My apologies for the long wait; I really have no excuse. This is the last installment of Choices, so please take the time to review!

This was the sight Voldemort came upon when he arrived in his rooms a good hour and a half later, after successfully diverting unwarranted questions from his Death Eaters. Harry slept on his side, one hand gripping the pillow, his knees pulled to his chest, face relaxed in a deep sleep. The man shook his head fondly, which was a surprise as he had only had Harry on his side for less than two weeks.

He gathered a book he had been meaning to read for a while, kicked off his shoes, and lay on his bed beside the teen, stroking a hand through the wild hair as he reclined. Like a cat, Harry pushed his head against the man's hand. The teen rolled over and pressed his face into Voldemort's side, falling into an even deeper sleep than before, one hand firmly gripping Voldemort's shirt.

~~~ooo~~~

Harry woke wrapped in a sleeping Voldemort's arms, and found he didn't care one bit. It was odd, considering he had never slept next to another person, especially a man. However, Harry had to use the bathroom and he pulled his mind from the sleepy realm it had been lost in. He tried to roll from the stronger man's arms, but they only tightened around him as he worked on escaping.

Harry narrowed his eyes as he thought on how to free himself. He finally resorted to poking Voldemort in the side, which caused the man to twitch and wake up a bit. +Go back to sleep,+ the man hissed, +I'm comfortable.+

+I have to use the bathroom,+ Harry replied, squirming even more.

Voldemort sighed and released Harry. The man rolled over, pulling the blankets higher over his shoulders. Harry took that as a signal to go, so he wiggled from the warm bed and sleepily walked to the bathroom to relieve himself. He returned a few minutes later, thought about sleeping somewhere else, realized he didn't care, and slipped into bed next to Voldemort, turning his back to the other man. Voldemort again rolled over and wrapped his arm over the teen, tugging the unresisting body into his. +Warm…+ he commented.

Harry groaned in approval and pressed back into the warm heat of his ex-enemy. The duo slept peacefully.

~~~ooo~~~

The next few days went by quickly as Harry became acclimated with how things were run in the manor. He'd wake up, usually next to Voldemort and wrapped in his arms, eat, and practice magic. The elder man instructed him deeper into knowledge from previous years and then started touching on what Harry would learn in fifth year. Some of the spells Harry knew were translated into Parseltongue and cast, a form of magic called Parselmagic.

The language of the snakes brought forth a different color to spells and charms. They were stronger and only blocked by a shield cast with parselmagic or by dodging. The teen practiced on some of the more annoying followers of Voldemort.

When he really got a grip on the parselmagic spells, the Death Eaters were terrified, as the magic packed a punch. More often than not, Severus was called in to help heal the followers. Voldemort even considered marking a Healer to assist Severus or capturing some Muggles for his Harry to experiment with, people that could be disposed of once their usefulness has expired.

In the meantime, Harry took a break from parselmagic to learn Apparition alongside Draco Malfoy. While the teens would learn it in school come sixth year, they wouldn't be able to get their licenses through Hogwarts, as they wouldn't be seventeen until the summer following sixth year. Lucius instructed them with all of the Pure Blood ways, none of the ridiculous 'Three R's' the Ministry considered necessary when teaching the students.

Only a week after lessons, Harry was successful in Apparition, while Draco was still struggling not to splinch himself. Harry laughed himself silly as he watched his friend explode when he spotted a chunk of robes sitting at his starting point. Harry, meanwhile, was taken to the Ministry by Lucius, with Harry disguised to look older, and he signed his Apparition license. Harry was ecstatic at the thought of no more side-along Apparition, as it felt worse than moving himself.

Before long, it was the week of Harry's fifteenth birthday. Voldemort had his Inner Circle set up a gathering for his partner. The Inner Circle Death Eaters and their spouses and children would be the only guests. When Voldemort's return was acknowledged by his followers, and the adults heard of the news that Potter only returned once they had left the gathering, they connected the dots that Harry Potter, once the Golden Boy and Savior, had refused the 'Light' to join Voldemort. Thus, they were spelled to secrecy and the Inner Circle and family were aware that Harry Potter was Lord Voldemort's guest. Of course, the children who mused during the school year shared laughs at the adults' expense.

Other groups of Death Eaters, composed of those Voldemort didn't know or trust, didn't know that Harry was the person who was always present around their Lord during meetings. Harry continued to wear his mask and silently cast spells to those few who annoyed him.

Harry's party was scheduled for the night of his birthday; the celebration lasted until early hours of the morning. One of the most memorable things Harry recalled the next afternoon was dancing with his year-mates, the children of the Inner Circle. He had exclaimed to one Blaise Zabini (his mother was really quite neutral, but many of her husbands had favored Voldemort until they died) that it was his first birthday party. The boy had responded, "You're joking, right?"

Harry had pouted and replied, "Why does everyone think I'm joking when I'm not?"

Draco broke in and exclaimed, "You're a jokester; no one can really take you seriously!"

Pansy joined the conversation as she attached to Draco's arm, ignoring the fact he edged away repeatedly. "You're our very own joker, the Death Eater prankster."

"But I'm not joking! And I'm not a Death Eater, Pansy."

His tone had the girl blush and disappear further into the room, much to the relief of Draco. The teen shook his arm out and told Harry, "I'll see you around, not-Death-Eater Joker." He wandered off in the opposite direction of the younger, female Parkinson, leaving Blaise and Harry standing around with only each other for company. "Hmm, the Dark Lord Voldemort and his Joker. It has a certain ring to it, Harry," he mused.

Harry had glared and left his friend; Blaise continued to call Harry 'Joker' through the night. A few of the older guests heard and began to call him that as well. By the time the group had left the manor, Harry's nickname was established: he was the Joker of Lord Voldemort.

Upon hearing the story the next morning, Voldemort chuckled. "The name seems to have stuck, my little Joker," he said teasingly to Harry as they ate breakfast. Harry glared at him and pouted, but continued to eat.

Voldemort had helped him to master Occlumency and parts of Legilimency earlier in the summer and, now that he had Apparition, parselmagic, and his birthday over with, Voldemort decided it was time to teach Harry how to be an Animagus. The teen was quite anxious to learn, as it would result in a quick escape from any situation in which he was stuck.

Their morning started off with meditation, a skill Harry had picked up from Occlumency. Once that was completed, Voldemort instructed Harry to delve into his mind to find the animal that would become Harry's Animagus form. Both were surprised at the revelation of Harry's new body, as a crow wasn't something Voldemort would have aligned with his Joker. Nonetheless, the transformation from human to crow took no time to master, and the teen was soon gliding alongside his friends on wings as they flew on brooms.

More days passed with few, if any, rude interruptions. Harry finally acted his age, while his friends lost their pureblood reserve. Death Eater meetings were sparse, though when they occurred, the men and women bowed to Harry as they did to Voldemort. Instead of calling him, "My Lord," however, they called him, "My Joker." Harry was put out with the nickname, and sighed unhappily when ever he was named. Voldemort was happy to point out that Harry remained anonymous with his unusual name.

Finally, it was a week after Harry turned fifteen. He still shared a bed with Voldemort, but neither seemed to mind; it seemed to be natural to the two males. Narcissa, one of Voldemort's favored accomplices – she was, after all, the Lady Malfoy – burst into their room and cooed cheerfully when she saw their entwined bodies, Voldemort firmly wrapped around Harry.

"Wakey, wakey!" she called out to them, careful to stay away from the bed and the grumpy Voldemort. Harry's head rose into her sight from over the elder man's shoulder, his green eyes blinking sleepily. "I'm taking you shopping as a belated birthday gift," she reminded the boy as he groaned in despair.

Harry eventually rolled out from the blankets, disregarding the moaning Voldemort. "Give me –" He started, pausing to yawn, "ten minutes," he told the woman as he slipped his glasses over his eyes.

"Okay!" Narcissa exclaimed cheerfully, and quickly left the room. It was apparent the Black madness hadn't escaped everyone.

Harry stepped into the connecting bathroom and splashed water into his sleep-logged face, washing away the exhaustion. He combed his growing hair back from his face and covered his scar with expensive Muggle make-up, the best material they could find to disguise the curse scar. Harry stripped from his sleeping pants and into day clothing. The boy relieved himself, washed his hands, and left the bathroom before slipping on the bed next to Voldemort.

The man had already sat up himself, tucking his face into his hands to attempt to rub away his own exhaustion. He moved one of his hands to Harry's head and combed his fingers through the raven hair, letting it lengthen. The multiple colors were saved for when he wore his mask, as that was one of the Joker's features. The man then ghosted his fingertips over Harry's closed eyes – the glasses had been removed – and allowed his magic to act as contacts. Eventually Harry would take a corrective potion, but he needed the glasses to act the part of Harry Potter. Even using regular glass in place of the lenses would be suspicious.

"See you later, if I'm still alive," Harry murmured into the other's ear as he leaned forward and hugged the man farewell.

Voldemort grunted into the teen's shoulder. "You had best be alive," he remarked, "or Wormtail won't get his due punishment."

He pulled back and grinned at the elder man, darting in to kiss Voldemort's cheek in gratitude. He froze briefly at the tingle that spread over his lips, but Harry soon slipped off the bed and ran from the room in slight embarrassment. Voldemort was left alone, a hand pressed over the prickling skin of his cheek, and wondering just why Harry was growing increasingly attractive.

Harry's cheeks were still dusted with his blush as he met Narcissa in the entrance hall. She harrumphed when she saw Harry's clothing, and was delighted that she could shop for him. Her eyes widened as she took in his face though. "You look surprisingly like a Black with your long hair," the woman commented, stretching a hand out to run her fingers through Harry's black locks.

The blush darkened over his cheekbones and Narcissa grinned. "You must learn how to take a compliment, Harry. May I call you Harry?" He nodded jerkily, quiet before the energetic woman. Harry wondered just what was different with her, from the reserved woman at the Quidditch World Cup, to the one before him. "Wonderful; however, you'll need a pseudonym for the Alley, or people will suspect that I captured you from those horrid Muggles. Do you have any particular name you like?" she questioned him as she walked from the manor. Narcissa wasn't keyed to side-along Apparate from the manor, and it would be suspicious if a fifteen-year-old boy arrived on his own.

"None come to mind," Harry told the woman.

She mused silently for a moment. "I'll call you Lycoris in that case; he was one of my cousin's granduncles and has since passed away."

"Okay," he responded as they finally passed the edge of the wards. Narcissa gripped tightly to his shoulder and spun away.

Harry stumbled on his landing, feeling slightly queasy at the edges. Oh, he loathed side-along Apparition. Narcissa momentarily steadied him before clutching Harry's arm in her own and waltzing off down the streets. The first store they entered was a formal robe shop; Harry stood, nearly starker, as the working witch flicked yards of clothing along his body. The woman ignored the scars littering his body with ease borne of experience. Within the hour, he had robes designed, Narcissa going over them with sharp eyes to the quality. They were to be mailed to the Malfoy manor, as that was where Lycoris was supposedly staying.

The next stop was an everyday robe store, where Narcissa handed the workers Harry's size list from the previous fitting. They only stayed long enough to pick out a few styles and order multiple colors of each. The final clothing store was for under-robe clothing. Harry appraised the racks of styles and colors with dread, as there were so many choices. Luckily, they still had the size cheat-sheet, so Narcissa handed another copy off and brushed through the aisles, picking up and discarding what she judged to be worthy and unworthy of the Joker.

The woman sent Harry into a dressing room to change into clothing that actually was his. Harry looked much better in his own clothing than even in her Lord's. Narcissa hummed happily as she examined the teen, occasionally tucking an errant piece of hair behind one ear. "Very nice," she commented.

"Thanks," Harry muttered, to her disapproval. She glared lightly at Harry, who responded, "Thank you very much, Aunt Narcissa."

"You are welcome, Lycoris." Harry schooled his features blank at the unfamiliar name and casually followed the Lady Malfoy from the store once their order was placed and purchased. "Our last stop is a new wand for you, Lycoris. Your other wand is just too easily traced. As well, it is always best to have one wand for now, and another as an unseen advantage."

"What about school supplies?" he wondered aloud.

Narcissa glanced over her shoulder a few times before remarking, "You'll get those later with your cousin. I'm sure you're worn out from all the shopping."

Harry nodded empathetically, bringing a smile to the woman's expressionless face. "Very well. Follow me," she ordered dropping off in a small side alley, pulling up the hood of her cloak as she did so. Their way twisted and turned until Harry found himself in a familiar setting – Knockturn Alley.

Harry froze, causing Narcissa to turn her head. A curl of platinum blonde hair fell out from under her hood; the woman sighed and held her arm out to Harry, who gratefully took the offered hand in his own. She led him to a sketchy shop, its window display covered with grime and questionable fluids. The Malfoy woman pushed open the front door with one finger, wiping it off on a handkerchief once they were inside.

The woman perched at the counter was busy wiping a gleaming wand with a surprisingly clean rag. The inside of the store was definitely nicer, Harry decided as his eyes swept around. Narcissa dropped her hood as she approached the crone, Harry mimicking her from behind. Narcissa gestured for Harry to stand next to her and to place his hands on the counter. He hissed as something jabbed one of his fingers, swiftly removing a droplet of blood.

The hag glanced up from her work then, gnarled hands setting aside the wand and cloth. "Second wand?" she questioned Narcissa, though dark eyes peered from under wrinkly lids at Harry.

"Yes, ma'am," the woman replied politely, stepping back and settling in the sole chair.

"Follow," the lady ordered Harry. The teen hesitantly stepped after the woman as she led the way to the back of her store, which was filled with shelves and shelves of wands and other magical oddities. Harry's eyes widened as he looked around the place, but he was soon distracted as he felt bony fingers at his sleeve, where his wand was hidden.

Harry hissed something rude in Parseltongue as he jumped away, one hand gripping his wand handle firmly.

"Oh, hush, Child. I'm only to assess what wand you have, and see if anything needs changed for the second."

He watched her warily, but eventually stretched out his hand, wand clasped loosely between his fingers.

The woman grabbed it and his wrist, tugging Harry to her. Harry was surprised to have to tilt his head down to stare her in the eyes. Harry was short, which was no surprise from his childhood, but the crone was even smaller; that, however, could have been attributed to her hunched back.

Her crinkled eyes parted with her shock and joy. "Oh, I have Joker! That will show Ollivander that the better customers come to me! He should know better than to allow the ministry to cast tracers!"

Harry felt anxiety rush through his body to leave the store, but the woman was busy running her fingers up and down his holly wand while staring up into his eyes. "Holly and phoenix?" she asked, receiving a nod in response. The woman snorted. "That old man should know better than to put two symbols of renewal together; that's asking for trouble. Now, let's see here."

She slipped the wand from Harry's palm and held the hand up to her eyes, examining the lines in the candlelight of the shop. "What day and month were you born?" she questioned while pushing his right sleeve up his arm.

"July thirty-first, why?"

The woman ignored him, tapping her fingers across the long scar on his arm instead. She eventually dropped Harry's arm and walked to a thin booklet; the crone placed his wand on a scale and hummed as the weight evened out. "Your new wand definitely won't be holly or phoenix again," she told Harry as she flipped through the thin pages. There were obviously more sheets of paper than his eyes could perceive.

"Why?"

She turned her head and grinned, displaying holes from missing teeth; what was left was surprisingly white and bright against the dark skin. "It is unnecessary for a wizard or witch to have a wand for their specific birth period; that is borderline obsessive on the older myths relating to the gods and wandlore. Also, I assume you have no care for helping others rest in death, or to sleep? This new identity is your rebirth, perhaps. I am positive you don't wish to enact physical violence for your old identity; you wish for magical or emotional vengeance, for that has been bestowed upon you. Holly has certainly not helped you ward away negative spirits, nor has it made you a warrior. You are definitely now finding your balance, especially since you have decided to change yourself.

"Your alliance with phoenixes has changed your psyche for the worse; I can see the little trust you have in the creatures, and as such you do not believe your wand will do all you trust it to perform. As well, your scars would have disappeared with a touch of your wand if it was really the correct core for you."

Harry could barely mask his astonishment at these revelations; he didn't know the properties of his wand, but he could tell that they no longer suited him. Maybe they did when he was eleven, but not anymore. He eyed the witch; she had the pages flipping under her pruned fingertips, even as she spoke about his wand.

"As the Joker, you seem to be more difficult to come to harm. Even here, alone in my shop, I have heard tales of the Dark Lord's new partner –" she looked him up and down, "– and partner you shall be, in more ways than just allies."

Harry was clueless to the witch's last phrase – was she insinuating more would happen between him and Voldemort? He couldn't help the small flush that spread over his cheekbones, half pleasure at the idea, and the rest embarrassment that she had been the one to tell him. Harry could have figured that out without help!

The crone smiled at him, her wizened lips tight over her teeth. "I see you understand, then," she commented, before redirecting her attention to the booklet underneath her fingers. The pages flipped faster and faster until she stopped at one section and ran her pinky finger under it. "This is good," she murmured. The woman disappeared behind a few shelves, leaving Harry standing curious.

Minutes passed and Harry shifted his weight numerous times between his feet. The booklet on the table was practically begging for his attention so, with a quick glance around to check for the woman, he stepped up and lowered his eyes to read. Harry glared when he found the pages were written in a language not English. A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, much to the old witch's amusement.

"I see you have discovered the problem; this is why only I can help you in this shop: my sometimes assistant has yet to learn the language, as she does not have the patience to attempt it." Her arms rose and displayed two blocks of wood, one in each hand. The wood in her left hand was pale in color, while the one on her right was a light, warm brown. "Self enlightenment or truth?" she asked him.

"Truth," Harry replied, almost hesitantly.

The crone nodded and let the darker wood slip into a pocket of her worn clothing. "Your wand wood is vine. Unlike holly, this wood will fit you better, and will remain with you as you continue to grow. It enables prophecies, one of which I see around you."

Cluelessness and the touches of anger surrounded Harry. There was a prophecy about him, and no one had seen fit to tell him. What did that say about the other's trust in Harry? He shook his head to dispel the thoughts as the woman continued speaking. Little did Harry know, he would find out about the prophecy in its entirety in under a year's time, and he would not be happy with what was revealed.

"The truth obviously means a lot to you, which was the final determining factor for your wand wood. A negative, yet powerful, emotion that will develop or continue to grow within you is wrath, intended for enemies and those who have wronged you. Your new identity brings about the idea of rebirth, as Harry Potter disappears into the Dark Lord's Joker. There are other properties, but you are anxious to return to the actual wand rather than be bored by logic."

Harry flushed again as his thoughts were read by the hag. He really wanted to return to what he called home now, as he was anxious to see what Voldemort thought of his new wand. "Come," the woman spoke, her voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. She led Harry through her workspace until they came to a row of boxes, each marked with a sliver of pale wood. "These are wands made of vinewood; it is easier to determine the core from your own magic, rather than relying on who you are. Slowly move your hands over them until you come across those that send a tingle against your skin," she instructed.

He hesitated momentarily before lifting his hands and laying them to rest over the first box. Nothing happened, so he sent his hands moving to the right, slowly, carefully. His eyelids slid shut. He paused as something pushed against his palms and dropped one to pull the box a little ways out of its slot. Harry continued on, his magic choosing wands at random. The tingles varied in strength: some were strong and managed to pull Harry's hands straight to the box, while others were so weak as to be barely felt; regardless, Harry chose every wand that called to him.

Eventually the woman gently placed her aged hands on Harry's hands and his emerald eyes were slowly revealed once more. He was surprised to see only a few wands pulled from their slots on the shelves; he had been expecting more than seven, with the amount of times his hands tingled.

"And again," she told him softly. "Choose the strongest."

Harry felt as if he fell into a trance as his hands moved over the seven wands before him. He had yet to see anything but their boxes, but Harry knew one of the cases held the wand that would be best suited for him.

The hag watched as he passed his hands over each of the boxes multiple times; each movement brought a reaction from his magic, which she could see. Finally she set her hands on his shoulders one more, while she eyed the three more powerful wands. She pointed them out to the Joker and he finally settled on one, his fingers and magic itching to pick up the hidden wand.

Harry slid it from its box and moaned aloud as powerful magic swam through the air – his magic bonding with the elements in the wand. He opened his eyes, for they had closed with the rush of power, and stared down at the silvery sparks flooding from the tip of the vinewood.

The hag hummed as she replaced the remaining six wands. "Faerie wings in the core, very good for you. They are helpful with vengeance and hiding one's true self from non-noble eyes." The woman ushered Harry back to the front of the store, and to Narcissa. "You are done, my Lord," she mumbled to Harry.

"How much?" Narcissa asked, coming to stand by Harry on the opposite side of the counter, while pulling a moneybag out from her robes.

The lady scoffed. "Nothing, for this is the Joker, our Lord's own! For him, nothing. Now leave," she told the surprised duo, shooing them from her store.

"Well, Lycoris, I suppose we should return to the manor," Narcissa told the boy. She gestured for him to step into a darkened corner before the storefront and Harry Disapparated, soon followed by the blonde Malfoy.

Harry thanked the woman before returning to his and Voldemort's rooms, where he found the man pouring over paperwork. "Harry," the man commented when he glanced up.

"Hello Voldemort," Harry murmured before entering the bedroom and depositing the books and such by the wardrobe. He returned to the main room and stood momentarily by the man before Voldemort leaned back in his chair. Harry smiled and sat himself on the offered lap, curling an arm around Voldemort's neck while the man's arms went around his back.

"Pretty," Voldemort told Harry when the Joker showed off his new wand.

"Mine," Harry countered.

He smirked. "Indeed; it is no longer a brother wand to my own."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, tipping his head birdlike to the side, one of the traits of his Animagus form.

"Our wands share a core, making them brother wands. Do you not recall that from Ollivander, when you first purchased your wand?" Voldemort reminded Harry.

The teen slowly nodded his head as he faintly remembered what the eccentric old man had told him.

"When the wands connect a spell, it performs Priori Incantatem, and can let out the spirits of the souls murdered by either wand. I'm sure that's what Dumbledore had in mind when he found out our wands shared a core, especially since that could be used to harm either of us."

Harry remained quiet as he contemplated this new knowledge, eventually sighing and settling firmly against Voldemort. "Now that can't happen; I don't like using the old wand now that I have my new one. It's unfortunate that I will have to when I return to Hogwarts. Unless," he mused.

Voldemort laughed. "No, you must go back unless you want to be found out."

Harry pouted. "Can't we just be happy without pleasing the old man? I really do not want to go back."

He shook his head and pulled Harry closer to his body. "I'm sorry, my Joker, but you must return. You can always come back for break, or leave whenever you please and Obliviate those who find you missing."

Harry nodded. "Maybe I'll find that charm easier now that I have my new wand. I think it helps me to cast spells, even though I really only used it once. Let's experiment!" Harry exclaimed, jumping off of the man's lap and heading towards the exit of their rooms.

Voldemort shook his head at his Joker's obvious amusement and followed the teen to the dueling chambers located a few floors down from the bedroom. There were a few of the inner circle present, but Harry ignored them in favor of casting charms and spells at one of the fighting dummies. Voldemort watched from the entrance as Harry's features relaxed at the ease with which his magic flowed through the new wand. His spells were more powerful, soon ripping the dummy into irreparable pieces of fabric. Harry started on another, using parselmagic, which was also stronger. The dummy was destroyed in seconds, reducing Harry into a bouncing pile of excitement. He nearly danced his way to Voldemort, stretching up to press a kiss to the man's cheek. "Much better!" he exclaimed, ignoring the slightly surprised glances the Death Eaters exchanged at the affection.

"Agreed," Voldemort commented, wrapping an arm around Harry's waist and leading him from the dueling chambers. Both wondered but ignored the niggling feeling that they should talk about why exactly this touching felt nice and comforting.

"Aunty should be reimbursed for all the clothing she bought me," Harry commented as they made their way to the dining hall. Having skipped lunch, he was hungry.

Voldemort raised one eyebrow. "Is that so?" he questioned the Joker.

Harry nodded empathetically. "Yes, most definitely."

"Aunty?"

"Yep!" Harry grinned. "My name is also Lycoris Black, a nephew from her side of the family."

Voldemort settled into a chair, snapping his fingers for a house elf to bring supper. The Malfoys soon joined the couple; Harry greeted the missus with an ecstatic call of, "Aunty!"

Narcissa smiled at the teen and pressed her lips to his forehead, relaxing pureblood protocol. "Hello, Lycoris dear," she returned, sitting on Harry's other side.

Draco and Lucius exchanged puzzled expressions while Voldemort sighed and took a sip of his iced water.

"Shopping trip," Harry explained briefly before digging into his meal with pureblood mannerisms taught by the Malfoys.

"And how is your new wand?" Narcissa wanted to know some time later.

"Wonderful!" Harry told her, but didn't explain how exactly it was better than his old one.

~~~ooo~~~

A week later brought the return of Harry's Hogwarts letter, much to the teen's displeasure. As promised, Narcissa took Harry along with Draco to buy the school year's collection of books and miscellaneous objects. Harry was once again called Lycoris Black, earning the trio a few odd looks by the general public as they went through the alleys.

A familiar voice calling his new name brought Harry to turn to face the person. "Luna!" he exclaimed, hugging the girl to his chest in excitement. The Blacks were always considered an odd pureblood family with little regard to traditional rules, so this breach of conduct wasn't frowned upon.

"Hello Luna," Draco commented to the blonde, only to turn to a small squeak of surprise as Luna wrapped her arms around his neck.

Narcissa held her smile back with ease, and said, "Introduce me to your friend, Lycoris, Draco."

"Luna Lovegood," Harry told his aunt. "Her father prints the Quibbler."

The missus nodded politely, though she personally didn't believe anything that magazine printed. "Let's finish the shopping, and then we can retire to the mansion."

Luna brightened. "I have wanted to meet Lycoris's partner for some time now, so I suppose I can finish with you!"

Draco laughed as Harry flushed at Luna's barely there implication. Narcissa smiled gently at the Joker and gestured for the newly formed trio to follow her to the final stores. After buying quills, inkpots, and parchment, a variety of potions materials, and what was required for other classes, they finished with the bookstore. Each student gathered that year's load of books and concluded their stack with some to read in free time or to add to the Dark Lord's forever expanding library.

Patrons of Diagon Alley watched with mixed emotions as the three youngsters laughed and giggled through their shopping. Some were surprised Draco Malfoy, of all people, was relaxed and without pureblood etiquette, especially as his mother followed closely behind. Others wondered why Luna Lovegood was found conversing with some of the most elite of the Wizarding world. The rest held curiosity about the last child, the one who looked the part of a Black, and acted that way too.

Finally Narcissa Apparated away with Luna, while Harry and Draco popped from the alley, hidden from detection behind a store. House elves appeared to remove the purchased items, which allowed Harry to skip happily through the halls, Luna joining him, once they made their gratitude known to Narcissa and exchanged farewells with Draco.

"Hey Voldemort! This is Luna Lovegood; we rode on the carriages together. Luna, this is Lord Voldemort," Harry said brightly upon entrance to their rooms.

Voldemort's head rose from where it was bent over paperwork, an eyebrow rising as he looked at the crazy eyed girl. "Pleased," he returned cordially before concentrating on the parchment once more.

Harry watched, amused, as Luna frowned and made her way to the man's side, to dip her face to his ear and whisper something that made Voldemort's features narrow with unreadable emotions. He replied, equally quiet, with words that made Luna grin and bounce back to Harry's side after a pat to Voldemort's shoulder. "Bye, Harry," Luna told him as she ran passed him.

Voldemort was puzzled. "Where exactly is she going to go now?"

Harry shrugged. "She's Luna. We don't question it. So, what did she say?"

"That you would find out what I had to say within the week," was all the man commented.

He pouted in return and left the room, ignoring the faint sounds of protest Voldemort made. Harry slowly made his way through the manor, picking up odds and ends that he had placed in random spots. He decided in some far off part of his mind to begin the packing process, even though the train didn't come until the end of the week.

And that week flew by, with Harry playing Quidditch with his friends for the last time, talking with and torturing Death Eaters, planning raids that would happen over the school year, and thinking about the next time he would see his bed mate. The last night, the thirty-first of August, found a depressed Harry Potter reclined in bed, his body draped over the Dark Lord's. His ear pressed against the man's thin, bare chest, listening to the soothing heartbeat and the echo of the man's voice as they talked out last minute plans. Eventually Harry was soothed to sleep, his hands clenched in the sheets on either side of their bodies.

Voldemort glanced down to the teen and smiled softly, carding his fingers in the boy's hair before pressing his lips to the multicolored strands and falling asleep too.

They woke early, Nagini's hissing alerting the duo to the fact the train left in a few hours. Breakfast was a quiet affair, Harry taking the seat next to Voldemort and holding his hand under the table. Really, Harry did not want to return to the hero-worship back at Hogwarts; he liked being the Dark Lord's Joker, for it was a personality all his own, rather than one crafted by the adoring public.

Voldemort himself took Harry to the platform, charming Harry's trunk small and handing it to the teen before leaving. He side-along Apparated Harry to a darkened corner on the platform and held the teen until the warning whistles sounded.

"I suppose this is it," Harry said as he pulled back, plastering a tight smile to his disheartened face. His fingers ran over the holly and phoenix feather wand as his magic remembered the power his vinewood wand held.

The Dark Lord, his distinctive features hidden behind parselmagic glamour, smirked down at Harry and tugged him closer for a last hug. "You can Apparate or fly to me if you ever need anything," he reminded the teen.

Harry grinned, and at long last it was a real smile versus one of the fake ones he had held for most of the day. "I suppose this is true," he amended, eyes staring into Voldemort's. He thought about something for a second, and decided to go for it, using his Gryffindor bravery. He lunged to his tiptoes and pressed his lips against Voldemort's. Harry's eyes drifted shut at the brief touch before he fell back, turning toward the train with a smirk gracing his features. Harry froze when he felt the man's hand on his shoulders, only to laugh with delight as the man pulled him back against his body and kissed him again, just an innocent, second kiss between two people.

"Visit when possible," the man murmured a bit later, his hand carding through Harry's shortened, single color locks.

"Just be there," Harry reminded Voldemort before finally dragging himself away to find his friends, a bounce in his step.

Voldemort watched from his shadowed spot as his Joker found and greeted the boisterous Weasley family, including tagalongs, and scratched the head of a large black dog. He nodded to the boy as Harry searched for him once he boarded the train, and finally Disapparated as the train left the station.

Why is Harry's Animagus form a crow? In mythology, crows are symbolic for the aspect of death and the transition of the spirit into the afterlife. The crows bring back those who have wronged. With Harry siding with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, it is understandable that he himself becomes symbolic of death, especially later in the Vinewood series. The Death Eaters and the crow fit together nicely, as crows eat carrion rather than fresh meat, which can be taken as a pun on Voldemort's followers. Many people have wronged Harry in his life, which plays into Greek mythology, when the god Apollo turns the white crow's feathers to black in his rage over his lover's infidelity.

Who is Lycoris Black? Lycoris Black is Sirius's paternal granduncle, brother to his grandfather. He lived in the years 1904-1965. The information found is from the HP-Lexicon.