A/N: Hello, people!

I don't own Harry Potter.

I have no beta.

ENJOY!

CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON.

It's my mom's birthday and I can't afford to get her anything, but I can
update her fav fic of mine. So Happy Birthday, flamingpen18! May all
of your fanfics prosper and may your creativity never dry up.

I started working on this chapter a looooog time ago but didn't get past the
first section because I just couldn't think of what to put down! And then in
October of 2019 I finally got some ideas and began writing more and went
back editing every now and then to add more detail. & I gave it a last look
today for mom's b-day.

Draco's wand was upright as he slowly entered Potter's shop, eyes scouring the room. It was quiet and eerie. The fact that the front door was left unlocked when Harry obviously wasn't there should have been enough to make him worry.

He flinched when a loud wailing sound seemed to surround him from every side. Before him, a ball of orange and yellow flames burst into existence, revealing a large Phoenix, holding a wand in its beak. A very familiar Phoenix that he was certain used to sit in Sev's office at Hogwarts.

It took a few seconds for him to recognise that the wand in its beak was Potter's wand. He dueled the bloody thing enough to know by now. The Phoenix was holding the wand and was staring into his soul with its beady, black eyes that seemed all-knowing and dangerous.

He felt foolish, but remembered that Potter had said animals understood them just fine, but simply couldn't speak the same language. Something about not having the 'vocal cords necessary' to respond in kind. So it didn't hurt to try. "Do you know where Potter is?"

The Phoenix nodded slowly and didn't blink for a second.

"Did something bad happen happen to him?" It sounded like a stupid question when he said it out loud but he had to be sure!

Another nod. Shite. The half-Knealze hadn't been having a fit or anything, it had been sensing the danger but probably couldn't pinpoint it. Half-Kneazles weren't as magically powerful as the full breeds were. Still, it had alerted him enough and that was what mattered the most.

"You- would you know where they went?"

An even sharper nod this time. Phoenixes could be bloody terrifying if used offensively he was certain.

They had to tell the Dark Lord first. And then perhaps Bellatrix once the Dark Lord was informed. Someone had to be made aware of what had happened and Draco was certainly not powerful enough to save anyone from a Dark Lady!

"Would you be able to take me to Lord Voldemort?" Phoenixes were known for quick travel between places when they needed to. "We need him before we do anything. He's the only one who can stand against this bitch."

Without hesitation, the Phoenix took wing and landed on his shoulder, claws digging into the Acromantula Silk of his robes. They both disappeared in a flash of heat and flames, appearing directly in the Dark Lord's foyer much to the terror of a group of House Elves who had surrounded them, brandishing cookware threateningly. Draco felt minutely ill from the method of travel and tried to not marvel at how a Phoenix could bypass wards completely.

Though he was disoriented from the very unexpected method of travel, Draco cleared his throat and said the first thing that came to find. "Potter and Dumbledore were kidnapped by the Greek Dark Lady."

It took a few seconds before all the Elves turned to the only familiar one in Draco's mind.

"Master Voldy bes sleeping for days," said the Head Elf. "Wes not to wake him. But Master Harry bes needing help!"

The Elf Disapparated and thirty-four seconds later, he'd actually counted, the entire manor began to shake and Elves scattered in order to protect the valuables in danger of the sudden quaking. Vases and portraits nearly falling to the marble floors, only saved with seconds to spare.

Meanwhile, a scream of outrage filled the air. And that was when Draco knew that the Dark Lord had awoken and he was unhappy. That wasn't just a scream of annoyance. That was a scream from the very back of the throat. Such a scream that would leave the throat raw and pained for hours afterward.

The Dark Lord was going to commit murder. Hopefully it wouldn't be Draco's incoming death he was imagining. While not terrible he was still terrifying.

This was bad. This was the very thing that he had been stressing over for the past few months. He'd done everything he could think of to up the protections around Magical Britain. The patrols at the borders were longer and more people had been dispatched to keep an eye out for their enemy. He'd even set up forces in the most prominent places in the muggle world just so Britain wouldn't fall for the same shite the bloody French overlooked.

He'd erected specific protections around the most important buildings to the wizarding populous of Magical Britain. That way Herakles couldn't possibly cause as much damage as she thought she could. He'd been trying to save their history as well as their future. He wanted to keep everyone safe, and wasn't that an unfamiliar desire and sensation for him to deal with.

In her quest to get her hands on the Philosopher's Stone, her attention was finally singularly focused on Albus Dumbledore. And while Voldemort held no positive feelings for anyone named Dumbledore, he didn't want Herakles getting her hands on such an obvious method of immortality. Especially if she wasted so much magical blood just to get to it when easier methods were available elsewhere. Voldemort had come across four just as a teenager and she was older than he'd been when he started his quest to live forever.

But instead of just going after Dumbledore and personally getting the Philosopher's Stone from him, she'd gone after Harry first. None of them thought her clever enough to use a hostage to get what she'd wanted. She'd been so direct thus far that her actions more resembled a Gryffindor than anything else. Her possibly acting in any way opposite to that hadn't even been considered.

But no. Harry was in danger now because they hadn't considered him to be one of her targets. He was a man who took care of animals with all of his time. His blood born ability aside, there wasn't much exciting about him to people who didn't know him and only saw what was on the surface. It wasn't entirely foolish to think Harry wouldn't become a target when he didn't make himself one. His father would have been a more optimal target as he was an Auror.

The biggest issue that Voldemort had, was the fact that Harry was still very much mortal. He could die and there would be no way of him coming back from it. All of their discussions on life and death had painted a clear enough portrait for Voldemort. Harry didn't want to live forever, but surely he didn't want to die young? And leave everything and everyone he loved behind? He wasn't suicidal.

All of this happened while Voldemort was unconscious and incapable of being there to protect his significant other from a massive threat.

One could argue that since it was Harry who convinced him to absorb his Horcrux, it was Harry's fault he'd been sleeping for so long, but Voldemort wasn't about that.

He just wanted Harry back, fuck the consequences.

Losing his husband before he even agreed to be his husband, would be the worst possible thing to suffer through. Voldemort hadn't even gotten to sit down and enjoy their connection to the fullest yet.

"Give me the stone, old man! I tire of your word games!"

Albus didn't even blink when a dagger sliced across his neck, cutting just slightly, but not enough to bleed him out. If she wanted her information, she couldn't kill him just yet. He had something she wanted and she was so desperate that she was becoming hysterical. A little burning pain was nothing compared to some of the things he'd been through in his life.

Harry was tied up nearby, looking miserable as he tried to subtly free himself, letting his magic mess with the ropes keeping him trapped. It was a slow process, and Albus was trying his best to draw things out for as long as possible to help him escape. To keep her attention as long as he could.

So far he'd lost his left pinky, which was a bit sad as he'd always liked that one. There had been a small mole right above his cuticle and it was so unique in placement and shape that he'd become rather fond of it over the years. Gellert had also found it 'adorable' in his own words and whenever he'd kissed Albus' hand, he'd go for the pinky.

Having a finger cut off was painful, but he had enough mental discipline to distance himself from the agony with Occlumency. And Herakles did not appreciate that one bit. She moved on to the next finger on his left hand, seeking to make it impossible for him to use a wand ever again. Not that he truly needed a wand anymore. His remaining duty was almost seen to. Wand usage no longer mattered to him.

"I want the stone and you will tell me!"

"A Phoenix in the hand is worth two in the nest."

He'd been faced with much more intimidating things in his life. She didn't scare him in the least because he'd lived a very long life and the thought of going on the Next Great Adventure was appealing. Meeting up with Gellert was an appealing thought. Albus hadn't been scared of dying in a very long time and had already accepted that his time was coming soon.

Herakles sniffed and righted herself once more, attempting to appear put together once again. "Fine. If you refuse to talk, I'll simply have to use other forms of persuasion."

And then her gaze fixed upon Harry, who had just managed to free his arms. He froze in place when he noticed he had the Dark Lady's undivided attention. It was obvious that he could see where things were about to go, and he did not look pleased.

"Your friend is going to talk, boy, and you are going to ask him to."

And for the first time since their capture, Albus made a true effort to escape his binds, magically burning away what was holding him down in a sudden burst of power. Herakles yanked Harry into her arms and placed the dagger against his throat. "You will speak, or the boy gets it."

There was fear in Harry's eyes, but there was also that spark. The one of mischief that he rarely got. The one that let Albus know he wasn't going down easily. That even if he died, he'd have the last laugh in the end.

"Joke's on you," the young man grunted as the dagger pressed even deeper into the column of his throat. "The Philosopher's Stone doesn't truly exist. It was an elaborate lie thought up to hide the fact that the Flamels' were turned into vampires. Your direct ancestor didn't stick around long enough to find out why the Stone they had couldn't be used on her."

And just like that, the truth had been revealed.

But Herakles did not believe it. The blade pressed deeper, making blood pool and drip down the boy's neck in little rivulets of red. Her eyes took on a somewhat glazed and mad tint. "You lie!"

Albus shook his head. If this was what Harry wanted, then so be it. "The rock you seek is simply an enchanted ruby that Nicolas committed many sins to empower. Once it fell into my possession, I decided it would make a fetching pair of marriage bands for some former students of mine, and I crafted them a matching set. You have spent months in search of an easy way to everlasting life and riches, and it was all for naught."

If Harry truly wanted to reveal everything this dramatically, to at least ruin what semblance of sanity the woman had left, then Albus would go along with it. Worst case scenario, she would kill them for what he'd done.

The room was flooded with light and fire then, revealing Tom and Fawkes of all beings, and Albus felt, for the first time in hours, relieved.

Tom would do anything to protect Harry. The man was in love and wouldn't take such an attack lightly. Harry would be fine in the end he was certain. He just had to be doubly sure that Harry had the allegiance of the Elder Wand before leaving for good.

Voldemort and the flaming chicken appeared in a wreath of flames that was almost too fast for his enhanced eyes to keep up with. Appearing in the middle of a drawing room wasn't expected of course, and seeing both Harry and Dumbledore injured wasn't something he wanted to see either. He could feel his magic thrumming with his anger, wishing to lash out and attack the one who had offended him.

Herakles was a dead woman walking. He would make certain to make an example of her, to prove just why he was a Dark Lord and why people should still take him seriously even if he was more mellow now than ever before.

Harry was held at knifepoint, blood streaming down his neck. He didn't look scared though. He looked as if he'd been getting up to some mischief of the cruel sort and was having a laugh at someone's expense.

"She's bitchy because the Philosopher's Stone was a hoax to hide the fact that the Flamels were vampires. All of her dreams have been rendered useless," the young man said plainly, a smirk crossing his face.

"SHUT UP!" Herakles roared, digging the knife in even further, making the blood pour even more.

And Harry got that look on his face. The one Voldemort had become familiar with. The one that said he was about to do something Voldemort was going to regret. His stomach lurched in response.

His mouth moved though no sound came out. But Voldemort could see the words being mouthed anyway.

'Sorry, love.'

Harry's previous assumed tied hands came up and latched into Herakles' neck as that was how high he could lift them from his position. And as the knife finally dug all the way through his throat, those hands glowed a bright red and tore a scream of agony from the woman holding him captive.

And it seemed like Voldemort's vision could only pick up the colour of Harry's blood.

And then the silent but ringing rage kicked in and he could hear nothing but an oddly extended, shrieking whinge in his ears.

When Harry opened his eyes, it was to find himself in a train station that looked very much like King's Cross. But it was as if everything was desaturated. The colour was simply gone, leaving everything whiter than white, and mixing with the white fog that rose all the way up to his waist, it made it difficult to see anything beyond his immediate surroundings if it wasn't large enough.

He felt nothing on his skin. No chill in the air, or warmth from the bright light above him. He'd call it the sun, but it was more white than yellow, so it probably wasn't sunlight. And it didn't hurt to look at directly.

He didn't smell anything either.

It was just… empty. Of life. Of colour. Of clothes… he noted as he looked down and realised that he was naked as the day he'd been born. Harry didn't have an embarrassing body in the least, but being without his clothes in a place he commonly associated with the public and crowds, made him very uncomfortable. It was not acceptable.

"Who cares about such things when you're dead?"

The sudden voice, one of which he was not familiar with, made him start and look around warily. And there, not too far behind where he was stood, was the only true bit of colour in the place. And it took the form of a tall, black shape made up mostly of robes that obscured the face beneath the pulled up hood.

A scythe that looked like it could split parchment without even trying, rested in a single, bony hand. Because yes, the hand was bone instead of flesh, but black like a Dementor instead.

Harry wasn't unaware of fiction. He didn't often have time to read recreationally, but he knew enough about it to have a favourite series of his own. The figure before him fit the usual description of the Grim Reaper in many cultures and fictional universes. And while he hadn't ever given it much thought before, of course such a being had to exist, huh? In some form or another. Magic was real after all so other things could be as well.

"You came to that conclusion faster than anyone else I've met in the span of known and unknown time," the being commented. Their voice was like a multitude of people whistling. A chorus perhaps. A minor Biblical reference to something called 'Legion' popped into mind, be he dismissed it. No, this was like many people speaking at once, through some kind of hollowed out mouthpiece that was covered in holes and air was rushing through it from various directions.

Though if the entire being was just a massive skeleton, then the sounds slipping through the eyes, nose, and mouth holes of the skull would make the whistling sounds make sense. Though how it made noise without vocal cords was beyond him.

"We are Death. We always have been and always will be. We are the one constant in existence. Our power cannot be comprehended."

So magic was involved in some way. Unsurprising really.

"Why am I here?" he decided to ask, still confused over everything happening in the past few minutes. It had all been too much to follow at once. Being threatened, kidnapped, tied up, threatened again, and then held at knifepoint was a lot to come to terms with.

"You died."

Well then… unexpected. He remembered Herakles and Dumbledore. And Voldemort popping in with Fawkes like a madman ready to commit various atrocities upon the one who had offended him. He didn't recall anything after that though. Maybe it was for the best.

Death shifted closer, drawing his gaze and raising his hackles instantly. Death was an unknown and Harry was certain it was normal to be uncomfortable around them. He could kind of understand why Voldemort was so scared of dying, finally.

"You are very different compared to many others," the otherworldly being stated, the sound rattling in a sense. "You have obtained immortality, and yet you did so completely unknowingly. As such, you cannot be killed."

What? It bought him up short.

"I don't want to be immortal!" he insisted. Never had such a desire. He had told Voldemort to his face that it was an unappealing thought. Living forever was just not something he would be emotionally capable of handling. Watching everyone die and leave him behind would be horrible.

"We never said you'd live forever."

"You said I'm immortal!" How else was he supposed to take that revelation?

A sigh, that was completely unnecessary since the being had no lungs to do it with, came from Death. "There are many methods that mortals have invented, in order to escape our grasp. But they always fail at some point. Some forms make someone indestructible and make it so they can only die from ageing too much. Others keep the soul anchored to the Earthly plane, much like your lover's Horcruxes, so they cannot move on to the next realm. Some make a person incapable of aging, but makes them extremely vulnerable to disease and injury. No matter which was used, they always come to us in the end in some way or another."

Well that was much better, but still… "How am I even immortal? I've barely done a bloody thing in my life. I'm not even two decades old yet! I think I'd know if I did something grand enough to obtain immortality of any sort." He was still human and hadn't made a Horcrux, the Philsopher's Stone was a hoax, and he didn't know of any other methods, so...

Death sighed once more, which was was still so very odd to witness a skeleton doing. "It was by no action of yours. Your lover on the other hand, knew exactly what he was doing when he allowed you to disarm him to claim the Elder Wand, and then gave you the ring bearing the Resurrection Stone as a method of protection. Added to your Invisibility Cloak, which is actually mine, and you've collected the Deathly Hallows and become the 'Master' of Death. You are immortal because your lover was terrified of you dying when you most likely wouldn't condone the methods used to create Horcruxes and he didn't want your soul to be mutilated."

Voldemort had gone behind his back and done such a thing? Even after Harry's thoughts on the matter?

It was honestly easy to believe. The fear of death made him irrational at times which was what led to his current appearance. Of course he probably started plotting how to get Harry to agree to live forever with him. The fact that he wanted Harry to always be with him was kind of sweet in its own way.

But Harry was still annoyed. "Which version of immortality am I stuck with and can I get rid of it?"Just to get it all out at once. Like ripping off a plaster.

"Fortunately for you, the kind that comes with these items makes it impossible for you to be killed by outside forces. Even if your heart stops, or your head is lobbed off, you will still heal, regenerate, or awaken. Your soul will not leave your body until you are ready. You will live the usual life expected of a wizard, and then you will die. Until then, the Hallows and their powers are at your disposal, and once you die, if you haven't lost the ownership of them to anyone, they will lose their power indefinitely and no one will ever be able to use them again."

Okay, that wasn't so bad actually. Voldemort's scheming ended up being useful in a sense and not in the way he'd wanted. Harry would still take him to task over it later on though. But what he'd done ensured that Herakles' actions would be all for naught. That he could go back and live a full life in a sense. And then Harry could spend the next fifteen decades or so convincing Voldemort that he didn't need immortality either.

"How do I go back then, if I won't stay dead?" he asked the otherworldly being before him. And how was he going to save Voldemort and Dumbledore in the process?

The loud noise of a train shocked him enough to make him jump. The Hogwarts Express, in its ghostly white glory, was waiting on the previously empty tracks. How it came to be there without him hearing it was a mystery.

That was eerie in a sense.

When he turned back to Death, he found nothing to wisp and fog and not a trace of anything dark.

Trains transported people and things. And maybe it would transport him back.

What a strange occurrence this meeting had been.

Everything was a mess. Dumbledore was bleeding out in various ways. Voldemort's glamour had fallen with how much magic had exploded out of his body the moment Harry's blood spilled in excess. Herakles was valiantly trying to hold herself upright while defending against both the British Dark and Light Lords at once.

The room was absolutely wrecked as the three dueled. And while Voldemort was angry, objectively he was impressed by how well she was holding her own.

If Harry had been alive she would be dead by three-on-one!

The flaming chicken had taken Harry's body somewhere. Possibly to get it out of the way so Harry could at least be returned to his family whole. And how was Voldemort going to handle breaking the news to them? He wasn't even handling it well himself and he actually witnessed the murder with his own eyes! He didn't know how to handle overly emotional people and emotional responses!

And crying. He wasn't well-versed with crying!

Although considering the odd burning sensation in his eyes and the wetness he could feel on his own cheeks, he was actually shedding tears. The one time Nagini's words proved true and he would admit to it.

Voldemort did cry though he often didn't like acknowledging it. But crying for Harry Potter… the human he cared about most in his entire life? That he could do.

He was going to rend Herakles limb from limb. And then he was going to deliver her severed head to Harry's parents so they may choose what to do with it. It felt like a fitting punishment for someone who went so far for immortality that ended up being fake.

And if they did not want the woman's head, Voldemort knew just where he'd put it.

Everything came back to him in an unexpected rush of sensations that he was almost too spaced out to acknowledge. Almost.

Pain. His throat hurt severely and he was certain he'd be avoiding speaking for the time being. It was like someone had taken a Beater's bat that was covered in nails, and slammed it into his trachea several times. And while he hurt in other places, that one hurt the most. The simple act of swallowing his own saliva hurt like a bitch.

Disorientation. His vision was a little too fuzzy and there was a mix of lightheadedness and pain at the crown of the head that made him dizzy. Like he hadn't slept in ages. There was a dull ringing in his ears.

Deafness. No outside sound was making it through yet, and all he could hear was that ringing that usually happened when one got blindsided with a strong enough hit. He didn't remember hitting his head but who knew what happened while he'd been dead. And dying had to factor in there somewhere. The blood stopped flowing when the heart stopped beating so that could affect a lot of bodily functions until he woke up again.

Categorising everything took mere seconds that felt like hours. Eventually he was able to make out the shape of Fawkes leaning over him, looking baffled. The gold and red feathers stood out in the relative darkness of the unlit room he was in.

As the ringing faded away and real life finally started filtering into his head, he could hear the bird speaking to him. ß-ou alive? I saw you die. I saw all the blood.ß

Warbletongue was not a language one should hear when they had a splitting headache. Never thought he'd have to make a note of that but there it was. ßDeath said Tom made me immortal somehow. Can't stay dead until I'm super old and ready to go naturally.ß

He sat up, trying to make the spinning stop and feeling around for any injuries. He had all fingers and toes. No broken bones of any sort or at least he was certain he didn't. His neck hurt like a bitch though and if he remembered correctly, Herakles had slit his throat all the way across for good measure.

So waking up from being murdered did not come with a painless awakening. He wasn't 'good as new' or anything. Meaning he should really avoid getting killed or dying painfully in general in the future. Voldemort would at least be happy about that, the twat. Ugh! Harry had so many words for him!

Harry hadn't forgotten his issue with the Dark Lord and when all was said and done they would be having a talk. By that he meant that Voldemort would be sitting and listening while Harry took him to task over what he'd been doing on the sly.

ßWhat happened?ß he asked the Phoenix, throat straining around the sounds coming out.

Fawkes crooned his worries without hesitation. ßThey are fighting Herakles now. Albus isn't well and he told me not to help him! I can't disrespect his personal wishes!ß

Harry froze. He remembered the old wizard getting tortured. He remembered the blood dripping from his bleeding appendages. And if it was worse now than it was before… Why wouldn't he want Fawkes' help? Phoenix tears had healing properties and could fix even a Basilisk bite! Having one on hand who was willing to help was a boon!

ßMy friend is very tired and misses his lover,ß explained Fawkes, his head bowed in grief. ßHe does not intend to see this through alive and has been ruminating on it for some time now.ß

Oh Merlin, Dumbledore was suicidal. Or at least at his life's end and just ready for it to end soon instead of waiting it out for as long as he could manage. And that was sad to consider.

The man who seemed so full of life wanted his own to end that badly. That he'd even take a torturous end over a calm one.

Considering all of his long-time, still-living friends had been murdered over the course of the past few months by some bloodthirsty witch out for immortality, Harry couldn't really blame him. Especially if he knew all along why they'd been murdered so callously. That had to drive the desire home even more.

A loud explosion rocked the room he was in, bringing him back to the present where things were going to shite somewhere nearby and making chunks of plaster fly off the walls.

ßThey are doing battle but the woman is putting up a decent fight against both because your mate is emotionally compromised and Albus is hurt and unable to grip his wand properly last time I checked.ß

He had to help!

Standing was a work in progress, but he finally managed to get to his feet without losing his footing or tripping over himself. Moving was another matter entirely as the vertigo decided it was a good time to hit him suddenly. His mouth was wet but in that weird pasty way that wasn't real liquid and tasted gross.

Holding out his hand, he forced as much magic as he could into his palm to check his control. It was pretty decent considering he'd just been dead and wasn't up to par. A lot better than others would be able to do in similar situations.

With only a slight limp in his step because of something wrong with his right ankle once he put weight on it, Harry made his way toward the loud noises which involved screaming, explosions, and a strange piercing sound that was like someone sharpening knives for cooking purposes.

The sight he came upon made him double take.

Dumbledore was on his knees, wandless and somewhat fingerless, and holding back what looked to be a myriad of glass shards of varying sizes from hitting both him and Voldemort while Voldemort was focusing more on the offensive, throwing destructive curses in Herakles' general vicinity, striking the woman's barrier, the ground, and the ceiling which was falling all around her.

And she wasn't faring any better either. Half of her hair was gone, her clothing had been torn to shreds, and her eyes wide with madness and desperation. There was blood coming out of her ears from where Harry had gotten in his own strike before kicking the bucket.

That wasn't the face of someone confident that they'd get away. She knew she was going to die, but she was determined to take at least one of her foes with her and Dumbledore being the older and now weaker of the two was the better option which was why she defended against Voldemort's attacks and put more pressure on Dumbledore to try and take him out.

The sad thing was that some glass had broken through Dumbledore's control, penetrating the old man's chest in what looked to be vital areas. And the ones that slipped by on Voldemort's end managed to turn into sand before they even touched him, his wrath so great that his magic just destroyed anything that came too close.

He wasn't even touching the ground anymore, floating mere inches in the air as his power flailed around him.

And Harry, who had never been in such a situation where it was necessary, hesitated just slightly. He was Grey. He knew he had an easier time with Dark Magic than most would. Still, it was one thing to know objectively that he could do it, and another to outright murder someone.

And then he remembered that she had killed him by stabbing him in the throat in front of Voldemort in order to traumatise him and Dumbledore, plus she'd tormented Dumbledore for what seemed like ages, plus she killed dozens of people because she was nothing more than a imaginationless bint. Frankly, she didn't deserve his concern in the least.

All hesitation bled away as Harry's hand lit up with a familiar, chilling green light, swelling and bursting forth to strike the woman in the chest in an unexpected attack, and making her fall over lifeless.

The glass fell to the floor - or what remained of it actually - and Voldemort's curses all landed with startling proficiency, practically destroying the corpse in the process.

And then the room was quiet as both Lords of magic turned to look at him.

And Harry, who knew that this all had to look bloody weird but didn't really know how to ease either man into it, raised a hand in greeting and gave a small shrug. "Hey."

It was too much. It wasn't enough.

Voldemort stared for the better part of a minute, completely baffled as to what he was seeing and wondering if he'd finally go 'round the twist like some assumed.

Harry Potter was alive and standing before him looking worse for wear, but alive. When he'd been killed only a few minutes prior. When his lifeblood had poured from his newly opened - now closed? - neck and he lay twitching on the ground until his body went still in death.

The Dark Lord could feel Harry's blood between his bare toes, tacky as it cooled. The place his body had formerly lay was just a giant puddle of reddish-brown blood. It stained the carpet and wooden flooring underneath and spread too far for his comfort.

And yet here the young man was, alive and without that thousand-yard stare in his eyes that Voldemort never wanted to see on him. That Voldemort had actively moved to prevent to the best of his ability.

"Harry?" he asked, voice small and weak and embarrassing and everything he would never had wanted anyone besides Nagini to hear.

The awkward smile was definitely Harry. Even with the large, purple mark stretching across his throat, he still looked charming. Adorable. Dark Lords typically didn't use such terms but even Voldemort could make an exception especially in this kind of moment where his emotions were all wonky and his love interest was alive when he was supposed to be dead and thing were all topsy-turvy.

"We are gonna have to have some words, my dear Twat Waffle," said Harry, voice raspy. "A talk about forcing immortality onto people without their consent."

A multitude of questions popped into his head in that moment, but the very thought at the forefront, was a simple, 'uh-oh'. The look Harry was sending him made him want to duck for cover or Apparate away to safety. He could tell the incoming conversation wasn't going to be pleasant on his end.

What would have probably been a very valiant attempt to defend himself, was cut off by the choking sounds coming from Dumbledore on the other side of the room.

Harry's attention was properly shifted, and he ran to the old man's side, falling to his knees beside Dumbledore's supine form. His inner Healer came out in full swing as he looked the old man over.

"I can't help!"

Voldemort's mouth was dry and yet his eyes weren't. It was an odd combination he didn't want to acknowledge, yet as he watched his old professor literally dying on the floor, he couldn't help himself. Too much had happened so soon after him waking up. He'd never been this emotionally strung out.

Dumbledore's near-fingerless hand, so frail now that he took the time to truly look at the man, patted Harry's forearm, leaving behind a stain of blood. His face was set in a grim smile of acceptance as he shook his head minutely. Several shards of glass were embedded in his chest and he simply looked tired.

No words were spoken.

Whenever he envisioned how the old man would go, he always thought it'd be with some great life lesson on the lips because of course he'd have to have the last word.

Instead, he turned to his phoenix and pet the creature's head with his other hand. A low, near-agonising croon filled the room. Phoenixes were known for being very intelligent and intuitive. Even outside of Harry's assertions that animals could understand humans just fine. They'd always been recorded as being creatures of perception. Their songs could manipulate the emotions with effective ease. Their tears could heal anything.

Fawkes the Phoenix sang a lament for Dumbledore in a language Voldemort could not verbally understand, but Harry did.

The young man's tears fell silently. Harry wasn't one for big shows of emotion but when the situation called for it, he could let loose as well.

And yet even with the grief of the moment enveloping him so thoroughly, Harry still found it in himself to ease the man's way. A spell Voldemort had never understood the necessity of until now, slipping free and numbing the old wizard's pain.

Albus Dumbledore laid dying in a strange building, with his former enemy and said enemy's husband-to-be beside him. And the only mercy he'd accept was a numbing charm.

Honestly if death was assured, Voldemort would have preferred to be AK'd and not have to wait those last terrifying minutes as everything slowed down. Dumbledore was always a strange one.

In that last moment, bright crimson met a dull blue, and Voldemort found himself slipping into that barmy mind for the last time. As if being sucked in.

He saw a simple scene of Grindelwald and Dumbledore standing opposite each other, holding hands. Both were young and smiling.

Stay with me. Until we're old and grey, said Grindelwald.

And Dumbledore nodded, pulling the man into a gentle embrace, murmuring the words, Then I hope we never grow old and grey, into his lover's shoulder.

The memory was shrouded in darkness in the next second, and Voldemort found himself back in his own mind, staring down at that familiar, far away gaze. He was gone.

Being faced with the uncomfortable reality of mortality always made him uncomfortable. Especially when it wasn't some grand death. Being struck down mid-battle or fried by dragon fire was very different from a slow death full of awareness of the situation and acceptance.

Voldemort understandably hated hospitals for this reason.

Harry's grief joined the bird's and even Voldemort was not exempt from the pain of it all just piling up.

Crying for Albus too-many-bloody-names Dumbledore.

My how things had changed.

When the Aurors finally arrived, Harry had finally collected himself enough to be presentable. Fawkes had burned up in his grief and had been reborn from the ashes. He would have to be taken care of for a time until he could physically handle himself.

Seeing his father and godfather hadn't been expected, but of course they'd be on the team sent out to retrieve Dumbledore's body and whatever was left of Herakles.

James didn't even hesitate to pull him into a bone-crushing hug, with Sirius not far behind. And Harry let them because he was just so emotionally drained that he wanted the comfort of human contact for once.

"You did brilliantly," Sirius whispered through his own grief, his obvious pain over Dumbledore's death coming forth. "We'll take it from here."

"I won't tell your mum until tomorrow," promised James. "Get some rest first."

Sometimes Harry felt he didn't appreciate his family as much as he should. They were pretty awesome.

§You left me behind with the White One's spawn!§ Nagini practically screamed - as much a snake could scream anyway - when they walked in the door of Voldemort's manor.

Harry sent him a look. §What happened?§

Voldemort sighed. §Draco Malfoy was the one to deliver the news of your kidnapping. The half-Kneazle's attitude worried him and he found the flaming chicken in your shop and came to me immediately. I had to be woken up. It wasn't pleasant for all involved.§

Which would explain Nagini's foul mood. The blond had never been known for his bravery. He had probably fled the moment he realised he was alone with the great snake, leaving Nagini to slither back and forth with worry in the first drawing room.

Harry sighed and beckoned the serpent forward. §I'm tired. We'll have to make it up to you with a good sleep.§

Voldemort's head whipped around. §We?§

A flush worked its way over the younger man's cheeks. §Your room is way closer than mine and I'm too tired to go too far on my own. I'm also none too keen on being alone and I know for a fact you aren't either.§

Just because it was true didn't mean the brat had to say it.

§We can talk about you going behind my back with the immortality shite later on. Rest, first. Tell the community about what happened, second. And then we talk.§

Damn.

Still, this meant Harry would be sharing his rooms. His bed particularly. And not in the sexual way. Though if he was being honest with himself, despite sleeping for several days not even five hours ago, he was practically dead on his feet and wanted to sleep again.

The three of them descended upon the massive bed in Voldemort's room. The bedding had been changed by Vashti already and felt heavenly. Harry didn't hesitate to curl right up to him and grasp his robes which had been magically change because he'd been too tired to do it physically.

Nagini coiled at the end of the bed, pinning their feet down.

"I'm glad you're okay," Harry murmured into his clothing.

Voldemort scoffed lightly, moving to brush some of Harry's messy hair aside. "Me? You're the one that... died."

"Doesn't mean I can't worry, you cockwomble."

And his heart did a little skip at that. Only Harry could get these reactions out of him even while using nicknames he detested.

"No one wants to see the one they love suffering."

His head snapped downward to find bright green staring up at him expectantly. "Did you just…?"

"I love you, Twat Waffle. Even when you drive me bonkers half the time and get too theatrical for a sane person to put up with, I can't help but love you anyway."

Kissing. Tongue. While Voldemort's glamour was completely gone in order to conserve magic, no less.

Someone actually loved Tom Riddle. When many believed it would be impossible and that he'd never come to understand such emotions… he'd managed to get it anyway.

He felt like he'd burst and wasn't sure if saying those three words Harry had plainly stated he wanted all those months ago, would even suffice. It was all so much.

"I am incapable of putting the height of my regard for you into the proper words, Harry, for I Love You doesn't feel like it's enough," he confessed quietly, feeling small in ways he hadn't in decades.

Harry bumped Voldemort's chin with his nose. "I don't need grand declarations. I just need the feeling and I now know it's there. And that's all I wanted from you, Voldemort."

A/N: Another is done!

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