Grazhir :: Harry Potter :: Control Issues :: 19 :: Yummy Tuna

19 • Yummy Tuna

Harry decided he wanted to dig into the Ministry archives again, despite the fact that Voldemort was not happy with the idea of him going out in public as Justus Bane. Even so, he gained the records room with no fuss and spent quite a few hours digging around, looking for evidence of instances where the laws concerning incubi (and technically, succubi) had actually been enforced.

He was beginning to understand just why Voldemort had said there were no known incubi in Britain given what he was uncovering. Unfortunately, if Dumbledore decided to try to play a trump card, it was possible a manhunt could start up looking for Harry Potter. Between how the laws went, and that damn parchment Fudge had signed, it might be said that Harry belonged to the headmaster, even if he had been turned over to his dogs.

Well, there was no way in hell Harry was going to let that man get his hands on him again. And Harry Potter would not be seen in public anytime soon. He still thought it was horribly petty for Dumbledore to make the implication that a man who told him, essentially, to mind his own beeswax, must be a dark lord. He left with a snort, finished for the time being, and headed toward the atrium so he could leave and go home.

He had just stepped into the lift when he felt a gentle spell wash over him, and turned swiftly to see who dared interfere with Ministry personnel, especially while still on the premises. And lo and behold, the face brought forth to his line of vision was that of Albus Dumbledore, who was looking very much flappable for a split second.

“Harry?” the old man whispered.

Harry arched a brow while making sure he was properly positioned; trust the headmaster to have used an identification spell. “You’re delusional, old man, grasping at straws. Perhaps you should check into St Mungo’s when you exit.”

Dumbledore raised his wand and cast again, but whatever spell it was splashed harmlessly against the lift doors. It began its journey upward a second later, but not for a moment did Dumbledore stop gazing at him, a calculating gleam in his eyes.

Harry went straight home, well aware that Voldemort was going to give him one of those looks. He corrected his appearance and clothing and slinked off to the offices, whereupon he interrupted a meeting his lover was having with Lucius. Harry paid that man no attention whatsoever, instead perching on the edge of the desk and saying, “We have a problem.”

Voldemort sighed and narrowed his gaze.

Harry tilted his head toward Lucius. “Just how much can you trust this one, cosire?”

His lover responded by waving his wand at the door, securing it, then casting a few extra privacy charms. “What happened? And if Lucius is an issue you can simply rearrange his head.”

He dropped all pretenses and ran a hand roughly through his hair. “Dumblefuck was there and managed to cast an identification spell on me. There were a lot of people there in the atrium, but that’s no excuse for me not having sensed him approaching. I have to wonder if he used some sort of spell, I don’t know.

“In any case, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if this is all over the papers, either tonight or in the morning. He tried to get me a second time, with something, but I was too fast for him. I’ve no idea if he was going for incarceration or what. And yes, you were right, I shouldn’t have tempted fate by being seen in public as Bane.”

Voldemort gave the briefest of smirks, then said, “I’ll have to think of a suitable forfeit.”

“I know he’s planning something, I could see it in his face, his eyes.”

“You did say you held little care for your reputation.”

Harry snorted, glanced at Lucius, then said, “Right, but I wasn’t bloody well having to anticipate being on the damn front page again, this time with my true face. The wizarding public is going to shit bricks if they find out that Lord Thanatos is the Boy Who Wouldn’t Fucking Die.”

Lucius promptly passed out, but he did so elegantly. One had to give him credit for that much at least.

Voldemort ennervated him carelessly. “Lucius, do try to keep up. It is very vexing when you act like some chit wearing a too tight corset. Harry, do you even have the old man’s capture planned?”

He nodded. “It’s a bit unorthodox, but. . . . Why? Do you think I should shoot for that now? Like, tonight? If I do it too quickly he’ll be down there for quite a while, and I still have a lot of other arrangements to make. I’m going to need several squads to go on missions for what I have in mind.”

His lover furrowed his brow slightly, then shook his head. “We can keep him under for as long as necessary. It will just be more work, that’s all.”

“Yes, all right, but—I’m just concerned that he could somehow work his way out of that. He might not be enough for the both of us combined, but neither is he a fragile old man barely holding onto life. Or is he?”

Voldemort shrugged. “He was certainly spry during your fifth year. Either way is fine with me.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair again, absently noticing that Lucius looked really quite pale, even for him. “He doesn’t have real proof. You can’t share the results of an identity spell via memory, and I sincerely doubt that Dumblefuck would allow anyone to dose him with veritaserum. And at that, it doesn’t always work. The only other thing I could think to do is forcibly portkey him here and obliviate him, and I can’t guarantee it can be done.”

“Would it really be so bad if people knew?”

Harry snorted and gestured at Lucius. “Given his reaction? I’m not so sure.”

“Now, Harry, Lucius is just a little surprised that the man he so admires when it comes to insanely superior fighting skill happens to be someone he’s tried to kill on an occasion or six, that’s all.”

He snorted again, this time slipping off the edge of the desk. “Uh huh. You make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” He turned and slinked off into his own office and unlocked the lower left drawer, pulled it out, removed the false bottom, then disabled the spell-lock and opened the secret compartment.

After retrieving a single vial he put everything back as it had been and slinked into Voldemort’s office. “I’m going to make sure blondie here doesn’t inadvertently or accidentally-on-purpose talk about this. Granted, it won’t matter if Dumblefuck does spill the beans and people start to believe it, but until then, I’d like to cover my bases. It worked well enough on Draco, after all.”

“My lord, please. . . ?”

Harry looked over and raised his brows, dropping his chin slightly at the same time. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Lucius. It’s not like I plan on dressing you up or anything. Something tells me you can’t pull off the girly look nearly as well as your son can.”

“No, my lord, I mean to say . . . you’re good for . . . my lord.”

He barely prevented the surprise from showing on his face. That didn’t stop him from speaking, though. “Did I just step into a friggin’ episode of the Twilight Zone? Since when does Lucius Malfoy, of all people, have a heart?”

“Now, Harry, we both have hearts, so is it such a surprise if Lucius does?”

Harry scowled. “I’m still making sure he won’t talk.” And then he stunned the blond and force fed him the mind altering potion. It was some time before he relaxed in satisfaction, commenting to Voldemort mischievously, “I considered using arousal as the result, but I thought that might have rather a bad effect, like Lucius here developing a crush on me.”

His lover snorted and looked at his minion, who was only just beginning to look normal again. “Now that that is out of the way. . . .”

Harry frowned, unwillingly reminded of why exactly they were there. “You know, it’s not so much that I care about the reputation of the Boy Who Lived. I’m more concerned with the news getting out that he is also Justus Bane. Speaking of which, do you have any nifty little spells or rituals tucked away that could falsify the results of an identification spell?”

“I will look.”

Harry nodded, then belted out, “Kreacher!”

It took a few seconds, but the elf did appear, his shoulders bowed forward and looking just as hideous as he always had. “Master called?”

Well, that was cause for mild relief. Either the creature inherently recognized its master, or Walburga had discreetly informed the elf to obey the dark lords. “Yes. I have a task for you, probably more than one. First, who is at the house right now?”

Kreacher listed to one side a bit and said, “Kreacher is seeing no one.”

“Fine. It is very likely that the old man will call a meeting soon. And even if he doesn’t, he will eventually, so this is what I want you to do. . . .”


Later that evening they had a full house. Kreacher had done as instructed and set off a concussion grenade in the middle of an Order meeting, rendering everyone present unconscious. Thankfully, he had done it correctly, before the meeting had actually started, as evidenced by the fact that so far no one had memories of Dumbledore dropping the bomb (so to speak).

Kreacher had forced a sleeping potion down the throat of every person Harry had designated, slapped each with a portkey, and lastly had popped back to the compound to inform his masters. The elf had assured them that he had not been seen, either, so those Order members left behind (presumably to wake up with blinding headaches) would not have a clue what had actually transpired.

So it was that they had a collection of people to play with, though not until Harry was ready, that is. There was a great deal more work to do before they could actually see to the end of Dumbledore. The others were not so important, but would still pay the price for following the old man’s lead in dealing with Harry.

And Harry was not prepared to be nice.

Still, in addition to the preparations necessary for Dumbledore, Harry had a few other things to take care of, the first of which was his erstwhile house mates. It was getting a bit crowded down in the secret dungeon as it was, and Neville showed every sign of having been freed from his addiction to muggle drugs. So he woke them after making sure their area looked nothing like a dungeon, and sat them down for a chat.

“How do you feel?” was the first thing he asked.

Neville blinked a few times and looked at Ginny, then back at Harry. “Fine, I guess. Ginny?”

She shrugged. “I don’t feel abnormal. I feel like I’ve just woken up from a decent night’s sleep.”

Harry nodded. “That is as it should be. I made very sure to keep you both fed and hydrated, among other things. Neville, I can’t find a trace of drugs left in you, though I’m going to warn you that you might feel tempted to start in on them. I expect Ginny can keep you from doing anything foolish.”

“You’re damn right I can,” she said firmly, then she gave him a hesitant look.

“What is it?”

“Are they. . . ?”

Harry tilted his head to the side and nodded slightly. “Not Bill and Charlie. Not even Percy, but he didn’t get away scot free. Your father repented before he died, though.”

Ginny’s expression went all funny at that and she gratefully leaned into Neville when he tentatively slipped an arm around her shoulders. “I feel . . . really conflicted, Harry. I’m so angry at them, but I’m so sad that they’re gone, too. Dad was sorry?”

“Yes. He was the only one.” Harry furrowed his brow. “I kind of broke down when he did, but Tom was there to help me. Anyway, I gave him a clean, quick death, Ginny. I guess . . . if you want to see what happened, I could show you, though. . . .”

Ginny shifted a bit, suddenly seeming quite resilient. He wondered privately if she was going to have a minor nervous breakdown once she and Neville got to their new home, and if she would come to hate him in time.

“I think . . . it might make me feel better if I did, to see for myself that at least one of them was sorry.”

“All right.” Harry produced a pensieve and dropped a memory into it, very carefully pruned to begin after he had cleaned up after the twins, and ending when he left the dungeon.

They came out of it looking slightly nauseated, though that was not to say all. Ginny looked faintly relieved and both were giving him vaguely sympathetic looks. “I could almost get to like that man,” she commented.

Harry jerked back slightly. “He’s not a nice man, Ginny. He doesn’t like fluffy kittens and bunny rabbits and he doesn’t give to charity.”

“He’s nice to you.”

“An exception, I assure you. Aside from that he’s either casually cruel, deadly, or indifferent.” He shook his head and said, “Look, that’s beside the point. You two can get going whenever you’re ready. I’ve a portkey for you to take you both to your new home. I’ll even go with you if you want, but I’ve set everything up already. I also have a set of keys to a vault so you don’t need to worry about money for a few years.”

“I’m ready whenever you are, Gin,” Neville said softly.

“Harry, what if Neville has problems that I can’t handle?”

“Er, you mean like in the immediate sense? Such as in the next few days?”

She nodded.

“I can give you another portkey, but. . . . I’d need to talk to Tom about that, since I’d want it to only work for you two. It’s not like I can receive owl post, after all, and I don’t want some fool getting his hands on something like that and dropping in unexpectedly. Now, should I call him here, or should I go see him elsewhere for a few minutes? Like, are you two going to freak out if you see him?”

Ginny straightened up resolutely. “I can handle it.”

Harry glanced at Neville, who sort of shrugged, then nudged Voldemort. They sat there in silence for a good few minutes before the door opened and his lover stepped in, closing it quietly behind him.

“What is it, Harry?”

“Are you able to make a blood-bonded portkey for two? Ginny would like a way to quickly reach me in case Neville has difficulties over the next few days.” A discreet glance at Neville showed the young man was ghostly pale, but conscious. For that matter, Ginny was a bit pale, too.

Voldemort ran one long-fingered hand over his scalp, then nodded. “Yes. I assume you would like it sooner rather than later?”

Harry licked his lips, knowing what it would do to his lover. “Please.”

The corner of Voldemort’s mouth quirked up. “I’ll be right back,” he said, then exited, and there was silence again while they waited. When he returned he was holding a rectangular silver tag with rounded corners and a hole at one of the narrow ends. “Mr Longbottom, Miss Weasley, you will both need to place a drop of blood on this for it to be bonded. Thereafter it will work only for the two of you, and will return you to this location.”

Voldemort placed the tag onto the small table in the room and gestured as he said, “The activation phrase is engraved on it.”

Ginny edged over and looked, but didn’t touch, then glanced up with a puzzled expression. “999?”

“It’s a muggle thing,” Voldemort said blithely.

Harry snickered and produced a knife, spelled it clean, and placed it on the table. “I get the feeling you should put that on the chain around your neck once you’re done,” he said to her.

She took the knife, preparing to nick her finger, then tilted her head drastically sideways. “Or is that 666?”

Voldemort smirked and shook his head. “No, Miss Weasley. 999 is the emergency number to ring in Britain—for muggles, that is. 666 on the other hand, has definite biblical meaning.”

“Uh, right.” Ginny slid the blade over her fingertip, winced, then let a single drop fall onto the tag. The knife was passed over to Neville, who did likewise, and only then did the blood mix and seep into the metal.

Harry retrieved the knife and cleaned it before putting it away, then quickly healed their minor wounds, at which point Ginny unfastened the fine silver chain she was wearing and slipped the tag onto it, then replaced it around her neck. (Neville had to help, though, but Harry thought that was more to get him to touch her than because she needed actual assistance.)

He then produced the portkey which would take them to their new home. It was in the shape of a key and attached to a small ring, which also held keys for the vault he had arranged for them. “Now, I’m going to assume if you two somehow mysteriously remain ‘just friends’ that you’ll divide the money. Aside from that, enjoy. The black key is the portkey. When I went to the house earlier I made sure that the cupboards were stocked with everything you’ll need, and the place is furnished as well.”

Ginny was getting a bit teary-eyed on him, so Harry pushed the ring in to her hand almost roughly. It was bad enough he cried on occasion; he didn’t need some girl getting all weepy. “You should go,” he said softly. “Start your new life.”

Neville reached out to touch the black key, using his other hand to make sure Ginny was, then said, “Home,” after Harry mouthed the word. They both disappeared a second later.

Harry stared at the floor as though fascinated for a short time, then looked at Voldemort and said, “I guess we should keep this room as is, maybe add a bell or something so that if they do show up then I’ll know.”

“Of course, Harry.”

An hour or so later on they were upstairs and Lucius had been summoned. “Right, this is what I need you to organize,” Harry said as he pushed a folder across Voldemort’s desk. “I need one hundred muggles, and in there is a list of muggle prisons. I would prefer you at least take people who are actually in there for being very naughty.

“It would be a plus if you can make it look like some bizarre conspiracy occurred whereby inmates from several prisons all managed to stage a prison break on the same night and get away with it. Nobody dies unless it’s unavoidable, and no, that doesn’t mean you can take Dolohov along and come back with a story about one of them looking at him funny and thus needed to die for their insolence.”

Voldemort snorted in amusement.

“In other words, get in, stun, obliviate, etcetera, get out. That folder also contains the blueprints of the prisons where I could manage to get them. Once you’ve figured out how many teams and whatnot, let us know and we’ll provide the portkeys you’ll need to bring them in.

“And, preferably, not any weedy fellows who look like a passing breeze could blow them over. I want strong types, ones with a lot of spirit and life. They’re going to be very important to me quite soon. If the muggles had a death penalty I’d say go after those prisoners specifically, but they don’t.” Then he paused and murmured, “I’m going to have to re-use the maze. There’s no way they’ll all fit in otherwise.”

“Should I expect you to disappear on me again for a week?” Voldemort asked archly.

Harry flashed him a quick grin. “Well, I must do things properly. I also need to go deal with one last person.”

“Just one? I’m almost surprised you’ve not said a word about . . . chastising your family.”

He slid off the desk to pace in a tight circle. “I can’t really see that they deserve to die. A bit of mild abuse isn’t justification.” He paused when his lover favored him with a knowing look. “That’s not to say I couldn’t do something nasty like force him out of a job or even sell the lot of them into slavery somewhere in an Asian country. Or I could just forget about them. They really aren’t all that important. Maybe after all is said and done I can worry about them.”

“As you wish. Do you require assistance with the last?”

Harry smirked and shook his head. “No, I think I’ve got that one covered quite handily.”

Voldemort nodded and turned to Lucius. “Get on that immediately. The more quickly we can move ahead the better. After all, I’d like to take a holiday some time this century.”

Lucius rose and bowed to them both, scooped up the folder, and took his leave.

“Go on,” Voldemort said. “Go play. I’ll keep an eye on the prisoners.”

“Oh my god,” he said suddenly, causing his lover to look at him sharply. “I’ve just had a brilliant idea. I know exactly what to do with my family. Care to do some reconnaissance with me?” he asked invitingly.


They crept up on № 4 Privet Drive and carefully examined the property for any remaining wards; there were none to be found, which made his mate a very happy, quite affectionate incubus, as evidenced by the ten minutes of kissing and groping which resulted. From there they headed north and over onto Wisteria Walk to check out the house of Arabella Figg.

Her house did have wards, but Voldemort could not see that they would be any real bother to them. Indeed, given Harry’s basic plan to gain entrance, they were more or less a moot point. His mate gave him another kiss just prior to changing to his cat form, then slinked off to make his way in via the cat flap she had in her back door.

Voldemort was spying as Harry paused long enough to roll around in some dirt and ruffle his fur the wrong way before entering and creeping toward her kitchen. Once he spotted her he laid back his ears and bent his hind legs a bit, remaining still at that point. When she did happen to notice him and moved forward, Harry backed up a few steps and made a pitiful sound.

“Oh, you poor dear,” she gushed, “you look like you’ve been dragged backward through a hedge. I bet you’re breathtaking when you’re clean.”

Harry affected to respond favorably to the sound of her voice and brought his ears up slightly.

She moved cautiously to the door leading out of the kitchen and said, “Mr Tibbles, dear, please keep the other cats away for a bit, all right? We’ve a stray that needs seeing to,” then turned back to Harry and said, “Perhaps you’re hungry, dear? You don’t look especially starved, but still. I bought some yummy tuna just earlier today.”

The second she turned away to rummage in her cupboards Harry reverted to human form, shook out a wand, and hit her with a paralyzation spell. “Yummy tuna, indeed,” he muttered, then said more loudly, “It’s time to die, Mrs Figg. You might have kept an eye on me for Dumblefuck for years, but you never once gave me much of a break, never mind help me out when Vernon did things like put bars on my window and lock me in all summer.

“I’m stretching the rules here a bit, but maybe if you’d been nicer to me all those years, I wouldn’t be here right now, about to watch you die an agonizing death.” Harry pushed her away from the cupboards with one booted foot and opened them, pulling out a selection of tins and placing them on the counter. An investigation of the drawers produced an opener, which Harry immediately employed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Dumblefuck told you only to intervene in life or death matters,” he said as he opened tins. “But really, I should think you’d at least have been a bit nicer to me when I was made to stay here with you. Did you know, I absolutely despise cabbage because of you?”

Harry turned to look down at her and snorted. “Stupid old bat. I might have foregone killing you, but I had such an interesting idea, and I badly wanted to see if it would work, so there you are.” Harry upended one of the tins he was holding and squeezed, fishy oil dribbling all over her. He then proceeded to do the same with every can she had, drizzling her from head to toe, though avoiding her eyes.

He took a moment to clean himself up before calling out, “Oh, Mr Tibbles, I have something yummy for you and your friends!”

An undetermined amount of time later (though not until Harry was positive that Mrs Figg was, in fact, dead as a doornail) he transformed back into a cat and pranced out of the house to go rejoin his lover. And when Harry arrived he launched himself at Voldemort, startling him, though he had the presence of mind to bring his arms up to catch his mate against his chest.

Harry purred loudly and rubbed his face against Voldemort’s cheek, then leapt down to the ground and changed back. “I wonder how long before anyone notices she’s dead,” he said with a giggle. “Now she really has a reason to be upset with them, though it’s a bit late to be worrying about that. I’ll have to keep an eye out on the papers to see how it gets reported.”

Voldemort cast his mate an amused look and nodded. “So, are we heading back to your family’s house?”

“Yup! We just need to look the part first.” Harry whipped out a wand and waved it around for a bit, altering Voldemort’s glamour, then shifted into the guise of an earnest, clean-cut young man. Another few minutes had their clothing transformed.

“What on earth is it you have me wearing?” Voldemort asked, glancing down to see a muggle suit in navy blue, a crisp white shirt, tie, and polished black leather shoes.

Harry crouched down to snag two leaves from the ground and said, “That’s perfectly normal attire.” On standing up he transfigured one into a glossy pamphlet and the other into what looked like a magazine. “Just follow my lead, all right?”

How could he resist that smile? Voldemort nodded. “Lead on, then.”

Harry pressed a kiss to his mouth, then grinned. “Interesting. I can smell my marking of you. Well, let’s go. I have a family to capture.” His mate led the way out of their hiding spot and marched off to his former home, boldly heading up the walk to ring the doorbell.

It was answered by Dudley. He opened his mouth to speak, took in their appearance and what Harry was holding, and abruptly paled. “No,” he said, “absolutely not.”

Harry affected shock. “Why, sir, is that any way to treat a fellow human being intent on your spiritual salvation?” He nimbly shoved a foot in the door, preventing his cousin from closing it. “Now, I can clearly see you’re an intelligent sort, so I just know you won’t mind us coming in so we can talk to you and show you some of our lovely publications, like The Watchtower.”

His mate pressed forward, forcing Dudley back into the house. “We even have an informative pamphlet for you to look over!” he caroled. Within two minutes they were seated on a sofa in the lounge and Petunia was twittering about in distress.

“Diddykins,” she hissed at him, “how could you let those people in? Now we have to be polite, and they’ll not leave for hours!”

“Yes, tea would be lovely,” Harry said as though he had been asked a question. “Terribly kind of you.”

Petunia wrung her hands before disappearing into the kitchen, muttering under her breath.

Harry beamed a smile at Dudley and asked, “And will the man of the house be home soon? I should so hate for him to be left out. Family is extremely important in this day and age.”

Dudley just gaped at him so Harry chattered away for the next few minutes, barely pausing to breathe, until Petunia came back with a tray and set about serving everyone.

Harry praised her fulsomely, citing what a model family they appeared to be, which had the effect of his aunt settling down a bit, though she did keep glancing at the clock. Voldemort assumed she was hoping that her husband would arrive soon and save them from the religious whackos they were apparently posing as.

And he did arrive shortly thereafter, bustling in from the hall with his florid face and self-important air, just as Harry was saying happily, “And The Watchtower is free, so it would really be no trouble at all for us to add you to our mailing list.”


Harry looked up, his eyes wide with totally feigned innocence, and smiled. “You must be the man of the house!” He proceeded to talk his uncle into a stupor, not letting the man get in a word edgewise, and when they were all of them looking like they were hard pressed to even stay awake, Voldemort experienced a mental nudge.

He whipped out his wand to ensorcel the uncle as his mate took care of the other two, then rose and snatched a curio off the mantelpiece and turned it into a portkey. As he was arranging the trio to be whisked away he commented, “I was damn near asleep myself, love. I think you owe me one for inadvertent torture.”

Harry laughed at him and shook his head.