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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
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Chapter Twenty—The Movement of Minds
“You just never are going to get used to him, are you?”
Remus folded his arms. “Don’t tell me you’re used to him. Because I don’t believe that, Black.”
Sirius sighed a little. Things were really bad when Remus called him by his last name. “I don’t know if I can just wake up every day and say to myself, ‘Hey, one of my best friends’ kids is actually an immortal being who’s also a Dementor!’ But I’m trying, you know, Remus? He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”
Remus looked away. His nostrils were flaring, which made Sirius wonder if Harry somehow smelled wrong to him and that was a factor in how Remus treated him. But he honestly had no idea, so he kept quiet, and Remus finally sighed and got up to wander around the room.
Sirius watched him. When he’d inherited Grimmauld Place because Reggie had vanished somewhere unknown, he’d changed the décor completely. Gone were the house-elf heads, gone was every gloomy piece of black paneling, gone were the huge heavy frowning dark bookshelves packed with Dark Arts books. Sirius had bought furniture in shades of white and gold and rich cream and painted all the walls either red, gold, or robin’s-egg blue. Plus he had mirrors everywhere. He could see Remus’s face better in the mirror over the fireplace at the moment than he could head-on.
Remus looked incredibly unhappy.
“What is it, Moony?” Sirius made his voice gentle. “Is it just because Lily and James—and me—made that stupid mistake where we abandoned you for so long, or is it because Harry somehow smells wrong to you, or what?”
Remus let out a harsh breath and leaned his forehead against the mirror. “Something of all of those, perhaps. But worst of all, Harry seems to have accepted being a Dementor.”
“I don’t think he really has. I mean, he’s told me how much he hates that life, and he could have escaped You-Know-Who any time he chose but he hates it so much he didn’t want to use that power—”
“But he did accept it, Sirius! He embraced the power enough to use it!”
“So. This is about you never having really accepted that you’re a werewolf, right?”
Remus cringed, and didn’t answer. Sirius got up and crossed the room to put his hand on Remus’s shoulder. His own reflection in the mirror looked determined. Well, good. Sirius really wanted Remus to be able to get past this. Sirius didn’t think he was on perfect terms with Harry yet, but he wanted to be.
“We made a stupid, idiotic mistake thinking we couldn’t trust you just because you were a werewolf. We were all idiots, and I’m sorry. But I don’t think you can decide because of that you can’t trust Harry.”
“He knows so much,” Remus replied, his voice a soft rumble that made Sirius squeeze his shoulder again. “He could do so much. And yet he hasn’t made one move to rid the world of Voldemort.”
Sirius blinked. “Er. Should he?”
“Of course! That monster took him away from his family!” Remus turned around and glared at him. “He fought him when he barely had the Elder Wand in his possession, and now he’s had it for years. Why doesn’t he go over there and obliterate him? I don’t think he’s frightened of the bloody pretentious Dark Lord! The only reason that makes sense to me why he hasn’t defeated him yet is if he likes him. Or pities him. Or is secretly on his side.”
Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it. He had to admit, Remus’s words made a certain kind of sense.
Except it didn’t seem right to him to put the whole burden of winning the war on a kid’s shoulders.
“Well, maybe,” was what he finally said. “When the war begins again—”
“It never ended.”
“But Voldemort and the Death Eaters aren’t actually attacking anymore.”
“And people are fools to let that lull them into thinking it means they’ll never need to fight again.” Remus shook his head, and although Sirius wouldn’t say it because it would hurt his feelings, his eyes were vividly green for a few seconds, the legacy of the wolf inside him. “I want to know why Harry hasn’t ended it yet. No one can give me a good reason.”
“Come have breakfast,” Sirius begged, wanting a distraction from this conversation that had his thoughts whirling around in his head like giggling children. “We can talk about it some more over breakfast.”
“I can’t, Sirius. I can’t eat the morning after a full moon, you know that.” Remus gave him an exhausted, embarrassed smile. “Besides, I have an appointment that I’ve been putting off for a while. I should go and just do it.”
Sirius blinked as he watched him leave. Remus hadn’t mentioned an appointment the night before, but then again, it was hard for him to concentrate on anything but the transformation when it was the night before a full moon. And Sirius hadn’t got a lot of sleep last night, either, what with transforming as Padfoot so Remus could have the company, even if they mostly just lay side-by-side in a locked room.
But Sirius didn’t think he was mistaken. He heard the echo of someone else’s words in Remus’s voice. He thought Remus sounded an awful lot like Albus instead of himself.
But then again, why is that a problem?
Sirius went to breakfast by himself, ignoring Kreacher’s muttering about his dead mistress, and worried at the problem he couldn’t solve or ignore.
*
“I just don’t see what’s wrong with Harry.”
Augusta frowned down her nose at her daughter-in-law. Alice was all right, but sometimes she did wish that Frank could have chosen someone different. They clashed a lot on the right way to raise Neville, as the heir to the impressive Longbottom legacy. “I didn’t say anything was wrong with him. I just think that Neville should associate more with Jonathan Potter.”
“Because he would have been the one to defeat You-Know-Who if the prophecy had worked out?” Alice gave her that exasperated, sidelong look that exasperated Augusta in turn, and glanced out the window of the drawing room. She could see the greenhouses from there—the greenhouses where Neville spent so much of his time. Augusta was about ready to give up in despair sometimes, she really was. What kind of talent was Herbology for a boy who was the son of an Auror and came from a family of battle mages?
“No, because he’s the stronger and more normal child.” Augusta watched Alice clench her hands. “You saw how quiet and tense Harry was at that party. We don’t know anything about what happened when You-Know-Who kidnapped him.”
“You think James and Lily should be eager to share details?” Alice’s glance slashed, this time. “I wouldn’t be eager if it had been Neville it happened to.”
Augusta folded her arms. “I think that most children would have been affected more than just being quiet and tense.”
“Make up your mind, Augusta. He’s too strange, or he’s not strange enough?”
“I don’t think he’ll be a good influence on Neville. Encourage him to spend more time with Jonathan.”
“Jonathan’s two years older. He’ll be off to Hogwarts by next autumn. What kind of friendship would it be if the boy had to desert Neville through no fault of his own? Besides, Neville likes Harry better.” Alice said that as if it decided matters, and then turned and smiled as she watched Neville come out of the greenhouse.
“How can you tell that?”
“Because he told me, Augusta.”
Augusta sat back with a frown. Neville hadn’t mentioned anything like that to her after those parties where they’d introduced the children to the Potters. And watching him walk out of the greenhouse and pet a tendril that seemed to be climbing his shoulder towards his hair, she couldn’t imagine why he might like the quiet boy better. Neville was quiet himself—not the sort of temperament that needed other people like it. He ought to be drawn to power, emulate power.
She watched Alice get up and hurry out of the room. She knew she was on her way to coddle the child.
Augusta sighed. Perhaps it was time to acknowledge that her own influence over her grandchild would be limited. Alice was his mother, and spent more time with him and had more of his confidence than she did.
That meant she had to do something else to prepare for the war that would come. She never doubted for a minute that You-Know-Who would come out of hiding when it suited him to do so. And probably half the population of the bloody islands would have forgotten how to fight a Dark wizard.
So she would contribute energy to handling the problem.
She went, found parchment, ink, and quill, and began to frown over the letter that she would send to that meddler called Albus Dumbledore. He was one of the few who had maintained the caution necessary to a war.
It didn’t mean Augusta intended to work under him, though. She would be making her own path, thank you.
*
Albus backed slowly away from the tomb, and resealed the door with an absent wave of his wand. Then he stood staring at the glittering golden stones that made it up. The name on the door, a fiction, said Gilbert Goldenhair in scarlet letters.
The letters would have dulled in a second if they’d been disturbed by Dark magic. And Tom carried such magic around him at all times now, a shivering, ashy cloak that hovered about his body. There was no way that he could have hidden a trip into that tomb.
Besides, Albus had just made one himself. The vast stack of books on Light magic and valuable Founders’ artifacts hadn’t been disturbed. He’d cast every detection spell he could think of, put his memories in a Pensieve in the tomb so that he could view the hoard from years ago, and finally resorted to counting the objects. But it seemed that either Tom had not been here, or he was so subtle that there was no way Albus could catch him at it.
Or he doesn’t know about it.
But that couldn’t be with the rumors Albus had been spreading. The Tom he knew would have jumped at the chance to raid Godric Gryffindor’s tomb, not so much from House hatred as simply to get his hands on more Founders’ artifacts.
No sign, though. That meant Tom was no longer focused on acquiring the objects that he would turn into Horcruxes. What was his plan? Albus had tried to guess, and other guesses had proven wrong as well.
Albus walked slowly away from the side of the green hill that the tomb was built into, and Apparated back to Hogsmeade. He was making his way down the road that led to the Three Broomsticks when a scratchy voice called his name from behind.
Albus turned around, and blinked. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken with Aberforth. “Yes, brother?”
Aberforth straightened up from his slouch against the door of the Hog’s Head and gave him a level blue glare. “Be careful, Albus.”
“I’m trying to be.”
“Not careful enough. I know what you’re trying to do with all your rumors and tricks and traps, and you’re not going to get what you want that way. I suppose I could tell you ‘Be honest,’ but that would require you to be honest with yourself, too.” Aberforth shook his head in disgust and ducked back into his pub.
Albus stared after him, then sighed. Aberforth was worse than him for dispensing cryptic bits of advice, even though he knew most people wouldn’t have believed that. It was just that Aberforth tended to stay in Hogsmeade instead of venturing forth to dispense them.
What does he mean, I can’t be honest with myself? Albus wondered as he went back up the path. I know exactly what has to be done. Stop Tom, stop Harry, make sure that no alliance of Dark wizards threatens this island by the time I go to my rest. Protect Hogwarts. I don’t know how to do that yet, that’s the problem.
A scrawny figure was waiting for him by the gates of the castle. Albus found himself walking more slowly on instinct and reaching for his wand, but he paused in surprise when he saw who it was. “Remus.”
Remus stepped forwards. “Albus, I want to help.”
Albus nodded slowly. “I always thought you did. Since you never formally resigned membership in the Order of the Phoenix—”
“No. I mean—I know that the war against Voldemort is important, and I do want to help with that, too. But I want to help specifically in the war against Harry. Because I know it’s going to be war, and Sirius and Lily and James aren’t going to listen to me about that child.”
Albus reached out and slowly put a hand on Remus’s shoulder. “Yes, I know. They’re too glad to have him back. Sirius had his suspicions, but he seems to be getting over them. Which might mean disaster if Harry can be persuaded to give Tom a chance.”
“So you know that he’s going to ally with him?”
“Fawkes showed me a frankly disturbing vision that seemed to indicate Tom will even submit to him.” Albus shook his head. “We don’t know how they’re going to move yet, but we have to be prepared for anything.”
“I just want to be doing something.” Remus’s voice was low. “And maybe be able to protect my best friends when it turns out that their son isn’t—what they thought he was.”
“I believe I may have just the task for you…”
*
Jonathan kept waiting for Harry to tell him the truth, but Harry never mentioned it, so finally Jonathan had to, on a day when they were outside in the back garden and Harry was showing him spells that could help pull weeds and water the flowers without using hands.
“You’re writing letters to Voldemort, right?”
Harry blinked at him. “How did you figure that out?”
Jonathan did have to roll his eyes. “Huge black owl comes to the house every so often, no one we regularly write to has one, owl snaps his beak at me like I’m an enemy whenever he sees me…it wasn’t hard to figure out.”
“Well, but Mum and Dad never seemed to notice.”
“Dad isn’t around half the time now that the Aurors have him again. And Mum is involved in raising those defenses for the next time Voldemort tries to hunt me. And I think they’re just glad that you’re—settling in and not traumatized.”
“It would take a lot more than three years with Voldemort to make me traumatized.”
Jonathan grinned. “Yeah, that was easy to figure out, too.” He knew that half the time, when Harry showed him a brilliant spell or told him things, he was the one doing the protecting, not Jonathan, and he was a lot stronger in some ways. That didn’t mean Jonathan would stop figuring things out and knowing Harry and protecting him. “But Mum and Dad don’t know you the way I do.”
“I know. They keep thinking that I can’t possibly be real.”
“Yeah. Like you’re a kid on the inside just because you’re a kid on the outside.”
Harry nodded silently. Then he said, “I really think I can stop the war this way, Jonathan.”
“By killing him?”
“No. By persuading him to agree to a treaty, or just keeping him so interested in magic he doesn’t know that he sort of—forgets about the war. He hasn’t mentioned taking over the wizarding world once in months.”
Jonathan made a thoughtful face. He knew, from everything he’d heard about Voldemort from Mr. Dumbledore and Mum and Dad and Remus and Sirius, that that wasn’t possible. But then again, he’d also heard that Harry was Dark and dangerous and a child and traumatized from them. So they didn’t know everything. “What do you think makes him so different from the others you’ve dealt with?”
“I’ve got theories, but no substance. It could be something that happened a long time ago and I have no way of finding out. Even in worlds where I was born closer to the time Voldemort started his rise, I never knew everything about his life. And I was mostly focused on helping people kill him so I could live the rest of my life.”
“Okay. So what’s changed with you? He did kidnap you for three years.”
Harry waved a hand like he was brushing away a fly. Jonathan narrowed his eyes. He loved his brother, but that was one thing that irritated him. Harry was powerful and brilliant and all, but he could still be hurt. He just acted like things that happened only to him didn’t matter.
“I just realized—I forgive people a lot,” Harry whispered. “There were times that Dumbledore did horrible things in the name of the greater good, but I always forgave him because of who he’d been in other worlds. And there was one world where Sirius—God, he was horrible, Jonathan. I had to kill him. I was crying the entire time, but what remained really wasn’t Sirius anymore. Nothing of him was left. That was hard to think about in other worlds, but I always managed it. I always accepted that he was different there.”
“Okay, but—”
“And Voldemort is the only person I never bothered to try and forgive. I just killed him or helped other people kill him.” Harry gave him a haunted glance. “Why is that? Why didn’t I try? It’s possible that this one will turn out to be thoroughly evil and lying to me and I’ll have to kill him, too. But I never gave him the chance I gave everyone else. And this one seems like someone I can give a chance.”
Jonathan shifted a little. “You can’t blame yourself for killing him in other worlds. You don’t, do you?”
“It’s not blame. It’s just wondering why I made up my mind up about him in my first life, but no one else. Why he was always the exception, while I walked around priding myself on how forgiving and tolerant I was.” Harry sighed. “Don’t worry. I still know he’s dangerous and he could be preparing for a war that’ll explode on some predetermined date. But I also know that none of the others could have pursued that tactic even if they thought about it. His intelligence already makes him different.”
Jonathan made a face. He hated the thought of forgiving Voldemort.
Then again, sometimes he looked into Mr. Dumbledore’s eyes and saw a man he thought he might not be able to forgive someday.
“I’ll support you, Harry. You know that. Just be careful.”
Harry grinned and hugged him. “Thanks, Jonathan. Honestly, with all the lives I’ve lived, you’re still the best big brother I’ve had.”
Jonathan wrapped his arms back around him, and hung on.
He always would.
*
Anaelyssa: Yes, a total of three oaths, one a month for three months.
Thank you!
Fenrirsboy: Even if Tom is emerging, it's going to be fucking hard to get Voldemort to admit it.
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His Twenty-Eighth Life