If Paths Diverge

Chapter 8

It was well-past midnight when Harry arrived at the Ministry, only to be confronted by the heavy metal door barring him from the cells behind it. Harry almost sobbed in frustration. Why hadn't he thought of this? The guard reading at his desk was the same one Harry had seen raping Voldemort while the man had been dead and bleeding out from knife wounds a few days prior. He had to learn their names.

Harry had no choice. He waited. He cast a non-verbal Silencing Charm on himself and settled back onto the ground, against the wall, to wait for the guard to go to the loo. The stakes were too high, he couldn't mess this up.

Talking to Hermione had been nice, but while no longer entranced by her optimistic fervour, Harry was left facing the stark reality of his situation.

Voldemort was in prison. Harry was forbidden to see him. He had the Cloak and could hopefully manage to sneak in, but how long would that work for? Would it be enough? His mind tortured him with images of what they were doing to Voldemort in his cell every day. How long could Harry live with that, with accepting such brutality as part of his job?

And then, separately, what was going to happen with Ginny? If she outed him to anyone his life would be ruined, no matter Hermione's optimism.

He was faced with two opportunities for destruction, both fatal in their own ways. If not able to see Voldemort anymore, Harry may well go crazy, and if Ginny exposed his homosexuality, he would lose his social circle and his job and any access to Voldemort he was managing to hold onto— bringing him back to his previous demise.

Either way, he knew he needed Voldemort. That thought, once horrifying, now was acceptable under the imminent threat of complete devastation.

It was after three in the morning when the guard finally rose and entered the loo. Harry jumped up, his muscles aching from sitting on the hard floor for so long, but he ignored his discomfort. He rushed to open the door and sneak past.

Success!

His heart fluttered as he ran down the hall, still protected by the Silencing Charm, and almost crashed into the cell bars. Careful! He could not be heard or seen.

His eyes darted and found Voldemort sleeping on his cot, curled up like a cat. A bloody bandage was wrapped around his groin.

That couldn't be good.

Harry allowed the guilt to consume him for a moment as he stared at the battered man before him. One of his eyes was swollen with deep purple and red bruising surrounding the closed lid. He had finger marks all over his body, obviously from rough handling, and his head was scraped and bloody. And— were those fingernail scratches gouged into his scalp?

He had not had an easy weekend and Harry had been off on a romantic holiday with his fiancée.

"Reducio!" Harry carefully incanted on himself, though with the Silencing Charm he couldn't hear it, and he shrank small enough to squeeze through the bars.

"Finite!" his little voice said aloud, and Harry was back to normal, voice and all.

He tiptoed, still under the Cloak, until he was leaning right over the sleeping form. Voldemort's swollen eye had a gash in it too. Blood was scabbed onto the wound and Harry also noticed the man's nostrils were red and bloody. He had obviously recently taken a beating and Harry's fists clenched in possessive fury.

He must have made a sound because the other man jerked awake, eyes snapping open, searching for danger. He looked scared. Harry took a step back and Voldemort must have sensed him.

"Show yourself," commanded that high, cold voice.

Harry's body tingled. Voldemort had sat up, his posture wary but menacing.