Chapter Text
When Harry Potter died in the Forbidden Forest, Voldemort fell to his knees and gasped. He felt like he was breaking apart, his very soul being ripped from his body, and Voldemort felt true fear burrow deep into his core at that moment. Death was something Voldemort had sworn to never taste, and yet it seemed to be bubbling up from inside him anyway.
Then, in a split second, it was gone. Voldemort climbed to his feet, waving away his followers and smothering the fear with triumph over Harry Potter's lifeless body before him; inside, however, there was a crack in Voldemort's soul that ran much deeper and much more permanent than he knew.
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When Voldemort died in the Great Hall, Harry took a deep breath, then crumpled to the ground with a long sigh falling from his lips. He'd been dead not even an hour before then, and yet it seemed Fate had more planned for him than he'd ever known.
He felt no pain, no soul shattering agony as Voldemort had felt. For Harry, it was as if the flame inside him was snuffed out unexpectedly. He was empty, no more strength in his whole body, and the weight of being alive was too much for it. He did not live to hit the ground, nor to hear the screaming, the cries, the anger, the fear and the mourning that would follow; he just… died.
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Harry blinked, and suddenly he was standing in some empty space he didn't recognize; surrounded by white, so bright Harry winced. It burned his eyes and there was no way to shield them. The floor was as bright as the vast emptiness above him, and the space around him. It was just complete whiteness, rigidly and unendingly bright.
Looking around and blinking the spots from his eyes, Harry found himself standing face to face with Tom Riddle - perhaps only a foot between them. It was the teenage version of him, maybe seventeen or eighteen, young and handsome before he became the twisted vile creature Harry knew. He had dark hazel eyes, green and gold swirling in the surrounding brown, and his hair was a dark almond brown that complimented how pale he was. Harry looked at him. Tom looked right back.
"What happened?" Harry asked; he took a step back and turned in a slow circle. "Where are we?" He probably shouldn't've taken his eyes off Voldemort the way he did, them being enemies and all, but neither had wands so it was a calculated gamble to Harry.
"I don't know." Voldemort replied slowly. Harry turned back to him to see Voldemort was warily examining the odd and unfamiliar space around them as well.
"Did we… die?" Harry asked, "Because if that's the case it would really suck." Voldemort gave him what was quite possibly the most comically disbelieving look Harry had ever seen.
"It would really suck?" Voldemort parroted in disbelief, "That's all!?"
"I mean, yeah." Harry shrugged, "If we are, I'm not surprised. I was 100% going to die young. Hell, I died once already!"
"I can't accept death." Voldemort snapped, glaring sharply at Harry. It was probably meant to be threatening, but it looked far too pretty on his face to be.
"That's not my problem."
"I'll kill you." Voldemort took a step forward and grabbed Harry by the collar, yanking him close and sneering at him. "Don't think I won't."
"I hate to break it to you, but if we're dead I'm not getting any deader. You can't double kill me." Harry grinned, relishing the anger on Voldemort's face. "Think of it this way: we're still conscious aren't we? Be grateful you're still kinda alive instead of disintegrating into nothing but dust particles or something."
"I don't have to be grateful." Voldemort released him, shoving him backwards hard enough Harry stumbled. "Not for this. Especially not while being stuck with the likes of you."
"I am a treasure." Harry grinned, stabilizing his footing. "You just hate me for existing. It's not my fault you forced me to hunt your soul bits to the end of the earth."
"I didn't force you to do anything."
"You tried to kill me." Harry raised his eyebrows, "And my friends. Like, multiple times."
"They were in my way." Voldemort said sharply, "As were you."
"I wouldn't've been if you'd left Hogwarts alone." Harry shrugged a little, "I didn't care a scrap about you until you tried to kill me in first year. I mean seriously, every year onward you just inserted yourself in my life at the most inconvenient times ever; obsessive much?"
"That's ridiculous." Voldemort crossed his arms a bit childishly. "If you'd died in 1981 when I intended for you to die, none of this would've happened in the first place."
"I had literally nothing to do with my miraculous survival, I was barely a toddler." Harry rolled his eyes, "You killed my parents, fine, I never knew them enough to miss them; but trying to kill me crossed the line."
"You…" Voldemort seemed shocked for some reason, and Harry waited a moment for him to pick his jaw up off the floor. "You don't care I killed your parents?"
"No." Harry said, "I mean, it sucks ass I had to grow up with my Aunt and Uncle, especially since they bullied me all my life, but oh well."
"There is something deeply wrong with you." Voldemort told him. Harry grinned.
"Yeah, I get that a lot."
A strong crack came from the distance, and they both whipped around in surprise. Unfortunately, a moment later darkness descended and blackness surrounded them. Harry yelped in surprise at the sudden change, stumbling backwards as he found himself suddenly and terrifyingly disoriented.
He was encompassed by the kind of darkness that seemed to cave inward, creating a void in time that had no beginning and no end. Having no body and an empty, terrified mind didn't do him any good, yet Harry couldn't stop the burning that slowly built in his chest as the black hollowness drowned him.
He couldn't feel. There was nothing to ground him. He could not smell. Silence rang around him in a way that left his ears gurgling with the sound of his own blood rushing through his veins. His mouth tasted like cotton and ash. There was nothing to sense in the darkness. He couldn't–
Suddenly a hand touched his arm; Harry flinched away from it with a harshly strangled gasp. From somewhere in the void around him, Harry vaguely heard Voldemort speak.
"... Are you afraid of the dark?"
"No." Harry's response was breathless and afraid, but honest. "No, the dark doesn't bother me. It's the unknown."
"The unknown?"
"I can't–" Harry shut his eyes, though it didn't do him any favors. "I can't feel anything. I'm… lost."
The darkness he was used to was soft. The kind that enveloped him when he was tucked away in his cupboard as a child, surrounded by the spiders he called friends and the shelves above his head and the scratchy blankets he could always feel. The kind that was familiar despite the black, and he knew every inch of it was safe.
The darkness he hated was the empty kind. The one that befalls when the light went out without warning, leaving him suspended in space - thrown in the ocean with no way of knowing which way was up. Nothing to orient him, nothing to hold on to, nothing to remind him the world was real and the nightmares lurking weren't; nothing stopping him from sinking into his own mind falling apart and losing who he was amongst the great looming unknown.
The silence was suffocating for a moment after he spoke, and then fingers brushed his arm again. Harry flinched, but did not pull away as Voldemort's hand slipped down his arm to grip his hand. The grip was bruising. Voldemort's hand was cold, ice resting against his burning skin.
"You're cold." Harry said. Voldemort's exasperated huff could be heard in the darkness.
"So are you."
"I am?" No, Harry's blood was boiling. His lungs would burn out his chest and leave a scorching hole behind any moment, he knew it would.
"Yes." Voldemort answered, "But so is everything here. Can you not feel it?" Harry paused, squeezing Voldemort's hand, and took a deep breath. Did he feel it?
There was the tiniest of breezes. It was faint; easily overlooked; but it was there. The cold kissed Harry's cheeks. It felt frozen on his skin, but Harry relished that frigidness. It soothed the burning in his lungs, if only barely.
"I feel it." Harry whispered. Voldemort's other hand found Harry's arm, fumbling as he gently pulled Harry closer.
Voldemort was taller than him. They were chest to chest; the stinging cold soaked from him to Harry in moments. It soothed the searing in the blood and the steam on his skin. The hand Voldemort rested on his lower back was steady and grounding, even though it was ice.
"Are you afraid?" Voldemort whispered. Harry tilted his head back, and, though he could not see Voldemort's face, felt soft exhales on his skin. It was warm.
"A little." Harry admitted, "But not as much." Voldemort seemed to sigh, though Harry didn't know if it was relief or exasperation. "You know, I don't understand you."
"Likewise." Voldemort replied dryly, "I don't understand you much either."
"It's funny." Harry shut his eyes and pressed his forehead against Voldemort's ice cold collarbone, "Moments ago you were threatening to double kill me."
"Moments ago I could see your arrogant face."
"Fair enough." Harry grinned weakly, "I take after my Dad, I guess; and he kind of actually was arrogant. I look just like him too, which did me no favors in life."
"Same." Voldemort's muttered response made Harry frown.
"What?"
"I look like my father too." Voldemort said, "He abandoned my mother, though perhaps she deserved it. Regardless, he never wanted a son. I only met him and my grandparents once, but I could've been the mirror image of him. That's part of the reason I hated him so much. I killed him, and everyone left who shared my blood." Harry probably should've been repulsed, reminded so thoroughly of Voldemort's murderous tendencies, but he didn't.
"What did it feel like?" Harry asked, "To kill someone, I mean."
"... I did not expect that to be your question." Harry smiled at the confusion in Voldemort's voice.
"I used both the Cruciatus and the Imperius a couple times, but never the Killing Curse." Harry said, "Using the Imperius felt a bit dirty, I didn't much like it. The Cruciatus though, I enjoyed that immensely." Watching that Death Eater scream under his wand filled Harry with immediate satisfaction - it felt good. That probably had a lot to do with the fact that he'd been defending McGonagall after that idiot spat on her, though.
"I didn't know you used them."
"Of course I have." Harry said. If he'd not been trembling, caged by the dark and barely grounded, he might've laughed. "There was a war going on. I did everything I could to end it."
"I suppose you could say the same about me." Voldemort replied, "I thought killing you would end the war, that everyone would lose their fight if you died; of course, soon after I realized my plan was folly. They did not lose their fight, their stubborn hope, and you simply refused to die. Even against the Killing Curse you kept fighting. It was infuriating."
"I was surprised as you are." Harry said, "I really thought I'd die in the Forest by your hand. Unfortunately, my life is full of the unexpected and I survived."
"You find it unfortunate that you lived?"
"Not exactly." Harry said, "But I was prepared to die. It would've been easier to die, maybe then I could've seen my parents; Sirius; Lupin. Instead it seems we're stuck in Limbo or some shit, which is much worse in my book."
"I'll admit I agree on the Limbo thing, this is definitely a problem." Voldemort said, "However I would never prefer death. Not for a single moment." Harry just sighed. It was hard to explain the acceptance he'd felt back when he used the Resurrection Stone before he died. Perhaps too complicated to explain right - at least, right then anyway.
"Well, either way, we need to find a way out of here. This place… it has to have an end." Harry tried to sound braver than he felt. "Doesn't it?"
"I suppose we can look." Voldemort pulled away, but he kept one hand intertwined with Harry's as he took a step back. "Which way?"
"Not to state the obvious, but they're all the same." Harry said, "Just start walking and see where it leads."
"Fine." Voldemort seemed irritated, "This feels ridiculous, though." He marched off in some random direction, and Harry released Voldemort's hand to instead grip his bicep with both hands. "... What are you doing?"
"Shut up." Harry snapped, but did not loosen his grip. "Are we walking or not?" Voldemort didn't respond, he merely sighed and began walking again. Having both hands on Voldemort solidly helped, it reminded him he was real.
Harry felt a bit stupid walking in total blindness, terrified by the unknown and clinging to the arm of his lifelong enemy, but he couldn't exactly change the circumstances and Harry was better at improvising than most professional stage actors. After living a life so full of plot twists and unexpected plan failures, Harry was good at rolling with the punches. Sure it was weird, but it was a miracle Voldemort wasn't laughing maniacally and leaving Harry to suffer in the dark so he definitely wasn't going to complain.
"What's your plan if it goes on forever?" Voldemort asked eventually.
"Keep walking." Harry said dryly, "Never know, maybe I'll walk so far I fall off the edge."
"Or you'll come right back around." Voldemort replied, and it surprised a small laugh out of Harry.
"Planet jokes." Harry said, "You never cease to surprise me."
"You know I said something similar to a flat earther once?"
"I'd pay money to see that memory." Harry smiled, "What'd they do?"
"Stormed off, naturally." Voldemort said, "Sometimes I think flat earthers don't exist, and everyone who claims they believe the earth is really flat are just messing with people for kicks."
"That's putting a lot of faith in humanity." Harry said, "People really can be that stupid. Take my cousin Dudley for example, he's dumb as a stack of bricks."
"But does he know the earth is spherical?"
"He doesn't even know what the word spherical means, let alone that it might refer to the planet we live on." Harry replied, "My Aunt used to say he was the smartest one in the house, and whenever she said so I'd go outside and climb onto the roof."
"Why?"
"Two reasons: first and foremost, if I'm not in the house I don't count and I can therefore be smarter if I want to be; second, to remind myself that I'm above them in every way."
"That doesn't even make sense." Voldemort scoffed, "That sounds incredibly petty as well."
"I'll have you know I am extremely petty, when I want to be." Harry admitted with a grin, "I also hold the biggest fucking grudges against people who piss me off. Like, okay, if we have a mutual dislike for each other, fine, that works for me. But if I'm totally chill with them and they throw vibes at me for no reason?? Absolutely not. Instant dislike."
"I can actually imagine that." Voldemort said. Harry heard a touch of amusement in his voice. "You seem the type to quietly sabotage people you dislike to see them suffer and watch from a distance."
"Oh I am." Harry confirmed, "Funny how some people don't see it."
"With your reputation, I'm not surprised."
"And which reputation would that be?" Harry drawled, "The delusional 'Boy-Who-Lied' making up tales about Voldemort being back? Or maybe the 'Chosen One' who's destined to defeat the Dark Lord? Or do you mean 'Public Enemy Number One' who encourages insubordination and disturbs the peace?"
"You know what I meant." Voldemort muttered. Harry grinned into the darkness. "I mean the goody-two-shoes reputation, the one that formed amongst my ranks when your signature spell became the Disarming Charm of all things because you didn't want to hurt anyone."
"Hey! Expelliarmus doesn't deserve this slander."
"I didn't say it wasn't a useful spell, it's just a bit overused in your hands."
"It's a perfectly fine spell." Harry defended, "And I totally used other spells. It just so happened that the Death Eaters were never around when I used them. Except for the obvious exceptions like the guy I Imperioed and that other guy I tortured."
"Imperioed isn't a word." Voldemort told him.
"Well it is now." Harry said, "Every word is made up if you think about it, so who says my made up word wouldn't count?"
"I say." Voldemort replied, "And I don't accept it as a word. However, I will allow it as slang."
"Eh, I'll take it."
A crack rang through the emptiness yet again, this time returning the light and turning the dark wasteland into endless brightness. Harry clapped both hands over his eyes with a loud curse, wincing into the sudden light.
"It seems like a cycle of sorts." Voldemort said suddenly, "Like night and day, but completely artificial."
"That's ridiculous." Harry complained, rubbing his eyes ruefully. "Can't whatever stupid entity watches over this fucking plain be more subtle about it?"
"I don't believe in a higher power." Voldemort said faintly. Harry scoffed.
"Magic is a higher power." Harry countered, "If I went to the Muggle world and did any magic like this, they'd either burn me at the stake or worship the ground I walk on. Magic is a form of higher power, same as any."
"That is not what I meant and you know it." Voldemort snapped, "I meant I don't believe there's a high power ruling from above, like a God. You mentioned a ruling entity, and I don't believe in that."
"Oh, I absolutely do." Harry said, "But not God or anything. It's like… I suppose Fate. I believe in Fate." Voldemort blinked at him a moment in surprise.
"You do?"
"You don't?" Harry raised an eyebrow, "For someone who took a Prophecy a bit too literally, one would think you believed in that kind of thing."
"Destiny or Fate is not a higher power, it is simply a compelling form of Magic." Voldemort denied, "However, that's semantics. Doesn't matter. What matters is how much time is passing between cycles. It can't be days, can it?"
"If it's days, Time moves much faster here." Harry whistled, looking around. "I'm not hungry, and if we'd gone a day and a night without food, we both would be. We're not tired either. Or, at least, I'm not."
"You're right." Voldemort frowned, "Perhaps it's random?"
"That doesn't seem right." Harry said, "Nothing is truly random when Magic's involved."
"Of course things can be random." Voldemort disagreed, "Even with magic."
"Not from what I've seen." Harry shrugged, "But whatever. Can you think of a way to figure out what's causing it? We've got no wands, and my head is empty."
"No." Voldemort shook his head, "I suppose… we walk." He looked over at Harry, his pretty face curious and tentative. "That was the plan, right?" Voldemort held out his hand, palm up, offering it to Harry slowly.
"Right." Harry said with a nod, and he slipped his hand into Voldemort's comfortably. "We walk."
The switch between Light and Dark became routine. Though Harry never got used to the blindness he was forced to endure over and over, he always had an arm to hold and a voice to follow to stave off the suffocating fear. The Light still stung his eyes and shocked his system at every switch, but slowly it too became semi-normal.
After around six cycles, they began to lose count. Harry and Voldemort began to disagree on how many times it'd happened, and from there it just dissolved into a harsh argument that was only cut off when the Light turned Dark and they were again fumbling in the void. It effectively ended their argument.
They didn't grow hungry. Cycles passed and they didn't need the bathroom, they didn't need food or water, they didn't need rest or sleep. They walked endlessly with no way out or edge to be found. Time was nothing, and they found themselves lost no matter which way they went for perhaps there was nothing to find at all. Perhaps this was the afterlife: walking endlessly hand in hand, cursed to walk forever and ever as punishment for… something. They knew there had to be a reason. Or rather, Harry thought so. Voldemort disagreed, but Harry ignored him. Repeatedly.
Their routine continued for some number of cycles, a number that might've represented days, months, or perhaps even years, but it didn't particularly matter because Time meant nothing in the In-Between.
¬My my, you are relentless¬ Harry shrieked in surprise at the Voice that rang through the vast emptiness.
"Who's there?" Voldemort demanded; chilling laughter floated down from above and below and all around them.
¬I am Crossroads¬ The Voice announced, ¬Most people Retribution brings me give in to despair and end up in the Void, but you… you two are different from the rest I see in the In-Between¬
"There's more of you?" Harry asked suddenly, "You say Retribution as though it's a being, an entity, instead of a concept."
¬Fate, Destiny, Crossroads, Retribution, Time… We were created by Life and Death to share the burden of punishing mankind; you two do not give up so easily in the face of uncertainty, I see¬
"Holy shit." Voldemort whispered, and Harry looked over to see he was seemingly having some sort of religious crisis. Oh well, Harry couldn't do much about that.
"Why are you talking to us?" Harry asked; he felt silly asking the bright white emptiness around him, but oh well. "Did we do something wrong? Or… right?"
¬The latter¬ The Voice of Crossroads spoke like a melody, lilting and beautiful. ¬You have traveled far, together through it all, and never gave up despite the emptiness. In fact, I'd say you've done enough to earn a pretty little reward¬
"What kind of reward?"
¬I suppose that's up to you¬
"What d'you mean?"
¬It means I'm open to suggestions. Any requests? I'm listening¬
Harry looked over at Voldemort, who looked slightly calmer yet stunned beyond belief, and reached out to touch his arm. Voldemort looked over at him a little blankly at the contact.
"A request." Harry prompted, "What would you request?"
"Life." Voldemort said immediately, more than a little desperate. "To be alive again. To get out of this place for good."
"Hold on." Harry held out his hands placatingly, "We've got to be extremely specific. We can't just ask this superbeing for life, that's way too broad. Haven't you ever read an adventure book?"
"Fiction doesn't hold any worth compared to academics." Voldemort said absently, almost like he was parroting a simple fact. "But fine, what do you suggest?"
"To be resurrected, but several years before. Say, before the war." Harry proposed, "If we both just popped back to where we died, we'd just immediately die again." They'd been standing in the middle of the Great Hall, surrounded by Hogwarts students and Death Eaters alike completely out for blood. Not a great environment for a resurrection.
"When?" Voldemort frowned. Harry paused, and looked up.
"Is Time Travel allowed?" Harry inquired into the bright expanse, "As in, rewinding Time and reliving it?"
¬This is your crossroad¬ The Voice said very unhelpfully, ¬It's your decision to decide¬
"That's a stupid fucking answer." Harry said. Voldemort smacked his arm scoldingly. "Ow! Hey!"
"Respect the superbeing." Voldemort hissed angrily, "If we mess this up we may be stuck here forever."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Harry scowled, "Okay, so how far back are we talking?"
"Not further back from where you were born." Voldemort said firmly, "It would completely destroy the timeline as we know it."
"Okay, easy boundary." Harry nodded, "Although, it's gotta be before my eleventh birthday, I think. I don't want the fuck-all experience with the hundreds of letter and Hagrid to happen again. I'll find a way to prevent it."
"What letters?" Voldemort blinked confusedly, "What– Hagrid? Really?"
"Not now." Harry waved a dismissive hand, "Okay, so between 1981 and 1991. I'd prefer not to be a toddler, so maybe 1988? I'd be seven the majority of the year, which should be fine."
"Okay, so we want to be resurrected, and we want to rewind Time to 1988, the year you turn eight." Voldemort summed up, and Harry nodded.
"Sounds good to me."
¬So you've come to a decision, I see¬ The Voice rang out promptly.
"Yep." Harry confirmed.
¬Very well. In exchange for your perseverance, strength, companionship, forgiveness, and patience, I grant you a second chance at Life. May 1988 treat you well in your new Life together¬ Crossroads said, ¬You have my blessing¬
Harry was then plunged into darkness again; the floor beneath his feet fell away, and the last thing he heard as he lost consciousness was ominous laughter and his own shrieking screams.