𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆

Part 8

Morning lemon

Cold. Tingling , demanding pinprick cold, inching inwards, spiraling outwards, engulfing, overwhelming. Eyes torn out and dripping. Pleasure in small pieces, flesh, my own flesh. Fingernails, carefully manicured. Thin, strong legs, long eyelashes, soft hair. Two heartbeats, asymmetrical. One mind split in half, two minds made whole. War.

Harry woke slowly, with the now-familiar images filling his head. They burned into his brain, more terrifying than they ought to be, objectively, but less so than they had been. Along with images, sensations, vague traces of thoughts was the inexorable knowing of whom they belonged to. What haunted him most about these moments, these early morning, half-awake, moment when he still half wrestled with sleep, was the sensation that he was not Harry Potter anymore, not entirely. There was a part of him that was Voldemort, and even the long course of potions could not completely stave it off. He must be drugged in order to be himself, and this realization struck him still, morning after morning.

At the same time, over the course of the last two weeks he had managed to gain a degree of control over these visions, sensations, apprehensions. He could experience them without collapse or falling into complete delusion. It had been the potions that made this possible; Draco had mixed up variations on its original theme, with increasingly positive results. His latest alteration simply made it taste better, which he developed at Harry's request. Dumbledore had kept a close eye on Harry. When Draco had altered the potion to allow Harry call up and dismiss his portal into Voldemort's brain on command, Dumbledore had been nominally pleased, but worried. "Goblin magic is notoriously unpredictable, Draco."

"I know it, I know it. I'm not taking any risks with Harry's heath, I assure you. Of all the matrixes involved, the one I've based this on, the Uglukai, is one of the most stable, it's stability underlies most of goblin magic. Since this," here he held open his hand, eyes focussed on his palm, "Gjekspfah, Jonsig Tewjiek." A small, green stone appeared in Draco's hand. He breathed on it slowly, and said, "Hoi!" making it disappear again. "Since that invocation and dismissal will always work, its matrix being the very stable heart of Goblin magic, the–"

"Alright, Draco, alright!" Dumbledore raised his hands, laughing. He was pleased to still see the sparkle of drive in his eyes. Long ago, Draco had found that he had talents other than those in the Dark Arts. Dumbledore had decided that it would be best if he could foster those talents, and help the Ministry at the same time. It had been a struggle, of course, getting Draco into the Ministry in the first place, and Dumbledore's suggestion that he be an Unspeakable, that he work with the magic he had come to be obsessed with under Dumbledore's care, was the tallest of tall orders. In other times the suggestion might have been dismissed summarily. It had been Hemsley himself, the goblin charm-maker and master of goblin magical arts, who had vouched for Draco, and in the end, it was probably his word that forced them to fulfill Dumbledore's request.

When Voldemort had been defeated, Hemsley had remained at Hogwarts for some time, watching over the charm itself, explaining its properties, discussing the need for a team to work on its defense. He watched Draco recover with a kind of horror; long lines of scabs, punctured and torn flesh across Draco's body slowly healed and became clean again. He watched as that nearly translucent skin turned slowly opaque, coloured white as if it returned to a state of unsullied purity. When he woke, he was broken. Hemsley had shuddered seeing him then. It is a horrible thing to witness the destruction of a mind, and Hemsley himself believed that Draco would go mad. But he did not. Instead, he became obsessed, and it was at that point that Hemsley came to like and admire the boy. Draco had become obsessed with goblin magic.

After weeks turned to months of watching him in the hospital wing, poring over dusty and forgotten books brought to him from Hogwarts library, from the rare book room, helping him learn to speak Goblin, answering his near-endless questions, seeing his torment, his guilt, his regret written and rewritten by the curve of his lip, the motion of his eyes, Hemsley had felt his horror at his betrayal turn to pity.