A/N: This one's a bit shorter than usual, but I felt bad about leaving everyone with that cliffhanger. Enjoy :)

Chapter 4

As Harry apparated the two of them back to Grimmauld Place, Voldemort felt a subtle security spell wash over both of them. When they crossed the house's wards, it automatically removed their Glamours, and would presumably do the same to anyone who entered the house. The security spell was practical and proactive and an idea that he normally would've approved of if not for the fact that it had left the slave bond's collar of runes on full display around his neck, and evidently he and Harry were not alone.

The Granger girl was sitting on the sofa, apparently trying to ambush Harry. She'd stood up and opened her mouth to speak, but then paused when she noticed that he wasn't alone.

Voldemort blinked, then casually lifted a hand from Harry's shoulder to his own neck and wandlessly and nonverbally reapplied the Glamour over the rune collar as if it were inconsequential. He didn't bother with his eyes—they were a dark enough red that they would pass for brown at a reasonable distance. Harry was still clinging to him in a tight embrace so Voldemort cleared his throat and started to pull away, only to have Harry's arms around him tighten slightly. "Harry," he warned, since Harry's back was to the girl and he didn't seem to have noticed her yet, "apparently we have company."

Harry tensed and glanced over his shoulder without letting go of Voldemort. The tension only partially left his posture when he saw who their visitor was, and he said, "Oh, hey, Hermione."

Granger's eyebrows went up and she gave Harry a fondly exasperated look and said, "Hello, Harry. And..?" she trailed off, glancing expectantly at Voldemort.

Harry blushed slightly and said, "Oh, this is Tom. He's, er, my new bodyguard."

Granger quirked an eyebrow at Harry, clearly not believing him. "He seems very thorough," she said dryly, with a pointed look at their embrace.

Harry quickly let go of Voldemort and took a step back, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "No," he said awkwardly, catching the implication, "it's not what you're thinking—he really is my bodyguard. Kingsley introduced us."

"Kingsley assigned him?" she asked curiously. Voldemort took a moment to appreciate the girl's attention to detail and nuance—he had the fleeting thought that he was glad she wasn't his master, because he would've had a much harder time working around the wording of any orders she would've given him.

"Er," Harry said, glancing at Voldemort for help.

"Not exactly," Voldemort said, smoothly stepping in. "It's more of a freelance assignment."

"So you don't work for the Ministry?" Granger asked, her expression carefully neutral.

"I work for Harry."

"Were you in the Order?" she asked bluntly. "I don't think I've ever seen you around before."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow and answered, "You wouldn't have. Until very recently, I worked as an Unspeakable." The girl's interrogation was getting annoying very quickly.

Granger looked impressed but still slightly suspicious. "Doing what?"

He gave her a tight smile and said, "I can't tell you that—but I can tell you that my work there began before the first war, and I had very limited contact with other people during that time." He paused, shifted his expression into something a bit lost-looking but still charming. "I find myself returning to a very changed world—Harry has been kind enough to fill me in on some of what I've missed, and to give me a place to live while I adjust."

Granger studied him for a long, silent moment, then she said, "So your Unspeakable work began before the first war, and ended shortly after the second… Was it something to do with stopping Voldemort?" she asked bluntly. Gryffindors.

Voldemort blinked, then said in a cool but mostly neutral tone, "I'm not permitted to confirm or deny anything you ask about my work as an Unspeakable, Miss Granger." He paused, and decided that allowing her to believe he was some kind of behind-the-scenes hero would definitely be preferable to her suspicion. "However," he said, giving her a slightly warmer, pointed look, "I certainly can't argue with Harry's description of you as 'the clever one' of his group." There. That was a vague enough hint towards her being correct that an actual Unspeakable could've managed to slip it out without being punished by their Secrecy Vow.

Granger blinked and then gave him another assessing look before finally giving him a polite smile and replying, "Thank you—for the compliment, and for agreeing to watch over Harry."

Voldemort gave her a charming smile and said, "Of course." He nodded towards the copy of the Prophet in her hands and asked, "I assume you're here to ask about the Azkaban situation?"

Granger's expression shifted into something simultaneously annoyed and concerned, and she glanced at Harry and answered, "Not originally—I just happened to see the paper before heading out. I was actually coming over because you've been ignoring my letters, Harry—"

"This one just got here this morning," Harry protested.

Granger just talked over him, "—and you've been ignoring Professor McGonagall's letters too," she said, holding up the roll of parchment she'd brought. "She needs an answer on whether you're going back."

Harry sighed, and Voldemort gave him a curious look.

"I don't know yet. I haven't decided," he answered, crossing his arms and looking down at the ground.

"Harry," Granger said, exasperated, "you can't just keep saying that. The deadline to respond is supposed to be August first. You've missed that by a week, and Professor McGonagall—I mean, Headmistress McGonagall—owled me instead to try to get an answer out of you. She's worried about you—we all are."

Harry sighed and took a seemingly unconscious step closer to Voldemort. "I don't know if I want to go back yet."

Granger looked at Harry for a moment, then said, "Andromeda Tonks has agreed to take the Muggle Studies position. She and Teddy will be living at the castle. You'd get to see your godson pretty much whenever you wanted." Harry seemed to be wavering, and Granger added, "Ron and I are both going back—he wanted to jump right in to Auror training, but I managed to talk some sense into him."

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry said, trailing off and rubbing his arm.

"Professor Slughorn retired again, if that's any incentive," Granger added. "You won't have to put up with him—they've got someone new now, a Professor Markstone."

"Anything like Snape?" Harry asked in tone that tried for 'joking' but ended up landing in 'sad' instead.

"I don't know, I haven't met them yet," Granger answered delicately.

Harry swallowed, then asked, "What about Defense?"

Granger gave him a tight, humorless smile and said, "Well, don't spread this around, but she's still scrambling to try to find someone. People still believe the position is cursed."

Voldemort tamped down a wave of amusement and kept his face impassive.

"Do they?" Harry asked wryly, sneaking a side-glance over at Voldemort, who just looked back innocently. "Maybe Tom could take it."

Voldemort quirked an eyebrow and asked teasingly, "A cursed job? Are you that eager to get rid of me?"

Harry smirked and said, "Shockingly, no."

"Regardless," Voldemort said, unsure how to feel about the honesty in Harry's answer, "I doubt very much that the Headmistress would hire someone who can't even explain their qualifications because of an Unspeakable's Oath."

"Oh, she's desperate," Granger said immediately. "If Harry vouched for you, she would probably hire you on the spot."

Voldemort repressed a frown and said, "Be that as it may, my job is to ensure Harry's safety, and I can hardly do that if I'm away from him teaching all day."

Harry shrugged and interjected, "I mean, I'd just have to go with you. To Hogwarts, I mean. It's usually mostly safe there," he added wryly. "I'd be all right by myself in classes."

Voldemort raised a critical eyebrow at him and said pointedly, "And yet the consequences of any—incidents—that happened there would be much more severe, don't you agree?" He couldn't even imagine how humiliating it would be if Harry gave him another accidental order in front of a class or in the Great Hall. Not to mention that it could give away the slave bond and get Harry tossed in Azkaban for invoking Magical Conquest—if that went public, not even Shacklebolt's interference would keep Harry out of prison, and Voldemort would be thrown back in right along with him.

Harry squinted at him like he realized that Voldemort was trying to say something more but didn't quite understand what he meant. Voldemort sighed, caught Harry's eyes, and then used Legilimency to project into Harry's mind, 'I'm referring to accidental orders, you imbecile. It would give away the slave bond and see us both thrown into Azkaban.'

"Oh," Harry said out loud. "Well, I mean, I'll just have to be extra careful, right?" Next to him, the Granger girl was giving him a slightly suspicious look as she glanced between Harry and himself.

Voldemort blinked and tried to ignored the Granger girl's stares. "Five minutes ago you seemed entirely ambivalent about returning to Hogwarts, and now you're trying to talk me into taking a job there."

Harry glanced away briefly, then shrugged and said, "What else are we going to do? Sit around this house and drive each other mad?"

The brat had a point. "And if the Headmistress doesn't hire me?" he asked.

"I'm pretty sure I can convince her to let you come with me as my bodyguard," Harry said, although he didn't sound entirely certain. "Or I'd just not go."

"Harry," Granger finally interjected with a guarded look between Voldemort and Harry. "Can I talk to you privately for a moment?"

Harry glanced warily at Voldemort, as if expecting him to blow up again if asked to leave. Voldemort let a tiny, amused smile slip onto his face, then he casually said, "I'll just go make some tea, shall I?"

"Thank you," Granger said cordially.

"Er, if you want," Harry said carefully.

Voldemort nodded and headed towards the kitchen, considering whether or not he should eavesdrop.

The answer, of course, turned out to be 'yes' so as soon as he put the kettle on for tea, he Disillusioned himself and quietly walked back over to stand in the kitchen doorway and watch Harry and Granger—who were hugging now.

After a moment, they let go of each other and sat down close on the sofa. Voldemort raised an eyebrow, wondering at the closeness, the casual touches. Was Granger Harry's girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend? Secret infatuation?

"How's Ron doing?" Harry asked after a moment.

"Better," Granger said, sounding a bit sad. "He's still devastated about Fred—they all are, but I think he's finally starting to process it."

"Good," Harry replied.

Granger nodded, then she let out a nervous laugh and said, "Don't tell him, but I found a ring in his sock drawer. I've no idea when or how he bought it, but I think he's going to propose."

Harry broke into a smile and said, "Hermione! That's brilliant—I mean, it is, isn't it? Do you want to marry him?"

Granger bit her lip and nodded, visibly repressing a grin. "I mean, I kind of hope he waits until after we graduate, but if he asked me tomorrow I'd say yes."

Harry grinned even wider and then hugged her again, and after they let go he took one of her hands and entwined their fingers. Voldemort's brow furrowed—Harry was honestly happy for her with no trace of jealousy and he clearly didn't want her romantically, but he was doing an awful lot of unnecessary touching and she was allowing it. As he watched, Granger gently nudged Harry until he sat back against the sofa in a more comfortable sprawl, and then she leaned against his side, tucking herself under his arm.

"So," she said after a moment of comfortable silence (for those two at least—Voldemort was distinctly uncomfortable), "Tell me all about your new 'bodyguard'," she said, with audible quotation marks.

"Hermione," Harry grumbled, "he really is just my bodyguard."

"Oh, come on. You were flirting. You were hugging when you got here!"

Harry's face went slightly red and he said, "We weren't flirting! That was…banter. And we were just holding on to Apparate."

Granger snorted. "Okay. Sure, Harry." She went quiet for a moment, and Voldemort could pinpoint the moment Harry relaxed and assumed she was going to drop the subject. Evidently Granger also noticed that he'd let his guard down, because she took the opportunity to add, "You like him though, right? There's tension."

Harry full-on blushed, and shot a glance towards the kitchen before hissing, "Hermione! Don't say that, he might hear you."

Granger smirked and lowered her voice but said, "I don't hear you denying it. You basically said you wouldn't go back to Hogwarts if he didn't take the Defense position—you're doing that thing where you start rearranging all of your plans around whoever your crush is at the moment."

"I am not! It's just—complicated. And even if I did like him, it wouldn't matter," Harry said, looking as profoundly uncomfortable as Voldemort felt. "I'm his, er, employer—and it wouldn't be right to try anything."

Granger's smirk faded, and she said, "Yes, of course. I was just teasing, Harry, I know you wouldn't pressure anyone like that. But you should explain, about this, so he doesn't get the wrong idea," she said pointedly, running one hand through Harry's hair in a way that had a strange stab of possessiveness and something like jealousy shooting through Voldemort. Harry blinked and suddenly looked towards the kitchen—damn it, the brat must've felt that through their connection. Granger obliviously kept talking, "I mean, you seemed rather reluctant to let go after you Apparated in—he seemed a bit uncomfortable."

"Maybe you should explain," Harry said, frowning slightly at the doorway where Voldemort was standing, still Disillusioned. "You're the one who had to explain it to me in the first place and convince me I wasn't just a clingy freak."

"You're not a freak," Granger said automatically and sternly, as if this was something they'd been over a hundred times before. "But it's not really my place to tell him about your childhood, Harry. You should talk to him yourself."

"He already knows," Harry said.

Granger raised an eyebrow. "He knows about your childhood but not about the touch-starved thing?"

Harry shook his head and grumbled, "I hate that term. It makes it sound like I'm horny all the time or something."

Granger rolled her eyes, "Just explain to him that it's about comfort and trust, and that it's not sexual—"

Harry let his head fall back against the back of the sofa and interrupted, "I will die of embarrassment if I try to say any of that to his face, Hermione, you have no idea."

Granger sighed, "Harry, at some point you have to take charge of this—it's important to be able to tell people what you need and what your boundaries are."

Harry leaned over to let his head casually rest on top of Granger's while she stayed tucked under his arm. Voldemort absolutely did not feel another stab of—something—at the sight of it. Harry's expression seemed to flicker for a split second, then he sighed and asked Granger, "All right, how would you phrase it then? How should I say it?"

Granger's brow furrowed and she asked, "You'll actually talk to him, if I help you plan it out?"

"Of course," Harry said. A lie, Voldemort immediately noted. Interesting.

"Well," Granger said, still looking a bit suspicious, "you should start by saying that you respect him and enjoy his company and you don't want to make him uncomfortable—assuming that that's all true, of course," she said, and Harry made a vague mm-hmm noise. "And then just keep it short and to the point—tell him you had a neglectful childhood and you never experienced any kind of positive or affectionate touch from your relatives, and so now you tend to overcompensate a bit sometimes when you're comfortable around someone."

Unseen, Voldemort quirked an eyebrow. It made a certain kind of sense, although Voldemort himself didn't recall ever having any sort of positive touch or affection in his own childhood, and he'd never developed a craving for it. Although he couldn't deny that whenever he and Harry touched it felt strangely fulfilling, he preferred to blame that on their Horcrux connection and leave it at that. But this new detail about Harry certainly explained a few things—why, for instance, he'd been so willing to cuddle the murderer of his parents after they'd consummated the bond. It was a whole new avenue Voldemort could exploit to gain Harry's trust, and if it truly wasn't sexual in nature, he wouldn't have to worry quite so much about Harry taking liberties.

"Are you really going to tell him?" Granger asked.

"In those words exactly," Harry said, with a flick of his eyes towards the doorway and an uncertain but still cheeky smile. Somehow, he seemed sure now that Voldemort was eavesdropping and that subsequently he wouldn't have to tell him himself.

Voldemort huffed a silent laugh. Brat.

The tea kettle went off, and Harry jumped slightly at the sound. Voldemort went back into the kitchen, undid the Disillusionment, and prepared a tea tray.

When he carried out the tea tray, he noted with amusement that Harry and Granger had scooted apart to a more respectable distance, although Granger gave Harry a pointed look, to which Harry rolled his eyes and mouthed 'later'.

Voldemort set the tray down on the coffee table, then took a seat on the sofa opposite the one Granger and Harry occupied. Once they had all fixed their tea (Voldemort committed to memory that Harry took his with a splash of milk and a nauseating amount of sugar), Voldemort took a drink and then set his cup down, reaching for the newspaper on the coffee table.

"May I?" he asked Granger. "I haven't had a chance to read it yet." The copy he'd bought at the bookstore was still shrunken and in Harry's robe pocket along with the rest of their purchases.

She nodded, then turned her attention to Harry and asked, "Why did you visit Azkaban, anyway? It doesn't say."

Voldemort started reading the article, but he kept his attention split to also listen to Harry and Granger's conversation.

"Erm, well, you know," Harry said awkwardly, "just—closure, I guess."

"Closure," Granger repeated, only half a question.

Harry nodded and elaborated, "I needed to talk to Voldemort, just one last time."

Granger's eyebrows went up, then she blinked and asked, "And they let you? I thought he was supposed to be in maximum security—they don't allow visitors."

Harry gave her a forced-looking smile and said uncomfortably, "Yes, well, being the Savior of the Wizarding World has its perks, if you're willing to throw your fame around a bit."

Granger gave him a half-sympathetic, knowing look and asked, "You needed 'closure' that badly?"

Harry nodded, then took a sip of his tea and said tentatively, "And I got it—so you see, you can stop worrying about me quite so much. I've just had a lot on my mind, and talking to him helped. I promise I'll stop being, what was it—withdrawn, preoccupied, and erratic?" he added, quoting Granger's letter.

Granger cracked a smile but it didn't quite reach her eyes and it faded quickly into a serious expression. "I hope you aren't going to make a habit of visiting him—I don't want him getting in your head again."

Voldemort blinked at that, but he didn't look up from skimming the article—thankfully he wasn't specifically named anywhere in it. Evidently after being taken into custody, the warden had tried to bargain for lenience and immediately ratted out four of the guards for both physically and sexually abusing several other prisoners, who also remained unnamed. It made Voldemort's stomach turn, but he was grateful to at least be spared the indignity of the entire world knowing about what Anderson had tried to do to him.

Harry laughed nervously, but brushed off Granger's concern and said, "I won't be going back. I don't need to—I got what I wanted, and I managed to get a few abusive guards fired too."

Granger studied Harry for a moment, then simply said, "Good."

Voldemort finished reading the surprisingly lackluster article, then folded the paper and handed it across the table to Harry.

"Well?" Harry asked, somewhat apprehensively. "How bad is it?"

"See for yourself," Voldemort said. "It seems truthful, based on what you told me about the encounter. And there is a surprising lack of embellishment and hearsay, considering that this is the Daily Prophet."

Harry took the paper, unfolded it, and started to read.

Granger, meanwhile, caught Voldemort's eye and asked, "You weren't there with Harry?"

Harry tensed up, but Voldemort smoothly answered, "Minister Shacklebolt introduced us directly after the incident. He was concerned about possible retaliation from the guards and their families."

Granger frowned. "How likely is that?"

"It's a possibility that they'll try something," Voldemort said in a nonchalant tone, "but between Harry and I, they're unlikely to succeed in causing any real damage."

Granger frowned, took a sip of her tea, then said almost absently, "Constant vigilance."

Harry finished reading the paper and tossed it back onto the coffee table, looking thoughtful with his brow slightly furrowed. Voldemort caught his eye and raised one questioning eyebrow. Harry subtly shook his head, and Voldemort took that to mean that Harry would ask or tell him whatever it was later. Voldemort nodded slightly to convey his understanding, then he casually took another drink of his tea.

"So," Granger said after a moment of companionable silence, "Harry—what shall I tell Professor McGonagall? Are you going back to Hogwarts or not?"

Harry sighed, and then caught Voldemort's eye and quirked an eyebrow in a silent question. Voldemort looked impassively back at him and gave him the slightest hint of a shrug, hoping that it adequately conveyed 'obviously it's up to you, brat'.

Harry didn't seem to like that answer, but after a moment he looked at Granger instead, and said, "Ask her if she'll consider Tom for the Defense position. If she won't, then make it clear that if he can't come with me as my bodyguard then I'm not coming back."

Granger seemed hesitant. "Harry," she started.

"No," Harry interrupted. "You wanted an answer, that's my answer."

Granger sniffed and said, "You could write her back yourself, you know."

Harry blinked up at her and said innocently, "But you'd word it so much better than I could."

Granger rolled her eyes. "Just this once," she said sternly but fondly.

Harry smiled and said sincerely, "Thanks, Hermione."

Granger smiled back, then stood and said, "Well—I should be getting back. Ron and his family will worry if I'm not back in time for dinner." She eyed Voldemort for a second, then said, "You're both welcome to come along, if you want."

It was the absolute last thing Voldemort wanted, and Harry seemed to sense that because he gave Granger an apologetic smile and said, "Er, I'm not really up to being around that many people right now. Sorry."

A lie, and a rather large one at that, judging from the regret and longing that was strong enough to leak through their mental bond—it suddenly clicked in Voldemort's mind that despite the fame and despite the allies and the close friends he had, Harry Potter was a profoundly lonely person. And that was definitely something Voldemort could use.

Granger didn't quite mange to hide her frown at Harry's refusal, but she said, "That's all right, Harry. Maybe next time?"

"Yeah, maybe," Harry said. He stood up and pulled her into a hug.

"Take care of yourself, all right?" Granger said as she hugged him back. They pulled apart and then Granger turned to Voldemort and added, "And you take care of him too."

Voldemort smiled while cursing her impudence in his thoughts, and mildly replied, "Of course." He stood and offered his hand, which Granger shook. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Granger," he said automatically, dredging up the old Tom Riddle charm.

"You as well," she said, "and please, call me Hermione."

"Then I insist you call me Tom." Voldemort's charming smile didn't falter despite feeling like he might throw up in his mouth. Damn rules of etiquette. He missed the days when he could ignore etiquette completely and just curse anyone who annoyed him. Being 'Thomas Smith' was going to get tedious very quickly.

Harry must've sensed Voldemort's growing annoyance, because he stepped in to slide one arm around Granger in another half-hug, steering her towards the fireplace while saying all of the requisite goodbyes and take cares and see you soons. Despite that, Harry was clearly reluctant to see her go.

Just before she stepped into the Floo, Granger winked at Harry and said nonsensically, "Have fun with Kevin, Whitney." Then she disappeared in a whirl of green flames.

"Oh my god," Harry muttered to the now-empty fireplace. He was blushing slightly when he turned back around to face Voldemort.

"What did she just call us?"

Harry laughed nervously and said, "It's from a movie called The Bodyguard. Those are the main actors' names."

Voldemort very nearly gave in to the impulse to roll his eyes. "Is it a good movie, at least?"

Harry shrugged. "Rather cheesy, but it's all right, I guess." He paused and added, "it's erm, a romance though."

"Forget I asked," Voldemort said, sitting back down on the sofa and leaning his head back to stare idly at the ceiling. He kept an eye on Harry in his peripheral vision, and it took the boy a moment of dithering before he finally walked over and sat down on Voldemort's left.

"So, erm," Harry said awkwardly with a blush coloring his face. "You were actually eavesdropping, right? I wasn't just imagining that?"

Voldemort glanced him and mildly replied, "Perhaps." Then he casually lifted his left arm up to rest along the back of the sofa behind Harry. Even the smooth grace with which Voldemort infused the motion couldn't save it from being one of the most obvious and recognizable moves in history.

Harry blinked, staring at the arm and then glancing back at Voldemort, who was facing forward and deliberately not meeting Harry's curious eyes. In his peripheral vision, Voldemort watched Harry awkwardly open his mouth to speak several times only to change his mind every time. Finally he managed to stammer out, "Er, is that—I mean, are you—can I—erm—?"

"That's as much of an invitation as you're going to get," Voldemort tersely interrupted.

"All right," Harry said, scooting closer and cautiously tucking himself against Voldemort's side.

Voldemort wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders as the boy settled in. Their sides and legs were pressed together but despite the closeness, they both stared straight ahead somewhat stiffly and avoided looking at each other. Harry didn't seem to know what to do with his hands—he started to place his right hand on Voldemort's leg but then pulled back at the last minute and settled it in his own lap instead.

After a long, silent, awkward moment, Harry roused up some Gryffindor courage and brought one hand up to first cover and then entwine fingers with Voldemort's hand where it was perched on Harry's shoulder. Voldemort tensed slightly but didn't pull away.

"Is this all right, or too much?" Harry asked quietly, and both his words and their entwined fingers reminded Voldemort intensely of the consummation—the consideration Harry had shown towards Voldemort's comfort, the way he'd been as insistent about respecting consent as one could be in their particular situation, the way he'd seemed a bit desperate to always be as close as physically possible.

Voldemort shoved the memories away, then cleared his throat and replied, "I've had your cock inside me—compared to that, holding hands is hardly an imposition."

That startled a brief chuckle out of Harry, but then he cautiously said, "I thought we weren't talking about that?"

"We aren't."

"Okay."

There was an almost-comfortable silence this time, and Harry finally seemed to relax into Voldemort's reluctant embrace. After a moment, that pleasant tingling feeling started to build between them in all the places they were touching. Voldemort blamed the sensation on the Horcrux mostly, but he'd started to notice that the proximity requirement of the slave bond was acting up a bit as well—not enough to really bother him, but if he kept his distance from Harry for more than a few hours, it started to get slightly uncomfortable, like a mild itch in the back of his mind. Sitting like this with Harry every so often would benefit Voldemort as well, helping him to gain Harry's favor while making it look like he was simply being generous and accommodating—it was a win-win situation.

"I should still hate you," Harry said, apropos nothing.

Voldemort blinked at the non-sequitur, then said mildly, "Yes, probably."

"I mean, it's weird that I don't," Harry said, sounding frustrated with himself. "Even when I was driving myself crazy trying to figure out a way to be your Horcrux again, I still hated you—for killing my parents, for going after me, for hurting my friends. And I hated you because despite all of that, I still couldn't stand not being a part of you. But now—I don't know how to explain it," he said, trailing off with a frustrated sigh. "The resentment is still there underneath, but it's like it's…muted, or something, except for when we're arguing or when you're goading me on purpose." He paused for a moment, then asked, "Is it because of the Magical Conquest?"

Voldemort made a noncommittal humming noise, then considered whether he should share his hypothesis. After a moment he decided it wouldn't hurt anything, and he replied, "I would imagine it's because of the Horcrux."

Harry tensed and asked, "What, like it's controlling me?"

"No," you idiot, he refrained from adding. "This one isn't sentient. The only way it could possibly influence you is on a subconscious level—you might empathize with me more, or see parts of my past in your dreams. It's a much larger fraction of my soul than you had before."

"How much more?"

This, Voldemort considered lying about…but in the end, he honestly answered, "Half."

"What?" Harry jerked up and turned to look Voldemort in the eyes, without managing to dislodge his arm from around him. "I have half of your soul?"

"That's how it works," Voldemort explained—not that he'd known that himself until after he'd already made too many to remain stable. It hadn't been in any of the rare written accounts of Horcruxes that Voldemort had unearthed during his early research. "Creating a Horcrux splits away exactly half of the caster's soul each time."

Harry gaped at him, horrified, and stammered, "So—so before you fixed yourself, you only had, what?"

"Don't hurt yourself doing the math," Voldemort sniped. "Suffice it to say that the original accidental Horcrux in your scar contained more of my soul than I did by that point." In response to Harry's confused look, he clarified, "I didn't make Nagini a Horcrux until after my resurrection."

Harry just blinked at him in shock for another moment, then he repeated, "Half? Really?"

Voldemort gave him a flat look and said, "I don't enjoy repeating myself." He pointedly squeezed Harry's left hand, which was still entwined with his own, and said, "Now settle down, unless you need to run off and have a meltdown over this."

Harry huffed out a humorless laugh, then relaxed back into Voldemort's side and said, "Nope, I'm fine right here. No meltdowns necessary." Under his breath, he muttered, "Half…Merlin."

There was another silence that was almost comfortable as the Horcrux bond subtly tingled between them, but of course Harry had to go and ruin it by speaking.

"Do you still hate me?" he asked, sounding strangely vulnerable.

Voldemort took a moment to consider his answer, then he said carefully, "I don't think 'hate' was ever an accurate descriptor for how I felt about you… It's far too simple a word." He didn't elaborate—he wasn't actually sure that he could in a way that would make sense—and thankfully, Harry didn't try to make him.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Harry was starting to question whether he'd finally actually lost his mind. Here he was, sitting on the sofa holding hands with Voldemort and fighting back a smile because his former archenemy had said he didn't hate him. And he'd more or less made up his mind spur-of-the-moment to go back to Hogwarts only as long as Voldemort (Tom—he reminded himself—get used to calling him Tom) er, as long as Tom could go with him. What was that about?

Harry sighed, then after a few moments of Horcrux-tingly silence, he said, "Thanks for being nice to Hermione."

Vold—er, Tom gave a noncommittal hum before saying, "It wouldn't be wise or productive to alienate one of your best friends."

"Still, thanks." He paused, then asked, "Is it all right if I call you Tom? Like when we're alone, I mean. Not just in front of people."

Tom took longer than usual to answer, but he finally said, "I suppose you should. I've noticed that your elf tends to skulk around underfoot, and it wouldn't do for you to use my chosen name in earshot of him. Or to shout it in another crowd," he added, sounding amused at that last bit.

Harry huffed a laugh, and said, "Never going to let that go, are you?"

Tom shrugged, jostling Harry slightly, and said, "You entertain me occasionally."

"Glad I'm good for something," Harry said, half-sarcastically.

"Brat," Tom murmured. He went silent for a moment, then asked, "What did you think of the news article?"

"Oh, right," Harry said. "Don't you think it's weird that they didn't mention you at all? I don't just mean what happened with that guard—because I'm glad they didn't mention that—but they didn't even acknowledge you at all. Kingsley said he was going to tell people he'd moved you to some Ministry cell—you'd think that would be pretty big news too." A twinge of annoyance and something like exasperation bled through their mental connection, and Harry immediately asked, "What?"

Tom sighed and said, "Harry, he's not likely to tell the general public that—it would cause a panic. He probably only told the head Auror and whoever was chosen to replace the Azkaban warden. He's going to have to do quite a lot of lying and Confunding to keep people from realizing that I'm not in Azkaban and not in a Ministry cell either."

"He told that guard he was moving you," Harry chimed in as he remembered. "Right before we left your visiting room. And he had an Auror with him."

"He probably made the Auror Obliviate the guard after we Apparated away, or perhaps he made them both swear a Vow of secrecy. Either way, I imagine as far as the world will ever know, I'm still locked in a cell in Azkaban indefinitely."

"Well," Harry said, shifting against Tom's side, turning slightly more towards him for a more comfortable position, "that's a good thing, isn't it? Means nobody will suspect that you're, well, you."

Tom made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, then said sarcastically, "Your brilliance and eloquence never cease to astound me."

"Rude," Harry said. Then he yawned and absently rested his head on Tom's shoulder.

"Don't you dare fall asleep on me," Tom warned.

"But you're so comfy," Harry protested through an unseen smile.

"I will dump you on the floor."

"No you won't. Can't hurt me," he said, then he winced as he realized that that might've come across as a taunt. He didn't mean it that way at all though—the fact that Tom literally couldn't harm him was the biggest reason he could actually feel comfortable in the man's presence.

"I can still make things difficult for you in other ways if I choose to," Tom replied in a deceptively mild tone. "Or I could just ignore you and refuse to help alleviate your touch starvation."

"Eugh, I hate that term," Harry grumbled. "And yeah, you could, but I really hope you won't. I didn't mean anything by that, it's just—that's why I can relax around you now. You're the only person in the whole world who literally can't hurt me."

"And isn't that just the height of irony?" Tom said under his breath.

"Yep," Harry replied, even though he knew it was a rhetorical question. "But if you ask me, it's definitely an improvement."

"No one asked you," Tom griped, but he made no move to either leave or push Harry away. Instead, he lifted his free hand and wandlessly charmed the Daily Prophet that Hermione had left behind so it would float in front of him and turn the pages whenever needed as he read the other articles.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Outside on the pavement, just clear of the wards and unnoticed by any of the passing Muggles, a figure in silvery-grey robes stood and silently stared between numbers 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

A/N another cliffy… OOPS I did it again ;)

Imagine my nerdy delight when I realized that "The Bodyguard" with Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner was released in 1992, meaning that I could reference it for that little joke without being anachronistic. Also I love how a lot of you assumed Hermione would figure it out right away, but no… not yet, fam ;) I'm enjoying tying Tom and Harry closer together in the center of this web of lies they're telling everyone else to protect themselves.

Please share your thoughts on whether you want Tom and Harry to go to Hogwarts or not, and in what capacity (as in professor Tom or bodyguard Tom or something completely different). I have a trajectory loosely planned for their relationship (and for how/when certain other characters find out about Tom and/or about the slave bond) but a lot of things are still very much up in the air, and not set in stone.

Comments con-crit are encouraged and very much appreciated!