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Chapter Text

Harry hadn’t sorted Gryffindor because he didn’t see himself as particularly brave, nor did he find bravery admirable. Bravery had never gotten him anywhere. Bravery to go to an adult about being hurt only led to being not listened to and Dursley retaliation.

Harry didn’t sort Slytherin. He was clever, but his ambitions were too small, and he knew better than to risk getting any negative attention. He’d lived most of his life under the burden of the story he was a delinquent. He didn’t need to live with the colors of green and silver marking him as a dark wizard.

Ravenclaw was barely considered by the hat. A love of learning had been beaten out of him. Curiosity only led to pain, to risking something when he was better suited to the safety of his cupboard. The only wisdom he subscribed to was that nothing was risking his neck for.

Hufflepuff, well, fair play was something he’d never been exposed to. he frankly thought it wasn’t real. And his loyalty was something he only felt for himself—something he wouldn’t trust if it was proclaimed for him. Honesty was a flimsy idea that he didn’t believe anyone stuck to.

But there were no other houses, so he was put in Hufflepuff because Helga told the other founders to put “all the rest” in her house.

On the first night at Hogwarts, his fellow Hufflepuff first years tried to rope him into their conversations, but he stared at the ground, only watching them at the edge of his vision, always vigilant for attack.

He learned about the Boy Who Lived, Neville Longbottom. But that was none of Harry’s business.

He kept his head down.

Slytherins were pompous and loved throwing jinxes, but Harry was quick on his feet.

Gryffindors were loud and thought they were the best, and Harry steered clear.

Ravenclaws were cliquish and intolerant of people they looked down on, so Harry sat near the back.

Hufflepuffs wanted to do everything together, so Harry learned every corner of the castle and grounds to keep safe from them.

First year he learned he loved to fly and caught the attention of Madam Hooch. He was a first year and couldn’t play, but she told him to go to the Hufflepuff practices so he could learn.

Harry thought it was a bad idea, but… He stayed hidden in the stands during their early morning practices. And, in retrospect, he was lured out. Teammates talked loudly near his hiding spots, “forgot” to put away a school broom occasionally, and bemoaned how they would be losing a chaser next year and no one second-year or up looked like they could do the job.

Then near the end of the year, where the return to the Dursleys’ was pressing down on him, the Hufflepuff captain told him she looked forward to him trying out next term. He had begged off, but once summer ended, she swooped in and he found himself not as the new chaser, but replacing Diggory as seeker.

He expected Diggory to hate him, even with his easy-going smile, but he said Harry was the “best man for the job” and that was that, apparently.

Then the last quarter of his second year was stolen away by being petrified. Harry broke down when he realized he only had a few days before he had to go back to the Dursleys. And he had so much work to make up for and knew he wouldn’t be able to do any of it under their roof.

Then Aunt Marge said so many horrible things about his parents who he knew nothing about, but didn’t want to believe. In the middle of the night Dudley let Ripper into the smallest bedroom and the dog attacked him.

Harry, in his half-awake state and bleeding ran outside barefoot. Vernon shouted at him for waking them. He threw Harry trunk at him and told him if he wanted to leave then they were more than happy to see the last of him.

The deadbolt clunked heavily with him on the wrong side of it. Harry curled up on the ground, gripping the handle of his trunk like it was a lifeline. Then a dog appeared, bigger than Ripper, but with a hungry look to it. He curled tighter up on himself.

The dog made a little whimpering sound and licked his cheek.

“No more, please, I’m sorry,” Harry whispered between short, high-pitched breaths.

Something… shifted. Harry was in someone’s arms, against a warm, but human body chest. The scent of dog intensified, but he couldn’t move.

“I’ve got you pup.” There was a clicking noise then Harry felt like he was being twisted and pushed through a tube. He squeezed his eyes tightly. The cold air turned musty as a woman and a broken voice started shouting. “He’s my heir and he lives here now,” a male voice said. The woman started screeching again. “I blood adopted him. Reggie is dead and he’d all you got, so treat him right or I’ll burn this whole place down.”

A soft kiss, which he must have imagined, was placed on the top of his head before he was alone again.

When Harry finally uncurled, he was in a strange, dusty house. A magical portrait of a pinched faced, large woman. From her ornate frame she loomed over him. “You need an,” she sneered, “education.”

And she was far kinder than the Dursleys.

*

By the time he went to Diagon Alley to get his third-year supplies, Harry knew who Sirius Black was in Kreatcher and Lady Black’s opinion, but to Harry he was just an adult that had given him a free house and sent him a Firebolt broom. Sure, Kreatcher thought Harry was a “mudblood”, but he didn’t hit him and he actually made food for Harry. Lady Black screeched and called him names too, but she couldn’t hit him either.

He'd been nervous at first, but as long as he stayed out of Kreatcher’s way and listened to Lady Black’s lectures, it was fine. He’d been able to catch up on his work and Lady Black even pointed him to a few books that helped.

It was the best summer ever and he couldn’t wait to try off his Firebolt.

*

The dementors were terrible, but Harry was too thrilled by quidditch to care.

But when summer came his home—his new home—wasn’t just his. The Weasleys, who Harry only had bad interactions with: the twins with their pranks and Ron who blamed other people for his poor work.

And their mother was overbearing. Harry had barely told her his name before she was bossing him around. Harry, with all of Lady Black’s teachings (as had continued during the school year via Kreatcher written letters), told her absolutely not. This was his home now and she was a guest.

Sirius tried to smooth things over.

Harry knew that Sirius was his godfather and Lady Black accurately said that he’d feel guilty for Harry’s childhood. All Harry had to do was make it clear that he loved Grimmauld place, with all its scariness. And when Harry pulled Sirius aside he told him how Grimmauld was the complete opposite of the Dursleys’ where everything was pristine and bright.

Grimmauld was his very own haunted house, and he loved it.

Sirius didn’t get it, but he lashed out in Harry’s defense when Mrs. Weasley argued.

Longbottom was also there, unfortunately.

Dowager Lady Longbottom had died, which they were all being shifty about. One of Longbottom’s relatives had taken over his home and was trying to steal the Longbottom Lordship. Harry didn’t know about any of that and didn’t want to be involved.

He retreated to the library.

The only good thing about all these other people being around was he got food other than Kreatcher’s tasteless cooking.

*

Over the summer Harry had had to deal with Longbottom, the nervous boy that was pulled around by Ron Weasley. He’d apparently been using a wand ill-suited for him and there had been a whole row about it between Mrs. Weasley and Sirius.

Dumbledore was the deciding factor and took Longbottom himself to get a wand.

Fourth-year was no quidditch. The only positive was that Cedric was the Hogwarts’ champion. But then Longbottom’s name was also called.

And for some reason Longbottom and Weasley thought he was their friend now? Harry just stayed in his own lane.

The year was strange with long lulls and random bouts of excitement.

Harry also learned so very much from the new Defense against the Dark Arts professor.

*

Fifth year was kind of weird.

Everyone was so riled up. If Voldemort was back, Harry would just move out of the country like his parents should have done.

Professor Umbridge tried to get at him, but quickly realized he kept his head down and had no friends to “conspire with”.

And he wanted nothing to do with Longbottom or Malfoy’s gangs.

Summer spelled even more people at Grimmauld and with Sirius recently dead—Harry had to be very firm with the house guests, and he had a plan. And for once Snape was right about calling him selfish. Harry didn’t agree with the brat part, though.

Voldemort was back.

But there was one positive. Now that Harry had his OWLs, he could transfer schools. But to do that, he had to speak to Aunt Petunia, who was still legally his guardian. She and her family were the worst kind of muggles. He despised them, despised muggles. They’d abused him, hadn’t listened to him when all he needed was one person to believe him.

Yes, Harry held no love for muggles. He’d only cared about Sirius, and now he was dead.

*

Transferring was easy with a forged signature. He wasn’t some celebrity like Longbottom, or even notable like Weasley. He’d left before July even hit.

Australia was miserably hot, but peaceful.

And Harry made a few pros and cons lists. He needed to untangle himself from all this war/terrorism situation that Sirius hand gotten him into.

Even with Dumbledore on Longbottom’s side, Harry hardly believed they would come out on top. He’d thoroughly read about the last war. Voldemort’s side only lost because of a fluke.

Harry still wanted to live in Britain eventually, despite how much he'd been wronged there. And number 12 Grimmauld Place was his home. The former Lady Black was a nuisance, but when she realized he was all that was left of their line, she learned to keep the worst parts of herself restrained. And Kreatcher was a bit senile, calling Harry Regulus a few times since he'd grown out his hair. 

Harry never really had a family. Sirius had been the closest he came, and the damaged man occasionally called him James. And... Sirius had been more interested in revenge than Harry. Revenge, which had already landed Harry at the tender mercy of the Dursleys.

Harry would be forever grateful for him taking him to Grimmauld Place, but that didn't mean he forgave Sirius. 

He couldn't call Walburga or Kreatcher family. They were too stuck in their ways and begrudgingly put up with him. He was the only way forward for House Black. Blood adopted by Sirius and the grandson of Dorea Black... Harry had made it clear to them that if he died he had in his will that Grimmauld and all the other Black properties were to be destroyed and his remaining wealth given to charities. This was a lie, but it was also enough to keep any funny business from happening. 

The Dursleys weren't family, not by a longshot. 

Hufflepuff... He'd made friends, he supposed, but after Cedric's death—Cedric who had looped him into playing quidditch, who stood up for him against bullies—Well, he was gone now and Hogwarts had lost a great amount of its luster. 

So all Harry really had left was Grimmauld and the wealth left to him by dead people who should have looked after him. 

So he wrote a letter and struck a deal: The location of the Order of the Phoenix in exchange for his own safety and for no items to be taken from the location along with minimal damage done to it. A binding contract that they both signed. 

He informed Kreatcher and the senile house elf was both thrilled and yet found the idea of more people in Grimmauld abhorrent. 

Harry sent him on his way with the order to make sure nothing was taken from the townhouse. 

Harry avoided the world news after that, focusing on his studies. There was only one reason he knew something had happened, an elegant thank you card that came a month later. It was a bit of a macabre thing to send, but it evoked a tired huff of laughter. 

Sixth year was tinged with an odd sense of homesickness. Probably the only case of homesickness that was literal when it came to the home part. He picked up alchemy, which hadn't been offered at Hogwarts despite Dumbledore having a mastery in it. 

Alchemy was... It made sense to Harry in a way nothing had before. It used all branches of magic Harry had studied, even Herbology. He felt like his education actually had a purpose, instead of being a nebulous set of tools he couldn't even use outside of Hogwarts. 

The love of learning that the Dursleys had so gleefully crushed was growing back, flourishing. 

Seventh year came and went, and Harry poked his head up from Australia. The war in magical Britain was still going so Harry decided to go for a Mastery in Alchemy. He took an accelerated course and felt truly happy for the first time in his life. When he finished he spent a few years traveling and learning more. 

But that same homesickness was still rooted in his chest. The war had ended when he was 23, now that he was 25, he thought it was time to go home. 

He first wrote to his solicitor, who had kept Harry's Potter and Black Wizengamot seats inactive. He then wrote the three financial management companies, two in the wizarding world and the third in the muggle world. He had only vaguely kept up with them, in so much as making sure no one was ripping him off. Everything was good to go. 

Returning to Magic Britain was... interesting, in so much as it felt like very little had changed. He had to go to the Ministry to declare that he was returning and to activate his two lordships. He had no real interest in politics, but he had made an outline of his beliefs and would have a proxy advocate for them. They weren't too un-aligned with the current regime. Harry thought the blood status beliefs were idiotic, but he did believe that Dark Magic should be decriminalized and muggleborns should be taken from their parents at the first sign of magic.. 

In that vein, he hired a few wizards whose job it was specifically to enslave muggles. He had three special candidates on his list. 

*

Harry hadn't seen his relatives since he was 13. Somehow Vernon was even larger. He didn't have a single hair on his head anymore, either. Petunia was nearly fifty years old, but tried to fight the inevitable with hair dye. Even in her stunned state she was scowling. Dudley... Well, he almost looked like a normal 25-year-old. He was still large, but his fat looked like it was cushioning muscle. He also had a wedding ring and when Harry looked into his wallet there was the picture of a cute little red-headed woman. Petunia probably hated her because she was a red-head and for taking her precious "Dudders". Not that that mattered anymore. 

"Is Kreatcher not doing good enough?" the old house elf wheezed when Harry stated they'd be taking over the majority of his chores. 

"No need to cut off your own head. You'll join the wall soon enough." The wall where past house elf heads were mounted. "These muggles hurt me. They need to be put in their place. This is for me, Kreatcher, and has nothing to do with your abilities." The house elf nodded jitterily and pulled at his ears. They were already ragged, but Harry didn't bother trying to stop him. 

So, sitting in the opulent, but dirty office of Grimmauld place, Harry spelled their feet stuck to the ground and rennervated them. 

Petunia sucked in a gasp, Dudley slumped when he saw him, and Vernon shouted, "Boy!"

Harry was quick to disappear his mouth. Vernon groped for it, his face quickly turning purple. 

Petunia tried to block Dudley from his sight. "Don't hurt Dudley! Please, he was just a child!" She kept pleading, until Harry raised his wand. 

"Was I not a child too?" he asked. Petunia's lips thinned. Vernon started pounding the floor, gouts of dust coming up. "But I was a freak, so you treated me like shite.” Harry grinned. “But now, Petunia, you're in the wizarding world, and here you're the freaks." 

Petunia burst out crying. "Just like your mother! We should have killed you when we had the chance!" He silenced her with a flick of his wand. 

"And what do you have to say for yourself, Dudley?" 

"I'm sorry. What I did was wrong, and I know that. If I could go back, I'd change it." He didn't meet his eyes. 

Harry scoffed. It was too little, too late for that. Dudley didn't seem shocked by his response. 

"You had me for 12 years and made every second of it miserable,” he told them. “So I'll only keep you for 12 years. Let's see how well you do surviving it." 

*

Petunia was not a very imaginative cook, but that's what cookbooks were for, and Harry had gathered many during his travels. He had Kreatcher watching her and told him to be liberal with the wooden spoon when she messed up. Keatcher's eyes lit up in a way that Harry had never seen before, not even when Sirius died. 

Then, every meal he would have his "family" sit down at the ornate table as he ate. They, of course, got nothing but a few scraps—though Vernon got even less. Harry had graciously restored his mouth, but without his teeth or tongue and made it so small only a straw could fit through. He'd get something other than water when he reached a reasonable weight, maybe. 

The magical pests had multiplied in his absence. Harry found Petunia's screams when she saw a boggart funny. It wasn't surprising that it was an image of him with a wand standing over a dead Dudley. She wasn't very imaginative. 

Harry had Dudley working in the overgrown yard. He had granted his beloved cousin a boon and sent him with a herbology book so he knew what could kill him as he cleared the area. He wasn't going to let death get in the way of his revenge. 

Petunia was set to cleaning the house. Her head always ducked down when he entered whatever room she was working in, but he could tell by the rigidness of her back that she was furious. The dress she had arrived in was now ragged, but still not as bad as the clothes that she made him wear. Maybe Harry would just let it completely fall apart. He had no physical interest in his hag of an aunt. Maybe some nudity would humble her since cleaning wasn't working.

Vernon, well, Harry had Kreatcher in charge of him. And Kreatcher took pointers from Walburga's portrait. 

It was gratifying to see all of Vernon's skin become loose, like he was draped in a greyish pink blanket. Harry joked that he might have to pin his skin back on his face so Vernon didn't look like Marge's bulldogs. 

It was too bad Marge had died. He would have had her chased around by something particularly nasty. The bitch had been bitten by one of her own dogs and hadn't been able to get up. Everyone was used to her endless shouting that mixed with countless dogs barking, so no one listened. She had died in her own piss surrounded by dogs that had gone unfed... And they say only cats eat their dead owners. 

Harry kept the decor mostly the same. Haunted house like and with plenty of things that go bump in the night. 

But during his searching he did find more than one item of interest. The ancient house of Black had generational wealth, and he hadn't even entered their vaults yet, but he doubted he could find a better find than this, a Horcrux. 

And what he'd "gleaned" while talking with the famous Flamels was that a Horcrux was the base product for the Philosopher's Stone. 

Now Harry had never really had any inclination towards immortality, but now that this had dropped into his lap... Well, he had plenty of things he wanted to do with his life. Why not make sure he didn't get sick while doing it? 

The thing about the soul, even those that are shattered, is that they healed over time. And souls held a unique energy. Harry wasn't sure why that was, but he was happy to use that to his advantage. Usually, one aged because the amount of energy taken from their soul outmatched their natural healing factor, but with a second soul to draw from, and by alternating between drawing power from his own and the horcrux, one healed up while the other was used. 

So Harry experimented. He tinkered and tested over a three year time span. What he created was not exactly Flamel's stone. It could not turn metal into gold, but it did solve the one drawback that the original stone had. He would not continue aging. 

Harry slit his abdomen open with Kreatcher watching on worriedly. He carved out his useless appendix and put the bright green, slightly spongy stone in the cavity. With his own modifications to his body, the stone, the True Emerald, would produce the enhanced elixir of life on its own like a gland, traveling his bloodstream to evenly deposit it. 

By the time he poked his head above ground, wizarding Britain had changed greatly. Voldemort ruled both the muggle and wizarding side, the Statue of Secrecy still in place and heads of states replaced and the Queen of England imperio-ed into compliance. 

The Wizengamot was more of a body of people that politely made suggestions to the Dark Lord. His representatives since he'd gotten back to Britain had told him as much, but Harry paid them enough to say what he believed in—even if it was ignored. 

It was clear that the aristocrats were not the ruling class, but a protected and almost pampered group. Britain had been divided into fiefs, Harry having gotten some automatically for his Potter and Black lordships. He hadn't taxed them much, or had the harsh laws that forbid muggle-borns from breeding or other illogical things that would serve to cripple the future population. He'd let his financial advisers take care of all that. They made him a pretty penny and he paid them well. 

*

There was a symposium being held on alchemy. From what Harry's representatives told him, Voldemort had paid for the best minds to come to further establish the legitimacy of his rule. 

It was like catnip to Harry, even though he was secretive and hadn't told the world a thing about all his research and findings. Maybe he could find something new to focus on now that he was done with his immortality studies. 

The symposium was high-end and he had to request an invitation. His double-lordship and having a mastery in alchemy made that easy, but Harry also had to dress the part. 

He had always preferred muggle clothes. Wixen wore more loose fitting robes that tended to be made of heavier material. When he wore them, it made him feel like he was wearing an oversized coat that was heavy from rain. 

Diagon Alley looked cleaner than it had when he was a boy, although the uniformity was off putting. He swung by an apothecary to browse. He usually just let Kreatcher pick up his orders, but it was nice to be surrounded in the complex smells that came with every good apothecary. 

He couldn't keep stalling though. At the clothing store, Harry would have only wanted the emblem of a master in alchemy, but knew he had to show the Black and Potter arms to ensure no one tried to push him around. That had happened enough when he went to Hogwarts. None of them had enjoyed it when he lost it on them. Wixen never expected a physical fight. And younger Harry had sharp elbows and wasn't afraid to bite a bitch. He was also strangely resistant to stupify. They thought he was a feral dog, but he hadn't cared. 

He got a haircut only because Walburga complained. When the date arrived he was dreading the noise of a crowd, but was adamant. 

The Ministry smelled almost too clean as he made his way to the ballroom. Many gave him looks for the coat of arms on his nearly black robes, only the light showing the shade of green. He didn't mind them. 

The symposium strangely enough resembled an elementary school science fair. Each person had a little area to show their best works or current research. After an opening speech, (Thanks to the Dark Lord for hosting the event and some brown nosing, when demonstrations would be held, blah, blah, blah), the symposium really began. Harry had a glass of sparkling wine as he toured around. It was all boring, until he reached his once professor's table. 

The look that glinted in Snape's eyes was unreadable. 

"I hope that you're not still a professor," Harry said dryly. 

"No, little shites like you made me give up teaching," he sneered. 

Harry rolled his eyes, which would have landed him detention at Hogwarts back when he was still a knobby-kneed, vicious Hufflepuff. Fun times. 

"Potter," Snape hissed under his breath, "what are you doing here? Have you any sense? The Dark Lord will kill you on sight—"

"He and I made a deal," Harry said, swirling the wine in its glass flute. "I gave him the location of the Order of the Phoenix and he guaranteed my safety." 

Snape's sallow skin became ashen. "You ignorant child," he said under his breath. "Half the Order of the Phoenix died that night because of your reckless—" 

"Save it, Snape. Just because my parents were in the Order of the Phoenix doesn't mean I was anything like them. They didn't raise me. As far as I'm concerned, they're nothing to me." 

Snape's hand twitched towards his wand, but he didn't reach for it. "You ungrateful—" 

Harry scoffed. "You hated me because I look like my father did, now you're annoyed that I distance myself from them?" Harry took a sip of his drink, enjoying how Snape's face was turning red. "My parents were fools. If they cared about me they would have left the country when Lily became pregnant. And if my aunt is any indication, Lily wouldn't have been a good mother anyway."

"You're worse than your father!" Snape nearly shouted, gaining attention from a few people around them. 

"I'll take your word, since I never met the man," he said in a monotone. Harry turned his back on him, knowing the wizard wouldn't do anything. There was hate in his eyes, but not violence. Just hate and sadness. 

A few eyes followed him. Unfortunately one of those also had platinum blond hair. It wasn't surprising that Draco had taken the Dark Mark, as his billowing sleeves that were slit up to the elbow but buttoned at the wrist showed off. 

"Potter," Draco said with a sneer. It wasn't as nearly effective as Snape's. "We all thought you were dead." 

"I'm sure you were salivating over the Black Lordship." Harry brushed his thumb over the coat of arms. "Rest assured that the wealth will never go to you inbreds." 

"You filthy mudblood, how dare you talk to me like that!" Even more attention was being drawn to them. 

"I see your vocabulary hasn't broadened since 5th year." Harry grinned. "Have you read your parents' marriage agreement between House Black and House Malfoy? I suggest you take a look and understand just how much power I have over your lovely mother as Lord Black." 

"Don't threaten my mother!" He brandished his wand, but just like before, he wasn't prepared for Harry to get up close and personal with him. 

With a step forward, Harry encased Malfoy's hand with his own, grinding the man's knuckles together painfully. Harry's own wand digging into Malfoy's stomach. 

"You're always so loud," Harry said, letting his warm breath touch Draco’s cheek. 

"Draco," Malfoy Senior said, appearing at his side. 

That was apparently enough to cow him. Harry let go of his wand, but kept his own pulled. 

"This mudblood," Draco growled out, but much quieter.

"Has a contract of protection with the Dark Lord," Lucius said. His eyes were cold as they stared at Harry. "Ignore him. We have more important things to attend to." 

Draco opened his mouth to say more before closing it and squaring his jaw. 

Harry was unimpressed as the other man left with a huff. Lucius gave Harry a measuring look before joining his son. 

Harry plucked up a canapé from a floating tray and continued walking around. 

The field of alchemy had changed very little in the few years he'd holed himself up in Grimmauld, but a few people recognized him from his travels, even though he hadn't shared much about himself. 

A man he didn't recognize approached him. He was handsome in the way that was often seen in toothpaste commercials. Nice features, but nothing worth remembering. Harry did feel a spark of something. Was this attraction? Harry had never experienced it before. Hell, he'd thought it was made up, an ongoing joke, for the longest time. Then, years ago, someone attacked his face with their face and Harry had questioned the woman at wand-point until she cried. Attraction was messy, and it sounded like it took up a lot of time. 

The man was wearing a rich robe which Harry assumed was in style. He didn’t have an alchemy mastery emblem, only a coat of arms that Harry hadn’t seen before. His sleeves were closed, telling nothing of his Death Eater status.

“Lord Potter-Black, your creation of a reagent that measures the chance of a wix being born from two parents is both interesting and controversial.”

Harry huffed, paying more attention to the display they were standing beside than the other wizard. “The inbreds are always happy to whine. If it wasn’t my research, it would be something else. They’re so up their own asses that they can’t see my research could help them.” He shook his head. “I did what I set out to do. How others see my findings doesn’t matter to me.”

“There is a bill soon to be presented based on your research. A modified test that would identify muggles who had potential to have wixen children. The muggles with the potential will be put down.”

Harry shrugged. “I’m not a muggle so it doesn’t impact me, but I won’t fund the practice on my fiefs.” The Dark Lord might have the final say in the laws, but Harry didn’t have to enforce them. “If the inbreds ever do their research, they’ll thank me—and I frankly doubt the use of this test considering the reagent I made takes a large amount of magic to activate that few wixen are capable of producing.” Harry glanced at the other wizard. “Someone is making money off this and it better be me.” The other wizard had a twisted look on his face, almost constipated. “What’s your skin in the game?”

“Pardon?”

Harry looked skyward for patience. “Muggle saying. Those still slip in despite,” despite being in the wizarding world for over half his life. He shook his head once. “In other words, why do you care, because you clearly do.”

The other wizard’s mouth opened just a bit, enough to make him look stupid.

“This is a waste of my time.” Harry moved past him. He’d had enough socializing for one day and he needed to analyze this whole attraction thing.

*

Kreatcher was trying to get his attention, something about a letter, a summons, but Harry wasn’t interested. There had been a slight boost to his magic since his outing. He was already a powerful mage, and had done the calculations multiple times to see the impact of the True Emerald would have on his magic, and it had been accurate until he ventured back out to the wizarding world.

The conclusion he reached was that the Horcrux he used as a base for the True Emerald had encountered another piece of its soul. His creation was in the stage of fueling Harry and had resonated with the other part of the soul, taking magical energy from it and funneling it into him.

Harry would hire an investigator to get the guest list from the symposium. If the person was no one of importance, Harry would give them the Draught of Living Death and use them as another source of magic—but before that could happen there was a loud knocking on the front door of Grimmauld. Harry frowned. That had never happened before.

Kreatcher appeared with a cracking that sounded more like knees buckling than an actual apperation. “A Death Eater is at the door.”

Harry grunted in annoyance. “Show him a copy of the agreement I made with the Dark Lord.” That should shoo them away. He couldn’t care less and Voldemort’s lackies. Draco was the perfect example of how pathetic those that kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robes were.

Kreatcher disapparated, then reappeared moments later with a letter. “Death Eater says he’ll only leave when you open the letter.”

The unwelcomed guest was pushing against the wards around Harry’s townhouse, not trying to break them, but being a nuisance none the less.

Harry performed a few spells on the letter to see if it was cursed. Nothing came up, but it was interesting to note that it was made of real parchment, not the cheap alchemical paper most people used. It cost more, but wasn’t outside of the budget of someone in the upper echelons of society.

With a sigh, Harry opened and skimmed over the words.

He wrinkled his nose.

“Why does the Dark Lord wish to meet with me?” he asked even though the letter already answered that. He was interested in his research on the reagent test for breeding pairs of people. Harry had already published everything on that and had moved on.

He hated having to rehash old work, and the Dark Lord doubtlessly wanted him to do more with it.

So annoying.

But denying the invitation would only cause more interruptions. Hopefully Harry would just have to answer a few questions and then could go back to his own studies.

Harry sent off two letters, one to the tailor for another formal robe on rush order and the other as an acceptance of the invitation. Might as well get this nonsense out of the way.

*

Walburga had nattered on about how much of an honor it was to be summoned by the Dark Lord. As far as Harry was concerned, Dark Lords were power hungry. There wasn’t really anything interesting about that.

Most people liked having power in one form or another. Vernon, who was only barely hanging on at this point, tricked himself into thinking that beating Harry proved he was powerful. Dumbledore had wanted the power to pull the strings of Wizarding Britain. Harry liked having the power to focus on his research without having to worry about money or cumbersome oversight.

Walburga once again told him it would be in his best interest to make an ally of the Dark Lord. Harry thought neutrality was better. If they were allies, Voldemort might demand something from him.

Begrudgingly, he went through his (underused) floo, and stepped into an open room with many windows. It would have an airy feel to it if not for the blocky stone walls that reminded him of Hogwarts. And Harry didn’t have any particularly good memories about Hogwarts, besides it being better than the Durlseys’.

A house elf led him to an opulent dining room.

Harry held back a sigh. He was hoping this would be a quick conversation, where he could just regurgitate his theories and leave.

Harry was annoyed that his host hadn't arrived yet. Even if it was the Dark Lord, making someone wait was rude. He sat down and a glass of wine appeared beside the plate, as well as some fragrant bread rolls. The scent or rosemary was compelling, and Harry was not one to restrain himself. 

While munching on a roll and humming to himself absently. The same man from the symposium appeared. It took a couple of seconds to connect the dots. 

"You're the Dark Lord," he said with narrow eyes before remembering he was supposed... bow? Etiquette was stupid, but being killed for a lack of it was stupider. 

Harry bowed, in his seat. It was not graceful. It was not dignified. But it was something. 

He probably should have stood up to do that. 

The Dark Lord's nose was slightly wrinkled. 

"I cannot remember the last time I was not recognized," Voldemort said diplomatically as he took his seat at the head of the table. 

"Last time I checked you were," it was probably best not to continue that sentence. "I don't take an active role in society." There, that was more diplomatic. "I have people to do that for me." Not that anyone had warned him about the Dark Lord's plastic surgery—or whatever the magical equivalent of that was. 

"I see." Voldemort reached for his own wine glass, but didn't drink. "I will forgive your shortcoming this one time. Do not let it happen again." 

So demanding. Harry supposed that if you won a war and took over a country, you have earned the right to act that way. Hopefully Harry wouldn't have to deal with him long enough for his personality to get insufferable. 

Harry had a revelation. A Horcrux took a large amount of magic to make—so it was probably the Dark Lords.

It was unfortunate that the Horcrux wasn't from some nobody who wouldn't be missed. It did make sense that it was Voldemort's though, what with his "dying" and coming back to life. 

Which also meant that if Voldemort found out what Harry did to his Horcrux... 

Well, Voldemort should have done better at hiding his Horcrux. It had been in Kreatcher's ratty pile of things in the attic. The feral thing had worn a vicious grin when Harry explained what he planned to do with it. Thinking back on it, that's when Kreatcher had fully dedicated himself to Harry. There was probably a story behind that... 

Food appeared and Harry was happy to eat and ignore the awkwardness. It was like the many meals he'd taken at Hogwarts, but with fancier food and no talking going on around him. 

Harry could feel the attraction again and concluded that it was only the True Emerald making him feel this way.

Voldemort had conventional looks that Harry had seen in many people, so that couldn't have been the source. The attraction had been instant, before they even spoke, so it was definitely the emerald. 

After the meal, which Harry refused to feel awkward about, Voldemort invited him to the drawing room.

Harry idly stared at the painting of snakes. Not really original.

Finally, Voldemort spoke, "You should be grateful for our agreement. Those who deny my summons do not often survive to tell the tale." 

Harry cocked his head to the side. 

"I don't go through my mail often. I... live at a different pace than most people." Now more so than ever. "I apologize." He should have listened to Kreatcher about the mail, but Harry had already fulfilled his socialization quota twice over for the year, so yeah. 

Voldemort didn't respond immediately, his eyes slightly narrowed. "To the matter at hand," finally, "I looked into the project we spoke of before. It is impractical on such a large scale." He paused again. Was Harry supposed to say something? "I have a different project in mind, but I must have your vow of secrecy to tell you."

"Sure." It's not like Harry had anyone he talked to. The witch he'd apprenticed under was just as taciturn as him and he hadn't really made any connections while traveling. 

Voldemort pulled out his bone-white wand and reached out with his right hand. They joined hands. The attraction tugged a little more. Harry wondered how much magic direct physical contact would siphon off. 

Harry said the vow. When they physically parted, Voldemort stared down at his own palm for a moment before turning his attention back to Harry. 

"You are aware of the inbreeding problem my country faces. We have dipped below the minimum viable population number to avoid extinction in our British population. The immigration to emigration rate is not in our favor." Well duh. Who wanted to live under a dictatorship? "Your research reagent potion needs to be modified so that a lower amount of magic can activate it. It will be used on muggles to breed muggle-borns to increase the population." 

Harry hummed in thought. "The inbreds will lash out if they see a government run program to increase the number of undesirables," he openly rolled his eyes at the last word.

"The fools will breed themselves into nothing." Voldemort waved dismissively.

"Like the Gaunts," Harry said in agreement while nodding. 

There was a beat of silence, something in the air. Harry looked up in question. 

"Indeed. You needn't worry about the," he grinned, "inbreds making a fuss. I'll take care of it when the time comes." 

"Sure." He was the one who knew how to pull their strings. All that was too messy for Harry to care about. "What sort of funding and what sort of payment am I looking at?" Because Harry didn't work for free. 

They discussed the details. Harry wasn't that interested in going back to that research, which had mostly just been a whim, but he had to play the game. And he'd negotiated plenty of time for his other endeavors. Unfortunately, Snape was to be his partner in this. This alchemy weighed heavily in the potions sector, but still... 

When business was finished, they both stood. 

"I expect good things from you, Lord Potter-Black." 

"Thanks." It came out sounding like a question. 

Harry gave a bow that was slightly less awkward than his other one. He was somewhat startled when Voldemort grabbed his hand. The grip was loose and Voldemort's thumb brushed back and forth on Harry's knuckles. He was smiling in a way Harry had never seen on anyone before. "Perhaps you would like to stay longer?"

"Why?" Didn't he want Harry to start on his research right away?

Voldemort dropped his hand. 

"Until we meet again." There was something off in his voice that Harry couldn't identify. It didn't sound like murder though, so that was good. 

"Yeah, bye." He bowed again before leaving. 

Chapter Text

Harry had thought it would be funny to question Snape about what he knew when it came to the reagent like what had happened on Harry's first day of Potions lessons, but Snape was admittedly knowledgeable on the subject. 

"Alchemy relies heavily on potions. Your questioning only shows your ignorance of what a potion master is capable of," Snape stated, looking down his nose at Harry. Damn malnutrition for robbing Harry of height. 

"As always, you're a bucket full of sunshine." Why had Voldemort stuck him with this asshole? Harry would have preferred a silent assistant. Maybe one that shook in their boots when he looked at them. "You know the way to the lab." 

They were in Grimmauld because everything was already set up the way he wanted and the commute was shorter. 

As they shuffled their way to the basement kitchen, Snape stopped mid-step. Harry followed his line of sight. 

"Don't mind the help." He waved off Snape's worries. 

"Petunia," Snape said in a monotone. The woman flinched and curled in on herself in front of the stove. Kreatcher whacked her with a fireplace poker. She didn't make a sound. 

"You know my aunt?" That was unexpected. 

"Why is she dressed in..." Rags? Pretty much just a loincloth and a wrap around her chest that she held up with one arm. 

Harry shrugged. "I don't rape her or anything. She just doesn't get new clothes. A freak like her doesn't deserve them." 

"Your mother loved her sister." 

"Well, Petunia didn't show me an ounce of kindness growing up. She is reaping what she sowed." It was as simple as that. "Come on. I don't want to have to report to the dark lord that you are wasting my time. I doubt he'd give you something as tame as detention." 

"Your naivety is astounding."

"Probably, but I'm still alive and a lot of the people I went to Hogwarts with can't say the same thing." 

"Many of those deaths are on your head." As if Grimmauld was the fifth house at Hogwarts, or something. The only Hogwarts students that had been at his house when he made that agreement with Voldemort was Longbottom and the Weasleys. Longbottom had survived and he was certain that the Weasleys had already replaced their lost with redheaded babies. 

"I don't know why you're complaining. I'm sure you were playing both sides. Stop pretending to be high and mighty." Harry unlocked his lab. "Now shut up so I can show you how the reagent is made. And there will be a quiz at the end." 

*

Harry didn't want to go an apothecary, but Snape was unable to understand what Harry described when it came to ingredients. Even Kreatcher was capable of picking up ingredients to Harry's specifications. Harry was sure to tell Snape that. He'd only gotten a sneer in response. 

"Can't believe I have to be seen with one of the Dark Lord's dick gobblers," Harry said, only loud enough for Snape to hear as they entered the apothecary. 

"You insufferable shite." A witch that looked like she probably suffered in Snape's classroom in the past practically jumped out of their way. 

Harry hummed happily just to be obnoxious. Just to annoy Snape further, he grabbed him by the wrist. "This way, assistant." 

Snape yanked himself free before Harry could even make him budge a millimeter. 

Harry hurried ahead and picked up a northern Chilean fairy frond to show how it still held some of its blood because when the fairy was killed their frond wasn't rolled in. 

Snape grunted at Harry's explanation. Always the riveting conversationalist. 

They went through a few more items, Harry explaining their unique qualities and why he chose them. He was happy to ignore his scowling shadow as he put the items in his own basket. 

"Your means are ineffective and pedestrian." Snape twisted around, his robe flaring dramatically, before gathering ingredients that had nothing to do with their project. 

Harry shrugged to himself. 

"My money is as good as anyones'," a woman hissed to the Hogwarts aged cashier. Her voice was faintly familiar. 

"We don't serve your kind. This is a proper establishment," the smarmy shite said to her. 

Harry stepped in. "I'll pay for Ms. Granger's things." 

The witch turned his way and stared balefully at him. "I don't need your charity, traitor." She had the good sense not to speak loudly. 

"'Course not. You're a smart witch. I'm surprised you didn't just melt back into the muggle world or go to some other wizarding country when everything fell apart. And I'm no traitor. I can't be a traitor since I was never on a side. All that crap was happening while I was in schooling in Australia or working on my masters." 

"Everyone knows you let You Know Who into the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters." Her eyes flickered around. He hadn't know she was that read into the situation.

Harry shrugged. "It's my house. I can invite over whoever I want." He didn't wait for her to respond. "What did you get on your potions NEWT?" She was always competent in school. She could be of use. Also, Snape didn't like her, and that was always a plus. 

"I never got to finish my seventh year." Her chin was raised as she seamlessly put a few more things on the counter for Harry to pay for. He didn't mind. 

"But you got an O on your potions OWL, right?" And some of the ingredients she was trying to get only went with difficult potions. 

"What does it matter to you?" 

"So defensive, not that you shouldn't be. I need a lab assistant. It will only be me and our beloved former Professor Snape. It's good pay." If he had one person in his lab, he might as well have another to speed things up. Then he could get hooked on another idea before the high of creating the True Emerald wore off. 

The different influx amounts of magical power he siphoned off Voldemort was interesting, at least. Interesting, but dangerous. 

"You're trying to trick me, aren't you?" Granger's voice was high. He knew the only reason she hadn't run off was because he hadn't paid for her things yet. 

Harry gave her a look. "It's not like that, Granger-Danger." He moved closer to her, dropping his voice into a whisper. "I just need someone to be around so I don't have to deal with Snape's undivided bitchiness. All you'll be doing is preparing some ingredients and running interference when he gets in the way." Harry raised his voice to his usual level. "Pureblood-ism is stupid. You'd be taking the Ministry by storm if this war hadn't happened."

"I refuse to work with Death Eaters!" Her voluminous hair puffed up even more. 

"Not a Death Eater." Harry rolled up his sleeve to show his blank forearm. "And you already know how Snape operates. Five galleons a day, Granger. You're not going to get a better deal anywhere else." Her face was pinched. 

Harry paid for her purchase and Granger left without another word, keeping her head down. With a slight flick of his wand and tendril into her mind, he ensured she would agree. 

A muggle-born really wouldn't find money like that anywhere else, and it was clear Granger either couldn't or wouldn't rejoin the muggle world, or her prospects were worse there. He was obviously doing her a favor. 

*

"Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me," Harry sang, only him and Petunia at the oversized table. "Happy birthday dear me-e, happy birthday to me!" 

Petunia was shivering, eyes looking everywhere but at him and the steak in front of her. 

"Well, freak, don't be ungrateful! I made dinner and you'll eat it!"

"Please, Har—"

"Freaks don't get to speak! And when did you start calling me by my real name? You never did when I was at your mercy. Why now?" Not that he didn't know. 

Her bony hand covered her mouth and tears fell down her face. 

"All the work I did and this is how you act! No wonder your parents favored Lily. Not boring, little Tuny. Boring Tuny who fucked the first man who gave her any attention. Even Vernon didn't want you, but then you got knocked up—Bet you did that on purpose, didn't you? Anything to get some attention. But just think of it this way, Tuny. You helped make this dinner too. You and Vernon." Harry pushed the plate towards her wandlessly, causing her to flinch. "So eat it, Tuny, eat the meal you helped make."

*

"I don't need an assistant," Snape snapped snape-ishly. 

"Three is a very magical number, Snape," Harry said flippantly. "And she's my assistant, not yours." He guided Granger inside of Grimmauld, having given her the secret of its location. He should really reapply the fidelus. Too many people were the secret keeper to his home after Sirius died. 

"This task was given only to the two of us—"

"Project manager's prerogative," Harry cut in. "Granger has already signed a secrecy contract and has studied up. She has a keen, underutilized mind! I'm giving a muggle-born a chance where so many nobles would have her kicked out of society!" 

"Oh shove it, Potter," Granger said. "Where is the lab?"

"She'll sabotage us."

"I mean, maybe, but it would be pretty obvious. Just think of it as an extra challenge to spice things up."

"You may play games with your life, but you won't with mine. She is to remain on your side of the lab." 

This was already working out great! 

*

Harry was invited to a gathering of lords that he would have turned down if not having been summoned by the big bad dark lord. The woes of living under a dictatorship. 

It was being hosted at Malfoy Manor, which was another downside. Draco was probably even more insufferable since his "team" was put in power. Harry was just glad the twat hadn't inherited the Black lordship. 

He floo-ed in, wearing the same robes as he'd worn to the symposium. He was greeted by Malfoy senior, whose expression made clear that he didn't want Harry here. Well, at least they were on the same page. 

Hollow, but polite words were exchanged before Harry was directed to a ballroom. 

Theoretically, Harry knew that both the Potters and Blacks had at least one ballroom in their ancient houses, but seeing the Malfoy's ballroom made him dislike them even more. Harry had arrived at the absolutely last minute, and the stares he was given were far from friendly. 

He grabbed a drink and went to hold up a wall. He could be at home right now, eating some crisps and reading whatever gorey book that caught his eye in the Black Library. 

A woman with a vaguely familiar face approached him. They were roughly the same age. "Bones," he said in a moment of recognition. The witch's red hair had become darker, almost brown. She was also fat, err, pregnant. 

"Harry Potter, as I live and breathe." 

"It's Harry Potter-Black now, not that I really care one way or another." He was himself, no matter what his name or title was—At least he earned the title of Master from his hard work in alchemy. The Potter and Black names he'd inherited. And he wouldn't be surprised if his first name was originally an ancestor's. Some people were so stuck in the past. "Congratulations on the, uhh, pregnancy." 

Bones smiled and rubbed her stomach. "I'm the last of the Bones family. I want to have at least three children to continue the legacy." 

Harry wrinkled his nose. "What legacy is that?"

Bones' expression dropped. "You haven't changed one bit." 

"I mean, I'm smarter now." He'd worked his tail off to get his Alchemy Mastery as soon as possible. 

"Don't mistake knowledge for wisdom." She gave him a look that was probably supposed to be scathing but fell short. 

She left and Harry mumbled into his drink about people being touchy.

Harry didn't mingle, but at least he wasn't the only wallflower. He recognized a man that he was fairly certain had been in his year in Hogwarts. A Slytherin, but not one of Draco's hangers-on. They made eye contact, but both looked away instantly. Hopefully they'd keep avoiding each other. 

Voldemort entered the room. Harry bowed, but didn't look half as graceful as anyone else there that had done the same. Maybe he'd be better at curtsying, but that would just draw notice. No need draw attention and therefore risk wasting his time on nosy people.

Malfoy Senior spoke briefly to Voldemort before it was announced that they were to head to the grand-dining room. He literally used the word “grand” too. Harry wasn’t embellishing anything.

As Harry entered the room an illusion of a silver fairy guided him to his seat—at the left hand of the Dark Lord. What the fuck. It wasn’t a mistake either. There was a gilded card with his name on it behind the plate.

Or maybe it was. Malfoy Senior, who was seating across from him, made a face. It was a flicker, but still there.

But Voldemort—pulled out the seat for Harry.

“Uhh, thanks.” What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?

“My pleasure, Harry,” Voldemort said before taking his own seat.

Yeah, the True Emerald was definitely doing something to Voldemort, and Harry was beginning to think it might be the same attraction Harry was feeling.

But romance and sex took up so much time and energy. He’d never really bothered with it before. This whole “attraction” thing was interesting. There was, of course, the chance the Dark Lord would take what he wanted. As was the way of dictators. Not being raped probably fell in the category of their treaty for him coming to no harm, though.

To his left sat Draco, so there would be no decent conversation over dinner.

Lady Malfoy looked politely engaged beside her husband. Looking down the table, there was a witch with the Black features glaring murder at him. Snape was blank faced. Various other faces smeared together. Their family trees were so interconnected that it was a surprise that they didn’t all look the same.

Most inbreds stuck to the island, but from Walburga’s lessons he knew the Blacks, Malfoys, and Rosiers imported brides. And imported was definitely the correct word.

As Lord Black he had taken a glance at the betrothal contracts of his living “family”, as well as Walburga’s gossip. Narcissa had been married to Malfoy—Or, more accurately, Andromeda had been betrothed to Malfoy to appease the Dark Lord by tying the Black family closer to him.

Andromeda had, of course, broken the contract. The Black family had to pay a large dowry and ship Narcissa off to him. She hadn’t graduated from Hogwarts before marrying, but the Blacks had learned and made the marriage nullable by the Malfoy or Black Lords. The only penalty would be the Malfoys would keep the money if either broke it off, but if Lord Black did, Narcissa lost the right to any children she had with Malfoy.

Bellatrix, who Lord Orion Black didn’t think would marry because she had the Black Family Madness, had taken the Dark Mark. By then Voldemort had more pull than any of the nobles, and he had arranged the marriage between Bellatrix and the Lestrange heir. Walburga said it was because Bellatrix lusted after the Dark Lord constantly but had at least enough pureblood sensibilities not to keep up her “hunt”.

“How does our research go?” Voldemort asked, as if Harry’s research was on “our” matter. Although, the Dark Lord was funding it, so maybe it was. Harry was used to self-funding his projects, so he really had no experience when it came to joint projects.

“It’s progressing nicely. My original work was just one of my early attempts, using whatever worked. With Snape’s help,” bemoaning on ingredients, “we have started lowering the magical cost to activate the reagent.” He didn’t mention that so far the lower cost of magic was practically a direct translation into a higher cost of ingredients. “Once we get the new potion down, I can work on the alchemic portion.” Where the real fun began.

Voldemort let out a pleased hum while nodding. “It is refreshing to see competence.” Across from Harry, Malfoy Senior’s lips thinned. Was he in the doghouse? “I have heard there is a third pair of hands on the project.”

“I’m just using all my resources, and she’s under the imperius curse.” Harry shrugged. “As they say, one man’s trash is another one’s treasure, in a utility manner of speaking,” he hastily added on the last bit. No need for Voldemort to throw a hissy fit and kill his assistant.

“What made you interested in alchemy?” Oh god, small talk.

“It uses every discipline of magic. I get to meld them together into new things.” He didn’t know how else to explain it. “Why did you become a dark lord?” Why—Why was he like this? That is not the sort of question you ask a dictator. What answer was Harry supposed to expect? That Voldemort knew he wanted to be a dark lord the first time he stole candy from a baby?

At least Voldemort seemed to find the question amusing. “Change was needed,” he said simply.

“Agreed. The last regime had too many magics banned. It was stifling innovation.” For a while he considered staying out of Magical Britain for his research, but then the Dark Lord took over and the laws were greatly loosened.

“You don’t care at all about the traditional religions being brought back or the mudbloods put in their place, do you?” Voldemort asked with a bemused smile.

“That’s none of my business. I have my double lordships in the Wizengmot to keep me safe, as well as our agreement.” Harry tipped his drink in Voldemort’s direction.

“Yes,” Voldemort raised his own glass and clinked it with Harry’s, “to strengthening bonds.” Not what Harry said at all, but okay, whatever.

Finally, Voldemort switched his attention to the table at large. When it was finally “socially acceptable” he left before getting stuck in another conversation with the Dark Lord.

*

“What’s this?” Granger said in a high pitch that Harry wasn’t certain anyone could reach post-puberty.

Harry pulled himself from his skimming a journal to her. The Daily Prophet, still government owned, but by a different government than when he was a kid. “It would be easier to answer you if you let me read the paper," Harry dead-panned. 

With a huff, Granger practically shoved it into his chest, rather than placing it on his waiting hand. 

Harry took his time reading the article. The cat was out of the bag, somewhat. The gossip piece was about Voldemort courting Harry. Something neither of them discussed, but since the Daily Prophet was run by the government, either Voldemort okayed the article, or someone was about to have their head on a stake. 

"I can't exactly turn him down," he said, the agreement of safety not being common knowledge. 

Granger's expression turned like the flick of a switch from anger to worry. "Do you... Do you need to flee the country?" 

"The Dark Lord has a long reach." He was just messing with her at this point, even though her worry was genuine and the subject matter was quite serious. 

"Oh, Harry." She sounded devastated—and he hadn't given her permission to use his first name. It wasn't worth tweaking the imperius he had her under for such a small thing, though. 

"No need to worry about me. I've dealt with my fair share of big egos." And this one he had a certain sway over. 

Harry had no interest in the political power he could get from having relations with Voldemort. He had a nice balance of political power as is. If he was too closely associated with the highest ranking person in the country, others would seek Harry out to curry favor with him or gods forbid kidnap him for leverage. 

Harry just had to remind himself that the True Emerald and what he was still uncovering was worth it. And nothing pleased Harry more than a new discovery of his own making. 

"I'm here for you, Harry," Granger said. "If you need anything, please let me know." 

Harry hummed in agreement, even though she was only good for a meat shield.

*

Harry decided to address this courting business himself by writing a letter, but before he could, Voldemort had sent one of his own. A gilded invitation to tea at some place he'd never heard of. It did have a Floo-address so that made it easier. 

And perhaps invitation was not the right word for what was sent. It was another summons, but this time with pretty wording. 

Harry would be interested in having sex with Voldemort. He'd never been attracted to someone before, so he'd never considered it. 

Should Harry buy condoms? Did wixen use condoms? Wait, how did men have sex with each other? Harry had a very active gag-reflex. Did they have anal sex? He knew that was a thing from overhearing others talk. He supposed men could do that together, but it sounded very one sided unless they took turns. 

Perhaps more research was in order. 

And just to be an ass, he decided the first step would be asking Snape. 

"How do wizards fuck?" he asked when Snape wasn't holding anything delicate in the lab. Snape turned to him with a sneer and wide eyes. "I'm not propositioning you or asking for a demonstration, but since you're the age my father would have been, I thought I'd ask you." His malicious grin contradicted made clear he wasn’t expecting an answer.

Snape just turned back to his work, mumbling about how Harry was worse than his father. It wasn't an unexpected response. Harry had been slowly breaking the man by poking at him whenever the occasion arose. It was his own damn fault for how he acted when Harry was a student, and practically a muggle-born one at that. 

Before the meet-up, Harry owl-ordered a few anatomy and sex-ed books—and he had been missing quite a lot. 

He'd thought masturbation was just... a joke? Like, people really took time out of their day to do that? He'd tried a few times before and the orgasms were good, but the whole process felt like a waste of time and energy. There were books to be read and ideas to come to fruition. 

And people got all sweaty together? Harry hated when he was sweaty, let alone have someone else's sweat on him. 

And wow, there really was a fun button up his ass that he'd had no idea was there before, but the stretching felt weird.

People were also turned on by so many random things! What did feet have to do with sex? Or pretending to be a cat? He thought he'd accidentally bought a gag book, but when he cross referenced they all said the same thing. 

People were wild, and no wonder they were all so unproductive, if they were thinking of sex all the time. 

Harry did have an academic curiosity about sex though, both having never felt the attraction that facilitated good sex and to see how much magic the True Emerald absorbed with physical proximity.

Harry chose to dress more casually to this tea meet-up, not wanting to set the precedent of always wearing fancy clothes that tended to be uncomfortable despite them being tailored. 

Harry arrived early, but so had Voldemort. The feeling of attraction laced around Harry, making his heart race. 

A very nervous waitress came by, and Voldemort ordered for the both of them. 

"Bit presumptuous, to order for me. You have no idea what my tastes are." Because Harry refused to hold his tongue if they were to started fornicating regularly. 

Voldemort's nose wrinkled before smoothing out. "I am the one who is paying for this outing. It is my choice what we are getting." He was a dictator even on this petty level. 

"So if I was paying, I'd get to choose your drink?" Harry asked blandly. 

Voldemort narrowed his red eyes. "You would not pay in my presence." 

Whatever. Harry stood up and went to the counter. He ordered his own drink and tray of biscuits, paying for them and leaving a generous tip. 

Voldemort was outright scowling when he got back. "If you want us to have some sort of relationship, you need to understand that I won't be bossed around." 

"You forget yourself, Harry Potter. Your Wizengamot seats mean nothing to me and our agreement has very loose definitions of what harm is." The big bad dark lord. So annoying. 

"Either you treat me like an equal or there is to be nothing between us—and if you're considering keeping me locked up in a tower like some princess, I'll just kill myself. I value my freedom above all else." There. He was setting out his terms. Voldemort could either take it or leave it. 

He felt Voldemort try to pry into his mind. Harry showed him just what he did to the Dursleys for imprisoning him in their own way. He also slipped in a few memories of murders to drive home the point. He was no delicate flower that would bend in whatever direction the wind blew. He demanded respect. 

"You are not what I expected of a Hufflepuff," Voldemort said while relaxing in his chair. 

"My Hogwarts house didn't define me back then, nor will it define me now." Harry took a sip of his obnoxiously floral tea, just the way he liked it. 

"I have looked into your records and the memories of some of your classmates. You were feisty even back then." He made Harry sound like a little dog who growled at a wolf. Were those roles Voldemort saw them as?

"Hogwarts was a shit show. I hope you have the place running better now. Too few teachers and Dumbledore letting the Gryffindors do anything they want, did not make for a good learning environment. It was a breath of fresh air when I transferred." 

Voldemort smiled and it transformed his face. Not as severe, almost human. "It has made great strides under my leadership since then."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I'm guessing the Slytherins now have the run of the place." He'd been just as bullied by them as he had by the Gryffindors—not that he was holding a grudge, or anything. Children were stupid and did stupid things. 

"As is their right." Voldemort took a sip of his tea that had been delivered when Harry had been at the counter. 

"I wonder how many Slytherins are in that house for being ambitious, but don't have a clever cell in their body." 

"You've studied muggle science," Voldemort said, ignoring the meat of what Harry had just said. 

"They have their uses. Infinite monkeys with infinite time, you know." Harry shrugged. 

"Infinite monkeys with infinite time?" He asked incredulously. 

"Just the theory that if infinite monkeys had infinite time of hitting random keys on a typewriter that they would inevitably type out all of Shakespeare's works. The muggles have the numbers. We might as well use that to our advantage." 

Voldemort didn't respond right away. "They are bugs to be crushed under foot." 

Harry didn't roll his eyes, but it was a close call. "That would just be a waste of resources. Many see house elves the same way, but we haven't killed them off." 

"The muggles have no use." 

"You can't really believe that, can you?" Harry leaned in. "What about our project to breed muggle-borns? And they've made plenty of art and innovations—and I don't need to hear the spiel about them being destructive. That's a quality muggles and wixen share." Malfoy Jr liked to give that speech, as if his father hadn't committed hate-crimes. 

Voldemort took a deep breath and seemed to settle down. "When we have the proper numbers I will exterminate all the muggles." 

Harry chuckled into his tea before taking a sip. "I can't see that going over well with the rest of the wixen world. You definitely have the ambition part down of being a Slytherin, and I suppose you must be clever to have taken over Britain." He added on the last bit to placate the dark lord. He clearly had a temper tantrum. 

Voldemort's eyes were practically penetrating, but Harry didn't feel him enter his mind. "It is a long term plan," he said, dismissing the subject. "You are open to us having relations," that might or might not have been a question. Harry couldn't quite tell. 

"I've never had sex before. I would be willing to try that out." 

Voldemort's nose flared. Ah, was that a virginity kink Harry was seeing? People were so weird. 

"I'm not interested in attending functions as some sort of date," Harry continued. "I don't do pageantry unless I absolutely have to. You chose a public facing position. I did not. I suggest that we have sex then see if we want to continue from there." 

"That is acceptable. We shall leave now." Voldemort reached across the table and grabbed Harry's arm. He was yanked into a side-along apparation, tearing through the feeble wards of the tea house. 

Harry was quick enough to land on his feet. 

"That's another thing we need to negotiate," he grumbled while glancing around. It was a luxurious bedroom that reminded him of the Slytherin common room when he'd snuck in there once. "How do we do this?"

Voldemort was instructive.

The sex was good, not something Harry would go out of his way for, but it was a means to an end when it came to his further studies of the True Emerald.

*

It was hard to graph the magical energy that the True Emerald had absorbed from Voldemort since there were so many variables. The largest factors he saw were proximity and touch. Those were things he could measure, but there were also things like Voldemort's emotions having an impact on his magic, or if he had used a great deal of it recently. 

Harry would have to spend an unacceptable amount of time with him to get results that were more accurate. For now, he would just gather broad stroke data. He had about a good 20 years before anyone took notice of his unchanging appearance, thanks to how wixen aged. 

Voldemort might not be in power then, or maybe Harry would detain him to get more accurate readings. 

He would just play it by ear for now. 

*

Harry was peeling an apple with a knife. It was not a particularly large knife, just a paring knife with a good grip and didn't slide as the juice dripped onto the handle. 

Petunia sat on her knees by the cold fireplace shivering in fear. She was the only one left. 

"If he wasn't so spotty, I would have made him into a leather blanket for you. It would have been better than the ratty thing you had me use in the cupboard." Of course, Grimmauld has heating, unlike Privet. "Did I mention an interracial couple moved into your old house? Vernon would have hated that." He ate a wedge of apple. It was a magical variety, so much better than those Red "Delicious" apples he'd taken from the trash cans at school when he lived with the Dursleys. 

"I don't know why you're so fussed about Vernon's death. He never really loved you. You're the one who dragged him into this world. Vernon could have had a nice normal life if you hadn't baby-trapped him. You know he wanted to be in the RAF? He wanted to see the world, but one night of you squealing beneath him and those dreams were put on hold." Harry snorted. "Then you started cooking for him and for once in your life you did something right. No one had ever cooked for him before. And you being you, you overdid it. Fattened the idiot up.

"It still baffles me, though." Harry leaned forward in his chair. There was a good five feet between them, but Petunia still flinched. "Cooking for him was the one thing he liked about you. Why did you foist it off onto me? What good were you then?" He leaned back in his seat and carved out another wedge. "I guess you had him hooked by then with Dudley. It wasn't easy sailing once Dudders moved out, was it?" Harry paused. "Answer me."

"No," she rasped. 

"The first time he hit you, did you think of me? Did you think that maybe if you hadn't let him beat me he wouldn't have been so eager to beat you? No need to answer that. Just food for thought." Speaking of food. "Here's dinner." He tossed the violet peel in front of her. He didn't watch as she scarfed it down. 

*

Harry was in the muggle suburbs. These ones were different from the one he'd grown up in. The houses were less uniform and upper-middle class. 

The address he stood in front of him had been given to him by Granger. She would not have willingly given it to him if her mind was her own. 

The doctors Granger were very happy to welcome one of Hermione's friends and even happier to donate their blood with a brief imperius. He closed the loop with memory charm before heading to the next home that produced a muggle-born. 

*

Harry canted his head, staring at the little boy. This had just been another stop to get the blood of parents of muggle-borns, a field trip away from Snape’s griping as one of the properties to the alchemy process Harry used needed to oxidize naturally.

But this child was familiar. The boy lacked fat jowls, but other than that, he was a spitting image of Dudley at that age.

“Who is the boy’s father?” Harry asked with mixed feelings. No, he didn’t feel guilty for stealing Dudley from his son. There was a protectiveness there. Harry may not hold any value in his familial blood, but the boy was too thin. Too familiar. His mother was destitute, so perhaps not purposeful abuse, but a lack of resources.

“What does that matter?” the woman, one Marianna Jones asked. It was easy to slip into her mind, to see Dudley promising her the world then disappearing. She was not a happy woman. Not surprising. No Dursley ever brought good into the world.

What would this child bring?

“I think I’ll take him with me. No wix belongs in the muggle world.”

“What are you talking about?” She said while getting between Harry and the boy.

“You are doing an insufficient job of taking care of him.” Harry raised his wand and stunned the pair.

Chapter Text

Snape, never one to beat around the bush, asked, “Why is there a child in this hell-hole? If this is another one of your perversions…”

“Petunia’s grandson,” he answered simply, ignoring the last comment. He barely wanted to have sex with Voldemort, let alone diddle some child.

Snape did not respond immediately. Harry let the other wizard’s mind tick away in thought.

Harry had put the boy down near the blood samples he had collected earlier. Harry was viewing a slide under a microscope.

“Do you plan on torturing him?” There was a hint of judgment there.

Harry didn’t look away from the microscope. “Don’t be a hypocrite. To answer your question, I won’t be hurting him. He’ll be my ward. Kreatcher will do most of the parenting. It will be good for him.”

“For Kreatcher or the child?” Snape asked slowly.

“Both, probably.” Harry switched slides. “If he’s too much like my illustrious cousin I’ll set up a wixen orphanage and ship him there.” All wixen were related, so orphans were usually swept up by a relative.

“What is his name?”

Harry sighed, tired of this conversation. “It was something boring like John or Tom. I obliviated him of his past. I thought I’ll name him after a plant, to keep with the theme of my maternal grandparents. Probably Basil.”

“And his last name?”

“Haven’t thought that far ahead.” Harry took his attention away from the microscope. “I’m tired of this conversation. Can you focus on the task at hand or do I need to deduct points from Slytherin.” His joke was delivered in a monotone and received no reaction.

“What will you tell Petunia?”

“Five points from Slytherin, Mister Snape.” But he was already smiling. “Basil will hate muggles, as he should. Tuney won’t be able to tell him they’re related. I’ll take charge of his dark arts education while using her as a guinea pig.” Harry felt a smile twist his lips.

Snape was unmoved. “You are nothing like your mother.”

“I don’t care.” And he really didn’t.

*

Harry woke up with a certain something in a certain some place. 

This was exactly why Harry didn't let the dark lord have access to Grimmauld. He'd take "liberties". 

Harry went with it, half asleep, but feeling that tension slowly grow. Voldemort was whispering sweet nothing, or what the dictator would consider that, so it was mostly words of possession, the occasional threat for Harry not to let anyone else touch him, and brags about how Voldemort was the best he ever had—which was technically true considering Harry had never slept with anyone before. 

Harry let out a half-yawn, half-moan. 

As far as wake up calls, it was not as bad as some of the ones he's had. 

Harry went back to Grimmauld for some peace and quiet—and to inspect the magical energy level of the True Emerald after his time spent with Voldemort. 

Basil was in the kitchen eating porridge. 

"Good morning, ready for your first day of school?" Harry asked while grabbing an apple. He was stopping only long enough to peel it. 

Basil opened his mouth, but didn't speak. Harry might have overdone it with the oblivation. He'd collect himself in a few days, though—or so the literature said. Harry wasn't worried. He could always send him to St. Mungo's. They had a whole ward for just this sort of thing. 

He patted the boy on the head before going towards his lab. 

He spotted Petunia watching the boy from around the corner. Harry had made it clear to her that if she told Basil who she was or tried to endear herself to him that he'd kill the boy. Which was a bluff. He'd only transfigure something to look like his dead body and send Basil away. 

Harry hadn't seen her so lively with her work before. 

She went scurrying away when she noticed him. As she should. 

Snape was absent from the lab, but there was a different occupant today—No, not a muggle he planned to experiment with; that came later. 

Kreatcher was pacing around and ringing his hands. 

"You are dirtying Mistress' house with a mudblood!" Yes, Harry had gotten Kreatcher a proper English teacher so he didn't sound like a stereotype.

"He won't be inheriting anything from me," Harry said while sitting well away from anything with the possibility of contamination since he was eating his apple. "He is my first cousin once removed." Harry knew that terminology just from having to go to school with all those inbreds. "He's motivation for Petunia to do a good job instead of dragging her feet. She treated me like shit, and keeping Basil safe and fed shows her that I'm not as petty as her." Harry paused. "Just think of it as a new way to torture the muggle. Your Mistress would like that." He knew that Kreatcher often spoke to the portrait that was squirreled away in the attic. 

Harry would have to put up wards so Basil wouldn't stumble upon her. The crazed witch might have accepted Harry since she had no alternatives, but a mudblood in her house would set her off. 

Kretcher flexed his hands, knuckles crunching like dry leaves stepped on. "I'll.. think about this."

"Kreatcher," Harry said before he could pop away, "you don't have to like him, but he is my ward. Do you understand." 

Kreatcher sneered but nodded. 

Harry waved him off and finished his apple.

*

Harry found it odd that Voldemort liked it when Harry put his hands around his throat and squeezed during sex. 

Not that much of any kink made sense to him. Which, to be fair, the only time Harry felt attraction was because of a new frontier of magic.

Very strange.

*

Harry had learned some architectural spells. Not because he was interested in that sort of thing, but because they were getting close to the next step of his project of producing more muggle-borns. They were looking for a facility to house muggles once they were pregnant.

"You don't have to be here if you don't want to be," Harry said idly to Snape. 

He had been in an odd mood since Voldemort informed them that all muggle-borns students and students living with muggle relatives would be staying at Hogwarts over all breaks, including summer, and wouldn't be allowed back into the muggle world until they completed their NEWTs with a passing grade. 

"I need no coddling. I am not some ignorant first-year."

"As if you coddled a single first-year in your life," Harry grumbled with a grin. 

Harry could analytically understand why Snape was wrong footed. They were looking for a place to house all the muggles they planned on being impregnated to increase the number of muggle-borns. That being said he didn't understand Snape's mood on an emotional level. Snape wasn't being locked up. There would be other people to take care of the pregnant muggles and muggle men that had a good chance of producing muggle-born off-spring. 

Snape's part of the experiment wouldn't even have him coming in contact with any muggles. Once he taught someone of lesser importance on how to make the potion aspect of the alchemical test, then he would be done with the project. 

"I think this place is good enough," Harry said after a few more architectural spells. The muggle manor was old enough to not have integrated electricity that magic would short out. It was still sturdy and had the sort of walled outdoors that would allow the pregnant muggles to get fresh air without having to worry about them running off. 

It was in the middle of nowhere, and on one of Harry's fiefs, so he would be getting passive income from that. His vaults could never be too full, not with eternity in front of him. 

Thankfully Harry didn't have to do any of the abducting or hiring for the facility. It would be mostly muggle doctors full time attending with a few guards and wixen healers that focused on prenatal care. 

*

Harry needed less sleep since implanting the True Emerald.

As he idled in Voldemort's bed a stray thought caught his attention.

What if Voldemort had more than one Horcrux? The dictator seemed smart enough to not let his only one go missing. And he liked to brag that he had pushed the boundaries of magic farther than anyone before him had.

Voldemort was also cocky enough to have multiple Horcruxes.

Harry idly thought of the arithmancy he'd have to do in order to find them. It wasn't his strong suit and he in no way could do the math in his head.

The search would need a ritual at the very least, and probably some of Voldemort's blood. That could be a problem, although Voldemort's predilection for violence was seeping into their sex life. Thankfully he seemed to be more keen on being on the receiving end. Harry had no tolerance for violence done against himself after his early childhood with the Dursleys.

If Harry had to guess, it would be at most two months until Voldemort wanted him to draw blood while they went about having sex. If not, Harry had vaguely remembered one of his classmates bragging about having scratch marks all down his back from "giving it to her good". Harry hadn't understood what that meant at the time.

He was warming up to the possibility of finding more Horcruxes. It would be easier to test the amount of magical power he siphoned off if he could use a separate Horcrux in a controlled environment. Of course, he'd have to distance himself from Voldemort to try that, but that was a problem for a different day.

And he wouldn't really be able to test it with someone else's Horcrux. There was a certain amount of self-mutilation that was needed to make a Horcrux, both in the metaphysical sense of a soul and the literal sense of it too. It wasn't really something Harry could force someone to do, maybe trick, yes, but the wix also had to have enough magic to survive the ritual. He didn't know of many that did. The more he thought about it, the more complicated it became.

Harry comforted himself by remembering he had all the time in the world.

*

"Really, Harry, this is the very least you need for a pregnant mother," Granger said to him as they walked around the baby store. Baby store, as in a place that sold things for babies. Not a store that sold babies. Those were very different things.

It had been quite some time since Harry had been in the muggle world properly. He in no way missed it. All the plastic, the ads, the muggles.

But if they were to create muggle-borns they needed to start with having muggle conditions for them to be born. It would help with the long term efficiency of the plan, one of the steps being the pregnant muggles got to stay in the muggle world before the muggle-born was taken away at birth.

Of course, the first few years of testing would be in a controlled environment with wixen healers, throwing off the accuracy of the later steps, but ensuring the first ones instead.

"Weren't you raised muggle? You really should know more about this," she said while jotting down items the "baby factory" needed from pregnancy pillows to changing tables.

To be clear, Granger was the one who called it a "baby factory". That had nothing to do with Harry.

He followed her down the aisles as she ranted about cost per child and the budget he had imposed on her. He wondered how horrified she'd be if he ever dispelled the imperius she was under.

*

Voldemort, for some reason, wanted to tour the baby factory. (Harry had warmed up to the term.)

He had a proprietary hand on Harry's lower back as they roamed the facility. The muggles were imperio-ed and still in the copulating stage of the experiment, the designated pairs having sex as often as they were capable without risking damage. There were more men than women, so those with close to the same probability of creating muggle-borns had sex with multiple partners.

"Like pigs rolling in the mud," Voldemort commented.

Harry said nothing. The muggles were indistinguishable to wixen in this state. They might be lesser than wixen, but he was certain plenty of wixen could find this equally pornagraphic to wixens having sex.

"A necessary step," Harry added as an afterthought.

Voldemort's hand traveled lower and squeezed Harry's arse.

Apparently the big bad Dark Lord got off to "pigs rolling in the mud". How pedestrian.

*

Harry didn't want to be at this party. He didn't want to be around these people, but tracking down Horcruxes necessitated a certain proximity.

It had taken him roughly four months to develop a sort of tracker. His broad ranged tracker was in the form of a necklace, warming up when within a 13 mile radius. The trickiest part was making sure it didn't react to the soul housed in Voldemort.

So here Harry was, at the Lestrange party.

And Voldemort was introducing him to his daughter? Harry had missed the fact he had one. Not that Voldemort seemed to regard her warmly.

Voldemort barely regarded Harry warmly, and Harry had him under the equivalent of a lust potion.

The young girl with the strange eyes said something to Voldemort that Harry couldn’t hear—before glaring at Harry

Voldemort pulled out his wand and the girl (who he'd already forgotten the name of) flinched backwards.

Harry was unsurprised Voldemort was a child abuser. He tried to kill a baby, after all.

The girl scurried off with one last glare sent Harry's way.

"What is the point of having an heir if you're immortal?" he pondered aloud.

"That is a question I have asked myself many times." Voldemort took a sip from his champagne flute. Harry wasn't even sure what they were celebrating at this party. Was it a holiday? A birthday party? Not that any of that mattered to Harry, not when the necklace's pendant was hot and urging him to the back of the manor.

Harry subtly steered them towards Bellatrix and once Voldemort was trapped in one of her rants, he made excuses to separate.

Being the Dark Lord's "lover" allowed him to go into areas others would be shooed away from.

The Lestrange manor had the same ostentatious decorations as every other mansion Harry was forced to step foot in. This one seemed extra cliche by having the main colors as green and silver. Harry still couldn't fathom why people were so obsessed by the club they'd been sorted in as 11 year olds. Really, they were grown adults, get over it.

With his wand at his side he silently cast the tracking spell as well as an architectural one he'd learned for the baby factory. Combined, he had the layout of the building as well as the way to the Horcrux.

It didn't take long for him to find a gaudy room with all sorts of shiny things that were worth stealing. None of them but the Horcrux appealed to him.

It was a large cup with handles on both sides and the image of a badger on the front. Doubtlessly it had something to do with Hufflepuff. It was pathetic how much these inbreds cared about their school mascots.

The area was well warded, and outside of his skill range—but the wards were focused on not having anything physical stolen. All Harry had to do was pull out the soul from the cup to a different physical item. He fished into his pocket and found a lightly used handkerchief. That would do.

The spell had a twirling wand motion that ended with a sharp flick. The Dark Lord's soul looked like snot as it passed through the air, and gave the hanky a brief, but equally gross feeling.

Harry tucked it away in his pocket and suffered through the rest of the lackluster party.

*

Harry guided Basil through the wand motions of the flaying curse. The boy didn't have a wand of his own, but with Harry's hand around Basil's, the wand didn't fight him.

At such a young age, Basil's magic did not act as a smooth stream. Harry used his own magic as a guide to flow.

Petunia screamed as swath of her skin was flayed from her arm.

"Very good, Basil." The boy looked up at him with a brilliant smile. "Would you like an ice lolly?"

"Yes please!" Basil shouted, jumping on his toes.

"Head to the kitchen and I'll get you one." He high tailed off. Harry grinned. He was not a father; he didn't have a single paternal bone in his body, but he enjoyed seeing his plans coming together.

"You monster," Petunia said in a rare moment of courage—of foolishness.

"Monsters are made, Tuny, and you made me."

*

A diary's Horcrux transferred into a knut. A ring into a self-inking quill. A diadem into a fork with a missing tine.

He didn't bother with the snake, knowing it would be too risky.

*

"They're really popping out now," Harry commented as he looked over the data sheet.

There had been five births just today, four of which ended up being muggle-borns. There would be a seven week turn-over for the muggle women to get pregnant again.

Harry was rather pleased with the results so far.

11 years from now Hogwarts would have a large boost in their first-year population. The inbreds would not be happy. He still wasn't sure how Voldemort was going to spin it to not cause them to throw a tantrum. Not that it was Harry's problem.

For now, a children's home had been set up. The hiring had surprisingly been done directly by Voldemort. The babies would spend their first few months at the baby factory before the next batch started being born.

Harry didn't doubt that the muggle-borns would be forced to drink the Dark Lord Kool-Aid. Hopefully Harry wouldn't get roped into the whole mythology that Voldemort was building.

*

Harry had discovered a new effect of the True Emerald. He could understand Parseltongue. That opened so many avenues of study, and in retrospect should have been obvious. He harvested soul magic, which is where all blood-line gifts grew from.

Harry had so many ideas…

*

Voldemort was completely obsessed with him. He said Harry was the only thing that made him feel alive. The egotistical dark lord should be grateful Harry wanted nothing from him. He had no doubt that if he asked for anything, Voldemort would get it for him.

*

It was a destination wedding, not because the pair was rich. No, it was because the groom was seen as a Blood Traitor and had been on the losing side of the war.

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger to tie the knot.

Harry had never attended a wedding before, nor would he have usually, but after fishing through Granger’s head he realized there was a certain pair that would be in attendance, Nymphadora Lupin and Edward Lupin, both of which were metamorphmagi. It was an opportunity he would not miss.

As the wedding dragged on, many people sending scowls in Harry's direction, he waited for the right moment.

Nymphadora was a former auror and would be the tougher target. But as the night progressed, the boy grew tired. There was an area for the kids to rest, mostly because the Weasleys really had repopulated their lost numbers and then some.

At the end of the party, in a private spot that he had scoped out before, Harry used a time turner that Voldemort had happily gifted him.

With little effort he swapped Edward's soul for one of the muggle-born babies that had been born blind. He cast an imperio on the boy to ensure he acted the same. His mind might be as it was, but Harry had never studied a full soul transplant in a human before and wasn't sure how long it would stick or impact his personality. For the animals he'd tested it on they'd quickly gotten sick and only one out of 13 had survived.

Oh well.

*

It was difficult to find a container for such an ever changing soul. Harry took inspiration from the Time Room in the Department of Mysteries—the ever shifting, growing, dying bird—but he did not use something as finite as a bird.

Bursting mushrooms. They swelled and shrank rapidly, only to burst and reform. It took a while for the arithmancy to get the alchemic formula he needed to make the burst implode instead of explode. For the spores that had the identical genetic make-up of the mushroom to grow inside the hollow. Grow large enough for the earlier iternation to crack, to peel downwards and be reabsorbed.

Edward's soul took gladly to it.

When he was certain it was perfect. Harry implanted the Modifying Mushroom in his torso, snug beneath his heart so they could beat together.

*

"I would see you in a crown, my Harry," Voldemort said, his mouth against Harry's neck as they laid in bed.

"I don't like hats," Harry said absentmindedly.

What was up with Voldemort's insistence in gussying up Harry's appearance? Harry had done the measurements. His attraction to Voldemort was the same regardless of his appearance. It should be the same for Voldemort.

Of course, Voldemort was a magpie, if what he made his Horcruxes into were any indication.

"Perhaps a diadem," Voldemort said, unbothered by Harry's refusal.

Harry hummed. If he was referring to the diadem in that junk heap at Hogwarts, he'd left it there, but if Voldemort retrieved it, he'd know at once something was wrong.

"Everyone already knows I'm yours. I don't see the point of wearing a crown."

"Such a strange creature. You want nothing from me where others would try to bleed me dry."

"I have all that I could want. I have you," which was meh at best, "and my studies."

"An academic who sorted Hufflepuff." Voldemort laughed to himself. Harry didn't roll his eyes, but it was a close thing. "You are the air in my lungs, a precious thing that I will not waste. Have you thought about eternity, my Harry?"

"I'm an alchemist. Of course I have." The Philospher's Stone, fabled and the ultimate goal of all alchemists. "Too bad Flamel is dead." Harry knew about what happened to the Philosopher's Stone from the maker himself. Dumbledore had his fingers in every pie, before he died. No great loss there.

"Dead, yes, but I am in possession of his Philosopher's Stone," Voldemort said while trailing his hand up and down Harry's back.

"Really?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. This would have been more interesting if he hadn't already improved on the design.

"It can be yours, my Harry. All you have to do is pledge yourself to me.

"What does that mean, exactly?"

Harry didn't expect an offer of equality, so he was unsurprised when Voldemort said, "Take the Dark Mark."

Harry snorted, which he knew annoyed Voldemort.

"I'd rather break up than every become your subordinate."

Voldemort's hand stopped its caressing.

"You should not say such things." There was a hiss to his words.

Harry turned on his side. "Stop trying to make me less than you and I won't talk like that. You being the Dark Lord means nothing to me. I'd want to still be with you even if you were a lowly store clerk." Voldemort's jaw ticked for barely a second.

"I see," Voldemort said quietly. He turned onto his back and looked thoughtful.

*

It was nice to walk around with a different face. No people scurried away from him because of his association with Voldemort. No one tried to curry his favors or try to use him as a stepping stone to the Dark Lord. No one glared at him in jealousy or hatefully for being on the winning side.

Maybe he'd go out more often like this.

*

"Are you my dad?" Basil asked during dinner.

In the corner of his eye he could see Petunia tense in her kneeling position.

Harry set down his fork.

"No, I'm not your father. You are my first cousin once removed. I saved you from your father. He and his family were abusive and hated magic. They made you live in a cupboard and only let you out to work. They fed you only the crusts of bread or burnt food, if anything."

The little boy had a furrow between his eyebrows. "Oh."

"Yes," he said before he began eating again.

*

Harry had harvested a Seer's soul. He'd gone to Greece to find one, which Voldemort whined about his absence, but it had been a successful trip.

The only problem he had was finding a vessel for it.

He'd gone through a few different items, scrying mirrors, crystal balls, and tea leaves.

It was all frustrating, but in a good way. The baby factory was self-sufficent now. He'd sent Hermione on her way, keeping a thumb in her mind so that she didn't have a moral dilemma. The nearby Horcuxes made his magic even more powerful (and he thankfully wasn't sexually attracted to them).

Harry dipped further into the study of divinations, not having bothered with it before.

After many months he came up with a solution. It was a potion that combined demiguise blood, seer incense ash, and squid ink—the Seer's soul took to it swimmingly, no pun intended.

He couldn't contain the potion in anything to store it inside of him, and his white blood cells would try to destroy it if he injected the potion into his blood. A tattoo was the simplest solution. He chose the alchemic symbol chart in a honey comb pattern on his back after very little thought. With his metamorphmagism he could simply hide the tattoo once it was fully healed.

He would only call it a success when he had his first vision.

*

Really, Harry should have seen this coming—even without the Seer soul (which had yet to show results).

Harry was at another Alchemy conference, but this one was in Paris. It was considered the Alchemy capital of the world, mostly because it was where Flamel used to live.

Harry was just hoping for something to catch his attention as the Seer soul settled inside of him.

The conference wasn't yielding much in the way of inspiration. Harry was keeping a low profile, not wearing his family emblem instead just the mark of someone who had a mastery in alchemy, (just like 2/3 of the other people attending).

Then he was attacked, a flash of murderous green coming towards him—

And let it be known that Harry was no great fighter. Once he got away from the Dursleys, where his strategy was shut up and stay out of their way—the only thing he had to deal with was Slytherin and Gryffindor bullies. Both of those things left Harry with a great ability to dodge.

Harry dropped to the ground and rolled under a table.

Mayhem broke out.

And Harry's vast pool of magic unfurled like a flower in the morning light.

In a burst of uncontrolled magic, a wave of red rocked through the auditorium. People were knocked down as the stunner struck everyone—went past the walls of the building and into the streets before it dissipating.

Harry peeked up from behind the table.

"Hmm, that was unexpected."

*

Voldemort had declared war on Magical France.

This, Harry suspected, was a bit of overkill.

Not that Harry could guarantee that he would have been fine if the killing curse hit him. It worked by knocked the soul out of a person. Harry's soul was firmly planted, with two and a smidgen souls that would have taken the hit. Which would have been frustrating, but not the end of the world.

Not the end of the world, like Voldemort was acting.

The Dark Lord did a very stereotypical villain monologue. Harry sipped at his mamosa while half listening. Perhaps Harry was siphoning off too much magic, considering he spent the majority of his time around the Horcruxes. When he wasn't at his haunted house, he was having sex with Voldemort, and then there was the two gifted souls.

So yeah, Harry was a bit over-powered.

And, of course, Voldemort loved it. Loved that Harry was "his". That their power "matched". (Not that Harry believed that. Voldemort was strong, but with the way Harry had been studying the True Emerald, he knew the other wizard's limitations.)

But the point of the matter was that Voldemort was coveting him even more.

There was something in his eyes that made Harry uneasy. He wasn’t sure how to interpret it, though. He just hoped this new war would keep Voldemort occupied.

*

Harry was out drinking. It was not something he did often, and he did not wear his own face tonight. He had a mail and tracking wards on. But every half an hour or so, a Death Eater would come through the small pub.

Voldemort had been a bit, hmm, insistent as of late.

He wanted more and more of Harry’s time. Not just for sex, but for them to be in each other’s company. Which Harry just found boring. He couldn’t even read in peace in Voldemort was in the same room. The big bad Dark Lord wanted his undivided attention, his opinion on things Harry couldn’t care less about, and he insisted on constant physical contact.

Now he had Death Eaters scouring around looking for Harry—Even though Harry had left him a note outright stating that he was going out to relax and would see him in a few days.

This was just getting ridiculous.

If Harry spent more than a few hours at Grimmauld, Voldemort would send Snape to get him. Harry had closed down his Floo and put up even more wards to keep others out. After that, Voldemort had sent people to knock against his wards, which felt like someone poking him constantly. Harry had killed a few of the minions before Voldemort deemed to come there himself.

Instead of just feeling like he was being poked, the barraged wards felt like he was being shook by his shoulders.

Harry was confident in his wards, having two of the Horcruxes connected to them, both fueling them and lending them an imperviousness.

Harry sipped at his spiced wine in thought—and was pulled into a vision.

A flash, a glimmer. Voldemort slipping Harry a potion. Harry falling into a sleep that was barely above death and placed in Voldemort’s bed in a white shift.

The vision dissipated.

It had to be Draught of Living Death. Snape had probably delighted in brewing it.

Harry didn’t need to “See” to know what would happen in the vision. He’d become a fuck-toy, a thing Voldemort would covet, a trinket he held close like a child’s blanket.

Harry finished off his drink and retreated to Grimmauld. He had some planning to do.

*

“What are you doing?” Basil asked from the doorway of Harry’s lab.

Harry didn’t look away from the Horcrux he was modifying.

“Creating world peace,” Harry said dryly.

Basil didn’t respond right away. “Can I go outside?” There was a whine in his voice. If Harry had taken that tone with Vernon at that age, he would have given Harry a beating and not fed him for a couple of days. Harry was better than him though.

“Sorry kid, it’s too dangerous outside right now.” Harry wouldn’t have Voldemort trying to use the boy against him. “I don’t want any filthy muggles getting their hands on you.” Harry knew that was enough to keep the boy in line.

“Yucky,” Basil said.

Harry smiled to himself. He’d taught the boy well.

*

Harry idly wondered if there was already a name for the branch soul magic. Animamancy, perhaps?

“You must not be absent from my side for so long ever again,” Voldemort said. The red of his eyes were almost feverish as he took in Harry’s appearance.

“I missed you too.” Harry kept the sarcasm out of his voice. He went in for a kiss. Voldemort tasted just the same, but his kiss was biting, like he was trying to suck the soul out of Harry. Fitting, considering Harry had a modified piece of Voldemort’s soul in him, The True Emerald.

It wasn’t the only modified Horcrux in the room though.

“Bedroom,” Voldemort hissed while grabbing Harry by the wrist. Harry was used to the sudden apparation by now.

Harry started divesting himself of clothes, with Voldemort’s raking against his skin as he dragged off any clothes Harry was taking too long on. So desperate.

Did Dark Lords go into heat?

The thought nearly made Harry laugh.

Harry wandlessly summoned a blindfold, Voldemort spreading him with his hands, a spell relaxing and lubricating Harry’s hole. Voldemort really was desperate.

Voldemort leaned forward for Harry to fasten the blindfold. It was one of the tamer things Voldemort liked.

“I want to ride you,” Harry said. He was sufficiently turned on, but would rather be reading.

“Yesss,” Voldemort said in parseltongue.

Harry sheathed Voldemort’s cock. A familiar spark jumping to life instead of the low embers of before as Voldemort controlled his hips and Harry’s bouncing.

Harry summoned a piece of chocolate from his discarded robes, carefully wrapped. “Open your mouth,” Harry said between gasps.

Voldemort didn’t hesitate to do as he was told—sex being the only time when he listened to someone else without question.

Harry slipped the chocolate between conventionally beautiful lips before lifting Voldemort’s chin, closing his mouth. He didn’t need to tell him to eat it.

Didn’t need to tell him about the modified piece of soul in it.

Didn’t need to tell him anything, now that he was under Harry’s complete control.