Title: In Light of a Living Memory

Author: Phantomwise

Characters: Harry, Voldemort

Ship(s): LVHP

Summary: Centuries after Lord Voldemort’s victory in the war, he is kept company by the memory of Harry Potter.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author’s Note(s): Well, for those who’ve read Through the Looking Glass, this is a sequel of sorts. Please note: OF SORTS. It doesn’t follow said story’s plot line, merely the scenario of what would happen if Harry is there.

In Light of a Living Memory

“Hello, Tom. Hard day?” Harry asked as he sat up from one of the worn burgundy armchairs facing the fireplace, watching Voldemort enter the library.

Voldemort grumbled something in response and head straight for the chair next to Harry’s. He collapsed onto it and sighed, staring into the fire. Not once did he glance at Harry.

Frowning, Harry made his way next to the clearly exhausted man. He plopped down onto the wine red carpet and stared up with strangely translucent green eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.

Weary ruby red locked with green and the frown fixated upon Voldemort’s face deepened. Instead of answering the question, he commented, “They’re not as bright today.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“Your eyes,” Voldemort elaborated, “they’re not as green as I remember them.”

Shrugging, Harry said, “I’m just a memory, Tom.”

“I know.” The Dark Lord sighed. He waved his hand resignedly and a dusty bottle and a glass appeared in mid air. The bottle tipped over and filled the waiting glass with a dark amber liquid. The filled glass flew towards Voldemort’s waiting hand, the liquid swaying softly within its crystalline confines. He took a sip, looking wistfully at it for a minute, before turning back to Harry, “I’ve always find your eyes interesting.”

A smile appeared in Harry’s face. “You do?”

Voldemort nodded absentmindedly, running a pale long finger around the glass’s rim. “They remind me of the Killing Curse.”

Harry’s smile deflated. “Oh.”

A silence descended upon the room as the Dark Lord finished his drink while Harry watched. As the empty glass disappeared, Harry asked once again, “What’s wrong?”

Sighing, Voldemort responded, “I’m tired of everything.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Everything? That’s a bit melodramatic, isn’t it? But then again, aren’t all Slytherins like that?”

Voldemort glared at him. “Consider yourself fortunate, Potter, that you’re just a memory and I can’t Crucio you.”

Harry merely smiled. Voldemort continued, his voice softer, “I’m sick of ruling the Wizarding World. Everyone’s either an idiot or a self-deprecating arse.”

Harry shrugged. “Then quit.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re Lord Voldemort. You’ll find something to do.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know!” Harry said, exasperatedly. Evenings like these had been increasing in number. Voldemort seemed to be suffering from some sort of mid-life crisis, despite the fact that he was well over his fifties and was nearing six hundred years old. “Why are you even asking me?”

“Because you’re the only one I can.”

Harry’s screwed up in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“As I’ve said, you’re the only one I can ask without needing to get through an eternity of groveling and saying how much of ‘an honor it is to be standing before my exalted presence.’ Repeatedly.”

“I thought you liked that.”

“Really, Potter. You’ve been with me for the past three centuries. I thought you knew me better.”

“Might I remind you that two of those three centuries was spent mocking, insulting, and generally keeping me locked in that stupid diary.”

Voldemort’s thin lips twitched while his pale face took on a wistful look. “Yes, I remember.” Shaking his head, he asked seriously, “I’ve been meaning to ask, why exactly did you preserve your memory?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “To keep you company, what else.” He replied sarcastically.

“I’m serious, Harry.”

“I’m Harry now, am I?”

“Potter, just answer the damn question.”

Harry quickly sobered. “I am—was—supposed to help those who would rebel against you.”

“Oh.” Voldemort said. He expected that answer. “Why aren’t you doing that?”

“Guess.”

“It’s the diary, isn’t it? You can’t be separated from it and since I have it…”

“I have no choice but to stay with you.” Harry finished. As he watched a smirk appear in Voldemort’s face, he said, “And I take it that makes you happy.”

“Very.” was the Dark Lord’s smug response. Standing up, Voldemort made his way over to the mahogany desk occupying one side of the library. He opened the first drawer and extracted a battered looking diary.

There was nothing about it that would betray its more preternatural properties. It had a shabby black cover with the word ‘JOURNAL’ stamped across the front in small, peeling gold letters. The pages inside were yellow with age and blank. Completely blank with the exception of the dates printed in fading black font.

“A diary, Harry?” Voldemort mused, making his way back to the armchair. “Taking inspiration from me, have you?”

“What are you talking about—” Harry started but quickly stopped. His face screwed up in annoyance at the realization. “It was convenient at the time. We knew you wouldn’t dare burn books, so a diary should pass by unnoticed.”

He looked up at Voldemort and continued. “And it did, for three hundred years; you didn’t know the memory of your enemy was alive.”

“Until one of my idiot followers came running to me, saying—no, screaming that there was a possessed book in the archives. Along with a thousand others, of course.” Voldemort added pointedly.

“I just happen to be very special.” Harry said dryly.

Voldemort chuckled, taking Harry off guard. “And you are, Harry. You’re very special. No enemy of mine should ever be ordinary. Dead, alive, or something in between.”

“I’m dead, Tom.” Harry pointed out bluntly. The light atmosphere plummeted to a more serious one.

Voldemort frowned. “I know, Harry. There’s no need to remind me.”

“On the contrary, you do need reminding. I think you sometimes forget I’m dead.”

“How can I not, when you are sitting right in front of me, alive and talking?”

Harry gave Voldemort a long, scrutinizing look, as if searching for something. It seemed that he didn’t find it as he sighed and lied back on the carpet, staring up into an enchanted ceiling, just like in Hogwarts. “Not alive, Tom. Merely given consciousness.”

Voldemort opened his mouth, ready to say something about Harry being overly subjective, but the memory of the boy continued, “Actually, it’s not even supposed to be possible for me to leave the diary. It wasn’t a Horcrux, like yours. Merely a pensieve in the form of a diary and given the ability to respond.”

“Are you sure you didn’t accidentally transfer some of your soul into it?” Voldemort asked.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t really know. We were in a hurry to create this.”

Voldemort raised an eyebrow in question. “In a hurry? Why would you be in a hurry?”

Harry turned his head towards the Dark Lord, “What is it with the questions today?”

“Would you rather go back to the diary?”

Harry’s eyes darkened. “I’d rather you don’t. You have no idea what it’s like being stuck inside there.”

“I’m curious, Harry. Tell me.”

“It’s dark, first of all. Actually, I don’t even know if it’s dark or light. It doesn’t exist there along with everything else. It’s like being imprisoned and having all of your senses taken away. Touch. Taste. Smell. Sight. Sound. Everything. It’s maddening. You know what those things are, that they exist, but you can’t have them, because they don’t exist there.” Harry sat back up, resting his head against one of the arms of the chair Voldemort occupied and hugging his knees to his chest. “As you can tell, I didn’t like it very much.”

Harry lost himself in those memories. He thought he was going insane while stuck in the diary for three centuries, and actually became insane for a moment or so, until he felt someone write in the diary. The ink to him was like water to a thirsty man. He gobbled it up, not even noticing what words were being written, the word ‘Lord Voldemort’ formed in the ink. He didn’t. He simply rejoiced in the fact that someone had found him.

Then, Harry was drawn back to reality when felt something on top of his head, fingers running through his hair. He looked up and saw Voldemort looking at him pensively, one hand clutching the diary tightly, the other in Harry’ hair, while whispering softly, “Harry. Poor Harry. Poor, little Harry.”

Harry’s eyelids drooped, letting the gentle rhythm of the fingers wash through him. It felt so good, so comfortable, so very, very right that he could just close his eyes and go to sleep, while Voldemort—

Voldemort! Harry’s drooping eyelids shot open and he stood up in alarm while the Dark Lord regarded him languidly.

“Did you not like it, Harry?” He asked.

Harry felt his cheeks get hotter. He did like it. He did, but the hell, it was Voldemort! He wasn’t supposed to like it. It was against every law of man and the gods.

“I—I—” Harry sputtered, shifting uncomfortably as he ran an agitated hand through his hair.

“You did, didn’t you?” Voldemort said, knowing the answer full well. He stood up and walked nearer to Harry, standing merely inches away from the boy. He cupped Harry’s chin gently and tilted the conflicted face towards him.

He whispered with a husky voice, “Admit it, Harry. You liked it. You liked it very, very much. So much that you want more.”

“I—Voldemort—I—”

“Ask and ye shall receive, Harry. Isn’t that what Muggles say?”

“Please—don’t—”

“You need me as much I need you.” Voldemort said, embracing the boy closer to him and he whispered confidingly into the other’s ear, “We need each other, Harry. So much, that it even transcends death.”

The Dark Lord was caressing Harry’s cheek gently, descending down onto his neck and down and down and down. “I want you so much, Har—”

“Stop!” Harry shouted as he wrestled his body from Voldemort’s embrace. After catching his breath, he adjusted his askew glasses and his Gryffindor tie. Being a memory of the seventeen year old Harry Potter, he still wore his Hogwarts robe.

“I’m—I’m sorry.” Voldemort apologized uncertainly, dropping back onto the armchair, “I didn’t know what came over me.”

He looked onto Harry, red eyes colored with confusion. Sighing, the former Gryffindor sank back down onto the carpet, careful to distance himself a little from Voldemort. “Let’s—let’s just forget this ever happened, Tom.”

“I agree.” Voldemort said quietly.

A heavy silence descended upon the library, only the crackling of the fire disturbing it. They were lost in their own thoughts, contemplating what had just transpired, trying to erase it. Then, Voldemort said, “You never did answer my question.”

“What question?” Harry asked sharply.

Voldemort looked towards Harry, the boy staring into the fire. “Why were you in a hurry to create the diary?”

“Oh, that.” Harry said, “We were losing the war. The diary was a form of… insurance.”

“You knew you were going to lose?”

“Of course, I wasn’t blind.”

“You could’ve joined me.”

Finally, Harry met Voldemort’s stare. “You know I could never do that, Tom. I cared too much.”

“And you didn’t care about me?” The Dark Lord asked in mock horror.

Harry snorted. “Don’t be an idiot, Tom. Back then, I would’ve loved to decapitate you and parade your severed head around Diagon Alley. After snapping your wand, of course.”

Voldemort flinched at the Gryffindor’s morbidness before asking softly, “What changed, Harry?”

The boy shrugged. “Dunno. Time. Life. Everything and nothing changed.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“No one ever said I make sense. Don’t you remember the Wizarding World saying I was a nut in my fifth year?”

“Too many things have happened, Harry. I can’t remember everything.”

“And here I am, thinking you do.” Harry said sarcastically.

“Do you still consider us enemies?”

Harry looked pointedly at him. “Do you?”

“I’m asking you, Harry.”

The boy shrugged and said, “No, not really. At least, I don’t think so. We’ve kind of fell to this sort of truce after the past centuries. Now that I’ve think about it, you’re alright, you know. Once you stop being such a megalomaniacal arse and you’re not killing me. By the way, what happened to the entire let’s kill all the muggles and muggleborn?”

“That? Once I won the war, someone pointed out that if I did push on doing that, everyone would eventually die out considering how little the pureblood population was.”

“Not too mention the fact that that would be greatly hypocritical of you to do so.”

“Hypocritical, Harry? I didn’t know you knew that word.”

Harry glared at him. “I’m not an idiot as others lead you to believe.”

Voldemort’s lips twitch upwards as he looked at the annoyed boy. The Dark Lord glanced at a clock above the fireplace and sighed. “I suppose I should go to bed by now.”

“I thought you didn’t need to sleep. Being immortal and all that.”

Voldemort chuckled and stood up from his sear. “I don’t. I just like to do so. The same with eating. I don’t have to eat, but I can’t very well give that up, especially growing up with rations and all that during the war.”

Harry blinked. “The war?”

“World War Two.”

“Oh.” A look of comprehension came upon Harry’s face and he remarked, “You’re ancient.”

Voldemort glared at him. “Watch it, Potter.”

Harry smiled teasingly at him. “I’ll be here in the morning, Tom.”

Standing in the middle of the library, Voldemort suddenly asked, “Harry?”

“Hmmm?”

“I was wondering, if you were given the chance to leave me, would you?”

Harry paused, looking at Voldemort strangely. The Dark Lord felt his stomach knot into a tight ball at the delayed response.

Then, Harry answered, “No, Tom. I wouldn’t.”

“Oh,” Voldemort said, feeling strangely relieved, “why?”

“Because you need me.”

“Oh.”

Before he could leave, Harry said, “Why do you ask, Tom?”

Voldemort stopped in his tracks and without facing Harry, he responded, “Because I think I know what to do after I quit being the Wizarding World’s ruler tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Find a way for you to be more than just a memory.”

With that, the Dark Lord left the library, leaving a confused memory of Harry Potter.

Author’s Note(s): Well, hoped you liked it. I’d love to hear what you think.