Death Never Stopped Me Before

|Chapter 13|

Despite himself, Voldemort could not, for the life of him, take his eyes off Harry. How could he have possibly forgotten just how beautiful Harry was? His emerald eyes glinted off the warm torchlight, and his messy black hair lay over his face in a disastrous mess that somehow made him look charming. Voldemort longed to walk over and tangle his fingers through that hair, but needs must.

And this conversation certainly was a need.

"I suppose I'll start by explaining why I did what I did," Harry said, nervously nibbling on his lower lip. The sight was endearing. "I need you to know that I did it for you—"

"Why did you never talk to me?" Voldemort asked the one question that had been haunting him ever since he read Harry's letter. As relieved as he was to find out that Harry still loved him, he couldn't help but wonder why Harry never just asked.

It was silent then for a little while, the only noise coming from the gentle wind outside the tower. Voldemort held his gaze with Harry, who was looking increasingly more uncomfortable as the silence went on. Finally, Harry spoke.

"I was afraid," Harry admitted, looking away. Voldemort felt his chest clench.

"Of me?" Was he really so bad that Harry, the one person in the world who should never fear him, was afraid?

"No! No, I... I was afraid of what you might say," Harry whispered, his hands nervously wrapping around his waist. "I was so afraid that you wouldn't listen to me. That you wouldn't see what was wrong!"

"Why would you think that?!" Voldemort cried. "How could you possibly think that I would dismiss you?!"

"You did it before!" Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest defensibly. "You weren't the same! Or... Or maybe you were and I just never noticed before..."

"What are you talking about?" Voldemort demanded, stepping closer.

"You were out of your mind, Tom!" Harry snapped. "You let Death Eaters into Hogwarts! You... You weren't sane and I just..." Harry choked back a sob, and the sight made Voldemort pause. "I didn't know what to do."

"You could've said something," Voldemort whispered, even when a part of him wondered. Was he really so far gone that it wouldn't have mattered? "I... I would've listened."

"Would you really?" Harry asked. "Think about it now. You're whole Tom, every part of your soul is back inside you—"

"What about the shard that was in you?" Voldemort asked. The silence returned then, and it was just as suffocating as it was last time. It was a very uncomfortable subject, the Horcrux in Harry still making Voldemort bitter.

"I... I'm not sure, actually," Harry answered honestly with a frown. "I thought, perhaps, it was still in you but now that I've returned..."

"He wanted to be with you, you know," Voldemort said. Harry looked at him in confusion. "The Horcrux. He wanted to stay with you."

"How do you know that?" Harry's answer was incredulous.

"I went into my magic to bring you back," he said. "Granger's theory was that the Horcrux and your soul were tied together, acting as a tether to bring you back. When I went inside, I could see every single Horcrux, each one was a different Tom Riddle with something to say. But the Horcrux that was in you..."

Voldemort recalled the tiny Tom Riddle sobbing in front of the other shards, begging to return to the warmth. It was so pitiful, something that Tom Riddle would never have done in real life. Seeing it had been surreal, and it was what stuck with Voldemort the most.

"The Horcrux in you was nothing more than a toddler," Voldemort said. "He was desperate to return to you," Voldemort didn't know how to decipher Harry's facial expression so he just continued. "He kept crying, begging to go back to the warmth and light that was your soul."