Delirium Victoria, a harry potter fanfic

Authors Note: I'm not sorry.

Delirium Victoria

Harry staggered up the stairs, weaving hazily between the banister and walls as fatigue clouded his vision.

Four days.

He had made it four days since he last slept, the last bout ending an hour after dropping off only to jerk awake with a scream on his lips and tears in his eyes, visions of Sirius falling, always falling, haunting the last clinging cobwebs of his dreams.

He didn't sleep any more than was strictly necessary to survive, and even that he pushed to the absolute limit. The Dursleys unknowingly helped him in his sleep avoidance, piling task upon task on his exhausted shoulders. The work was physically taxing, but didn't require any particular brain power, so he had developed an almost mechanical method of moving that allowed him to complete his tasks while his brain offlined into a blank daze.

Harry stopped walking and wondered why, before realising his door was shut. Ah. That would account for the odd feeling on his forehead and knee then. He must have bumped into it. Now, there was something he was supposed to do… oh, right, open the door. There was a bed on the other side of it. Yes.

No.

He shut the door behind him, and glared at the bed with as much force as his scratchy eyes could muster. Which was to say that he blinked at the fuzzy blob a few times and tried to force his eyes open again.

He looked around the room, his gaze finally settling on his beloved Hedwig.

"Any mail, girl?"

Hedwig gave a sad chirp. Her human had been asking that question every day since returning to the hungry-cage-place many nights ago, and the answer was always the same. No owls had come bearing the unheard-words for him. This seemed to sadden him, and she couldn't understand why Brown-Noisy and Angry-Red hadn't responded to any of the unheard-words her human had sent to them. Hedwig took in the sad look her human wore, the drooping shoulders and exhausted swaying, and decided that the next time she saw Brown-Noisy or Angry-Red she would make them bleed for contributing to his distress. Her human was special, and he was hurting, and he didn't deserve to be ignored by his nest mates.

Harry slumped at his desk, forcing himself to ignore the siren song of his broken and lumpy bed.

"You know, Hedwig," he mumbled. "There is only one person who has always been upfront with me. No hidden games, no faffing or betrayals. Just honest, straight up interactions. The man may be trying to kill me, but at least he is honest about it!"

Hedwig watched with wide eyes as her human pulled out the marking-feather and started scratching unheard-words.

"I should thank him, don't you think, girl? 'S only polite after all!"

Hedwig wondered if not sleeping made humans crazy. It certainly seemed so.

Attaching the finished letter to the worried owl's leg, Harry finally caved to his body's demands and fell into bed, promptly forgetting about his lapse into insanity with a thoroughness only the delirious can achieve. Unconscious before he was fully horizontal, his hallucinations faded into the vivid nightmares that plagued every moment of his rest.

A soft flapping broke the Dark Lord's brooding, and he looked up to see a pure white owl winging towards him. Raising an eyebrow, he raised an arm for the beautiful bird to land on. He would never admit it, but he was quite fond of owls, particularly ones as striking as the one now resting carefully on his wrist. He noted how gently she perched, her claws barely pressing into his fragile skin. She looked at him warily, before shifting to stick out her leg.

Casting the standard revealing spells to check the letter before he touched it, he raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar chicken scratch gracing the front.

Shifting the lovely owl onto the back of a neighbouring dining chair, he absently fed her a bit of chicken from his lunch as he tried to decipher the blotchy and almost illegible parchment in his hand.

Dear Voldemort

I just wanted to say thank you. You are the most honest person in my life. You've never lied to me, or hidden your intentions from me; you've never ignored me, even when we aren't face to face. I mean, yeah, it's not like we talk or anything, but that doesn't matter. I've found that your level of honesty is a rare thing in this world, and despite your attempts to cut me open and feed my spleen to your snake, that makes you a true friend. I need that kind of stability in my life. No matter what else happens, I can always count on your murderous attentions. Never change, man, never change.

Your appreciative (if unwilling) target,

Harry Potter.

PS, Isn't Hedwig beautiful?

Voldemort stared at the letter in bewilderment. What?

Harry was taking advantage of the Dursleys being out to eat his sandwich at the table for a change, when Hedwig fluttered in through the open window. Blinking in surprise at the letter on her leg, he stared for a moment before a huge smile broke across his gaunt and overly pale features.

Gently removing the letter from his smug familiar, he broke it open and took a bite of his sandwich, only to start choking as he inhaled his mouthful. What the fuck?

Dear Potter,

Are you feeling quite alright?

Lord Voldemort

PS, I'm assuming Hedwig is your owl. She is quite the beauty.

Harry stared. Blinked. Stared some more. The words refused to rearrange themselves into anything remotely making sense. Harry stared some more, just in case.

"Hedwig?" he rasped. Receiving an enquiring chirrup in response, he paused, licking his lips. Never removing his eyes from the parchment in his hand, he cleared his throat. "Did you just bring me a letter from the Dark Lord?"

Hedwig puffed up proudly. Her human no longer looked dejected since receiving the unheard-words she had brought from the death-creature. She had been suspicious when her human had asked her to take his unheard-words to the death-creature since he was clearly not quite aware of his actions, but the death-creature had treated her nicely and not harmed her, even feeding her some of his own rather delicious lunch. So she had brought his unheard-words to her human when he asked. She chirruped a smug affirmative.

Harry blinked at his familiar. To those pun inclined, his expression could even be described as owlish. To everyone else, he simply looked bewildered. "Why?"

Hedwig gave him a withering look, followed by a pointed look at his plate.

Harry shook himself and fed her the last of his sandwich. Once she was satisfied, she hooted, demanding to be taken upstairs.

Upon reaching their room, she flew to his desk, picking up and fiddling with his quill in a not so subtle message.

"You can't seriously think I'm going to reply to him?" Harry protested. "I don't even know why he wrote to me in the first place! It's probably a trick of some sort! He might have put a tracking spell on it? Death Eaters could be on their way right now!" His mounting hysteria was derailed by a sharp bite on his earlobe.

Getting the message, Harry quickly penned an alert to Dumbledore, and reached to tie it onto Hedwig's leg. "Please take this to Dumbledore girl; he'll know what to do."

Hedwig glared, and refused to move. The flaming-bird-man had something to do with her human being sad, and she would not permit her human to be hurt any more than he had been!

Harry found himself repeating his stare and blink routine.

"You aren't going to take a letter to anyone but him, are you," he stated flatly.

Hedwig hooted serenely in response.

"Fine. I'm too tired to argue with you about this. But if this turns out to be a trick of some sort, I'm blaming you."

Dear Voldemort

Um, I suppose so? Why? Do you know something I don't? Stupid question. You know lots of things I don't. Let's try that again, shall we?

Yes, I'm fine. Kind of sleep deprived, but who isn't these days?

Um, how are you?

Yours in confusion,

Harry Potter

Dear Potter

Of course I know lots of things you don't. Like how I'm going to kill you when I finally get my hands on you. Your suggestion that I feed your spleen to Nagini has merit. I'll have to give it some more thought.

Sleep deprivation? Why would you have trouble sleeping? Overlooking the obvious imminent death, of course. That's a given.

Your future executioner,

Lord Voldemort

Voldemort

My suggestion? What suggestion? When did I do anything even remotely like a suggestion? You know, I've always suspected you have a secret toad licking fetish or something. Are you sure you didn't hallucinate it? Because if you did, party on dude!

Yes, sleep deprivation. I don't sleep. Ever. Must be all the stress.

Still confused,

Harry Potter

Dear Potter

Stress, hmm? Try some of the suggestions in this book. I'd hate for you to be too tired to fully appreciate your defeat when I finally kill you.

I'm going to assume you don't remember sending me the first letter. I still have it, so I'm fairly certain that it's not a hallucination. But really, toad licking? That's disgusting.

To refresh your memory, you sent me a letter stating that I was the only person in your life that was truly honest with you and didn't ignore you, and that made me a true friend. You also begged me not to change.

Currently, your correspondence is amusing me, hence my lack of attempts to turn the letter into a tracker or portkey or any other form of lethal attack. Though if you get boring, I still might, just to amuse myself.

Sincerely plotting your demise,

Lord Voldemort

Dear Voldemort (Seriously, I'm tired, and this takes too long to write when I can't see straight. Can I call you something shorter?)

The Little Book of Calm? I have to admit, I didn't see that one coming.

On another note, I decided to read it before sleeping as much as I ever do. Bad idea when I already can't tell what's real and what isn't. When I tried to remember any of it this morning when I woke up, all I got was: "Add a dash of lavender to milk. Leave town with an orange, and pretend you're laughing at it."

Random question, what's the news like at the moment? The Daily Prophet is an unreliable rag, but it's better than nothing when I'm stuck at "home". It would appear that Dumbledore has seen fit to cancel my subscription (without asking me) for whatever reason. Not sure how my reading a newspaper – or not – fits into his concept of the Greater Good ™ though…

Wow, I really wrote to you first? I thought I was dreaming when I did that. I hadn't slept in four days. In fact, I'd completely forgotten about it until you mentioned it, so I'm sure you can imagine my confusion when I got a letter from you asking if I was alright.

Did I really suggest you feed my spleen to your snake? Because if so, I'd like to state now that I was joking, and please don't do that. I like my spleen where it is, and would like it to remain there, and functioning, for a long time to come.

If I may ask, when you received my letter, why did you reply? With a letter that wasn't hazardous to my health, no less? Also, thank you for not hurting Hedwig. I really do appreciate that. I'm sure she does as well.

Yours in delirium,

Harry Potter

Dear Potter

Did you really just ask permission to give me a nickname? I'll admit, your candour during these little conversations is refreshing, even if you are clearly on the edge of a psychotic break.

"Add a dash of lavender to milk"? If you are the best and brightest of your generation, I fear for society. Though I've heard that your little muggleborn friend is the real brains behind the Golden Trio. In which case, I'd recommend continuing to leave the thinking to her; you clearly aren't equipped to be out without supervision.

I've enclosed a copy of today's paper. It may be petty, but anything to get up the old coots nose. I'll send another next time your owl pays me a visit. She really is lovely, by the way.

If I'm not to take your original idea regarding your spleen to heart, do you have any other requests? Because if that is your idea of a joke, I'd be delighted to learn what else you can come up with. Suggestion; don't be dull or I will start adding curses to these letters.

I replied to your letter because it amused me. As I'm sure you can appreciate, conversation potential is lacking in my circle of associates, unless I want to deal with sycophants and power hungry manipulators scrabbling for my crumbs. The opportunity to converse with someone who doesn't want anything from me is interesting. And I wouldn't hurt such a beautiful and clever owl. I'm becoming rather fond of her actually.

Contemplating organ removal,

Your Lord.

Dear I'm-Not-Calling-You-My-Lord-But-Nice-Try

You threaten to curse me via correspondence if I'm not interesting enough, but I'm the one on the edge of a psychotic break? I think you might need to re-examine your approach to life.

Thanks for the paper, it's much appreciated. I suspect he-who-twinkles-too-much was trying to not "upset" me or something. Don't know why he bothers. I've made it very clear on a number of occasions that keeping information from me will do a lot more damage than letting me stumble along in ignorance. It just stresses me out and makes me do stupid stuff. Like trash his office.

Speaking of stupid stuff, I've discovered that doing my homework when delirious makes for humorous reading when I check it over later. Apparently, when transfiguring a spider to an apple, you should make sure you don't forget the legs, because otherwise when you ferment the apple, it will be Apple Strider, not Apple Cider. Clearly my subconscious thinks it's funny. I'm not certain I share its opinion.

Hmmm, suggestions for my imminent death? Well, death by cute overload could work I suppose. You could expose me to a series of progressively cuter things until my head explodes from the concentrated adorable. Truly a death worthy of entrance to Valhalla!

Hedwig is wonderful. I'm glad I don't need to worry about her safety in your presence. It's bad enough trying to keep her safe here. I'm not sure I'd ever forgive myself if she was hurt because of something I asked her to do.

How about Mo?

Harry

There is nothing wrong with my approach to life. Cursing you, via correspondence or otherwise, is a perfection reasonable reaction given our history.

I hate that blasted twinkling! When I was a child, I wondered if he'd had an accident in a craft store. Now I just wonder if they are light reflective cataracts and that's why he can't see clearly enough to recognise the damage he is doing to society. Either that or he is high on Lemon Drops. I'm convinced they are spiked with something.

Are you having trouble with your homework? Sleep deprivation cannot be helping your learning.

Death by cute overload? Creative. Humorous. I like it! I'll try it on Wormtail. I wonder which will break first, his mind, or his bladder?

What do you mean you find it difficult to keep her safe where you are? I was under the impression that you lived with your muggle family and that they worship the very ground you walk on.

Mo? How on earth did you come up with that?

Don't you dare call me Mo,

Lord Voldemort

Dear Mo

I originally thought maybe I could call you Mort, but if anyone asks me who I'm corresponding with and I say that, they will all scream and jump to conclusions. If I call you Mo(rt) then nobody would think twice about it. See? I can be all sneaky! The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I didn't want to be in the same house as the Albino Prat. I doubt I would have really done well there anyway. Besides, where is the best place for a Slytherin to hide? Nobody expects a sneaky Gryffindor! Or the Spanish Inquisition, but, whatever.

Our history is awkward, I'll concede that. I'm surprised that we are getting along (we are, right?) now. Though I must say I consider it to be a vast improvement. You are an excellent conversationalist (did I spell that right? I haven't slept in nearly 5 days this time, and everything is all swimmy), and I enjoy our letters more than I'd ever expected I would.

Oh! You too? Every time he twinkles at me I just want to strangle him with his beard!

Yeah, I'm really struggling with the homework. I really like learning, and I want to learn and do well… It just never happens. It's not always sleep deprivation, though. In primary school I was never allowed to do better than my cousin, which is a problem because at 16 he is still virtually illiterate; and at Hogwarts, Hermione goes insane if I get better marks than her. In fact, she goes insane if my marks are even close to hers. I study a lot in the middle of the night though, in bed. I'm an insomniac at the best of times, so I figure I'll use the time productively. I usually do my homework twice, too. A real version, and the one I hand in. In class, I always hold back too, because you should never show your enemies your full abilities and all that crap. Snape is especially fun to fuck with. Since the first day when he singled me out in class to deliberately ridicule me, I've been keeping my work to a barely non lethal level. It amuses me that he is as blind as all the other teachers. Not his fault though, not really. I've been hiding my smarts since I could walk, and he wants to believe the worst of me. I don't really care though. He is a petty man and a rubbish teacher. You've got a loyal one in him though, I must say. There is no question where his loyalties fall, the bloody bastard. You'd think he'd be more subtle about it or something! He clearly has great faith in your future victory to be so arrogant.

By all means, explode Wormtail, by cute or otherwise. Useless little coward. Though if you are done with him, I'd be thrilled if he was found stunned and tied up out the front of the Ministry with a note mentioning his animagus form. Nothing can make up for what he did to Sirius, but the idea of him screaming in torment for the rest of his miserable life surrounded by Dementors and vindictive prison guards certainly has its appeal.

I'm going to assume that you got the information about my family life from either Snape or one of the Malfoys. They're wrong, by the way. Before second year, Ron and the twins stole their dad's flying car and used it to rip the bars off my window so I could escape and go to school. That should tell you everything you need to know about my home life. At least Hedwig can hunt when she is delivering our letters, so I don't worry about her starving at least.

Fuck, I can't believe how open I'm being with you. Even Ron and Hermione can't get me to share this much. The sleep dep is playing with my filters I think. Worse than bloody Veritaserum! Oh well. In the spirit of open and honest communication (I've been told it's important. Repeatedly and at great length), I've been really enjoying our chats. I know that you're still trying to kill me, and our philosophical differences are pretty much polar opposites, but I do like talking with you. You're like the murderous fiend I never knew I needed.

Yours in exhaustion,

Harry

Bars on the windows? Concern for Hedwig starving if she can't get out? I'm going to assume that your own food is scarce enough for that to be a concern for you too. This is why I hate muggles! Why is that old fool leaving you in an abusive home? He has proven repeatedly to not care for other children in that situation, but I would have thought he would take better care of his Golden Boy!

You know, you could always join me. I'll take you away from there for good, if you so desire. I'll even let you take your revenge on your muggles. In the meantime, I've sent you some food, just in case you feel a bit peckish. It's not poisoned, I promise. Don't eat it all at once.

Your honesty is refreshing, and amusing. I find myself enjoying our chats also, even if you do repeat yourself sometimes. Alright, in the spirit of "open and honest communication", I'll give you the opportunity to ask whatever you wish. Is there something you wish to know?

Don't call me Mo

Dear Mo (deal with it)

Thank you for the food. Even if it had been poisoned, I was so hungry that I wouldn't have cared.

Things have gotten pretty bad here lately. I'm so exhausted that I can't get all my chores done fast enough to avoid a beating, and when I sleep I wake my family with my screams because of the nightmares. Which also earns me a beating. And then I'm sore and tired the next day and can't work properly. I'm sure you're noticing the pattern here.

Yeah, not joining you. Thanks for the offer though, I appreciate that you just offered me a way to not die a horrible torturous death at your hands. Problem is that I think we may end up having some rather spectacular rows, and I can't imagine me screaming at you and calling you a toad licking troglodyte or something would be good for your image. Or my lifespan.

Ask you anything, huh? Alright then! People tell me that your goal is to eliminate Muggleborns, Half-Bloods, and Muggles, to set up some sort of Pureblood utopia type deal. But how does that work for future populations? If only purebloods remain, or only they are allowed to have kids, they will breed themselves into extinction in about four generations, probably less. They are all already interrelated, which is bad for genetic diversity anyway, but they only seem to have one child per family for the most part. That is halving the population each generation. Maybe I'm missing something, but that seems kind of counterproductive to me. But beside all that, IS that actually your goal? All I know is what I've been told, and it's already an established fact that people like to mushroom me.

I know this letter is a bit short, but my cousin crushed my hand in the door today and it really hurts to write. Sorry. Hope I didn't accidentally bore you.

Harry

PS, I really hate to ask, but is there any chance of some more food? I have a small space I can hide it if it has a preservation charm on it. My relatives are really ticked at me at the moment, so I don't know when they will allow me to eat next.

Harry,

Are you sure you won't reconsider? I would be thrilled to come and deal with those animals for you. You could even help. We could call it a Mentor/protégé bonding experience, or some such.

The food in this package had a preservation charm on it, and I've included some healing, nutrient, and pain potions as well. Don't read too much into it, I'm just amused at the idea that I am taking better care of Dumbledores Golden Boy than the so called Leader of the Light is. I don't actually care about you.

My goals? Well, put simply, the influx of muggleborns and half-bloods are destroying our world. They bring in their muggle ideas into a world where muggle logic doesn't apply. They see our history and traditions, and rather than trying to understand our world, they seek to change it. Change is good, it is important, but not at the cost of our identity and history. What I want is to have earlier identification of magical children and remove them into the magical world at the earliest age possible, so they are raised with a proper understanding of what they are. I want a more definite separation between wizard and muggle so that our culture isn't lost. The world the purebloods inhabit is very different from what even a magically raised half-blood experiences, and that shouldn't be the case. If everyone is raised in the same culture the purebloods enjoy, then the benefits to our world will be beyond imagination. I wish to bring about this world, and provide a focus to drive this change forward. I will be the rallying point.

Does that answer your question adequately?

I detest having to ask, but what does mushrooming mean in this context? I've been trying to work it out, and it is frustrating me.

Don't call me Mo

Lord Voldemort

Mo (suck it up dude)

Mushrooming someone means to keep them in the dark and feed them bullshit. Hippogriff shit. Whatever.

Ok, your idea has merit, I'll give it that. But is a total separation necessary? Muggleborns may have some crazy ideas about the world, but they also bring in fresh perspectives and ideas. I mean, I sneaked a look at Hermione's Advanced Arithmancy textbook (shhh, don't tell her!) and it's barely mid high school level mathematics by muggle standards. I can do that shit in my sleep. Imagine what our world could become if we educated muggleborns and half-bloods in the wizarding world, but also included accurate muggle based education alongside? I mean, muggles have been to the moon, they have planes that regularly break the sound barrier! The Human Genome Project is making massive breakthroughs in unravelling human DNA, and cloning is not too far away from being fact, rather than fiction. Why can we not find a way to preserve our culture, but enhance it with fresh eyes too?

Just as an aside, how does killing people and torturing your followers lead to this goal? Plus the whole raping and pillaging thing… I can't even really see how the Dark Arts could be a help for that. Though I suppose you could Imperio enough people to get bills passed, but then you'd have to keep them Imperio'd so they don't go squealing and undo all your hard work. I'm not being a smart arse, I'm genuinely curious. Your goals are reasonable(ish), but your method is… confusing.

You totally like me,

Harry

You will never stop calling me Mo, will you. I find myself becoming resigned to it, though if you ever use it where anyone can identify me as the recipient, I will hunt you down and see how many bones I can remove before you pass out. Then I will regrow them, and begin again.

I apologise that this letter is slightly delayed, I've been thinking about your questions.

Your ideas regarding education are interesting, I must admit. And I had no idea that muggles had advanced so far technologically! I find myself intrigued. Are you able to provide me with some books with more information on these things?

I dislike you questioning my methods, though you do raise a good point. I'm… not really sure when I started doing all of that. Dark Arts was originally a hobby, nothing more, but it is seductive in ways you can't even begin to imagine. I became obsessed, possibly even possessed to some degree. Some of those books have their own intelligence, and I've read more than a few of them. I've been buried in them for so long, I don't even know when I lost control. I might have even been your age.

I need to think. Reassess my method and goals.

Yours in resignation,

Mo,

Follow up question, if I may; why did you begin Marking your followers?

Sorry, I can't get you the books right now. I'm literally locked inside at the moment, and when I'm out, I'm not allowed further than the front gate or back garden. I have Order members staking me out and threatening my relatives (which I really wish they wouldn't do. Every time they make themselves known, I cop a beating. I'm running out of bones to break) when they think I'm about to leave the property. If I manage to get some time out, I'll steal some from the library for you. I'd buy you new ones, but the Dursleys took what little muggle money I had stashed away. Best I can do, sorry.

Harry

It seemed like a good idea at the time?

Tell me your address, and I will personally come and deal with those animals for you! I promise I won't even try to kill you.

Mo,

No. Thanks, but no. I can't deal with more blood on my hands, I just can't.

Harry

Happy birthday, Harry. I think you'll like this morning headliner.

Merlins saggy ballsack! You turned in Wormtail, Bellatrix, and fifteen of the worst Death Eaters to the Ministry? Why? I mean, I'm grateful, and having my godfather exonerated is the best birthday gift ever, but, why?

Harry

The short answer is that you asked the right questions. I hadn't realised how deeply the Dark Arts and rituals I was performing had affected me. I was addicted, and insane. I'm not even sure how you managed to get through to me, but I'm glad you did. I was destroying the very world I was trying to save, and I couldn't even see it.

I've started reversing the rituals I'd done. It's a long, and extremely painful process, but necessary if I'm to fully regain my sanity.

Don't be fooled, I have no intention of turning myself in to the Ministry or anything so Gryffindor, but I think it is time for Lord Voldemort to disappear, and someone new to step in, but in a different way. I've decided to go into politics. With a new identity, of course.

Lucius tells me that you had a hand in destroying my diary. Irritating, but I don't hold it against you. Don't expect a thank you though. You killed off part of my soul, and now I won't be able to reabsorb it. Oh well, bygones.

Speaking of parts of my soul, I think you have some of mine stuck in your scar. I can take it out if you want, but only if I can see you in person. I can't do it from a distance. I give you my word that neither you, nor anyone around you will be harmed (unless I am forced to defend myself, in which case I make no promises). The sooner I can reabsorb my horcrux (that's what the soul pieces are called, in case you hadn't encountered the term) the better. Though if you want me to deal with your relatives – non lethally – all you have to do is ask.

4 Privet Drive, Surrey. Bring food.

Harry

PS, And a pain potion?

A well dressed young man with dark hair and green eyes approached the door of Number 4 Privet Drive. His sharp gaze swept the area, easily spotting the vaunted guards that watched over The-Boy-Who-Lived. Biting back a sneer, he continued to the door, and knocked sharply.

"Can I help you?" A horse faced woman with a disturbingly long neck peered at him from the opened door, and the man had to fight back a snarl when he remembered that this woman had allowed his Harry to be abused.

"Mrs Dursley?" He asked politely.

"Yes?" She opened the door slightly wider; clearly having decided the man was the reputable sort.

"I need to see your nephew."

The sugar sweet welcome on her face instantly fell, and she scowled, grudgingly letting him inside.

"Boy!" She shrieked up the stairs. "There's one of your sort here to see you!" She turned back to the man, a sneer worthy of Malfoy (junior) adorning her face. "Lazy brat won't even get out of bed! He's upstairs, third door on the left. If you can, get him up. He has chores to do." She turned on her heel, stalking into the kitchen.

Walking quietly up the stairs, the man found the right door and knocked. Hearing a muffled noise that might have been a 'come in', he opened the door, only to bite back a gasp at the sight that met his eyes. The smell was overwhelming, and he couldn't understand why he hadn't been able to pick it up from outside the door.

Harry Potter lay on a broken and decrepit cot bed, bare of any clothing but the smallest scraps to protect his modesty. His skin was stretched painfully tight over prominent bones and mottled with bruises in various stages of healing, interspersed with cuts and belt marks. Several bones were obviously broken, visibly distorting the lines of his limbs, and his right hand was crushed into an almost unrecognisable shape.

"Mo?" The boy rasped painfully, trying to focus bloodshot eyes on the horrified figure taking up residence in his doorway.

Stepping forward, the former dark lord sank to his knees next to the soiled and stinking bed, wide eyes sweeping over the broken body, trying to work out how the boy was still alive, let alone conscious. "Yes, Harry, it's me. Hold on, alright? I'm going to get you some help." He drew his wand and quickly summoned a Patronus, sending it off to Snape at top speed.

"How," Harry coughed, a few flecks of blood speckling his lips. "How did you cross the wards? Blood wards…" He drifted for a moment, before snapping back to attention.

Tom smiled faintly. "I took your blood for the Rebirthing Potion. The wards read me as you. I could have walked in here at any time, once I had the address."

Harry smirked faintly. "Thought as much. Fucking Dumbledore."

Tom smiled, gently stroking the sweaty and blood matted hair off his friend's brow. "I wanted to thank you, Harry. You saved me. You brought me back when I didn't even know I was lost."

Smiling serenely, Harry peered up, his green eyes glittering with fever. "So, does that mean Voldemort was defeated by my hand? Even if only by writing?" He twitched his malformed appendage slightly, whimpering quietly at the movement.

Chuckling, Tom conjured a cloth and a bowl of cool water, gently sponging at the boy's face and neck. "I suppose it does. Why? What is so important about that particular phrasing?"

"That's the prophesy. One must die at the hand of the other. Neither can live while the other survives." He coughed again, more blood coating his lips and staining his teeth a gruesome red. "Voldemort is defeated, and you've chosen to live. That's good. I'm glad you have the chance to make a real difference."

Tom's eyes widened in horror as he realised what Harry meant. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare give up now! Voldemort died at your hand, so you get to live now too! I told you, I'm taking a new identity. I didn't come all the way to this stinking hell hole just for you to die on me!"

A pop and subtle gasp announced the arrival of Hogwarts resident Potions Master, who hurried over and immediately began running scans.

"We need to get him to St Mungo's, My Lord. He won't survive the next twenty minutes otherwise." Snape's quiet baritone broke the tense silence.

"Don't call me that. Voldemort is dead. I'm nobodies Lord now. Just, save him." Tom's voice was thick with suppressed tears; the first he'd shed in decades. He quickly created a portkey powerful enough to punch through the blood wards, and rested it on Harry's heaving chest. He kept a finger on it, refusing to let the boy go without him.

The landing was a little rougher than Tom would have liked, but Snape's cool command of the situation had the medical staff scurrying to their aid. As Harry was whisked off into Intensive Care to be treated, a clip board wielding nurse approached Tom, intent on getting as much background as possible.

Tom provided all the answers he could, even explaining that he had sent the boy hero food and medical potions, but confessing that he'd had no idea he was so badly off. His self flagellation was brought to a screeching halt at her final question.

"Sir? I'm sorry; I didn't catch your name?"

Tom glanced at the hallway his only friend had disappeared down minutes before. "Mort Evans. Call me Mo."