The Contract

Chapter 90

Lord Slytherin made his way through the hospital, looking regal and confident as always. With a case of Butterbeer in one hand and the Daily Prophet newspaper folded under his right arm. He nodded to each of the Healers he saw, he respected them a great deal for their power and abilities. This place was run like a tight ship, with extreme care to each of their patients, and had magical knowledge at his fingertips he definitely desired but would unlikely get. They didn't hoard knowledge, per se, they just didn't trust a lot of people with it, understandable given many places stance on blood magic or magic deemed 'dark' when it could save lives.

These healers, these people...they didn't care about what type of magic it was. They didn't care about the laws, they cared about their patients, the real victims in all this. They did whatever it took to get them better. Short of resurrecting them, of course, which was a universal agreement on all of magical beings that it wasn't to be performed.

Except for one particular person called Lord Voldemort or Lord Slytherin, he'd dabbled in all types of magic. He happened to agree though, that some things should be left alone. He had been recklessly overconfident, and it had fractured his mind, broken his intelligence and dimmed his magic and he hadn't even been aware of it. That addiction to creating more Horcruxes was...overwhelming, it hadn't been his own fear of death either, no, it had been the magic he'd cast. The only known way to reclaim your soul is if you feel real, deep genuine regret, but the Horcruxes mess with your emotions making regret damn near impossible to feel let alone contemplate.

It was like a catch-22, the moment you begin the ritual, you're stuck by impossible circumstances. He had returned all the books Dumbledore had systematically removed from the Hogwarts library over the years, except for the books that mention Horcruxes.

He did not want anyone to make the same mistakes as he had in his youthful arrogance. Thinking he was better, that he could control himself, no, he didn't want that at all. Those books would remain hidden, with him.

Who says the older generation were stuck in their ways?

Shaking off his thoughts, realizing he was literally standing at Harry's door, for who knows how long at that. He rapped on the door twice, and waited until he was bid to enter. It would be rude to enter without checking, it was essentially a bedroom after all. One never knew what was going on behind the door, the first time he'd came by Harry had been receiving a sponge bath for Merlin's sake, so it was a good job he hadn't just wandered in.

"Come in," came the muffled sound of Harry's voice.

Opening the door, he stepped into the room, his dark eyes roaming around taking everything in. "Good morning, I hope you've all been well?" he asked, walking towards Harry, and placing the butterbeer on the cabinet.

"You remembered!" Harry said perking up when he saw them, grinning widely. "They didn't take them off you?"

"Hardly," Lord Slytherin declared wryly, opening one and handing it to the teenager. "Nobody is going to complain that you're getting your allotted ounces of liquid." His kidneys had very nearly packed in on him. He needed to drink at least three litres of liquid, preferably water, naturally, but they weren't going to complain about anything...other than alcohol which would actually dehydrate him. Which he did not have, and could not have, he was only thirteen after all.

There was only one downside to that, that Harry absolutely abhorred. He chose the lesser of two evils, having his bladder and bowels emptied with a spell instead of being levitated to the bathroom and helped to relieve himself.

Although, it had gotten to the point where they could read Harry when he was about to ask for that particular help. He truly was horrified by the use of such a simple spell, he and Corvus had realized there was a lot more behind it. That horror, humiliation and utter embarrassment didn't come from nowhere.