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His Twenty-Eighth Life	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Voldemort Views: 18821 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 11
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Chapter Twelve—Master of Death
Severus landed out of the Apparition and stared around. Then he shook his head. It was nonsensical to him that one magical child and one exhausted werewolf could have got this far, even if the child possessed the totally unexplained power to summon Dementors.
But he had investigated the whole of a wide circle around the Dark Lord’s lands, using Lupin’s wand as a way to trace his magical signature. There was no sign of them. It made Severus wonder if they had met up with a prearranged rescuer, someone who could have Apparated them beyond reach.
Do you wish to go back and tell that to the Dark Lord?
Severus swallowed and ended by taking a flask out of his pocket. The potion in it shimmered and turned, an unnerving dance of colors. It was literally the shade of a mirror, and would reflect anything around it. When Severus held it up in front of his face, it mostly reflected black and pale.
He did not wish to take the potion. But even less, at the moment, did he wish to go back to the Dark Lord with a report of failure. The Dark Lord had been worse than raging since Severus’s first report that he had discovered no trace of Potter or Lupin near the Manor; he had been cold.
To survive, Severus had to take the Mirrored Sight Potion.
He tore the cork from the flask and gulped down the whole of the strange, shapeshifting liquid before he could change his mind.
At once he slumped over, his hands pressed to his chest. There was a chill spreading throughout him, up and down until it felt as if it was touching all possible points of him, from his esophagus to his arse. He writhed with feeling, with hatred, and with cold, and then his sight tore away from him and raced into the distance.
He found himself looking out from the surface of a silver instrument.
*
What an extraordinary thing.
Albus knew very well that he was striving to keep his own fear under control with the thought, but it was also true. Harry Potter was like no being he had ever seen or imagined.
It wasn’t just the adult expression on his face as he looked around Albus’s office, or the Elder Wand that hadn’t left his hand since he came into the castle—even when Harry deliberately tried to open his fingers and let it go. Even the way he sat in his chair and accepted, with a faint smile, the lemon drop that Albus offered him was adult, but it wasn’t really that, either. There was a faint shimmer in the air around him that, when Albus concentrated and tried to focus the version of the Sight he had inherited that would only detect passive wizard magic, nearly blinded him.
No one else’s aura looked like that. Albus was accustomed to seeing himself as a bright light in his own mirrors when he looked hard enough, and Gellert had been a blazing fire. Tom Riddle had been a sullen shimmer of flames underground even as a child; the only thing Albus had been able to liken it to was volcanic lava getting ready to burst free. He had seen a few other people who shone like the edge of sunrise.
But this was the sun.
If Harry was really the Master of Death, of course, it made sense. For now, they were essentially making small talk, with Remus describing how he had been captured and Albus reassuring him that James and Lily were still his friends and had been prevented from contacting him only by their misplaced sense of guilt. But they had said nothing yet of how Harry and Remus had escaped, or what Harry was.
Beyond the Master of Death. That he is something else, I know.
Remus finally stuttered to a halt, and Albus faced Harry and said softly, “My dear boy. I rejoice that you’ve escaped, of course, but you have something to tell us, don’t you?”
“You first,” Harry said, in a voice so weary that Albus’s heart ached. At least the child had a blanket behind him—because, physically, he was still a child—and the chair nearest the fire. “I think you’ll be the one who can help me decide how to tell my parents.” He sipped at the tea Albus had given him.
“Forgive my bluntness, then, but: what are you?”
“A being who’s lived dozens of lives and hundreds of years,” Harry said quietly, gazing at him. “Probably because of this.” He shook his hand, and the Elder Wand still stuck to his palm as if glued. “Well, this and the other Hallows.”
Albus nodded slowly. He had wondered if Harry would make some pretense at concealing the truth, as he had been doing, but this sounded genuine. “Have you always been on the side of the Light?”
“No. But I’ve always helped fight and defeat Voldemort. Even when I was a Kneazle or a snake.”
Albus covered his confusion with a smile. It had never occurred to him that the Master of Death might be reborn as other than human—but then again, he hadn’t thought a lot about the Master of Death being reborn at all when he had craved the Hallows. If anything, he had thought, like Gellert, that they promised immortality in this life. “What happened when you were on the side of the Dark?”
“I was born into the Black family once.” Harry stared into his cup. “They always thought I was strange, but I had to reveal my Parselmouth abilities early in that life, so it was actually easier for them to accept my Light beliefs later, because I was strange from the beginning. I converted some of my cousins and one of my parents to following me into the fight against Voldemort.” He swallowed roughly. “And once I was born into the Malfoys, and a few times I was—a Dark creature. A Dementor, in my nineteenth life.”
Albus stared, and it wasn’t fear or disgust that was uppermost in his mind, but simple curiosity. “How in the world did you manage to fight Voldemort as a Dementor?”
Harry gave him a grim smile, and oh, his eyes were haunted. “I was horrified when I realized what I actually was. But the Dementors followed me as a leader. I was able to keep them—us—from allying with Voldemort. And it took me longer than it should have to figure it out, but I had the perfect weapon to handle Voldemort, too. He has Horcruxes keeping him alive. I don’t know if you’ve discovered that.”
Albus recoiled. “He—does.” It had been a suspicion, but not concrete, and not more than one.
“Yes. Seven, or possibly six, if he’s decided to count the piece of soul still in his body as one.” Harry sighed a little. “Dementors eat souls. I found the Horcruxes, sucked all the pieces of soul out of them, and then starved myself to death.”
Albus nodded slowly. The more he heard, the more he realized that this boy, or this soul, or this Harry Potter, or whatever one wanted to call him, had never been truly on the side of the Dark. He had made even his most twisted existence as a Dark being work to the advantage of the Light. That proved, above all, that Albus could trust him.
“What other abilities do you have, Harry?” he asked, leaning forwards intently. He could guess at a few of them, knowing what he did about the Hallows. It was time to see how honest Harry would be with him.
*
Harry winced when he heard the question. He had never realized how much he guarded his secrets until someone actually asked for them. It had been different with Voldemort; he’d just ripped through Harry’s mind and taken them, not caring if Harry wanted to protect them or not.
What if I need some advantage? What if someday Dumbledore—
Harry cut himself ruthlessly off from the thought. No, he didn’t really think that he would find himself on the wrong side of the war from Albus. Look at how close he had come to being on the same side of the war with Voldemort. He could forgive any personal betrayal. And in this case…
In this case, Albus already knew so much about him. It would be a relief, in some ways, to have someone know the whole.
“I can speak Parseltongue,” he began. “I have a perfect memory, and that’s why I can speak Parseltongue, too. It was a skill from my first life when I was Voldemort’s human Horcrux. I can speak to Kneazles. I can sense Voldemort’s magic when he’s near. I have a sensitivity to Dark Arts…”
He felt more and more vulnerable as he listed his skills, a feeling he irritably pushed away. This was what he’d chosen to do. Turning his back on Albus and the rest of them now would make no more sense than his insane self-protectiveness.
*
Severus staggered back as the grip of the Mirrored Sight Potion released him. He lay on the grass for long moments, his ribs heaving, his breath coming so raspily that he thought his throat would burn. Then he raised his hand and pushed his hair out of his face.
So. Now he knew a great deal more about Potter than he had known, including the fact that he was Master of Death and that he had been a Dementor in his nineteenth life—and apparently still had the ability to take that shape. He’d managed to cling onto the reflection of the silver instrument in Dumbledore’s office until he heard that much. It explained how Potter and Lupin had been able to travel so fast and far.
Severus had the knowledge he needed to return to the Dark Lord and make sure he would be not only blamed for what had happened, but welcomed.
But he remained still, and the prickling of nervousness in his muscles was only part of the reason.
There were two parts to the nervousness. The first was that Potter was so powerful, and now joining the other side of the war. The years that the Dark Lord had kept him captive had either had no effect at all, or a negative one. Severus was not sure that he wanted to fight the Master of Death who could also, although Potter hadn’t said this, probably consume his soul.
The second was born of resentment. The Dark Lord had taunted Severus with the existence of this child, of knowledge that he could never grasp, and Severus had suffered in the past few years clinging to that anger, trying to prove himself worthy so the Dark Lord would let him speak to Potter again.
Only now did Severus suspect that the Dark Lord had had no intentions of doing so.
So.
Severus staggered up to his hands and knees, and then further up, until he was standing. He carefully brushed dirt and twigs away from his robes and hair, and faced the direction he would have to Apparate to go back to the manor.
An eye for an eye. Withheld knowledge for withheld knowledge. Severus would tell the Dark Lord some of what he had seen, but emphasize the bits that meant Potter would work against him. The Dark Lord would be irritated at the amount of wasted effort he had expended on trying to get a Potter to turn to the Dark when even being a Dark creature could not make him do that.
And Severus would have some knowledge held back that would enable him to survive. Perhaps even make an accord with the powerful being that, he suspected, would rise to lead the side of the Light. How could he not, when he was so much stronger than Dumbledore?
Severus wanted a foot on both sides.
*
Harry swallowed as Albus Apparated them to the edge of the powerful wards that concealed his parents’ house. He had been thrumming with tension since they’d finished their conversation and Albus had suggested he take both Harry and Remus home.
In the end, Remus had refused to come. He’d said he was too tired from the torture and wanted to recover under Madam Pomfrey’s expert care, but Harry suspected he knew the real reason.
And he couldn’t blame Remus. Not when his own parents’ guilt and fear had held them back from reaching out to their friend.
Is it going to do the same thing for me?
Harry had to bend over at the waist, dry-heaving with anxiety. It had been a long time since that had happened. He straightened back up and took a few slow steps forwards. Albus smiled kindly down at him.
“Harry. No matter what happened, you have maintained loyalty to the Light. Of course they will love and accept you.”
Harry nodded, but the part of him that was always thinking, the part that had a perfect memory, thought, No, that’s what you would need for you to love and accept me, old man. Lily and James are more complicated. Especially Lily. Harry shuddered as he remembered his ninth life, and the way his now-mother had stared at him with hatred and her teeth bared. She’d had reasons, since Harry couldn’t tell her the truth then, but it had still hurt.
Lily held grudges, almost as much as Snape.
Harry stepped slowly forwards. Dumbledore had cast a spell that would “knock” on the wards and tell them that he was coming, but Harry hadn’t asked if they could sense anything else, any other magical signature or human body.
It appeared they could.
The door of the house flew open, and Lily charged out, her wand aimed and ready. She probably thought some enemy had come along, Harry thought. His throat ached. He couldn’t breathe.
But then his mother’s eyes focused, and flew wide. She held a hand to her mouth, trembling, for a moment, and then slid her wand into her sleeve. She never took her eyes from Harry as she called out in a whisper.
“James.”
“What is it, Lils?”
His father stepped out, and saw him, and likewise froze. The walk across the space of grass and mud separating him from them was the longest he had taken in any of his lives.
But then a small shape launched himself from behind his parents and ran madly, silently, across the grass.
Not small, Harry had time to think before Jonathan crashed into him and bowled him over. Bigger than me. Just small relatively. And he wrapped his arms around Jonathan and clung ont the way Jonathan was clinging onto him.
“Jonathan…”
“No.”
Jonathan didn’t look up, didn’t turn his head. He just held Harry, and then he started talking, his voice low and broken.
“I knew you’d come back. I knew it. I never doubted it. You were always going to be here. I would have found you if you didn’t come back before I turned eleven…”
Harry held on. He’d never held someone like this before, he thought. There were still new experiences in all his lives, and this was one: holding an older brother who’d never given up on him after he was kidnapped. The other lives that happened to him, he’d been an only child, or once had a younger sibling born after he returned. This was new.
“Harry?”
That was Mum, coming closer. Harry tried to think of her as Mum, the teary-eyed woman of this world, not the fierce Lily Potter of other worlds she had no reason to know about. He tenderly held out his hand.
Mum took his and started weeping. It was a little uncomfortable for Harry, but he didn’t back away. They still thought he was a child. They had no reason to suppose otherwise.
“Harry, do you remember us?” That was James, his eyes so wide with wonder and fear and doubt that Harry felt a lump working its way up his throat. He would have held out his other hand, but Jonathan had an arm wrapped above his arm and showed no intention of letting Harry go any time soon.
“Yeah, Dad. I do,” he said.
James tried to scoop him up, but ended up having to lift both of them because there was no way Jonathan would let him go. Lily wrapped her arms around Harry from behind and wept against his shoulder. Harry closed his eyes and ignored the way that Albus tried to clear his throat. He would get no cooperation from Harry’s parents right now.
This was family. The way it should be. And if it shattered in the next few hours as they learned about Horcruxes and Hallows and how long Harry had lived, Harry would still carry the memory with him forever, unstained.
*
Jonathan leaned his head on Harry. He knew something was still wrong, because Mr. Dumbledore was standing there with that frown he only ever got when things went wrong. He had something to tell them about Harry.
But for right now it didn’t matter. Harry was back. Jonathan was holding onto him.
He was going to protect Harry no matter what happened.
*
InvidiaRed: A very sticky puppy!
Anaelyssa: Oh, yes. You will get plenty of conversations with Dumbledore and POV's of his, too.
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His Twenty-Eighth Life