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edenfallingWhat if the newly-disembodied Voldemort had noticed his link to Harry? A dark AU.
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lasultrix for beta-reading this chapter. Any remaining canon goofs, grammar mistakes, continuity errors, implausible characterizations, bad dialogue, boring passages, and Americanisms are my fault, not hers.
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Strange Likenesses: Chapter 4
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"He's in my head, isn't he," said Harry.
It wasn't a question; he could feel someone else's thoughts and memories settling into his brain, shifting and stretching until he had decades of Voldemort's life and ideas wrapped around his own not-quite-twelve years. Voldemort himself seemed to be asleep or hiding, but Harry knew he was there.
"I'm afraid so, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking grave. "I'm baffled as to how he got in there in the first place. Unfortunately, the only methods I can think of to reverse this overshadowing involve your death, or the erasure of your memories and personality along with his. He will have to leave voluntarily or not at all."
"I know how he got in," said Harry, feeling remarkably calm. He thought he ought to be angry or upset, but he couldn't seem to make himself care. It was much easier to simply lie flat in his bed and stare at spidery cracks in the ceiling. "When I was three, I had a nightmare about a vampire ghost. I picked up a snake and the ghost poured into me and tried to eat me from inside out." Phantom pain burned up his arms like venom and joined the dull ache in his mind. Harry turned his head and focused on Dumbledore's flowered purple robes until the memory receded. "I imagined that I threw it into my cupboard and locked the door like the Dursleys did to me when I was bad."
In the corner of his eye, he saw Madam Pomfrey's hand twitch as though she wanted to draw her wand.
"I suppose it wasn't a nightmare after all," concluded Harry. "I was trying so hard to find the Stone and stop Quirrell that I forgot to keep the door locked. Now I don't know how to push him back inside."
"It is to your great credit that you were able to overcome him at all," said Dumbledore earnestly. "Many stronger and more experienced wizards would have died or lost their sanity entirely. You have survived twice, and this time, you are not alone -- all the professors are working on plans to help you resist your unwanted guest." Then he looked down at his hands, and his aura of confidence ebbed. "Rest assured, we will make certain that even if your control falters, Voldemort will not have any opportunity to harm those you care about."
"...You're locking me up in here," translated Harry. "It's okay, sir. I understand. Can you tell Ron and Hermione that it's not their fault, and I don't want to get them in any more trouble, so they shouldn't try to see me?"
"I'm truly sorry, Harry," said Dumbledore, still not meeting Harry's eyes. "I will pass your message along."
"I'd like to go back to sleep now," said Harry, pulling the sheet up over his face. Dumbledore sighed, but both Harry heard him and Madam Pomfrey leave the room.
Alone, except in his own head, Harry pressed his hands to his eyes. He thought about flying, and Ron, and Hermione, and Hagrid -- the few good things that had ever happened in his life -- and wondered why he'd ever believed magic wouldn't have a price.
---------------------------------------------
"How did you know it was him and not me?" Harry asked the next day when Dumbledore came by at lunchtime, carrying a bowl of soup. "I didn't even know it wasn't me talking until I did say something, and he realized we were both awake."
Dumbledore sat down beside Harry's bed, tucking the ends of his robe about his ankles. "Ah. If I had had only his words to rely on, I might not have realized his existence until too late -- Voldemort has always been skilled at telling people what they want to hear. Fortunately, Harry, when he opened your eyes, they weren't green. They were red, the color his own eyes had become before his... discorporation. It was quite disconcerting to see that color in your face."
Harry wondered how a person went about getting red eyes. It seemed a pointless thing to do, especially if it made you more recognizable.
It was a side-effect of another spell. I admit that the effect on people could be irritating -- there are times when fear and awe are counterproductive -- but I consider it a small cost for what I gained. The sibilant voice drifted up from the bottom of Harry's mind like smoke, warm and slightly gritty against his own thoughts.
Go away, Harry thought back, imagining a brick wall across his mind.
Laughter echoed faintly from behind the barrier. Where there are walls, there are doors. But talk to the old man; I'm curious about what he knows, and how much he'll be willing to tell you. Questions must twist in his mind -- how deeply you and I are bound, how much of our knowledge is shared, how much your personality affects mine... and vice versa.
Harry reinforced the wall and turned his attention to his soup. He didn't feel like eating -- the thin broth reminded him of orphanage food, especially during wartime rationing -- but he forced down a few spoonfuls while Dumbledore watched.
"Is he troubling you, Harry?" the Headmaster asked after several minutes of silence.
"No," said Harry. There was no point in complaining; nobody could do anything to help. He changed the subject instead. "Sir, you said he's good at fooling people. But you fooled him for a while -- you pretended that you thought you were talking to me. Why did you do that?"
Behind the wall, Voldemort listened intently.
Dumbledore looked grave. "There are times when we are forced into actions we would normally condemn -- lies, even of omission, can sometimes be necessary in order to obtain information. I needed to know Voldemort's intentions, and I hoped to draw him into revealing himself more directly."
Lies, Voldemort told Harry. He wasn't trying to draw me out; he was lecturing me. And consider his words carefully before you trust him. How far do you suppose he'll go in order to kill me? How much do you think your life is worth to him?
My life isn't worth anything, said Harry, so I don't care.
"He's listening to us," he said out loud. "He says you might kill me in order to get rid of him. If I can't lock him up again, you'll have to keep me locked up for the rest of my life. It would be easier to kill me now."
"No, Harry!" said Dumbledore, leaning over to press his hand against Harry's shoulder. "We will find another way. We must find another way. You are not a weapon or a tool -- you are a human being, and I refuse to let you throw yourself away."
Harry set the half-full bowl of soup on his bedside table and lay down without answering.
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Harry stared blankly at the ceiling, trying not to think. Moonlight floated in through the window, casting a faint silver glow over the darkened room. He had always liked moonlit nights; he used to sneak out of his bed and climb onto the roof, away from all the stupid, petty, self-centered brats who-- He shook his head, once, dislodging the memory. Moonlight never reached his cupboard door, and the Dursleys had always locked him in at night.
"Why won't you leave?" Harry asked out loud. "Everyone knows you're here, so it's not as if my body is any use to you."
"Why do you think I'm staying?" his voice countered, the intonations subtly different. Voldemort, demonstrating his control of Harry's body -- Harry hadn't even felt the transfer until his mouth began to move without his own volition.
"I don't know," said Harry, in the tone he reserved for mocking Dudley. "That's why I asked." This time he felt Voldemort reach for his lungs and throat and mouth. Harry slammed him away. The man's memories felt too familiar, too much like his own, but at least their souls were still distinct. He needed that clarity, that line between them.
There are several potential answers, said Voldemort, a tinge of amusement in his mental voice. First, I might simply be gathering my strength and waiting for Dumbledore's vigilance to slip, at which point I might take control of your body and escape. Second, I might be trying to corrupt you from within. Third, I might be unable to leave. Fourth, I might already have left; I am a powerful Legilimens, as you remember, and our link is strong enough for me to insert any number of thoughts and false memories into your mind.
Harry discounted the last theory immediately. The others, though... "I won't kill people or start hating Muggles, no matter what I remember, so forget about that. You don't feel weak, so forget about that too. What could stop you from leaving?"
You, of course, said Voldemort.
He retreated behind a wall of sharp-edged memories before Harry could respond.
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"The Killing Curse is supposed to be impossible to block or survive," Harry said to Dumbledore the next afternoon. "You can't tell me why I lived, but do you know why Voldemort didn't die all the way?"
Voldemort frowned in the back of Harry's mind. Why ask him? You already know the answer, if you bother to look.
I don't trust you, Harry said.
That's probably wise. I don't trust you either.
A lack of trust implied that Voldemort considered him an equal, somehow able to harm him if he let down his guard. For the first time in three days, Harry felt like smiling.
Dumbledore had been studying him, stroking his beard in deep thought. He'd always had that habit, even when his hair was ginger instead of white. "I suppose there's no harm in telling you something that Voldemort already knows," he said eventually. "I hate to reveal such dark magic to you -- you're far too young to be exposed to the depths of human evil -- but given your situation, I doubt this knowledge can increase your burden."
Self-righteous pedant, thought Voldemort. Get on with it.
Harry caught himself before he agreed with the man who'd killed his parents.
"There is an evil spell that creates a type of immortality. It's flawed, the same way drinking unicorn blood is a flawed path, but some wizards consider it worth the price." Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "If a person kills another human being, that creates a fracture in his soul; magic can use that fracture to split off a soul fragment and capture the fragment in an object. Because the soul remains fundamentally linked, then so long as that object remains whole -- even if the person's body dies -- the soul fragment anchors its owner to this world.
"Such a fragment is called a Horcrux. I believe Voldemort used this spell -- I do not know how many times -- and his Horcruxes keep him trapped on earth in a sort of half-life."
Half right, said Voldemort. I'm also linked to you. My Horcruxes kept me from dissolution, but it was you who kept my mind intact. In a way, you're responsible for our current situation.
Harry had stopped listening. He was linked to Voldemort, and Voldemort was linked to the rest of his soul. Harry closed his eyes and tested the tangled knot where his magic and life intersected with Voldemort's soul, and then compared the resonance to the five faint threads that seemed to spin off into the distance like an intangible spider web.
"Sir?" he said. Dumbledore looked down with an inquiring expression. "The Horcruxes are linked to his soul? I think--"
His throat tightened, his lips pressed shut. He couldn't breathe.
Be silent. This imprisonment will not last forever -- all mortals die -- and I will not conspire in my own destruction!
Harry dropped his imaginary wall -- he didn't have the focus to hold two fronts at once -- and dredged through a swamp of memories for moments of pain and doubt, for self-hatred, confusion, anger, loneliness, and all the jagged-edged nightmares two lifetimes could collect. He hurled the storm at Voldemort, not caring what damage he might do to his mind, and seized control of his voice.
"Sir, the Horcruxes -- I can find them."
---------------------------------------------
End of Chapter Four
Back to chapter 3
Continue to chapter 5
Read the final version at ff.net
---------------------------------------------
More to follow, once I figure out where on earth this story thinks it's going. See, it's all very well to have a fascinating situation, but then you have to do something with it, or all the tension drains away. Unfortunately, right now I can't figure out how to get from here to any satisfactory resolution.
(By 'satisfactory' I don't necessarily mean 'happy.' I just mean something that grows organically from the set-up and doesn't feel like either a deus ex machina or a complete cop-out that doesn't actually resolve anything.)
*beats head against table*
Thanks to
lasultrix for beta-reading this chapter. Any remaining canon goofs, grammar mistakes, continuity errors, implausible characterizations, bad dialogue, boring passages, and Americanisms are my fault, not hers.---------------------------------------------
Strange Likenesses: Chapter 4
---------------------------------------------
"He's in my head, isn't he," said Harry.
It wasn't a question; he could feel someone else's thoughts and memories settling into his brain, shifting and stretching until he had decades of Voldemort's life and ideas wrapped around his own not-quite-twelve years. Voldemort himself seemed to be asleep or hiding, but Harry knew he was there.
"I'm afraid so, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking grave. "I'm baffled as to how he got in there in the first place. Unfortunately, the only methods I can think of to reverse this overshadowing involve your death, or the erasure of your memories and personality along with his. He will have to leave voluntarily or not at all."
"I know how he got in," said Harry, feeling remarkably calm. He thought he ought to be angry or upset, but he couldn't seem to make himself care. It was much easier to simply lie flat in his bed and stare at spidery cracks in the ceiling. "When I was three, I had a nightmare about a vampire ghost. I picked up a snake and the ghost poured into me and tried to eat me from inside out." Phantom pain burned up his arms like venom and joined the dull ache in his mind. Harry turned his head and focused on Dumbledore's flowered purple robes until the memory receded. "I imagined that I threw it into my cupboard and locked the door like the Dursleys did to me when I was bad."
In the corner of his eye, he saw Madam Pomfrey's hand twitch as though she wanted to draw her wand.
"I suppose it wasn't a nightmare after all," concluded Harry. "I was trying so hard to find the Stone and stop Quirrell that I forgot to keep the door locked. Now I don't know how to push him back inside."
"It is to your great credit that you were able to overcome him at all," said Dumbledore earnestly. "Many stronger and more experienced wizards would have died or lost their sanity entirely. You have survived twice, and this time, you are not alone -- all the professors are working on plans to help you resist your unwanted guest." Then he looked down at his hands, and his aura of confidence ebbed. "Rest assured, we will make certain that even if your control falters, Voldemort will not have any opportunity to harm those you care about."
"...You're locking me up in here," translated Harry. "It's okay, sir. I understand. Can you tell Ron and Hermione that it's not their fault, and I don't want to get them in any more trouble, so they shouldn't try to see me?"
"I'm truly sorry, Harry," said Dumbledore, still not meeting Harry's eyes. "I will pass your message along."
"I'd like to go back to sleep now," said Harry, pulling the sheet up over his face. Dumbledore sighed, but both Harry heard him and Madam Pomfrey leave the room.
Alone, except in his own head, Harry pressed his hands to his eyes. He thought about flying, and Ron, and Hermione, and Hagrid -- the few good things that had ever happened in his life -- and wondered why he'd ever believed magic wouldn't have a price.
---------------------------------------------
"How did you know it was him and not me?" Harry asked the next day when Dumbledore came by at lunchtime, carrying a bowl of soup. "I didn't even know it wasn't me talking until I did say something, and he realized we were both awake."
Dumbledore sat down beside Harry's bed, tucking the ends of his robe about his ankles. "Ah. If I had had only his words to rely on, I might not have realized his existence until too late -- Voldemort has always been skilled at telling people what they want to hear. Fortunately, Harry, when he opened your eyes, they weren't green. They were red, the color his own eyes had become before his... discorporation. It was quite disconcerting to see that color in your face."
Harry wondered how a person went about getting red eyes. It seemed a pointless thing to do, especially if it made you more recognizable.
It was a side-effect of another spell. I admit that the effect on people could be irritating -- there are times when fear and awe are counterproductive -- but I consider it a small cost for what I gained. The sibilant voice drifted up from the bottom of Harry's mind like smoke, warm and slightly gritty against his own thoughts.
Go away, Harry thought back, imagining a brick wall across his mind.
Laughter echoed faintly from behind the barrier. Where there are walls, there are doors. But talk to the old man; I'm curious about what he knows, and how much he'll be willing to tell you. Questions must twist in his mind -- how deeply you and I are bound, how much of our knowledge is shared, how much your personality affects mine... and vice versa.
Harry reinforced the wall and turned his attention to his soup. He didn't feel like eating -- the thin broth reminded him of orphanage food, especially during wartime rationing -- but he forced down a few spoonfuls while Dumbledore watched.
"Is he troubling you, Harry?" the Headmaster asked after several minutes of silence.
"No," said Harry. There was no point in complaining; nobody could do anything to help. He changed the subject instead. "Sir, you said he's good at fooling people. But you fooled him for a while -- you pretended that you thought you were talking to me. Why did you do that?"
Behind the wall, Voldemort listened intently.
Dumbledore looked grave. "There are times when we are forced into actions we would normally condemn -- lies, even of omission, can sometimes be necessary in order to obtain information. I needed to know Voldemort's intentions, and I hoped to draw him into revealing himself more directly."
Lies, Voldemort told Harry. He wasn't trying to draw me out; he was lecturing me. And consider his words carefully before you trust him. How far do you suppose he'll go in order to kill me? How much do you think your life is worth to him?
My life isn't worth anything, said Harry, so I don't care.
"He's listening to us," he said out loud. "He says you might kill me in order to get rid of him. If I can't lock him up again, you'll have to keep me locked up for the rest of my life. It would be easier to kill me now."
"No, Harry!" said Dumbledore, leaning over to press his hand against Harry's shoulder. "We will find another way. We must find another way. You are not a weapon or a tool -- you are a human being, and I refuse to let you throw yourself away."
Harry set the half-full bowl of soup on his bedside table and lay down without answering.
---------------------------------------------
Harry stared blankly at the ceiling, trying not to think. Moonlight floated in through the window, casting a faint silver glow over the darkened room. He had always liked moonlit nights; he used to sneak out of his bed and climb onto the roof, away from all the stupid, petty, self-centered brats who-- He shook his head, once, dislodging the memory. Moonlight never reached his cupboard door, and the Dursleys had always locked him in at night.
"Why won't you leave?" Harry asked out loud. "Everyone knows you're here, so it's not as if my body is any use to you."
"Why do you think I'm staying?" his voice countered, the intonations subtly different. Voldemort, demonstrating his control of Harry's body -- Harry hadn't even felt the transfer until his mouth began to move without his own volition.
"I don't know," said Harry, in the tone he reserved for mocking Dudley. "That's why I asked." This time he felt Voldemort reach for his lungs and throat and mouth. Harry slammed him away. The man's memories felt too familiar, too much like his own, but at least their souls were still distinct. He needed that clarity, that line between them.
There are several potential answers, said Voldemort, a tinge of amusement in his mental voice. First, I might simply be gathering my strength and waiting for Dumbledore's vigilance to slip, at which point I might take control of your body and escape. Second, I might be trying to corrupt you from within. Third, I might be unable to leave. Fourth, I might already have left; I am a powerful Legilimens, as you remember, and our link is strong enough for me to insert any number of thoughts and false memories into your mind.
Harry discounted the last theory immediately. The others, though... "I won't kill people or start hating Muggles, no matter what I remember, so forget about that. You don't feel weak, so forget about that too. What could stop you from leaving?"
You, of course, said Voldemort.
He retreated behind a wall of sharp-edged memories before Harry could respond.
---------------------------------------------
"The Killing Curse is supposed to be impossible to block or survive," Harry said to Dumbledore the next afternoon. "You can't tell me why I lived, but do you know why Voldemort didn't die all the way?"
Voldemort frowned in the back of Harry's mind. Why ask him? You already know the answer, if you bother to look.
I don't trust you, Harry said.
That's probably wise. I don't trust you either.
A lack of trust implied that Voldemort considered him an equal, somehow able to harm him if he let down his guard. For the first time in three days, Harry felt like smiling.
Dumbledore had been studying him, stroking his beard in deep thought. He'd always had that habit, even when his hair was ginger instead of white. "I suppose there's no harm in telling you something that Voldemort already knows," he said eventually. "I hate to reveal such dark magic to you -- you're far too young to be exposed to the depths of human evil -- but given your situation, I doubt this knowledge can increase your burden."
Self-righteous pedant, thought Voldemort. Get on with it.
Harry caught himself before he agreed with the man who'd killed his parents.
"There is an evil spell that creates a type of immortality. It's flawed, the same way drinking unicorn blood is a flawed path, but some wizards consider it worth the price." Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "If a person kills another human being, that creates a fracture in his soul; magic can use that fracture to split off a soul fragment and capture the fragment in an object. Because the soul remains fundamentally linked, then so long as that object remains whole -- even if the person's body dies -- the soul fragment anchors its owner to this world.
"Such a fragment is called a Horcrux. I believe Voldemort used this spell -- I do not know how many times -- and his Horcruxes keep him trapped on earth in a sort of half-life."
Half right, said Voldemort. I'm also linked to you. My Horcruxes kept me from dissolution, but it was you who kept my mind intact. In a way, you're responsible for our current situation.
Harry had stopped listening. He was linked to Voldemort, and Voldemort was linked to the rest of his soul. Harry closed his eyes and tested the tangled knot where his magic and life intersected with Voldemort's soul, and then compared the resonance to the five faint threads that seemed to spin off into the distance like an intangible spider web.
"Sir?" he said. Dumbledore looked down with an inquiring expression. "The Horcruxes are linked to his soul? I think--"
His throat tightened, his lips pressed shut. He couldn't breathe.
Be silent. This imprisonment will not last forever -- all mortals die -- and I will not conspire in my own destruction!
Harry dropped his imaginary wall -- he didn't have the focus to hold two fronts at once -- and dredged through a swamp of memories for moments of pain and doubt, for self-hatred, confusion, anger, loneliness, and all the jagged-edged nightmares two lifetimes could collect. He hurled the storm at Voldemort, not caring what damage he might do to his mind, and seized control of his voice.
"Sir, the Horcruxes -- I can find them."
---------------------------------------------
End of Chapter Four
Back to chapter 3
Continue to chapter 5
Read the final version at ff.net
---------------------------------------------
More to follow, once I figure out where on earth this story thinks it's going. See, it's all very well to have a fascinating situation, but then you have to do something with it, or all the tension drains away. Unfortunately, right now I can't figure out how to get from here to any satisfactory resolution.
(By 'satisfactory' I don't necessarily mean 'happy.' I just mean something that grows organically from the set-up and doesn't feel like either a deus ex machina or a complete cop-out that doesn't actually resolve anything.)
*beats head against table*
