

‘Fuck!’ he shouted, kicking the old tree stump with all his might.

Something exploded in the thicket of the forest. Hissing with pain in his battered leg, Harry crawled to the lakeshore. All the unusual sensations in his body disappeared, along with the intoxication and post-orgasm weakness. Nothing had worked.

‘It didn’t fucking work!’ Harry shouted as he stepped onto the shore. Voldemort was already standing by the scattered rocks, letting the lapping waves brush his bare feet. The wind ruffled the hem of his black cloak. Poorly contained rage showed in the features of his face: in his pursed lips, his angry squint, and furrowed brows.

‘Someday I’m going to get rid of your habit of stating obvious facts,’ Voldemort glanced at him angrily.

‘Oh my God,’ Harry grabbed his hair in desperation. ‘So what now?’

‘I don’t know,’ Voldemort turned away.

‘Okay,’ Harry began to gasp, trying his best to stay calm. ‘We’ll figure something out. There has to be a way out of every situation. It’s a law of nature, isn’t it? Action and reaction?’

‘A surprisingly wise thought,’ Voldemort snickered.

‘So what’s the plan for today?’

‘Today…’ the wizard glanced at Hogwarts, ‘I think I’d rather rest. Yesterday was exhausting.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ Harry agreed. ‘You’ll get some good rest and then you’ll think of something. Let’s go…let’s go to London?’

‘London it is. I love to see people running away when I walk down the street.’

‘An incredible pleasure, really,’ Harry snorted.

It was the two hundred and thirty second loop.