If Paths Diverge

Chapter 10

Harry stood, useless, trying to figure out how best to help.

His skin. It was actually shredded. Like cloth. Like bloody streamers hanging off him in purples and reds, his complexion even paler and gaunter than usual. The pool of blood he stood in was massive. He looked dead.

Wait— was he dead?

Harry forced his trembling legs to move and placed a finger underneath that sharp jaw.

Nothing.

Harry took his other hand and placed it over the man's nose slits. He waited.

No breath.

No life.

"Help! Help me!" Harry shouted to the guard he had only just left, and pulled out his wand, ready to cast a healing spell, or maybe Renervate. He didn't have any potions on him and this was way outside of his abilities.

"Help me!"

Harry could hear the guard slowly stroll down the hallway towards him.

"What, Potter."

Harry turned.

"He's—"

But before he could articulate anything he heard a rough, deep gasp from behind him and spun to face Voldemort again.

Alive.

He was alive again, those red eyes wide and panicked, first searching the cell and then latching onto Harry.

Harry couldn't speak. His heart was hammering in his chest and he felt like he was about to vomit. Merlin. This kind of immortality would take some getting used to. He'd been dead.

"Did you forget? Did you seriously forget he couldn't die?" the guard drawled, behind him. "Aren't you supposed to be an Auror? Aren't Aurors supposed to—"

"Shut the fuck up and get out of my sight!" Harry shouted, turning to face him, thrilled to have his wand already in-hand.

The guard stepped back, his hands raising, eyes afraid.

"You're not allowed—"

"Have I not made myself clear?" Harry asked in a menacing, tight voice, so very different from the yell that had only just faded from his ears.

When Harry turned back to Voldemort he caught him watching him with a strange expression on his face, which disappeared as soon as their eyes met.

Harry waited until he'd heard the footsteps of the guard fade and the door close before he exhaled a long breath.

"What can I do?" Harry asked, concerned that although Voldemort may no longer be dead, his wounds remained unchanged.

The Dark Lord stared at him, still lax in his restraints, but his eyes had regained some life.

"You are not permitted to heal me," that high voice rasped, with obvious effort.

"I've spoken to the Minister, he knows I'm here, that's all sorted. I have something I have to talk to you about, but I can't do it with you like this."

Voldemort began to breathe with his mouth open and the corners of his eyes bunched.

"You're in pain," Harry said, watching a bead of sweat trickle down the middle of his chest and get lost in all that carnage. "These wounds... they're horrific."

Harry stopped and took a step closer.

"You died, Voldemort. You died. You had no pulse, I felt it. No breath." Voldemort continued to stare at him, face unreadable. "How is that possible?"