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Chapter 3: Every Goddam Sunday
Voldemort would never admit that he found himself--even only if ever so slightly--enjoying Potter’s company. Potter, loath as he was to admit it, was probably the only person who knew almost everything about him, which made him semi-decent company by default.
He was just settling on a snappish comeback to Potter’s soppy blathering when it occurred to him that the wooden floor the explosion had thrown him against now felt a great deal softer. The light was much dimmer. And Potter hadn’t said anything for the past several minutes. Voldemort frowned.
Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he looked around the dimly lit room. He was not at the Lovegoods’ residence anymore. In fact, the walls suggested he was currently residing in Hogwarts. Looking down, he saw he was no longer in a little girl’s body, but a adult, male, and very familiar form. “The best body yet, which still leaves much to be desired.” Voldemort said to himself, in the low voice he was expecting, but was still shocked to hear.
The bedroom was empty except for himself. That did not surprise him in the least. Snape never struck him as man who kept much company in his bedroom. The fact that he was alone did make him wonder where Potter was. So far they never ended up very far from each other when they jumped. Voldemort sighed, he’d better go find the damn boy. Who knew what Potter would get up to without supervision.
He strode to the door and flung it open. It was the door to the bathroom. He stormed over to the only other door, walked halfway across Snape’s living room, and realized he was wearing nightclothes.
A knock came at his door. Voldemort cursed, finished his walk across the room, and opened the door. “What do you want?” A blond dressed in frilly, bright blue robes blinked at him.
"I was just standing here..." The blond looked completely confused. "...Snape?"
"Who the hell are you?"
"Er. I don't know." He looked down at himself. "Oh god, no."
"Potter." Voldemort finally identified him. He couldn't see the image of Potter superimposed over the pompously dressed man at all.
Harry looked up at him through baby-blue eyes. "Tom!" He sounded relieved. "You look like Snape."
"Still keenly observant, I see." Voldemort said waspishly.
"Do I really look like who I think I am?" Harry asked.
Voldemort rubbed his temples. "I have a splitting headache. I am without doubt that you are the cause of said headache. Stop speaking nonsense, Potter!"
Harry started. "Lockhart, Tom! I think I'm Lockhart! Please, just. Kill. Me. Now."
Voldemort grinned evilly. "Is that an invitation?"
Harry paused uncertainly. Voldemort realized Potter was actually considering the question. "Your current host is that dreadful?" He looked him up and down. "He does look as though he would be extremely obnoxious."
"Stop doing that." Harry felt ill. "It's bad enough I'm stuck in... this, but I don't need you to look and talk like Snape on his happy pills!"
Voldemort raised an eyebrow.
"Don't ask." Harry said. "And why can't I see you? I could barely see you in Luna, and now I can't see you at all! Can you see me? So help me, if I'm stuck in Lockhart, you better kill me!"
“Clearly, what we were meant to do was save Angela Lovegood.” Voldemort said. “We came here immediately after the explosion.”
“My ears are still ringing. I wish the, er, jumps, wouldn’t be so abrupt,” Harry sighed. “It’s the most awful sensation.”
“You haven’t experienced much, Potter.” Voldemort said. “I assure you, there are many worse sensations you could experience.”
Harry wrinkled his nose, “And I’m sure you’ve experienced most of them.” He looked around Snape’s room, fingering the cup of tea Voldemort had offered him earlier as they sat in two armchairs placed in front of the fireplace.
“Not what you expected?” When Harry looked at him, Voldemort nodded at the room. “The decor.”
“Oh, not really. I expected chains hanging from the ceiling, I suppose, and the heads of mysteriously vanished Gryffindors mounted on the walls.” Harry grinned, flushing with embarrassment.
Voldemort stared at him.
“What?”
He shook his head slightly, “Why are you always so damn honest with me, Potter?”
Harry looked genuinely surprised. “I, uh, don’t know?” When all Voldemort did was continue to stare with that inscrutable look, Harry continued, “There’s never been much point in lying to you. You always know when I try. So it’s... just become habit to tell you the truth.”
“Typical Gryffindor.” Voldemort said, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of understanding exactly what Potter meant.
Harry ignored the jibe. “What do you think we have to change this time?”
“Why should I have any idea?”
“Just asking.” Harry frowned. “I would like to be in this body for as short a time as possible.”
“This Lockhart is that awful?”
Harry smirked, “He would hate to think you have never heard of him, Tom.”
“I haven’t.” Voldemort shrugged, “But I do not usually keep up on trivial matters.”
Harry’s smirk broadened, “I almost wish Lockhart could hear you.”
Voldemort rolled his eyes. Could Lockhart be that much of a twit? “Thus far, one of us have ended up in people who have a direct involvement of what we are supposed to change. Dumbledore went to the meeting as opposed to not; Luna’s mother’s life was at stake. Presumably, one or both of our hosts has some involvement on what we’re meant to change. The first thing we must do is find out the date. There may be important issues going on.”
Harry looked uneasy. “Lockhart taught Defense my second year. This must be 1992. It’s also the year Ginny had your diary and the Chamber of Secrets was opened again.”
“Must everything surrounding you be eventful?” Voldemort demanded.
“What do you mean?” Harry said indignantly. “This is not my fault!”
“Every year a variety of unbelievable scenarios fall into your lap--”
“Ha! That’s as much due to you as anything or anyone else.” Harry glared at him. “I’m inclined to let you deal with this event by yourself. Besides, I don’t fancy running into my twelve-year-old self.”
“It would go just as well, if not better.” He muttered. “And has it occurred to you, Potter, that you can’t not teach? Lockhart has a job to do here.”
Harry cringed. “I don’t think I could fake being as bad a teacher he was.”
Voldemort frowned, “Perhaps teaching has something to do with this ‘jump’?”
“You keep saying, anything could be the event we’re supposed to alter.” Harry said.
“It would help to have an exact date.”
“Snape gets the Prophet, doesn’t he?” Harry looked around. “There’s one on his desk, I think.”
Voldemort summoned it to him. He tossed it to Harry. “It seems pretty clear what we are here to do.”
The headline read in bold print:
Staff Can’t Handle Prank
Harry blinked, “Prank?”
“That’s better than informing the population their children have been attending a school where monsters reside.” Voldemort said. “I imagine the minister killed the original article and had them put this out.”
“What do you mean, the minister killed the story? The ministry’s never been a fan of Dumbledore’s way of managing Hogwarts. And you mean monster, as in singular.” Harry said. When Voldemort remained silent Harry added, “...right? Tom? Singular. One monster, right?”
“Fudge was never a fan of Dumbledore, but he was no fool either. He would never let anything into the press that would harm his image.” Voldemort said. “We had better get to it, Potter.”
“TOM! Singular, for the love of--just say the word singular, and I will be happy.”
Voldemort looked him in the eye. “Surely you know better than to believe that, Potter. You are not that ignorant.”
“I was until a minute ago!” Harry cried. “You know, sometimes I think wizards are the stupidest--”
He glared at Voldemort as if he was somehow to blame for all this. It wasn’t, Voldemort had to admit, an unreasonable assumption, however incorrect.
“What is it exactly?”
“Rowena Ravenclaw’s,” Voldemort said. “And theoretically immortal. Or long-living enough for a human to consider it immortal, similar to the basilisk. That is all I know, Potter. Oh, and speaking of,” Voldemort waved at the newspaper. “Shouldn’t we get to it?”
“Fine.” Harry snapped. “Assuming you have a plan, because what we can do about a newspaper article--”
“Don’t be a twit, boy. We are not doing anything about the article. We are going to go restrain the basilisk.” Voldemort said.
“How does that affect anything.” Harry asked. “Oh, stop looking at me like that! I know it changes parts of the future a great deal, but it hardly keeps the current article in the paper from existing, and it doesn’t change what has already happened. Aren’t we supposed do something to keep the school from closing?”
“Stopping Brynmor will keep the school from closing. Stop the attacks, save Hogwarts.”
“That thing has a name?” Harry said indignantly.
“What, did you expect Slytherin called him ‘it’ all of the time?” Voldemort snapped.
“Great. Look, I lived through this, if you’ll recall. You didn’t. You were currently a thing floating about Brazil, or wherever--” Harry’s voice disappeared. He tried to continue. When nothing came out, he glared at Voldemort.
Voldemort looked smug. He felt smug. He finally shut the brat up. “We are doing this my way, Potter.”
Harry was fuming quietly to himself as he waited for Voldemort outside Snape’s office. He really didn’t have any other choice. For whatever reason, he couldn’t undo the spell Voldemort had muted him with.
He rifled through the newspaper article they had brought with them. Harry felt determined to find some proof that he was right, and Voldemort was wrong. Reading through the paper, he frowned, blinked, and frowned harder.
He groped in his pocket, searching for the handkerchief he had noticed earlier. A piece of paper fluttered out instead. It was just as well. Concentrating on the peculiar newspaper was beginning to give him a headache. Picking up the note off the floor, he looked it over, feeling confused.
Every Goddam Sunday, by Gilderoy “Lovesick” Lockhart? Harry felt ill as he read through the note, which wasn’t actually a note. It was a love poem. For Snape.
“Your poison-tipped tongue drips words of music to mine ears?” Harry mouthed. His stomach churned.
A voice read over his shoulder, “‘Every goddam Sunday, you gripe at me.’ If only you knew what your sweetly sour words--”
Harry jumped so high he was surprised he didn’t hit the ceiling. He shoved the note back into his pocket, whirling to stare in horror at Voldemort’s amused face. Or rather, Snape’s amused face. It only made the entire thing worse.
“--did to me.” Voldemort finished, grinning evilly. “A love poem, Potter? For me?”
“Shut up.” Harry was beet red. “Lockhart wrote it. For someone. Who isn’t you.” Then he remembered Voldemort couldn’t hear him.
“I am surprised you don’t have Lockhart loves Snape tattooed on your forehead.” Voldemort was still grinning evilly. His smile was so wide Harry was inclined to call it a beam. An evil beam.
“Shut. Up.” He mouthed slowly and clearly.
Voldemort chuckled, casually wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “One of us has to talk, Potter, and since you’re inclined to silence...”
Harry elbowed him in the side and decided to keep his odd newspaper experience to himself. Not that he had any other choice.
Voldemort led the way to the Chamber of Secrets. From what he could gather from Potter’s silent, sullen gestures, he was only aware of the bathroom entrance, which made Voldemort the resident expert on the Chamber. It still amazed him the things Potter had accomplished by sheer luck alone.
Glancing back at the subject that was currently on his mind, he saw Potter eyeing the newspaper article. Again. “What is so damn fascinating about that article, Potter?”
Harry glanced up at him, motioned at his throat, shrugged, and smirked.
“Twit.” He muttered. He glared at Potter, who had returned to his paper. The need to know was stronger than his amusement at Potter’s forced silence, so he quietly reversed the spell. “Well?”
Harry raised an eyebrow.
“You are able to talk, or have you become so enthralled with the Prophet that you haven’t noticed?” He said irritably.
Harry narrowed his eyes, but attempted talking. “It’s peculiar. I would have mentioned it earlier, but you were too busy having a chuckle over that damn poem to pay any attention.”
“You never implied anything was ‘peculiar,’ Potter.” Voldemort tapped the wall they arrived at with Snape’s wand. The wall disappeared to show a small, dark corridor. Lighting his wand, Voldemort walked forward. “And why you can’t find any amusement in the note is beyond me. Snape being wooed by a man like Lockhart is hysterical.”
“It is not hysterical; it’s horrifying.” Harry corrected. “My name is not Potter, it’s Harry. I would have told you about the paper if you weren’t such a bloody arse.”
“What is the problem with the paper?”
Harry waved it at him. “Look at it! It... slides out of focus. Every time I try to read it, I find I can’t see what it says!”
Voldemort frowned in puzzlement, halting in his trek down the hidden corridor. “The words skitter out of place.”
“That’s what I said.”
Voldemort muttered a charm over the article. Nothing happened. His frown deepened. “I’m not sure it’s a spell at all.”
“What else could it be?” Harry said. “Papers don’t usually act like that.”
“We are essentially time traveling.” Voldemort said. “We have been purposely altering the future. We appear to be meant to, for whatever that’s worth.”
“I don’t see what our traveling has to do with this paper. Or why we can’t read the article when the headline is perfectly clear.” Harry scooted past Voldemort--it was a tight corridor--to look at the article again.
Voldemort gave him a supremely irritated look. “The possibilities to what magic can affect are endless. Your education is lacking, it is a wonder you managed to pass your exams. Unless Hogwarts’ curriculum has gone that downhill.”
Harry sighed, “It may come as a surprise, but not everyone is born a genius, or whatever it is you and Hermione were born as.”
Voldemort shook his head, muttering under his breath. “It is not a matter of intelligence, Potter, and do not dare to tell me otherwise. I already know you have a perfectly capable brain, you simply refuse to exercise it.”
“Was that a compliment?” Harry stared at him.
“It was an insult. Pay attention.”
“It sounded like a compliment to me.”
“Which is only more evidence that you do not use your head.” Voldemort pushed him forward. “Do we or do we not have some problems to take care of?”
“We’re not killing it?”
“No, Potter.” Voldemort said for the seventh time. “Brynmor is an ancient and noble creature. You do not simply decide to off it.”
“You are not one to talk--”
Voldemort interrupted. “I shouldn’t think that counts.”
“You murdered--” Harry started again.
“I wasn’t in control of my senses.” Voldemort said easily.
“Oh, well that’s all right then!” Harry glared. “You can’t just--and do not interrupt me--”
“You’re fully aware of the... circumstances--”
“Being a stupid genius does not clear you of responsibility for your actions.” Harry said.
“This argument may well be a moot point in any case.” Voldemort pointed out.
“What, why?” Harry asked.
Voldemort shot him an impatient look. “When will the term ‘time travel’ sink in with you?”
“Oh. Right.” Harry flushed. “We’re changing that much?”
“You don’t want to?”
“Well, no, that’s not what I meant. We don’t seem to be changing very big things. A few classes for Hogwarts, a mother’s second chance...”
“We don’t need to change big things, Potter.” Voldemort said. “Little things have the tendency to turn into big things.”
They sloshed into the Chamber of Secrets. Voldemort grimaced. “It never used to be so damp.”
“It connects to the pipe system--”
“There are charms to keep the water out. I hadn’t realized the spells were so eroded. Dumbledore should be taking care of the castle’s magical system.” Voldemort said.
“So now that we’re here, you sure we’re not going to kill it?”
“No.”
“No, you’re not sure--”
“No, we’re not going to kill him!”
Harry held up his hands. “I was only wondering what we’re going to do then! There doesn’t seem to be another choice for a barmy basilisk.”
“He’s not crazy, he is under the control of my memory.” Voldemort said.
“Why don’t we kill your memory then?” Harry said. He sounded a little too cheerful for Voldemort’s liking.
“Potter.” Voldemort asked, frowning at something in the distance. “Is there a redhead standing up ahead, or have you finally driven me mad?”
Harry looked ahead. “That’s Ginny!” He glanced over at Voldemort. “The girl your memory is possessing.”
“Of course this couldn’t be easy.” Voldemort said. “Typical.”
“If you’re agreed your diary is a problem, this is probably the easiest way to handle everything.” Harry pointed out.
“Unless she sends Brynmor after us.”
“Can’t you control it?” Harry demanded.
“He can be a little one-minded.” Voldemort said.
“Great.” Harry said. “A quick and dirty plan B then.”
“I can’t wait to hear this.” Voldemort said dryly.
“You don’t get to have an opinion.” Harry informed him. “Plan B: We sneak up on her.”
“Brilliant, Potter.” Voldemort said. “I thought we might hit her with an immobilizing curse, but trying to sneak up on her in a large, echoing chamber inches deep in water is the better plan.”
Harry blushed, “That could work too, I suppose.”
Voldemort rolled his eyes. With a flick of his wand, the girl, Ginny, was falling to the floor. “After you, Potter.”
It wasn’t difficult after that point. Potter checked the girl’s pulse before digging out his diary from her pocket. Voldemort destroyed the book himself. It was bad enough to hear the shrieks of his memory dying without watching Potter do it.
Taking care of the basilisk, much to Harry’s disbelief, was the easiest part. Voldemort spoke to the statue, which locked itself shut. He would have preferred convincing the king of snakes to stop the killings, but Voldemort knew he couldn’t guarantee Brynmor would trust or listen to him. After all, his body, Snape’s body, would have been completely unfamiliar. He silently promised himself he would return after all of this was over to talk with him.
Harry, of course, muttered about Brynmor still being a risk. Voldemort tuned him out as they walked back the way they had come until Potter commented on the fact that they hadn’t jumped out of this time yet. The brat had a point.
“Doesn’t that mean that we are supposed to do something else?” Harry asked innocently.
“Obviously.” Voldemort turned to frown at him, but the girl’s body hovered in the way.
Harry continued on, oblivious. “Such as, oh... keeping people from closing the school?”
They exited the hidden corridor and turned right, heading in the direction of the infirmary.
“What we must change now could be anything.” Voldemort said. They turned the corner only to run into McGonagall and Flitwick.
“Ah, Minerva!” Voldemort said
“Severus? Professor Lockhart? Ms. Weasley!” She rushed to the girl’s side. “What on earth has happened?”
Voldemort smiled widely, “The monster has been taken care of, and whatever Lockhart may say in the future, it was all my doing.”
Harry glared at him, “Hey--”
Chapter 4: The Magical Way of Life Writ Large
This time, Voldemort noted, the jump felt much more jarring, as though he had been speeding toward his destination and couldn’t slow down fast enough.
He was sitting down here, at a dining table with a plate of half-eaten food before him. He was occupying the body of a well-bred man, if his masculine, but manicured hands were anything to go by. He looked across at his dining companion. It was Narcissa--that would make him Lucius, he was sure--and she looked about as disoriented as he felt.
Narcissa looked up at him, “Tom, I hope?”
Voldemort mentally smirked. “Who is Tom, darling?”
Narcissa froze for half a second. “It’s not important... Lucius. If you will excuse me.” She stood. The look of pure shock that crossed her face made him grin. He suppressed the grin into an innocent smile.
“Is something the matter, Narcissa?”
“No.” She squeaked. She cleared her voice, “Ah, no. No. You know what . .dear, I believe I--I’m still hungry.” She sat.
“Narcissa does enjoy unusually high-heeled shoes, doesn’t she.” Voldemort said casually.
Narcissa, or Harry, started. “Wha--Tom! You bastard!”
“You were unable to tell it was me at all?” Voldemort asked.
“Well, at first I thought I... I thought you were, well, you. Then you pretended not to be.” Harry said. “You can tell it’s me?”
“Yes.” Voldemort said. “But only because I know Narcissa well, and you act nothing like her.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”
“She’s a good woman.” Voldemort gave Harry a surprised look.
“She’s cold.” Harry said.
“To you, perhaps, and you could hardly expect her to act otherwise.” Voldemort said.
Before Harry had the chance to respond, the door to the dining room slid open. A young woman hurried in, carrying a toddler. The child was tugging at her neatly pinned back hair, pulling it out in strands. She set him down on the table as they watched her in silence.
“I quit.” She informed them, looking toward Narcissa and avoiding Lucius. “No offense, ma’am, but your son...” She grimaced as the four-year-old Draco poked at her with a fork. “There is nothing--nothing--either of you can do to me that is worse than dealing with him a minute longer.” She looked back and forth between the two.
Voldemort looked to Harry, who looked back at him. Harry turned back to the girl, “Okay.” He said. Voldemort coughed to suppress his laughter; the nanny looked utterly stunned.
“O-okay?”
Harry nodded, “Okay.”
“You’re not...” She trailed off.
“Dear Draco can be a handful.” Harry said, perfectly cheerful. “If that’s all you wished to say..?”
“Oh!” She squeaked, muttered something that sounded like ‘goodbye,’ and dashed out.
Much to Voldemort’s surprise, Harry quickly got up to pick up Draco. He noticed Harry had kicked off the high heels.
“She doesn’t seem to have been a very good nanny.” Harry said.
“What makes you say that?”
“She just left him sitting on the table! He could have fallen. She let him play with sharp utensils. She didn’t stop him from tugging out her hairpins, which he could have choked on.” Harry frowned. “If that is the sort of help the Malfoys have--!”
“How do you know about children, Potter?” Voldemort asked. He was impressed despite himself. Children were not his area of expertise.
Harry shrugged. “I used to look after some little kids when I was growing up, before Hogwarts.”
“You wouldn’t have been--never mind.” He stood. “I’m going to attempt to locate a newspaper, or anything that may indicate what we must do here. You can take care of that.” He motioned toward Draco.
“You’re awful with names.” Harry observed.
“What?”
“‘That’ is Draco, who currently happens to be your son. I am Harry, not ‘Potter.’ Or Narcissa, if you must, since--god help me--I’m currently your wife.”
“That has a horrible ring to it.” Voldemort muttered.
“You’re telling me.”
Voldemort really didn’t care to find a newspaper, or any other object that would tell them what they were supposed to change. Falling into Lucius’ body had been a blessing, and not to take advantage would have been wasting the perfect opportunity.
But Potter didn’t need to know any of that.
Voldemort navigated the Malfoy mansion with ease. He’d visited the home more times than he could recount and knew the layout of the building almost as well as he knew the design of Hogwarts. It was no trouble at all to locate Lucius’ private office--the one most people didn’t know about and the one even Narcissa never entered--and settle at his large, mahogany desk.
Voldemort rummaged around for some paper. He was going to need a lot of it, because he had a fair amount of instructions for Lucius to follow. And Lucius would follow them, Voldemort knew, if he wrote just the right things to convince the man.
“Isn’t this the magical way of life.” Harry muttered as he raided Draco’s toy chest.
“Writ large.” Voldemort said dryly from the doorway.
Harry glanced up at him before returning to his task. “Where did you go? You’ve been away for half the day.”
“I was exploring the house.” Voldemort said. “I understand Lucius has several pockets of hidden rooms, for those illegal artifacts he is so fond of.”
“That’s just what you should be looking for.” Harry snorted. “Because surely those toys of his are what we’re supposed to deal with.”
“Sarcasm, Potter? Have you had a bad day?”
Harry turned to glare at him, “I’ve been taking care of a four-year-old who apparently has an unlimited amount of energy and the curiosity to match. You, on the other hand, have wandered all day, and I can’t help but notice you seem oddly cheerful. Find anything interesting, Tom?”
Voldemort looked around the room. “Where is Draco?”
“His crib. He’s sleeping, finally.” Harry shook his head. “What did you do?”
“Nothing, Potter.” Voldemort said. “Nor did I find any indication of what we’re meant to change.”
“Neither did I, not that I had much opportunity.” Harry shrugged. “The situations tend to fall in our laps though, don’t they?”
“Indeed.” Voldemort offered Harry a hand up. “Are you hungry? I believe it’s well past dinnertime.”
“God, yes.” Harry groaned, grabbing a stuffed animal off of the floor. “Does this look like a “Pippy” to you?”
Voldemort looked at him like he was mad. “Pippy, Potter?”
Harry nodded. “Draco wanted his toy Pippy. I think he doesn’t sleep well without it.”
“But he’s sleeping now.”
“Kids like their security toys,” He looked over into the crib, where Draco was sleeping with his arms wrapped around a balled up blanket. “He’s cute when he’s not driving you nuts.” Harry commented softly. He tucked the stuffed cat he held carefully into the crib.
“If you like children, I suppose he is.” Voldemort admitted, looking over Harry’s shoulder.
Harry let out a sigh before turning to face him. “We can get wine with dinner, right? Or firewhiskey? I need a drink after today.”
“Naturally. But who will keep an eye on...” Voldemort nodded toward Draco.
“Oh, I’ve got that all worked out.” Harry whistled. A little pop filled the air.
“Yes, Lady Narcissa?” A voice squeaked at knee-level.
Harry beamed down at the little house-elf. “Remember what we discussed, Tandy? Keep an eye on Draco tonight, please. Let me know if anything happens.”
“Yes, Lady Narcissa!” It beamed and bowed to them both.
Harry led the way out of the nursery. “Lead the way to some dinner and drinks. I haven’t met a kid so exhausting since this little boy I knew from Surrey. His name was Sammy, and could he go on like he was running on batteries.”
“Batteries?”
“Oh, right. They’re these little things Muggles use to power machines...”
“Potter, I think you had too much wine.” Voldemort commented as he half-carried Harry to Narcissa’s bedroom.
“Me?” Harry asked. “You had more than I did!”
“Yes, but I can hold my liquor, and you, apparently, cannot.” Voldemort said. He magicked the door to Narcissa’s room open.
“Their bedroom is kind of girlie.” Harry noted.
“It’s Narcissa’s room.” Voldemort replied.
“They’ve got separate bedrooms? Typical."
"Love comes in all forms, brat."
"You know about love?"
“Are you surprised?”
“Rather, yeah.” Harry pulled away from Voldemort to drop onto the bed. When Voldemort turned to leave, he asked. “Where are you going?”
“To Lucius’ bedroom, obviously.” Voldemort said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Harry said. “You’re liable to vanish and leave me alone with Draco all day again.”
“What do you propose to do then?”
“You can sleep in here, with me.” Harry informed him.
“Isn’t that risky, Potter?” Voldemort asked.
“I don’t kick, I promise.” Harry grinned.
“I meant for you.” Voldemort muttered, sitting beside Harry on the bed. He felt a little lightheaded himself, which worried him. He didn’t think he’d gotten drunk in decades, but there had never been much opportunity to. He vaguely recalled he was a... hands-on drunk, in that he couldn’t keep his hands off people.
Harry dropped his, her, head onto his lap. “You look good as a blond, you know?”
Chapter 5: A Benign World Order
Harry blinked down at himself. One second he had been draped across their bed and now he was sitting on the grass, legs spread out, a bunch of flowers piled before him. A half-finished daisy chain hung from his limp fingers.
It was the most awful, disconcerting feeling to be lying in bed after some great, if somewhat gender-confused sex and suddenly... not be.
But he was still a woman, he noted with some disappointment. Harry looked around at his surroundings. He recognized it almost instantly. It was the field not far from the Weasleys’ home, where he and the other children had often played Quidditch.
Not too farm from where he was two blankets were laid out on the grass, a few picnic baskets and games set out on them.
“Ginny, you’re not too pregnant to help out!” A familiar voice called. “Besides, I think Ron’s losing his stride, and we need a replacement carrier!”
Harry looked up to see a twenty-something Fred floating a picnic table in front of him. Ron was just behind him, a stack of lawn chairs following behind him.
After not hearing Ginny respond, Harry realized he must be Ginny. “What’s with Ron?” He called, already suspecting what it was. After all, he and Tom never ended up far apart. This time, Harry didn’t want to end up far apart. “He looks perfectly fine to me, and as you know, mum doesn’t want me running around doing things I don’t have to.” Harry was sure that was it. Molly Weasley had acted the same way when Fleur conceived.
“Mum doesn’t need to know.” Fred winked.
“Stuff it, Fred, and let Ron sit with me this round.” Harry said. “I need someone to assist with my daisies.”
Fred rolled his eyes. “Womenfolk!”
“Don’t let mum hear you.” Harry smirked. Fred actually looked behind him in worry, which nearly sent Harry into hysterics.
Ron dropped down beside him, and in that instant Harry knew it was Tom. Ron never sat so carefully as he did now, unless he was severely injured.
They waited until Fred left for more equipment.
“Tom.” Harry felt relieved. “How long do you think this can continue?”
Voldemort shook his head, “Who knows? It could go on indefinitely.”
Harry cringed.
“That was the first question that came to your mind?”
“No, but most of my other thoughts are highly inappropriate no matter how you look at it.” Harry admitted.
“There’s that honesty trait of yours.” Voldemort noted.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry demanded.
“It means we’re supposed to be enemies.” Voldemort said.
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Your point?”
“I do not feel like enemies.”
“Good.” Harry said. “Neither do I.”
“It does not simply change like that, Potter!” Voldemort snapped.
“No, it doesn’t.” Harry glanced at him. “And it’s Harry.”
Voldemort paused, “Harry.”
“What’s hairy?”
George asked out of the blue. They both jumped.
“Nothing!” Harry scowled, “Bugger off, George.”
“That’s nice!” George said. “Mum will be thrilled your hormones are already going nuts!” He bounced off before either of them could say anything.
“How you enjoy the company of such an obnoxious group of--”
“They’re fun. We’re going to have to teach you how to have fun.” Harry said.
“I have plenty of fun, P--Harry.” Voldemort said. He ignored Harry’s disbelieving snort.
They sat in silence as George and Fred continued to haul up pieces of furniture.
“The guests are arriving, Gin.” Fred informed her after the third round.
“Your git of a husband’s here, Gin.” George declared on the fifth round.
“Mum wants you both back at the house, pronto.” They said in unison on the sixth round.
After they left, Voldemort commented, “Do you find it odd that we were supposed to have sex the last round?”
“You noticed that too, huh?” Harry said. “What the hell could that have accomplished?”
“GIN!” Fred yelled. “Go see Cepheus!”
“Cepheus?” Harry muttered, then called, “Who, Fred?”
Fred groaned, “If only you meant that, dear sister, I would die a happy man. Go greet your damn husband before he thinks we tied you to a tree as a sacrifice to the squirrel god.”
Harry blinked, “Fine, fine.” He waved them away. “I’ll be down in a minute.” As soon as Fred was out of earshot, she grabbed Tom’s hand. “You’re coming with. Fuck, Ginny’s married?”
“Heartbroken?” Voldemort sneered.
“Of course not. But Ginny never married as far as I remember.”
“How old is she in our time?” Voldemort inquired, helping Harry to his feet.
“Twenty-two, a year younger than me. Why?”
Voldemort studied him. “She’s older now, at least twenty-five, maybe a little older.”
Harry stared at him. “We’ve gone into the future?” He studied Voldemort, who resided in Ron. Ron did look older than Harry remembered. “Is that possible?”
“Going into the future isn’t much different than going into the past.” Voldemort said. “Tell me you know the way to their house?” He nodded toward the thicket of trees.
“Oh, of course.” Harry led the way. “But I thought there was a whole rule against knowing the future? Because people who know the future might do things to accidentally change it.”
“At this point, Harry, I don’t think we have to worry about whether things change or not.” Voldemort commented.
“Why not?”
“We've been having good luck on all our endeavors, haven't you noticed, P--Harry?"
“We’ve been lucky this entire time?” Harry asked in disbelief. “When that magical storm beat the shit out of us? When we ended up in Dumbledore and Trelawney? When we got thrown about by a potion explosion? When--”
“I get your point. What I am saying is, yes, we’ve been damn lucky. We should both be dead. History and the very fabric of the universe should be in shreds at our feet. Everything is whole, even us, for the most part. I suspect we’ve been hauling around the luck of my dose of Felix Felicis this entire time.”
“Your dose?”
“Yes.”
“I took it too, that day.” Harry admitted. “I’d forgotten. But Hermione did say the only way you would end up at Riddle mansion that day is if you’d taken the potion too.”
“That’s an interesting... coincidence.”
Harry shook his head.
“What?”
“It’s all such a mess of sheer madness.” Harry said.
“You should be used to it by now.”
“Funny thing is, I never am.”
“That’s madness.”
“We’ve been influenced by Felix Felicis this entire time?” Harry asked.
“Neither of us is that lucky, when it comes right down to it.” Voldemort said. “We must have been affected by something.”
“Right.” Harry said. “I hate to think what would have happened if we hadn’t taken the potion.”
“Ginny!”
Harry looked toward the voice. He and Voldemort had only just left the clearing, but the blond rushing toward them had spotted them right away.
“Tom,” Harry whispered hurriedly. “Doesn’t he look just like a--”
“Malfoy.” Voldemort finished, amazed. “Cepheus.”
Cepheus nodded at him, “Ron. Ginny!” He pulled her into a hug. “Are you feeling well? I got held up at work, or I would have been here earlier.”
Harry smiled a bit dazedly at him. “I’m feeling quite well.” He ignored Fred’s indignant grunt as he passed by. “How was work?”
“Oh, the same. The minister is inundated with mail. It’s mostly about his upcoming wedding, I’m sure you can guess, which makes sussing out the important letters all the more difficult.” Cepheus kissed Ginny’s cheek, one arm wrapped firmly around her waist. “Unfortunately, with Percy on his own honeymoon, dealing with all of this has fallen on me.”
Voldemort shook his head, “I think I shall go mingle, hmm?” He was off before Harry could say anything, much to Harry’s dismay. He wasn’t at all sure how he was supposed to handle a husband.
Harry’s mind was whirling by the time he managed to even see Tom again. He had spent the entire day bouncing from one guest to another, every person determined to congratulate Ginny on one thing or another.
He did manage to figure out a few things. Cepheus was indeed a Malfoy; he was Lucius and Narcissa’s second son. Harry would bet he was four years younger than Draco. It explained why sex had been what Harry and Tom changed when in Narcissa and Lucius’ bodies.
That had been the least of his discoveries.
Harry sat next to Tom in the Burrow’s living room. “Try to leave me again and I will set your robe on fire.” He muttered quietly.
Voldemort glanced at him out of the corners of his eyes. “You will not believe what I have been hearing. I can’t believe it.”
“What, you mean who the current minister is?” Harry said. “I’ve already heard all about it. For the last three elections, apparently. He’s quite popular.”
“I don’t understand it.” Voldemort said.
“Even Dumbledore wholeheartedly approves of him.” Harry added. “He’s collaborated with Dumbledore to broaden Hogwarts’ class electives, and opened up a variety of doors for the school, including summer classes, out-of-school projects, and exchange student programs.”
“Potter?” Voldemort hissed. “Shut up.”
“I thought you would have enjoyed hearing about it.” Harry said.
“I don’t. It’s simply not possible.”
“Is it so damn awful?” Harry glared, “You know there are better ways to rule the world than--”
“Of course it’s not.” Voldemort said. “That’s not what I meant. I meant, how could it have ever happened in the first place?”
“Something about Lucius restoring his--your--body ages ago, oddly enough with the help of one Angela Lovegood.” Harry eyed him. “Are you sure you didn’t leave any descriptive notes lying about Malfoy mansion when we were there last? Because from what I gathered, you regained a body less than a year after we visited there.”
Voldemort met his gaze squarely. “Did you leave any cryptic notes for Dumbledore when we last used his office? I was just wondering, because I heard the most interesting tale of how Sirius Black gained his freedom from his false imprisonment.”
“Fine, fine.” Harry smiled. “So we both did something we probably shouldn’t have. Look how great it turned out. I, for one, did not know you could be restored fully to a healthy body. Is it really that the first time around Pettigrew just did a shit job?”
“His unskilled performance was half of the problem, yes.” Voldemort said. “I also knew more on the subject when I left instructions for Lucius. I did create the ritual from scratch. There were bound to be some rough patches the first time around.”
Harry snorted, “You did not expect to have a second chance at it, surely.”
“Did you learn anything else of interest?” Voldemort inquired, ignoring him.
“Bits and pieces.” Harry nodded. “Angela Lovegood has become the ministry’s top potions expert. A mistress in the field, apparently, though not as gifted as Snape. Luna’s taken over the Mysterious Unmentionables and Other Unidentified Miscellaneous department at the ministry.”
“Speaking of, Calib Lovegood has become extremely interested in angels. I saw his book over on the bookshelf. It relates the story of the angelic possession his daughter and her friend experienced.” Voldemort chuckled. “He’s particularly interested in locating the two angels, one Tom and Harry, who came to them to save his wife.”
Harry stared in amazement. “Oh my. Does that mean he’s not running The Quibbler anymore?”
“I didn’t hear anything on that.”
They exchanged smiles.
“Do you think this is real?” Harry finally asked.
“You don’t?”
“I did, until this.” Harry flushed. “I mean, can things actually turn out this well? For both us and the wizarding world?”
“Gin,” Cepheus came over, smiling down at his wife. “I know it’s still early yet, but we really should go, what with your appointment in the morning.”
“All right.” Harry smiled.
He and Tom both stood, and Tom hugged him, much to Harry’s surprise. “Of course it can work out so well, brat.” He murmured in Harry’s ear. “And if I can believe that, there’s no reason you can’t.”
Harry smiled at him before the world dissolved around him.
Epilogue: The Beginning
Voldemort suspected he would never get used to being in once position only to find himself in another one a split second later.
He had been standing beside Harry, who looked like Ginny Malfoy, in the middle of a dwindling party. Now he found himself seated in a wing backed chair, a book propped open on his lap, and a glass of brandy dangling in one hand.
At least he was in an adult male body. Being both female and a child was disturbing.
Voldemort glanced at the book, surprised to see it was familiar to him. He thought he was the only person existing to have a copy of The Extensive Works of Lydia Blackbane. It was a tome of dark magic dating back to the seventeenth century, and the only other two copies were destroyed decades ago.
Voldemort frowned. Something wasn’t right. Where the hell was Harry? The brat should have ended up somewhere near him.
Then there was the little matter of who he currently was. Some man with a book he shouldn’t have had.
Voldemort conjured a hand mirror without a thought. Lifting it, he looked into it, and stared. Slowly, he lifted a hand to his face. It felt real.
“Fuck me.” Voldemort said. Except he wasn’t Voldemort anymore. He was a forty-something Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Harry glanced around the suddenly different, empty room. He was still at the burrow, but now he was in the kitchen, standing over the sink, peeling potatoes.
He was also male again, much to his relief.
“Harry!” Ron charged into the room. “Where is Bill? I’m gonna hex that bastard--”
“RONALD!”
Ron froze and winced. “Mum, when I said bastard I really meant--”
“Ronald Weasley, you go set the tables outside this instant. Is this how we behave during a family reunion?” Molly shouted at him. “It was difficult enough getting the entire family together without you starting fights all over the house.” She glared Ron out of the room before turning to Harry. “Harry, dear, you shouldn’t be in here cooking! Leave that to me, and go outside and chat with the boys.”
Harry shook his head, feeling dazed. People were calling him Harry. “I, er, just need to run upstairs a moment.” He told her. Before she objected, he added, “Then I’ll head outside.”
Harry practically ran up the stairs, diving into the bathroom right before Ginny had the chance to. “Sorry, Gin!” He called from the other side of the door. Harry rushed over to the mirror and nearly jumped out of his skin.
Staring in the mirror, he found himself looking back at the twenty-three year old version of himself he’d left what felt like a lifetime ago. Or five lifetimes to go.
Except, Harry noticed, he wasn’t quite the same. His glasses were silver-rimmed and oval. He looked taller, and his hair was longer and, much to his amazement, lying relatively flat. This definitely wasn’t the Harry Potter he’d left however long ago.
So I’m home? He wondered. “But then why aren’t I at Riddle Mansion?” He asked out loud.
At that moment, Ginny magicked the door open. “Are you still on about that, Harry?” Ginny sighed. “You can’t sulk around just because you leave for a few days!”
Harry gave her a startled look in the mirror. “What, Gin?”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Stop pouting and try to have fun! You’ll be back there in a matter of days now.” She shoved him toward the door. “Now get out! I need to freshen up. Prat.”
Harry walked back down the stairs, more confused than before.
Tom waited impatiently for Lucius to arrive. It was clear Lucius had followed the instructions Tom had left him years ago, even if it only felt like a week ago. He just hadn’t expected it to work so well, or for things to work out at all.
Time and history weren’t supposed to be that flexible.
There was a knock at the door.
“About damn time.” Tom muttered, flinging the door open. “Lucius!”
Lucius stared in surprise, “...Tom?”
“Tom?”
“Is something the matter?”
Tom stared at him. “What is going on?” At Lucius’ baffled look, Tom shook his head. “Never mind. Forget that question. Why am I...” He sighed. “All right. Forget that too. Where’s Potter?”
“Potter?” Lucius blinked. “You mean Harry?”
“Of course I mean Harry! Who bloody else would I mean, Lucius?”
Lucius paused for a long time. “Harry Black is with the Weasleys at their family reunion, I’m sure you remember.”
Voldemort frowned, “What... No, not that question either. Lucius... dammit.”
“Should I summon Harry? I know you don’t wish to intrude on his time with his family, but I am quite sure he wouldn’t mind.” Lucius said.
Tom couldn’t quite figure out what questions he should ask to avoid sounding like a lunatic, and it was clear Lucius wouldn’t be able to answer Tom’s questions without thinking him mad. In his position, he would think he had lost it too. He sighed. “Yes, Lucius, I would like to speak with Harry as soon as possible.”
Lucius nodded and excused himself.
He really wasn’t the Harry Potter he had left before. Harry shook his head as the Weasleys and various assorted others chatted around him.
Molly Weasley was shouting things from the kitchen window to Arthur, who was barbecuing on a Muggle grill; his latest Muggle contraption.
Ginny had flounced down to be greeted by a flirtatious Cepheus Malfoy. Fred and George kept hauling Hermione away from Charlie, who kept going off to find her five minutes after. Ron was engaging Harry, Blaise Zabini, and Bill in Quidditch arguments. The three were so caught up in their fight that none of them seemed to notice Harry wasn’t contributing to the conversation.
His mind was still on his short run-in with Sirius and Remus. He shook his head. Harry had run into them on his way downstairs. Sirius had looked amazing. And he’d acted completely adult, until Remus had gone off to offer Molly assistance. Then Harry noticed the twinkle as Sirius herded him into the living room.
“I know you won’t be a Black much longer, so I thought it was best to give this to you now--”
“What on earth are you talking about, Sirius?” Harry blurted out before he thought about it.
Sirius just rolled his eyes. “Don’t play dumb, Harry. I’m not blind. All the signs are there, and it’s just a matter of time.” He pulled Harry into a hug. “I still think the man’s a git, but he makes you happy for some reason I can’t fathom--”
“Sirus!” Harry sighed.
“Yes, yes, ‘be nice,’ I know.” Sirius said. “You know you’ll always be my son, no matter whoever you choose to,” Sirius made a face, “marry.”
“Sirius--”
“No, don’t argue. The signs are there, Harry!”
Harry just shook his head and remained silent.
“Since it is most likely not far off in the future anymore, I wanted you to have this.” Sirius offered him a small box.
“What is it?” Harry asked.
“Open it,” Sirius suggested with a grin.
Harry did. It was a signet ring. The Black signet ring. “Sirius, this is--”
“Yours.” Sirius interrupted. “It’s yours. You’ll always be a Black first, Harry.” He paused for a long moment. “A Potter first, technically, then a Black, and then... you know.”
Harry looked up from the ring, “Sirius--”
“Don’t argue, Harry.”
“So you gave it to him?” Remus beamed from the doorway. “He’s right, Harry. Don’t argue. Go outside and visit with the rest of your family. If you don’t, Molly will accuse us of taking up all of your time.”
Harry nodded dumbly. He gave them both a hug before he left, more because he was so happy to see them both. He needed time to process everything he was hearing.
“Harry!” Ron shouted, snapping his fingers in front of Harry’s face.
Harry snapped back to the present. “What, Ron?”
“You were off in your head again.” Ron informed him.
“I was just thinking!”
“You were sulking.” Three voices chorused.
Harry glared at the amused group. “I have nothing to sulk over, dammit.”
“Harry!” Molly called. “Harry, you have a firecall.”
Harry jumped up and headed toward the kitchen, eager to get away from the suddenly knowing grins and snickers. He was surprised to see Lucius Malfoy’s head sticking out of the fire when he arrived in the kitchen. “Er.” He said.
“Harry,” Lucius nodded at him. “I do hate to interrupt your reunion, but I believe it’s of the utmost importance you return home tonight. Tom seems quite... ah, distracted by something.”
Molly snorted and coughed. They both glanced at her. She looked back at them with an innocent expression. “I breathed in a little pepper.”
“Right.” Harry said. He turned back to Lucius. “Um, right, yes. I’ll return immediately. I just need to say good-bye to everyone.”
Lucius nodded and disappeared. Harry turned to Molly.
“Don’t worry, dear. You don’t need to say good-bye, I am sure everyone understands.” Molly said.
That wasn’t what Harry wanted to say. He wanted to ask where the hell he was supposed to go to, but it occurred to him that might be a strange question. Thankfully, he didn’t have to ask after all. Molly thought he was hesitating.
“Really, Harry!” She came over and tossed some floo powder into the fireplace. “Riddle Mansion!” She called. “Go, Harry. I’ll let the others know.”
Harry smiled gratefully at her before stepping into the fireplace.
Harry stepped into Tom’s library, shutting the doors behind him.
“You live in Riddle Mansion?” Harry said, surprised.
“It’s nice to know I am not the only confused one.” Tom commented. “Are you aware your name is Harry Black?”
“Er, yes, I was informed of that earlier today.” Harry shook his head, walking over to sit on the edge of Tom’s chair. “You look different.”
“So do you.”
“Not as much as you.”
“What, is this a competition, Harry?”
“No-oo. Are we... back, Tom?” Harry asked.
“It would appear so.” Tom said.
Harry fiddled with the button on his shirtsleeve. “Have we really changed so much?”
“Would you care to recap on what we know we changed?”
“Uh, no, let’s not.” Harry said.
They sat in silence for awhile. Being around each other was the only place the world seemed sane. At least there was another person who could verify the other wasn’t crazy.
"So if our old timeline never existed..." Harry frowned. "Then there was never a final battle, and we wouldn't have taken Felix Felicis either, right? How come we remember everything that happened if everything we remember happening didn't really happen--"
"Harry," Tom sighed, looking what Harry correctly labeled as exasperated bordering on blatantly irritated. "Don't analyze it too closely."
"...right." Harry made a face, "But--"
"Harry."
"Right." They sat in silence for awhile longer before Harry said, “How are we supposed to function if we don’t even know our own past? We remember things that didn’t happen!”
“I’ve been thinking about that, actually.” Tom said. “Lucius informed me you were Harry Black, and since then, I’ve been getting the feeling that I already knew that. You grew up with Sirius Black, and later with both Black and... Remus Lupin?”
Harry nodded, surprised. “You’re remembering things we didn’t experience?”
“More or less.” Tom said.
“I have been recalling that you’re the minister of magic, but I thought that was because we heard about it in the future.” Harry admitted.
“I believe we’re beginning to remember everything we should know. We will have to play it by ear for now, but I imagine after awhile we will have remembered everything from our... new pasts.” Tom said thoughtfully.
“Do you think we’ll forget the way things used to be?” Harry asked quietly.
“I’m not sure, to be honest.”
Harry shook his head, “At least things are happy here.” He nudged Tom with his shoulder. “I believe we’re dating, if everyone’s smirking comments at the reunion were anything to go by.”
“I got the same sense from Lucius.” Tom said. “Everyone seems to believe we’re quite dependent on each other.”
“Well, it could be worse.” Harry said casually.
“Yes, it could.”
“Huh.”
“What, Harry?”
“This is sort of like a new beginning for us.”
“I suppose it is.”
Part One
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Got here bunch of link that I don't remember where it began @_@
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I really enjoyed this. It was the first story with this pairing I've ever read and I liked your solution for both of them to find a new life and each other.
The traveling through other times and bodies was fun. I'm not sure which I liked best, but the whole 'meet the Malfoys' part was very enjoyable, as was the first jump. Poor Trelawney, nobody wants to be her ;)
I like happy endings so this was much more fun than Mrs. J.K.Rs ending to the series in my opinion. (Honestly, could she have been more cliched? Scorpio Malfoy, I ask you, what shall become of the poor child with that atrocious name...)
Thank you for sharing this, it was a fun read.
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Rowling's end was sadly cliched and...just kind of weird. I don't think anyone in fandom was terribly pleased with it. :(
Thank you! I'm so glad you enjoyed this. :D If you are interested in reading more Harry/Voldemort or Harry/Tom Riddle, I know a couple stories you might enjoy.
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I'm glad you enjoyed the fic! ♥
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