FIC: Bonfire whispers (HP/TR)
Title: Bonfire Whispers
Author: Amys (that's me)
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2549
Summary: Written for the Chimeracafe winterficathlon, prompt 'Yuletide'. Harry meets his nemesis on an 'unexpected day, in an unexpected way'. They share a drink and have a talk, like two unbound adults. HP/TR fic.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and various other companies such as Bloomsbury, Scholastics, and Warner Brothers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author’s Notes: The first part didn't come out as I wanted it but don't let it stop you from reading please.
He was looking forwards to it. It was Molly Weasley who had sent him the invitation to stay at The Burrow over the Christmas break and he had only agreed because he was curious for that one special event she was going to take him to. He didn't want to stay at Hogwarts, people and noises and sounds irritated him and those usually came in the form of silly questions. How trivial. But of course, Harry Potter was the brave boy he was supposed to be who suffered in silence for the sake of tragedy.
"It's an ancient tradition, you know"
"Ancient, you say?" he had asked interested at the first day of his stay.
"Oh yes, it goes back hundreds of years. Even muggles have legends to tell of it, which they bind to cultures, long extinct."
"Please do tell!" He had always liked stories. Maybe because he had never heard any when he was a little boy, or because sometimes he felt like they could just come true.
"The Christmas break, it all revolves around one thing. Nowadays muggles celebrate it for different reasons as new religions came by, but it all stems from the same tradition we still keep alive. It's Yuletide, Harry"
"All muggles have Christmas trees."
"Those are symbols of old, given new meanings. It is a time of celebration, not excessively as most do, but quiet and modest. Meant to bring warmth and comforts, love and memories. It is a tradition kept alive at one last place in Britain, for wizards at least. Call it a ritual if you like, I call it a celebration of the most beautiful kind."
"When?"
"At the night of Yule. It is the day of winter solstice, this year that is the 22nd of December."
"That makes it tomorrow. Will there be mead as well?" he had asked eagerly, and most people in the room had laughed heartedly. For a moment he had felt happy as well, and the whole evening passed in a blur of colours, good night wishes and embraces. He felt light headed by the time he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling.
And then morning came and it had snowed. The rural landscape around The Burrow was white and falling snowflakes kissed his head as he went outside for a walk. He stared in wonder as if he were a child again that had never tasted snow on its skin, but perhaps he never had as now. Now he knew some things and snow would never again be forever, instead it melted and was gone when his warmth touched it. A pity. Like Sirius was gone. Like Remus who had died with not so much as a sigh. Like Arthur Weasley and others he had not known so well, when curses touched them. Those were warm too, and made people melt.
But now Hermoine came to him and he had to smile and be cheerful again. Breakfast was ready. And then there was an Order meeting, grim faces and bold words again, but in the evening the whole world would relax for a moment. The day shut itself out of Harry's mind, and one fairy tale he had heard a long, long time ago rehearsed itself to come back in full might in the evening, when snow flakes were still falling and they took a portkey and landed before a bonfire.
He was there, Harry knew it, but his fairy tale dulled all feelings and it was okay. It was Yule after all, wasn't it? Then it was okay, and all the people around the bonfire were okay with it as well. He sat there on the other side, others surrounding him, occasional conversation going on between them. Many people were there, talking soft words and smiling or holding steamy mugs. There was music in the air, of the softest sounds to match the white nature. Mrs. Weasley wiped at her eyes, and others did too. It was an evening for memories as well, they had told that. He could imagine a red haired woman to have sat there, at the edge of the fire, sixteen years ago, and was it only imprinted in his mind or did he really see her sitting there for the shortest moment, turning to him with a smile and waving?
"Go sit where you feel you should, Harry." Mrs. Weasley said. "The fire calls us all, dear"
He nodded and walked to that place, entranced. It truly was magical. And then people moved out of the way, making place for him to sit between them, because this magic's call was known and obeyed by all. It was so ancient, no witch or wizard could touch it. The lullaby in his head continued and then he shook his head to clear the flames' sparkle from his eyes. He sat next to him, and his handsome face looked down at him with only the tiniest red flicker in much deeper eyes. After a moment he shortly inclined his head in a small nod. Harry returned the gesture. Entranced and unsure as he was about the situation he was in, it came out a bit stiffly though. His mind wondered about the nature of these happenings for a moment, how the image of his mother had led him to sit here, and made a note somewhere to ask more about this later. The amazement over the happenings around him took over and the scents of honey and cinnamon made his senses come alive but only in that wonderful dream state he was in. A witch offered him a mug of warm wine and he gladly accepted. It gave him something to focus his attention on.
Of course Voldemort could sit here. He looked like any distinguished wizard, a middle aged man wearing dark and heavy winter robes. Only Harry’s scar, the only visible mark of the bond they shared, betrayed the Dark Lord’s whereabouts. Harry felt free to speak. This was his once in a lifetime opportunity, because Voldemort had no doubt much more efficient ways to dispose of his opponents. Besides, Harry had a suspicion that a place held together by magic so strongly wouldn’t allow to be a vehicle for something inconsequential as this wizard’s war.
“Why are you here?” Harry asked softly. He felt his gaze settle on him.
“Don’t you think that one of the last unbound sources of ancient magic would interest me after I have studied the nature of that very power for years?” The Dark Lord delivered his words in a smooth voice, like dark velvet gliding over mahogany.
“You don’t seem the type to indulge in memories or enjoy conversations over a good drink.”
“No of course not” Voldemort replied with a half smile in his voice. “You would expect me to spend my days deep underground, close enough to hell for warmth or else to be cold blooded enough to stay creeping in my dungeon.”
Harry shrugged. “It would probably scare the wizarding world more to find you sitting here than imagine you eating children alive.”
The older wizard laughed. “That it would,” he agreed. “Tell me, boy, why are you sitting here and talking to me?”
“Magic…” Harry said
“The magic can give you suggestions or leads, but it is you who decides. No magic makes you talk to me and there certainly was no Imperius Curse.”
“I saw my mother. And when I sat down I found myself looking you straight in the eyes.”
“Ah yes. I’m sure it was the worst of disappointments.”
“It was” Harry glared, seriously irked.
“Not so much into the Christmas spirit yourself, Harry? And you would blame me first, dear Salazar.”
He didn’t answer and wondered what it was that made him feel comfortable whilst having a semi-normal conversation with his... well, arch enemy?
“You’re growing up”
“Excuse me?” Harry said at the Dark Lord’s words.
“You’re looking further than the black and white pictures your books presented you with. I’m an adult, you might be one some day in the far future, and tonight we have a chat about this and that. There’s no more to it than that.”
“And tomorrow we try to kill each other again?”
“That’s it” was the relaxed reply.
“I feel comforted now, with that knowledge. Thank you for sorting me out. Now that’s settled…”
The Dark Lord only shook his head with a small smile. Harry rolled his eyes and concentrated on the fire’s warmth.
“So… what’s the magic telling you?” he asked a little later. He felt odd, it was strange to address his nemesis in such a nonchalant way. If he had to look at things as Voldemort-who-didn’t-look-like-Voldemort said, he considered the wizard next to him barely as the kind of man to be addressed in such a casual manner. His words almost felt sloppy.
“’The magic’ isn’t ‘telling’ me anything. It’s not a person but a source of power, boy, some persons have a talent for and others not.”
“Like singing?”
“I wouldn’t exactly put it like that. Everyone can sing, or learn to sing to at least some degree. The magic talent runs in the blood and isn’t given away like a piece of candy. It requires a certain strength.”
“You’re so prejudiced!”
“Now hear who’s talking. So are you, just from the opposite side” the older wizard said, his black robes rustling as he moved to sit in another position.
A part of the black velvet came to rest against Harry. He couldn’t feel its weight through his warm winter cloak but the unusual sight of the dark soft fabric against his own less conspicuous robes sent a rush of heat to his face. So he was growing up? Right on it, that one, and his mind and body agreed in unison. There was a strange kind of allurement coming from the Dark wizard, almost glowing over Harry, drawing him towards Tom to hear him out. It was the smoothness with which he spoke, the distinct accent and mannerism, or the things he said, so much stronger even than his pretty sixteen year old self Harry had encountered once. The years had advantaged him, having outlined his body and given it the air of self-assuredness his spirit possessed, as far as Harry could see under his robes. Then he remembered the late Dumbledore’s words, how Tom had always known how to win people and what a charm he had. It didn’t matter, this was just a talk between two grown-ups. For once, it didn’t change anything. Suddenly his contemplative silence was broken and the object of his fascination glided back to the perfect folds of Voldemort’s robes as he stood, graceful.
“Where are you going?” Harry asked, keeping the traces of disappointment far away from his voice.
“Home, of course. I’ve had enough for one evening. We’ll meet later, Harry, we undoubtedly will.”
“Hang on - I was rather enjoying this… talking to you. Can’t you stay a little while longer?”
A small smile of amusement broke the other one’s serene expression. “Are you sure you’re ready for that? I said you were growing up, not that the process was completed already.”
“I’m quite sure, thanks” he returned the gaze with steady eyes, no blinking, his heart beating wildly in his ears.
“How about you come with me and we have a glass together then, as a gesture of mutual trust of course. You keep your observations for yourself, I let you go unscathed but that speaks for itself. I invite you as a guest.”
“Why not” Harry said, and he stood up as well, a little dizzy from the music, warmth and people around him but never having felt this alive before. Gods, he was ready for this. He so was.
“Please,” Voldemort said and he offered Harry his hand with a small nod. Harry took it breathlessly, and the fire disappeared in a whirl of colours. The crazy gallop of his heart was all he heard for a moment, and then he orientated himself again. He stood before a smaller fire, in a room where cloaks were unnecessary.
“Welcome, and please, do sit down.”
Voldemort offered him a glass of amber liquid before he sat down himself, next to Harry, keeping a polite distance.
“So, tell me boy, I’m quite sure you had never imagined to spend your Yule here,” he said with only the hint of a satisfied smile.
Harry thought this over for a moment. It was true enough, his choice of company in the form of Tom Riddle was at least surprising, but the last few days, or were it months already, had gone by in a cloud that nothing came as a complete shock anymore. Now it seemed as if he had been living up to a moment that came closer with every passing second now.
“I’m a Legilimens, Harry, but sometimes you’re a complete mystery to me” the other murmured, bending closer.
“I don’t understand it either. Sometimes I think I just lost it” Harry said drowsily, unconsciously leaning closer to the warm source of comfort next to him.
“You know, Harry;” and he spoke Harry’s name for the first time. It rolled off his tongue as an exotic herb full of passionate promise or deep oriental secrets. “Feeling someone’s mind is such an intimate gesture.” He was whispering now, letting the boy lean against him. “I compensate it with violence, feeling soiled by people’s little dirty secrets. But with you, perhaps I should celebrate it.”
He raised his glass in a toast. “On you, Harry”
“On unexpected Christmas tides” Harry mimicked and sipped again.
Tom smiled on Harry’s choice of words. “As you say”
They drunk in companionable silence for a while, Harry staring at the flames of the hearth, Tom Riddle thinking as well, but not about truths and lies as he knew about those already, not even of the web of deception he hadn’t spun but that had come so easily.
Harry shifted but didn’t move away. He didn’t want to wonder why the arm that came to rest silently around him felt good to lean against. After all, some things just were, and he rested his free hand on the older wizard’s thigh as well.
“What did you think of it?” Harry asked
“Your mind?”
“Yes. I must be crazy, no?”
“Perhaps you just long for something else” Voldemort replied cautiously.
“Perhaps” Harry agreed, warm rhythms creeping into his bloodstream and willing him closer even to Tom.
“It’s magic you said, Harry. At Yuletide there’s always magic in the air” he looked the smaller boy in the eyes with a small smile and bent his head. Just as he had expected, the boy landed his lips on his. Not awkward or clumsy, not shy or particularly wild, but just a kiss as if they had done this a hundred times before, lips pressing against each other and tongues touching in a slow and sensual soul-devouring kiss.
“Can I stay a little while longer?” Harry asked.
“You can stay many little whiles if you wish, small one.” Tom whispered in his ear, holding the boy close and leaning his head on Harry’s. He smiled softly.
“Merry Yule, Harry”