Title: "Spiritus Mundi"
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: R
Timeline: post-war, Harry is 19
Summary: HP/LV The war is over. Harry, an Auror in training, tries to deal with the consequences of the Final Battle that has changed many lives including his. He receives an assignment to interrogate Voldemort who is a prisoner in his own dream world. The more Harry gets to know his former arch-nemesis, the more he questions his position in the post-war world. Life was undoubtedly easier when there were just the two of them... Please R&R!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. bout of panic Voldemort belongs to J.K. Rowling. War belongs to J.K. Rowling. SOS! EVERYTHING belongs to J.K. Rowling. What if we too belong to J.K. Rowling/bout of panic The name for the chapter comes from the song 'Nothing I've Ever Known' by Bryan Adams.
A/N: To the fans of 'You Set My Soul Alight', my other HP/LV: I promised I'd never continue it for any sequel would spoil my super-sadistic ending. This fic is by no means a continuation though it takes place in dreams again. It's a stand alone that explores the possibility of Harry and Voldemort's relationship after the war (like millions of others, banal, I know). I thought some of those who really wanted me to go back to this pairing (which is undoubtedly my favourite) might be interested in this story.
Special Thanks: to Lady Domino for suggesting the title.
Dedication: To all the people who read and reviewed 'You Set My Soul Alight'. You are my inspiration!
SPIRITUS MUNDI
'Cuz we lost it all,
Nothing lasts forever
I'm sorry
I can't be perfect
Now it's just too late and
We can't go back
I'm sorry
I can't be perfect
Simple Plan. 'Perfect'
Chapter 1
Here I Am, Ready For You
I know I shouldn't be here. His memory is like a dark forest I have no sane reason to enter. But it seems that my sanity has long since abandoned me.
He's hiding, he doesn't want me to see him. Or maybe he just lures me into a trap like he usually does. I should learn from him, I should be thankful for such a wise mentor – he teaches me to be sensible, and cautious, and to watch my back.
I go on. The trees lock their branches, blocking my way, but I tear straight through them deeper into the unexplored thicket. The forest around me is warm and sweet-scented though he tries to make it look grim and frightening. He wants to show me I'm unwelcomed here. If so, he fails.
I find him by the big tree where he usually expects me. I also find that he hasn't changed his appearance as I have requested. It is easier for me to talk to Voldemort rather than Tom Riddle. Here I know what to expect, I know how to react, I know what he wants above all else: my blood on the grass, sizzling on the burning sand, my body at his feet, 'to see the light leave my eyes': the usual. In Tom's company, I have to be more careful. I don't want to admit Tom scares me a little. I don't know why.
His attachment to Tom's body is quite understandable: I mean, one plain look at the real Lord Voldemort would explain everything. I'd try to hold on to the more handsome image too if I were him. Lucky for me, I'm not…
I put on the official mask of detachment and slight irritation: he didn't do as I have requested, so I'm sort of mad at him. A little. Nothing too personal. (Who am I kidding? Everything about Voldemort is very-very-very personal!)
"I thought I'd told you to take that off," I say point-blank. He seems to pay no attention. I try not to lose my temper which is very easy with him.
"I thought I'd told you to let me go," he parries suddenly. He maintains his calm demeanour with such graceful ease that I begin to envy him. Again. "Tell me, Harry, why are you so set on spending every night with me? Don't these dreams exhaust you?"
"Do you give a damn?"
He grins. It looks slightly out of place especially since I know well enough what kind of face lies beneath this beautiful mask he has created for himself in the dream reality.
"Yes," he drawls. "I care about you in my own way, after all. I don't want you to die. Without you I'll be overwhelmed by boredom here."
I climb up the tree and stretch myself on the thickest branch. This way I'm looking down on him, I can even touch him if I lower my hand. He's sitting on the root that rises from the grass high enough to form sort of a hard bench. I can see sheets of paper scattered about. Those are drawings, rough sketches, half-formed ideas transferred on the paper but unfinished.
"Care to talk today?" I ask. He shakes his head vaguely. "Oh well, you never do. How do you plan on leaving here if you do not talk?"
He doesn't even look at me. I spend the rest of the night lying on the branch; I leave in the morning, devastated, furious and extremely tired.
Merlin, I hate mornings. I hate Monday mornings even more. My lectures at the Department are getting more tiresome and difficult. When it comes to practical skills I'm the best. But theory will do me in, I'm sure of it. All these pathetic 'do' and 'don't' – they can't help catch a dark wizard. I've been there, I've seen more than any accomplished Auror with a diploma fresh out of the training programm. It's just a formality for me. I agreed to undergo the training simply because I didn't want anybody to think they took me for being 'the famous Harry Potter' and nothing more.
Payback's such a –. Nevermind!
On my way home I suddenly decide to Apparate to Azkaban fortress. Yeah, that's me: no other person in the world would go along with such a 'brillint' (read: stupid) idea. But I'm Harry Potter, am I not? I battle Voldemort during summer vacation, I interrogate criminals between taking profile exams and taking care of my comatose girlfriend that lies in St Mungo's, I chat with my greatest enemy come night in my dreams… Whatever about me is normal?
I make sure that Voldemort is still sleeping in his cell. He fell asleep shortly after his arrest and he never woke up; that's why I had to master the art of entering the dream reality. Somehow I get the feeling Dumbledore wouldn't have liked me doing this. He'd have said I was too inexperienced, too young and still had a lot to learn. I agree but we have no other choice.
My flat is small and crammed with boxes; I've just moved in. I have no time to unpack – and frankly speaking, no wish. I wouldn't call this place home. I drink some juice straight from the packet (still dreading to hear Aunt Petunia's shriek, she'd never let me do this) – I can't believe I'm free. Free, free, free – from everything! Voldemort is locked up in Azkaban, the Dursleys are the chapter in a book I finished reading a long time ago, even Professor Dumbledore is dead – and there's no one to tell me how to live my life.
I go to bed. I toss and turn for hours before it suddenly dawns upon me: I'm not going to sleep tonight. Insomnia has gripped me. It's still comparatively early but I just feel I won't fall asleep. I take a walk and drop by a club in the downtown. Waves of electronic music surround me, suck me in. A girl in a violet dress beckons me to the dancefloor. I'm usually worse than this at getting a date. We dance and I notice threads of beads that jingle around her neck. She jingles all over. A number of threads is wrapped around her slender waist, dozens of bracelets adorn her wrists, even her hair is full of multi-coloured beads.
I like it. And I smile.
Later I buy her a drink. She kisses me, she slips her tongue into my mouth – all I can think about is that I probably seem too awakward, too clumsy and she can guess how inexperienced I am. Damn!
She smells like a big purple violet.
"I have a girlfriend," I say once the kiss is broken. Silly honest me! As always.
The girl (Sarah, her name is Sarah, she told me that an hour ago when we were dancing) shrugs her shoulders. "So what? She's not here!" I can barely hear her over the music. The rhythm is driving me insane. Pencils of light blind me. "I have a boyfriend too, by the way."
She leans heavily against me, kissing me passionately. I can't help but wonder why she is doing this. Where is her boyfriend? What would he think if he saw her with me? What would Ginny think? I try not to think about Ginny. Is that cheating?
No, that's not cheating, not yet. Cheating is when I take Sarah to my flat. Cheating takes place on my bed, the same bed I use for interrogating Voldemort (figurally speaking, of course). Cheating is when our clothes is piled on the floor, the feeling of her bare skin against mine, being inside her – and not thinking about Ginny for some time. It's pure freedom.
Sarah offers me a cigarrette later. I decline. It's funny that she smokes after sex – it's like a cheap novel.
I'll probably never see her again. Oh well, let it be, then. She was a nice girl. I think the only thing I will remember in a week's time is the way her beads jingled when she swayed to the tune of rough artificial music. And the scent of flowers around her. Maybe I idealize her too much.
I forgot that I had a seminar on tracking the day after that. I didn't fail but I was pretty close to that. I'm not that good at stealth, I prefer to act quickly and without much planning. 'Too bluntly', they say. Well, it always worked with me.
I haven't seen Voldemort in a week. Been a little busy. This time when I go to him I do a funny, ludicrous thing which could make Hermione veeeeery proud of me: I take a big pile of books with me. It's very convenient: I dream I study – and I actually manage to learn something! Saves a lot of time.
Voldemort almost falls down from the tree.
"What is this?"
"Well, I have to do something since you're not very talkative." Oh yes! Usually the screeching of his pencil just rocks me to sleep – in my sleep! Funny, isn't it? "Besides, I have a series of tests and I think I'd better learn a little something."
"How's Sarah doing?" he asks in a while. It's my turn to try and hold the balance: how the hell did he know??? "Was she worth missing our meeting?"
"Er… I don't–."
"Oh please, Harry, don't be so naïve! Did you really think you could access my memories without giving away something of yours?"
I choose to ignore him and start preparing for my test. He chuckles and resumes drawing. Sometimes I look downward and glimpse his work: it's a portrait, female, and it's my mother. We've already been through that when he drew my father. I told him to destroy the picture. I even screamed at him. I know he keeps it somewhere, knowing how much it affects me. I just pray he won't draw Ginny. I might break.
Next time we start bickering because he hasn't changed his appearance. Again. I'm tired of asking. I tell him to 'take that face off' immediately. He stands up, his face is almost on the same level as mine. He brushes my fringe off, touching my skin lightly, and his touch sends tingles down my spine.
"I'll take it off as you so eloquently put it if you get your scar back."
Ah, yes. I had a feeling it would come to this. I 'erased' the scar as soon as I realized you could do any sort of 'plastic surgery' in this world. My forehead looks weird without it. Too… empty, so to speak.
"Why would you want it back?" I ask.
"I gave it to you. I like seeing it. Might I ask in turn why you would want my older self back?"
I roll on my back. This way I don't have to look him in the eye when I speak. "Because you used to be the scariest thing in my life. Whereas now the role of my greatest nightmare has been taken over by the Dark Lord Real Life."
He laughs. Oh, wow, he actually is laughing. Worse than that, it turns out to be highly contagious: soon I'm laughing with him.
The first thing I say when I come back to the dream a couple of days later is: "Happy anniversary!"
He fell asleep exactly a year ago. I've been visiting him already for a couple of months. The point of my visits is finding out what the last Horcrux may be. We never located it. I used to think it was his snake but it turned out I was wrong.
"I have an idea. How about you start cooperating at last?"
"And get executed? I have a better idea, my dear Harry." Voldemort leans into me and whispers: "Why don't you give me back my wand and let me go free?"
It sounds so absurd that I'm promptly on my knees, laughing so hard that my breath comes out in short gasps.
"See?" Voldemort grins. (Oh my God! He grins!) "It sounds stupid, doesn't it? Then why should I do something as stupid and improbable for my part?"
I shrug. How should I know, Mr Unpredictable? Well, he doesn't want to cooperate so here we are once again in silence, pretending the other doesn't exist. Voldemort's drawing, I'm studying. Jolly, isn't it?
"By the way," I remark nonchalantly some time later. "Even if I was insane enough to give you back your wand, you'd have no use for it. You're sleeping, remember?"
"You bring books in here. You could bring my wand the same way."
I accidentally drop a book; he catches it in its flight and holds it up to my face. Why do I think he has something on his mind? Ah, I guess it's because evil dark lords simply should not be trusted.
Voldemort smiles innocently. "I had to try, Harry."
"Sure you did, Tommy," I reply before the meaning of the words actually reaches my damned mind. I called him by the forbidden name, and now he's very-very angry.
I burst out laughing and cannot stop myself. Oh, God!.. Before I will have fallen a victim to the Dark Lord's wrath I let my dream dissove and carry me away to the real world. I wake up abruptly, sit up, and my heart is thumping somewhere in my throat. He really managed to scare me this time. His eyes flared crimson for a split second like they did when it was still Voldemort.
I hide my face in my palms for an instant. When I look up, I feel much better. I guess I shouldn't visit him for a while to give him some time to settle down.
Damn, it was funny!
Tommy…