Story: The Not So Black Letters: Negotiation

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any part of the Potterverse. I do not make any profit from this.

This is a bonus chapter for The (Not-So-)Black Letters, dedicated to all my reviewers (you are great guys!!! you make this worth it!), and specially taking into account how late I am with TNSBL updates. It's pretty surreal and I'm not sure I like it at all, but I had to post something if I didn't want to go mad with guilt, so...

Hope you enjoy it!

'Come on, Voldemort. I know you were a great strategist, once. Before you came to my parent's house that night, you had Britain at your feet, cowed and waiting for you to take over. Resistance was down to nothing but an irritant group of half-trained wizards who allied themselves under Dumbledore's banner. You were winning that war!' Harry exclaimed, bringing down his wand in a slashing motion that sent a torrent of purple flames towards Voldemort, who dispelled them with a well-timed flick of his wrist, both wizards having long ago abandoned spoken magic to delve on a non-verbal dance of death.

'And then, suddenly, you come back, mad as a hatter, with no plan whatsoever other than killing, torturing and maiming everything in your path. With no political plan. With no plan at all other than mindless massacres. What happened to the brilliant mind of the one they used to call Riddle? Where is the hailed leader of the Dark?' Harry spat, slowly circling the room as Voldemort mirrored his movements.

A couple of minor hexes had been exchanged –that is, minor for Harry and Voldemort, meaning they hadn't restored to unforgivables yet- just some Entrail-Expelling curses, a stray confringo, a expulso.

It certainly fit better than Harry's previous image of this meeting –he had always thought allying himself to Voldemort would be done quietly, like gentlemen, over a glass of wine, and it had always been quite... unsatisfactory, almost revolting. This fight, the barely contained excitement running through his veins as he battled Voldemort, not only with his magic but with his words – this was what he had been secretly waiting for, not even able to admit it to himself, but Voldemort and him were too similar, yet too different –confrontation was inevitable, and at some point, even pleasurable, comforting.

His very life depended on the outcome of this battle of wills, rather than the hexes they were so casually exchanging –constantly on edge, never stopping the flow of words, of accusations, of taunting, that Voldemort seemed to revel in.

They were teasing each other, and as Harry faced him, accused him, his own darkness became more clear, more obvious, more defined. He was angry at Voldemort. Incredibly furious at him.

And it wasn't because of his parents. It wasn't because he'd been trying to kill him his whole freaking life. This was a war, and casualties were inevitable. He had long ago accepted that, and his parents had chosen to make a stand –and payed dearly for it, but one way or another, that had been their choice. Long before the prophecy was uttered, they had joined the Order of the Phoenix, they had become soldiers, and as such, they had put their lives in the line, they had accepted the risks. It wouldn't be befitting of him to ignore that.

And while he had never chosen to make a stand, that choice had been taken for him –and whether the one to do so had been Dumbledore, Voldemort, or the fates themselves didn't matter –what was done, was done. There was no going back.

No, the reason of his rage against Voldemort stemmed from his failure to the Dark, as the Lord he had proclaimed himself to be. From his failure in this war, in the way he fought, in his inability or unwillingness to protect his own people –to protect the Dark. He was partially responsible for the affronts the Light had committed against the many Dark creatures that had suffered since his fall. He had let his people down, he hadn't been a good leader for them. And because of that, the Dark was suffering –and now, Harry along them, because as much as the Light had tried to shy away from the truth, he was Dark, and nothing could change that –not even the ties he had felt holding him back before knowing the extent of Dumbledore's manipulations.

Just as Voldemort had, he'd been predestined for the Dark, born to revel in it and to be held in the shadows' comforting embrace.

And Voldemort could see that now. Just as easily as Harry could.

'You presume to know? You, who have been sheltered by the Light, with their dirty thoughts and prejudices polluting your mind? It has taken a great betrayal for you to come to me, to come to the Dark. Why must I believe you when you say you are Dark now? Why should I presume you have the right to demand answers from the leader of the Dark?'

And now, Harry could see what Voldemort wanted, too. He wanted, needed, a confession. Because as ruthless as he was, his duty was to protect his people –and if Harry were truly light, accepting him within his ranks would be a danger much greater than the one lurking outside.

Sidestepping a curse, Harry felt the angry words leave his mouth without having time to think of them, spewing forth everything he had kept bottled inside for the last seven years, trembling with the force of his release.

'Sheltered by the Light? I was suffocated in it, chained by it, smothered in it! Forced to hide, to conceal, to nod, to smile, to pretend! Forced to jump through every single hoop Dumbledore thought would anchor me to their disgusting little crusade!' he snarled, mindlessly throwing curses at Voldemort in quick succession –a flagrante curse, a blazing red relashio, a sick green sectumsempra, a bludgeoning curse, a liquid-looking carnifico –all of them countered by Voldemorts' shields and counterspells, with no effort at all –just as Harry had cast them, only an element more in their discussion, as sipping their wine may have been in the encounter he had first envisioned.

'I was forced to breath in the Light, to be Light, when I was never meant to be! Forced to hide the dark claiming for justice inside me, their well-behaved poster-boy, their simpering lapdog!' He stopped their deadly dance for a moment, his eyes boring into Voldemort's red globes as if trying to dig into his very soul, enunciating his words with an eerie calmness that lend more power to them than shouting would have. 'I, who was born to live in darkness, who soon learned of the harsh truths of the world, have been forced to kneel at Light's feet, but I will kneel no more!' his last, hissed words, were accompanied by a crucio hurled at Voldemort's chest.

Dispelling the curse as if it were nothing more than an annoying insect, Voldemort seemed reluctantly impressed –because even if he had dispelled it easily, he had been able to feel the immense power behind the unforgivable, its deadly intent, its perfection.

A smirk slowly formed in his thin lips. And Harry finally proved himself to be truly a member of the Dark, no longer willing to fight against his very nature when even rational arguments weren't able to curtail his instincts anymore.

Voldemort answered with a livor, favoring short, painful curses as usual, resuming their dance with even more viciousness now that the real bargaining began. What they had experienced before, their clumpy turnings, their shouting, the accusations, were nothing –nothing compared to what was to come. Because now Harry had fallen inside Voldemort's reign, a creature of the dark himself, and he had to prove himself useful –a worthy ally. It was either that or death –and Harry had faced death one time too many to succumb to it now without putting up a fight.

'You were winning last time, but you won't win this war. You may conquer power, but it wont last long –people do not wish to live in fear. They search security, routine, for themselves and their families. They want things to be easy.' He spat the last word, ridiculing the very thought, yet he kept on, twirling around the room without ever losing sight of Voldemort as they exchanged curses so fast their hands were just a blur of movement, the air between them filling with colorful sparks and flames, lights and shadows, all mixed together in an enthralling spectacle.

'You have become a symbol of too many things, of turbulent times, and they won't take it from you –not as you stand now. Dumbledore?' he chuckled darkly. 'The idiot is in deep shit and he still doesn't know it, but even if he wasn't, the average wizard has stopped hailing him as the hero. He has, slowly, inconspicuously, become a symbol from the past –and needing a baby to end his war damaged his image as the all-powerful, omniscient Saviour, badly. He doesn't know it yet, the wizards themselves aren't conscious of it, but they have chosen me as the new symbol of their hopes, Light and good beyond reproach, willing to dirty my hands for them yet always returning to a shinning splendour. They find me something simple to believe in. I am neither human nor symbolic, not as Dumbledore and you are, nor am I tainted by an obscure past. I am a story, a flesh-and-bone reality, present, comfortable.'

'But that's dangerous, isn't it?' Harry taunted, slowly shifting his feet to dodge an oncoming curse, waiting for the right moment to roll. Twenty minutes of non-stop fighting, and he hadn't even broken a sweat. If anything, he felt invigorated, able to go on fighting until the end of the world came and swept them away. 'You can't have a powerful minion, not one like me, but why make me an ally? Specially when I can destroy both you and the Light with equal ease?'

He rolled to the right, springing to his feet as soon as the curse passed sizzling over his head, narrowly avoiding the next jet of light as he changed his centre of gravity and crouched down, his feet moving faster than his mind and pulling him to the right, avoiding a third curse, the barrage of curses –from both sides- never slowing down.

'But, can you kill me? I know you can.' he panted, dodging a killing curse which had been Voldemort's mocking response to that. 'What I mean is can you afford to kill me? To make me into a symbol of hope, of righteousness, of everything that's good and noble? Can you give Dumbledore and the Light that much power? Because if you are willing to throw this war away as easily as that, then I'm obviously talking to the wrong person.' He sneered, eyes focused on the curses instead of Voldemort's face now. 'I am offering you the Wizarding World in a silver platter. Will you be blind enough to reject it?'

Although he should have expected the amusement shining in Voldemort's red depths it caught him by surprise, and he nearly payed for that with his left hand. As it was, the slight indecision earned him a shallow cut on his left arm, drawing blood for the first time that night.

The significance wasn't lost on either of them.

'Ah, so now you presume to be the ender of this war, the one to decide who wins and who falls? Rather conceited of you, isn't it?' Voldemort taunted, mocking him by sending him rather low-level jinxes.

'I was born into this war, and I will be the one to finish it, one way or another. And that's something be both know, Voldemort. The fates have already decided for us. There's no going back now.' He mused out loud. 'What I want to to know is, are you willing to win? Willing to take this chance?' Harry answered, confident, determination shining in his green eyes as he threw killing curse after killing curse to Voldemort, in answer to the others mocking.

'Ah, so now we begin to show our cards, don't we? Tell me, Potter, what do you have to offer? What is hiding behind your pretty rhetoric?'

A dangerous smirk curved Harry's lips in a feral mock of a smile as he suddenly felt free of constrictions, free to present his plan out loud, no longer analyzing, constructing and deconstructing it in his mind.

They were beyond games now. This was the real deal, the turning point.

'If you want to end this war, you need to have the neutrals on your side, or at least, not opposing you. Forget about the Light and the Dark, the center pieces are already firmly etched in their places and rooted to their beliefs. Don't throw it away for a single pawn which may or may not change the tide of this war. Go for those who make up the main population. They are following both Dumbledore and I for now, but not for much longer if you take me up on my offer.' With a gleeful glint in his eyes, he kept on. 'Let me destroy him. Let me make him nothing but a fraud, another reason to waver in their opinions. If you tried to campaign against Dumbledore it'd never work. You are enemies, that much is clear, so why should they listen to what you have to say? If I am the one to slander his name, to scream of his shortcomings, the world will listen. Because even those who oppose me listen to me. They are left with no other choice. I will destroy him, and those who follow me will come to you, will be happy to think of another simple world once the one Dumbledore offers is shattered. The ones who hate me will listen too, because they need to know what I am doing, if only to ridicule me, but most of them hate Dumbledore too, and who do you think they hate the most?' Harry asked sardonically.

'I can humanize you and your death eaters, make them forget about the horrors of the first war and choose to be on your side. You will not win by fear, but by default. How do you think Fudge got to be Minister? He was the lesser evil. Human enough, comfortable enough, simple enough. You don't demand the high moral standard Dumbledore does. You won't demand fear and grovelling any longer. You will be the avenging angel, the one who got wronged by Dumbledore and has been trying to rid the world of him all along. I will make your death eaters into the few brave voices willing to speak against the tyranny of a two-faced traitor. I will make you someone they can accept as their leader. Someone they don't have to fight.'

Though it seemed ridiculous, a far-fetched illusion, Voldemort knew politics well enough to know he could make it real. The ignorant sheep of the wizarding world were anxious to end the fight, and a major disturbance like that could easily win them over. They would all know he was a heartless bastard, of course, but that didn't mean they'd allow themselves to know it.

'And how do you propose to do that?' Voldemort asked, quietly conjuring a log of wood to stop the bright-green curse rushing towards him.

'I read of a spell, back at Sirius' house, in the Black Library. It's, predictably enough, called the Black Charm. It will, among other things, make sure Dumbledore receives a loud letter while in a public setting of our choice –with him unable to stop it or get away. It reads itself aloud, not unlike a howler, but I believe it will fit our purposes nicely. Though, if we are going to do this, we need to send the first letter, right now, before he gets to the Great Hall.'

Voldemort eyed him suspiciously, his mind working furiously as he weighted his options.

In the end, he lowered his wand, and simply said:

'Very well, Potter. You've got yourself a deal.'

R&R? Pretty Please? (Due to a surplus of cookies, Harry-and-Voldemort cookies with their wands drawn out will be distributed among the reviewers ^^)