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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
- 26
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- 28
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Twenty-Seven—The Clearing of the Fog
Jonathan frowned at the parchment in front of him. He knew he’d been working on an essay for Transfiguration, but at the moment, he couldn’t remember exactly what he had written. Or why he’d been scribbling away on it like it was life and death. He sat back and carefully read the essay again.
It seemed correct. He knew Professor McGonagall would probably like it. But it was already three inches longer than the required length. Jonathan wrote a hasty conclusion and looked around.
Cedric sat on one side of him. It seemed strange that the twins and Acanthus weren’t there, but then Jonathan looked up and saw them marching towards him. Their faces looked like Harry’s when he read Voldemort’s letters, sometimes.
“Hey, you lot,” he said, wondering what was wrong.
Acanthus raised her eyebrows. The twins stopped walking and looked at each other. Even Cedric turned around and stared. Jonathan scowled at them all. “What’s wrong?” he asked, while Acanthus sat down across from him and the twins took positions on either side of her.
“This is the first time all week that you’ve deigned to notice us,” Acanthus said.
Jonathan blinked and sought in his head for some reason why that would be true. He remembered seeing his friends in the corridors. And Cedric in the common room, of course. He knew he’d spoken to them about essays and homework. Had there been times he ignored them without meaning to? “What do you mean?”
Acanthus began to cast spells. They were privacy charms, Jonathan realized with a little start. He thought that was strange, but maybe she had some reason for wanting to have them.
When they were all around the library table, Acanthus leaned forwards and murmured, “You’ve acted enchanted all week before this.”
Jonathan gripped the sides of the table. For a minute, he felt sick, like he had the one time he ate too much ice cream when he was nine. Then he swallowed and asked, “I was ignoring you?”
“Yeah, mate. It was—”
“Weird, and not like you. Do you think you could—”
“Refrain from doing that in the future? It would help us—”
“Play better pranks. Hard to play them when you’re scared for a friend.”
Jonathan swallowed again. Then he said, “I promise I’ll try to be better.”
“Do you have any idea who cast the enchantment on you?” Acanthus asked.
“Was there even an enchantment?” That was Cedric, who Jonathan had noticed liked to try to find explanations that meant nobody got blamed.
“I think there had to be an enchantment,” said Jonathan. “I feel better now. My mind is clearer. I suddenly realized I don’t remember how I got here or when we left the common room.” He stretched his arms above his head. “And I have my suspicions.”
“Who? Have to—”
“Share, mate, so we can punish them.”
“If I tell you, then you’re going to be in danger,” Jonathan told them quietly. “We maybe shouldn’t even be meeting like this, because it would mean that the spell has ended and he might be able to figure it out.”
“He? That narrows it down.”
“It does indeed, George.”
Acanthus gave the twins an impatient glance and turned back to Jonathan. “What if we choose to risk this danger alongside you?”
Jonathan gaped at her. He thought Slytherins were fine, unlike the way Dad and Sirius talked sometimes, but he had no idea why a Slytherin from a family who was usually Dark and fought on Voldemort’s side would want to run a risk alongside him. “What if he used the same spell on you?” he asked, when Acanthus just sat there with the same look on her face.
“Then he would have a nasty surprise.” Acanthus smiled, but she didn’t say why. “Tell us, Jonathan. You’re important. If you have enemies, then they might eventually threaten the wizarding world. Sitting here and refusing to say anything is ridiculous.”
Jonathan hesitated once more. Then he said, “I’ll tell you, but it has to be later. For right now, I have to act like I didn’t wake up. So you stay with me and work on essays and we’ll play Gobstones, and it’ll look natural.” He picked up his book and went back to looking at as if he’d never had the conversation.
His belly was churning, meanwhile. He knew it was Dumbledore. It had to be. There was no reason for him to not remember their conversation right and for him to suddenly trust Dumbledore when he hadn’t fully done that for months. And he knew Harry had probably freed him from the spell somehow.
Jonathan always wrote to Harry, but he’d neglected that for the last week. He’d just sent short notes saying he was all right. So he would slowly, gradually change the notes, and he would try to meet Harry away from the castle. Or come up with a code if he had to, so they could still talk in the short letters.
Did Mum and Dad notice anything wrong?
Then Jonathan remembered how Dad had ruffled his hair when he’d said he would write every week, and shaken his head. “I want you to have fun at Hogwarts, Jonathan. Writing to my parents was never much fun.”
They’re so different from me, Jonathan thought wistfully. They didn’t ask for me to be different. I’ll try to protect them.
But he really had to talk to Harry as soon as he could.
*
Lord Voldemort paced slowly through the corridors of his manor. He was aware of the glances that followed him, the wary ones as well as the covetous ones. He had come back from the encounter with Harry a week ago, and none of his Death Eaters had known what to make of the—
It was pleasure. Of course it was. But Lord Voldemort, genius that he was, recognized the quiet shine of this pleasure that was as different from the other kinds he’d experienced as Harry’s eyes were from emeralds.
He had enjoyed what they had achieved together.
Lord Voldemort could not remember the last time he had worked with someone on more than a single ritual or an attack. It was strange to consider that he might want to do it again.
He came around a corner, and Bellatrix threw herself on her knees before him with a wail. “Forgive me, my Lord! Forgive me! I tried, and I tried, and I couldn’t do it! They have him too well-protected!”
Lord Voldemort paused to study her. He could feel something rippling and waking as slowly as new-kindled flame inside him. He suspected that he might know what Bellatrix was talking about, and if he did…
“Rise, Bella,” he said, in the same kind of cold voice she would expect from him. She stood and stared at him in cringing adoration. “I require you to give me access to your mind that I might view your efforts and decide on the punishment for your failure.”
“Of course, my Lord, of course. Only allow me to continue to serve you.” Her eyes shone with tears that reminded Lord Voldemort of the glitter of venom. He reached out and held her chin still, steadying it so that he could plunge within.
“That depends on what I find,” he said, and dived.
Bellatrix’s thoughts whirled past him, as chaotic as usual. The Black family madness had gripped her the moment she slid out of the womb. Lord Voldemort discarded memories of training, of duels with other Death Eaters, of lovemaking with her husband that Bellatrix got through by fantasizing his face in place of Rodolphus’s—Lord Voldemort was coldly amused—and into the memories she was all but shoving at him.
He saw the conversation with Severus. He saw Bellatrix lurking outside the wards of the Potter house, poking and testing them for some quest on the way through. He saw her follow Jonathan Potter when he went to the Longbottoms’ house or the Weasleys’ or some other, but he always had adult wizards around him, and she didn’t dare to attack. Then he went to Hogwarts, and it tipped the fragile balance of Bellatrix’s mind. She knew she would never be able to get to him through the stronger defenses there and the presence of Albus Dumbledore himself.
Lord Voldemort snapped free and said, “Crucio,” in a voice so calm that it didn’t sound as if it was coming out of his own mouth.
Bella screamed in agony as she writhed on the floor. She was the only person he knew who could speak coherently through the pain curse. “Yes, yes, Master! Punish your Bella! Give her what she deserves! Kill her if you wish! But I beg to stay alive to serve you only! My life is yours!”
It would have been, if he had willed it so. But Lord Voldemort ended the torture curse and stared down at her in thought. He would deal with Severus later, when he had thought of some other punishment that would make death seem like heaven. But Bella’s mind could be twisted and bent in entertaining ways, and he had a thought that pleased him deeply.
“Rise, Bella.”
She did at once, even though her legs were still trembling and her hands shivered too much to hold a wand. And still her eyes stared at him with mad devotion, which he prized only less than Harry’s kind of devotion.
Lord Voldemort let his own pleasure shine through again at the thought, and Bella swayed. “The Potter boys are mine,” he told her. “As much mine as the artifacts that the Death Eaters have collected and brought here. As much mine as the books in the library. As much mine as the brand on your arm marks you mine.” He fed pain through the Dark Mark, and Bella didn’t even scream this time, but panted in ecstasy. “So. You will protect them. Not kill them. I will decide what to do with them. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” Bella stared at him as if her eyes had the power to reach the piece of soul he had left. “I should have come to you before, my Lord. When Severus began to say such strange things.”
“Severus has suffered the side-effects of a curse that leave him unable to comprehend many things anymore,” Lord Voldemort said, delighting in the intricacies of the truth as he spoke them. “Yes, you should not trust him anymore. Go back to Hogwarts. Watch over Jonathan Potter from a distance. Make sure that he comes to no harm while flying or from the beasts of the Forbidden Forest.”
“And Harry Potter, my Lord?”
“He is mine.” Lord Voldemort didn’t bother to hide the possessive lash in his words. “You will leave him to me. Now, go.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Bella walked away, her smile restored and gleaming on her mad face, perhaps thinking of all the ways that Lord Voldemort might punish Harry Potter when he spoke of him like that.
I only want him here. I want to speak to him again. I want to begin learning the magic that he has hinted exists, other ways of immortality and ways of seeing death. I want—
Lord Voldemort rose like a dark phoenix from the ashes of his obsession. He could not only think of Harry all the time. He had to monitor his Death Eaters. He had missed a plot like this one between Severus and Bellatrix that he should have seen. He had to pay attention to them.
But he needed Harry’s presence as he had once needed knowledge of the Horcruxes.
He would have to speak to Harry as soon as possible.
*
Harry held the letters in his hands and looked between them, shaking his head. If anyone had told him that at one point he would have to choose between opening a letter from his brother and one from Voldemort first, he would have assumed they were as mad as Fenrir Greyback.
But for now, he did want to know that his brother was all right, and Voldemort’s summons had to be less urgent. He opened Jonathan’s envelope.
Dear Harry,
I wanted to let you know that school is fun! I’m still friends with Cedric, and I have friends in almost all the Houses now. Even the twins are the same. Being Sorted into Slytherin hasn’t made them different at all. You remember that birthday party of mine where they stuck my ear to your ear? They’re exactly like that, all the time.
And I’m not feeling as tired and foggy as I was a while ago. I think going to sleep on time and studying with my friends has made me a better student. I think I need to be. I need to study, or how can we defeat our enemies?
Studying with my friends is a lot more fun than studying alone.
I hope you’re doing okay. I can’t wait until you’re at Hogwarts with me! And thank you for being my brother.
Then there was just Jonathan’s signature.
Harry sat down in his chair in front of the fire, staring at the letter. He wanted to whistle, but it would draw his parents’ attention, and that was…inadvisable for right now.
His brother was an incredibly accomplished liar for someone so young, although Harry mourned that he’d ever had to learn that skill. He’d written the whole letter in a kind of code that wasn’t really a code at all, so someone like Dumbledore reading it would think it was an ordinary letter.
He’d reminded Harry of the prank that the twins had pulled a few years ago because the twins had said that they wanted to be sure Harry and Jonathan could pass secrets between their brains without anyone listening. He was saying his friends had noticed his odd behavior under the spell and stuck by him. And his brain was waking up. And Jonathan had just referred to “their enemies” instead of Voldemort.
And he was asking for Harry’s presence, not in a few years when Harry would be old enough to attend Hogwarts, but now.
Harry stood, ready to go, and then noticed the letter from Voldemort lying on the table. He hesitated. Well, it didn’t look thick. He would take the time to read it before he went.
When he opened it, it was actually a single sheet of paper. And there was a single line on it, if two sentences.
You are mine. When can I see you again?
Harry dropped the letter and stood staring at it. Then he waved his hand and incinerated it in a short, controlled burst of elemental fire.
He could not believe Voldemort had sent him something like that. His skin crawled as he went upstairs to say good night to his parents and plant an illusory copy of himself in his bed, while he Apparated to Hogwarts.
You knew he was possessive. You know that he wanted to learn magic from you that he thinks no one else is powerful enough to learn.
Yes, Harry had known those things. But it was sheer madness for Voldemort to want him, to desire him, when he knew that Harry had killed him in so many worlds. And Harry wasn’t sure that Voldemort was capable of feeling bodily lust or true desire. It would only fuel his twisted obsession, which was about magic and power, not Harry.
Harry couldn’t imagine detaching himself from Voldemort completely, not when they had shared what they had while clearing Jonathan’s mind, but perhaps it would be best to stay away from him for a little while. Just long enough to let Voldemort’s obsession wane and his focus on the magic come back.
Yes, that’s likely to happen. He can’t possibly want….
Harry shook his head, sneaked outside when Lily and James went back downstairs, and Apparated to Hogwarts.
*
Jonathan strode alongside the battlements beside Harry. Harry had been able to get inside the Hufflepuff common room while invisible, of course, and then bring him out of it without alerting anyone. Then he had taken Jonathan by the arm and flown around the castle with him, until they were high on the Astronomy Tower, which wasn’t being used by any Astronomy classes tonight.
His brother knew lots of brilliant magic, but Jonathan thought flying was the one he would most like to learn. It was just fun.
“So what are we going to do?” Harry asked him softly. “You know it was Albus who did it. I plan to stand against him, but not openly, not right away. And you can do anything you want. You don’t have to follow me.”
Jonathan stared at him, and then he reached over and gently slapped Harry on the forehead.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking for fever. You’re delirious, right? If you think that I’m ever going to stop following you and protecting you, little brother.”
“But I was the one who caused this by telling Dumbledore that I’m the Master of Death. You don’t have to be involved if you don’t want to. You can just stand back and I’ll make sure that you’re well out of it.”
Jonathan smiled at him. Harry was speaking those words with wide, earnest eyes, and he looked up at Jonathan as if he thought Jonathan just needed a little convincing. As if everyone would walk away from him if he could convince them well enough.
There are some people who might, Jonathan thought sadly then, remembering how Remus avoided Harry’s eyes whenever he visited their family. But there are others who won’t. Voldemort might not even do that. That’s so weird to think about.
Jonathan shook the thought away and said, “You didn’t cause the war. Dumbledore did. He just decided to think stupid things about you being the Master of Death because he’s stupid and insecure.”
“Jonathan.”
“What? I shouldn’t say those things about him because he’s my professor? I know you don’t believe that, little brother.”
“I think it might make you harder for you to act the way you need to around him.” Harry sighed. “You know that you have to pretend not to wake up all the way? He can think his curse is losing strength, a little, which it would do anyway during the times when you’re away from him. But when you’re with him and some other times, you need to act the way you did when you were under it.”
“I know. I was thinking about that. What happens when he reads my mind and sees that’s not true?”
“I can put a natural Occlumency wall in your mind. I mean, if you’ll let me. It’s a pretty intrusive thing to do to someone, and—”
“I trust you.”
Harry’s eyes widened and blinked. Jonathan felt a little sad. Harry thought everyone distrusted him and hated him. Well, he’d have to get used to his brother trusting him.
“All right. Kneel down and let me look into your eyes.”
Jonathan did. He sometimes thought he could remember the moment when Harry freed him, at least in his dreams from the past week. It felt as though someone had hugged him and held him for a while, and when they let him go, all his wounds were healed.
Now he knew. It was his brother.
It was the same way now, except that Harry was moving more delicately and now and then he rested a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder like he was trying to brace himself. Then he drew back with a gasp and shook his head. “There. It’s done. And it’s woven into the rest of your thoughts, so Dumbledore won’t realize it exists. He’ll just think that you’re really not having those thoughts at all, that they don’t happen.”
“Thank you.” Jonathan sighed and stood up. “And there’s something else I can do to help with the war.”
“What? Jonathan, I don’t want you getting hurt—”
“I can bring some people to our side. My friends. They already care about me, and one of them is Acanthus Parkinson. She can bring her family over.”
Harry drew in a deep, silent breath, and muttered something that Jonathan could only make out a few words of, like “Voldemort” and “insane.” Then he nodded. “But only do that by being friends with them and being careful. I don’t want to see what Dumbledore will do to you if he figures out that you’re free.”
“Because he might do something you couldn’t reverse?”
“No. Because he might do something that would make me murder him the instant I found out about it.”
Jonathan blinked. Then he blinked again. And Harry was already looking at him with eyes full of remorse, and an open mouth.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. But I do get murderous and protective sometimes, and that means—”
Jonathan leaned over and hugged him.
Harry swallowed air, then cautiously put his arms around Jonathan. And Jonathan could feel him relaxing so deeply that it must have meant some chain snapped inside him.
“It means a lot,” Harry whispered. “To know that you can accept everything I am.”
Jonathan didn’t say anything. He just held on tighter. He could accept everything about his brother. If he killed Dumbledore. If he turned to the Dark. If he decided to stop fighting the war and be a clown for the rest of his life. If he fell in love with Voldemort.
Anything.
*
Anaelyssa: The connection between Harry and Voldemort is pretty deep! But deep enough to freak Harry out a little, now.
Fenrirsboy: Once Jonathan realizes what has been done to him, he's smart enought to keep it quiet, yes.
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His Twenty-Eighth Life