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Harry finally had solitude. Dinner had gone exceptionally well. The delegations had left happy and the death eaters were settling in wonderfully. Even the castle seemed joyful at being inhabited again. He looked around the bedroom and the pain returned. It felt like the ghost of all those memories was slowly methodically consuming him and he couldn't stand it…couldn't bear it at all. He apparated.
Harry found himself back in the cemetery, back besides Destrian's grave on his knees and with his head against the stone. He had his eyes closed, his hand over the grave. The garland from yesterday was still there. The colours just as vivid as they had been yesterday. Somehow, he still couldn't bring himself to believe what Sanguini had said. He had to say it out loud. Maybe then it would seem more real, more believable,
"I can't even say it and you won't understand but I think I might have you back. Will you come back to me?"
Harry smiled despite himself. Fate really did find some sadistic glee in playing with him. He wanted Destrian back in his lap. It was a possibility now and he would do anything to make it happen,
"He might come back to me if you will."
Voldemort appeared in the cemetery but the sight of Harry kneeling there beside Destrian's grave. nearly made him backtrack. He cast a disillusionment charm on himself and silently ducked behind a headstone. Harry looked practically grief stricken, there was no happiness on his face, none of the joy he had seen in the picture. Harry was gorgeous but he looked so defeated and broken. It made his heart ache. Had he done this to him? No, Harry couldn't possibly lament him. He would most probably celebrate his absence and cherish his freedom. Then why…why was he here? Why did he look so pained? After a few minutes of silence, Harry finally spoke and his words struck him like thunder.
He slumped back against the headstone he had concealed himself behind. Had he misheard or misunderstood? No, he was certain about the meaning behind Harry's words. Regret and self-loathing consumed him. What had he done? How could he have overlooked that? It was a strong possibility that Harry didn't want the child just like he hadn't wanted it last time. He had all the right to get rid of it because it would only serve to remind him of all the torments he had inflicted upon him. His thoughts came to a standstill when he heard Harry speak again…. His hands clutched at his hair. He wanted him back...but why? Why would he want to live with a monster? The monster that had inflicted so much pain upon him, broken him down over and over again and relished it. Harry had said that he had wanted him that night but he had considered that Harry had only spoken all those things in a haze of lust and desire. There was no lust now and Harry still wanted him. He just failed to grasp the concept.
His heart, though was aching to hold Harry close, to comfort him, to kiss away all the pain that was visible on his face. He wanted to care for him, nourish him, support him just as spouses were meant to. The child…. his heart danced in his chest with the joy. Their child….and the thought that Harry wanted it….it was too much happiness. The thought of having a family with Harry warmed his heart. They could be like normal people…. celebrating little joys and finding comfort in small gestures. He could picture it so perfectly…. Him and Harry taking care of the new born, soothing the baby when it cried, making it laugh, playing with it, watching it grow up…
He scoffed at himself and the images faded along with the warmth and joy. Their relationship wasn't normal, it wasn't healthy. It had been built on Harry's screams, blood and tears. Normal people didn't force other people to marry them. They didn't threaten them, violate them, didn't torture their spouses. No, Harry would never be happy with him, no matter how much Harry wanted him. He could never take care of Harry like he imagined because deep down he was still a monster…. Dumbledore had been right….he would only hurt Harry again and he didn't want to…couldn't afford to…would rather die than do it again.
Harry's heart felt an odd kind of satisfaction. It was hard for him to believe that his restless, aching heart was at peace right now. It was definitely because of Destrian. He made himself comfortable and snuggled close to the headstone. He knew his show of affection to a grave could be described as nothing short of insane and if anyone saw him here, Sirius or the twins…..they would go berserk….. but they didn't understand. They could never hope to understand what Destrian meant to him. Only Voldemort could. Harry wished he would show up tonight. Maybe that was part of the reason he was back here, kneeling here, waiting for him. The silence was too eerie and he didn't like it. He knew Destrian wouldn't like it as well so he started talking and before he knew it he was pouring his heart out and telling him all about his day from the moment he had woken up till now.
Voldemort leaned back against the headstone and listened to Harry telling Destrian all about his day, every little detail, laughing at the parts he found funny, his tone grew fond whenever he mentioned the twins or his Godfather or Bella or Sanguini. His voice filled with grief when he told Destrian all about what had happened at Hogwarts. It grew resentful when he mentioned the incident with Draco. The joy returned when he told Destrian about how he had shifted the Death Headquarters to the castle. And then it became wistful when he told him all about what had happened when Sanguini had given him the news and the truth about the miscarriage.
When Harry was finished, he felt unburdened. He should have started doing this yesterday. His gaze scanned the empty graveyard and he sighed. It seemed Voldemort wouldn't be coming tonight. He wondered where he was and what he was doing. Wondered if the man missed him as much as he did. Everything he looked at reminded him of Voldemort, did Voldemort feel the same way? Did every breath, every heartbeat hurt Voldemort as much as it hurt him? Someday, if he ever came back, NO, when he came back, he would ask him all these questions. Harry rose to his feet slowly and pressed a kiss to the headstone,
"I'll be back tomorrow, Destrian."
Voldemort heard the rustling of the robes and he peeked over the headstone to see Harry vanish. He rose to his feet and walked over to the grave. He knelt down and his hands caressed the ground Harry had been kneeling on moments ago. He couldn't help himself, bent down and kissed it. When Harry had been describing his day, he had been talking too fast and he hadn't had a chance to react to all the information he had poured out. Now, that he was alone in the absolute silence of the cemetery, he reflected upon it all.
He was glad to know that Harry was being well taken care of. He felt murderous intent towards everyone who had refused to join Harry. That intent intensified towards Draco. He should have killed that little traitor when he'd had the chance. He looked down at his hand. No, he would never kill again. Harry hadn't wanted him to. He had said that on the day he had gone to negotiate with the goblins. He wished he hadn't sent him. Maybe things could have been different. But they couldn't have been. They would have always come to this. He couldn't change who he was. He was happy that Harry had moved Death Eater Headquarters to the castle. He had wanted to do that for a long time. The thing that puzzled him was the lack of hate or resentment in Harry. How could Harry not hate him? He had concealed so much from him, concealed things that Harry had every right to know. He wanted Harry to hate him…. wanted him to resent him and forget him. He would never go back to him. He was certain that Harry would manage to rise above the pain. In a few days, he would forget all about him and move on with his life.
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