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Harry had been cooped up in Grimmauld Place for who knows how long. He didn’t know what to do with himself. As far as he knew, he shouldn't even be alive. He didn’t feel fully alive. The war had ended many months ago, almost a year ago, and people had started to move on. Other people.
Hermione had gone back to finish the last year of schooling in Hogwarts. After which she went to work in the Ministry’s Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Just a few weeks ago, having ranted to Harry in a letter about picking back up and starting on her plan to improve the lives of house-elves, and how immoral the views wixen society had on the large.
Ron had gone to finish his N.E.W.T.s, after Hermione had persistently urged him for weeks. Then towards the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, for Auror training. He had asked Harry to go with him, but he had politely declined. He couldn’t have said that just the thought of having to work in the Ministry, do field work while wielding violence, after all they had said about him, done to him, was unacceptable. Hypocrites, all of them. Loving and idolizing him one second, hating and demanding responsibility for his actions the next. To them, he was just a tool for use or a shiny trophy for presentation.
Neville on the other hand had been working towards his dual apprenticeships in potions and herbology. The letters Harry got from him were always full of new interesting facts he had learned or the places he travelled to with his instructor. Actually, he had been quite surprised that Neville had picked potions. Professor Snape had never been the most descriptive in his teachings or even a considerate teacher. Having thrown constant quips at Neville’s potion brewing. Most often, impatient reminders and mockful remarks, indicating that Neville could never be good enough. Harry could only conclude that Neville had found new interest and appreciation for the delicate art of potion brewing after the war.
Luna had told Harry that she would go and complete a magizoologist apprenticeship. He hadn’t been surprised about that. She had always been interested in magical creatures, though mostly the kind which were misunderstood, rare or in danger of extinction. She was motivated and he could see it. Wanting to further educate the wixen population on the consequences of magical creature hunting, their uniqueness and benefits for magical environments. That had been her goal for years, having already done that since their school years through the Quibbler with the help of her father.
Everyone had plans for their futures. Thought towards the future. The past buried into the shadows. Sorrow giving way to relief and celebration. First to whispers, then to cautionary tales, to the history books till all the sacrifices made lost all their meaning. He wanted to feel happy for his friends, really, but Harry just felt numb.
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Actually, Harry felt troubled. As there was the fact that his soulmate was dead.
Voldemort had been his soulmate, a soulmate. While not a destined soulmate of his. Apparently, they were two entirely different categories. He had found out a week ago, after an irritatingly long process. He had only meant to go to St Mungo’s private department for feeling constantly drained of energy and magic. Harry had thought that maybe he was depressed. Maybe a little bit sick. How wrong had he been.
Harry hadn’t really gotten what the diagnosis meant at the moment, in the doctor’s office. But later on, after a visit to the goblin healers of Gringotts who knew about the subject more, for total confirmation, it had hit him like a bludger on the head. Very painfully.
He and Voldemort had been so connected, so intertwined. Shared blood together, gone through a bodily possession. Died within each other. Been inside each other's minds and souls, for so long that they had formed a soulmate bond. The phenomena was not ordinary, normal. It was abnormal, rare and concerning. Very concerning.
That night, Harry had slumped down against the door of his bedroom's bathroom, curled into himself and cried silent tears. Tears that flowed freer than ever, with no end seeming to have been in sight. There was no future for him and no healer could help him, no matter how accomplished they were. Not in his universe.
Their feelings and views wouldn’t have mattered in the forming of the bond, couldn’t have changed a thing really. It was Harry’s reality. He had gone through a forced, unwanted bonding, with the monstrous husk of a man. And now, the dark lord was dead, gone, burned to ashes, non-existing.
Harry would wither away.
Clenching his hands into fists, steely determination filled him. He will need a substitute, and he will get one. No matter what it will take.
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Harry was sitting in the library, surrounded by towering towers of forgotten ancient books. Buried in piles of scrolls that one by one were more ancient than the last. He needed knowledge of soulmate bonds, ritual magics, ley lines, temporal magic and surprisingly locator charms. Not to mention the many other minor subjects surrounding their core information. Not all would be researched, for his timer towards death was ticking. Just so much that he could find the most important parts. He had had success with that at least.
It had been almost four months since the revelation. Harry had tried to be as discreet as he could, but there was only so many times he could skip a dinner at the Weasleys residence and go to the goblin archives, while spending most of his time in libraries. There had been questions, a lot of them. From everyone he knew. What he was doing. Why was he doing what he was. Why was he in a rush.
Harry had just said that he wanted to re-educate and improve himself, even if not to complete his N.E.W.T.s, as he hadn’t had enough time for that at Hogwarts. He could admit to himself that the answer was partially true. Luna and Neville had given him well wishes for independent study. Hermione had been glad of his decision, even if he had not decided to do it as a repeat year in Hogwarts. Ron on the other hand had playfully commented on his decision, as Harry and him were not known for being academically interested.
Well, what could he say. Harry had been busy trying to stay alive. Still, he could never tell his real full motive for doing this to his friends. They wouldn’t understand, would stop him. Think of him as an idiot and stupid. But they would not understand. The bond will eat him alive from within, till he was just dry skin on bone.
From his research, Harry finally knew what would happen. If not considering the emotional effects it caused, the bond was essentially a loop, keeping all their magical energy in constant movement. The movement was safe, until the other counterpart died. This was also the reason that all the rare, documented pairs of wixen soulmates died so close to one another, from a year to five years. After death, the magical energy would not have another anchor, soul and core, which it could go to, to keep it ever powerful, vibrant and existent, resulting in forthcoming collapse. Eating away at the other soulmates being till they died as well.
To Harry, it had sounded dramatic. Very dramatic and dangerous. After a bit more digging, he found a reason for that as well. Soulmate bonds between wixen were a lot more intense, for they were uncommon and abnormal, happening to individuals who were either tremendously powerful or messing around with necromancy and soul magics. Placing pieces of their essence, their being, into another being.
Basically, announcing to Lady Magic that they were a good pair, a perfect fit for a bond, and wanted to be with each other for the rest of their lives. It could be an intentional attempt or a completely unintentional one, with the latter being the case of Harry and Voldemort. Not to be confused with marriage bonding's. They weren't similar at all. Essentially, for wixen, soulmate bonds made them stronger, as much as it doomed them.
On the other hand, the bonds of magical creatures were not nearly as intense, more on the side of usual and safe. The bonds grip on their emotions wouldn’t be as strong even as the pull was there, and they wouldn’t die if their other half did. Harry could only rub his temples and sigh, a headache forming behind his eyes. The predicament was bad indeed.
Harry was trying to get everything done as quickly as he could. His motivation was to travel to another dimension, find a Tom Marvolo Riddle equivalent that was just right and bind them to Harry as his soulmate. With the additional help of the deathly hallows, of course. Can’t forget about the artifacts that didn’t want to leave his side and made him rise from the dead. All accidentally of course, he hadn’t meant for it to happen. There might be some heightened emotions from the Tom Riddle, Voldemort equivalent, but Harry could handle that. No matter the name they posed under as, Tom, Marvolo, Thomas, Riddle, Gaunt, Slytherin or his alter ego Voldemort.
Whatever, Harry felt like his head was going to explode. All he had been thinking about was Tom Riddle. And he couldn’t not think about him, as his survival depended on him. Dead Voldemort would laugh at him from his nonexistent grave for that. Was it karma, irony or revenge, or all of them gathered together. For killing his soulmate and saving the wixen population of the British Isles.
Harry didn’t like to ponder that.
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Eight months, it had taken Harry eight months more. He felt more haggard than he looked, having sank into preparations more desperately than before. Lately, he had been feeling the drain on his being more clearly.
Thankfully his outer being, flesh, hair, nails and teeth hadn’t started to deteriorate. His magical cores size and strength, has been the thing saving him from that, for now. His excuse to his friends hadn’t changed, to them he was still studying. Harry didn’t know how they still believed him, though Hermione had looked at him with a strange glint at the last new year’s party.
His leave was already arranged. Harry would never again see his friends, not as he knew them, wouldn’t talk to them. They would be strangers with somewhat familiar faces.
To sate his own feeling of regret, Harry had a few weeks ago promised to attend the monthly meet up. It had brought his emotions to the surface. Not happiness nor sadness, but nostalgia. It had not felt crushing for he had had enough time to process. They would be fine. Knowing about his situation would only hurt them more, omitting was for their greater mental well being. Harry paused and cringed a bit at himself, he was starting to monologue in his head like Dumbledore.
The transportation ritual needed the right kind of fuel to burn, things that linked with Voldemort. And as Harry and Voldemort were soulmates by the force of Lady Magic and certain unfortunate circumstances, his own blood worked perfectly. It wouldn’t matter if his blood didn’t circulate in the veins of other Voldemort’s, the link would be there. Dormant. It just needed the proper type of activation.
Of course, with the blood, there would be his own magical signature to activate the ritual and destroyed horcruxes with leftover essence for ideal identification search. He did not need much, but it was still essential. It’s not like Harry could just blindly travel from dimension to dimension. The leftover essence would help him comb out the right version, version’s if the first option didn’t feel right.
While Harry was desperate, he had standards.
Worst comes and time is fully running out, he will just make Voldemort what he needs him to be. Though, that wouldn’t be the preferred option. It was way too much work and might result in accidental murder. The murder of himself or his soulmate. Harry will get his life back, no matter if it’s with a Voldemort.
With all of his life packed into a singular suitcase, with every possession he owned and all of his inherited wealth, Harry activated the ritual using the elder wand with a carefully guided strand of magic. From blood filled rune to another rune, a dome of golden magic slowly formed around him. So thick you couldn’t see in or out. He started to feel a strong tug beneath his navel, sending strong shivers through his limbs. The ritual worked.
With closed eyes, Harry let out a murmur “You better be the right Riddle.”
A blinding light flashed. All that was left behind was an empty room.