Chapter 2: Be His What-Now?

(Harry P.O.V)

My body ached, but my eyes fluttered open to look at an unfamiliar ceiling. I got this nostalgic feeling, waking up in pain to a ceiling that wasn't in my bedroom, it felt just like the Hospital Wing. Maybe this is what purgatory was like, or wherever you go before they take you to Heaven or Hell. I realised after inspecting the 'ceiling' a little more that it was actually a black canopy for a bed, so maybe I wasn't dead. That's when I felt disappointment cruise through me, and the usual consistent sorrow and crippling depression followed. I forced my tears to stay put as I weakly tried to sit myself up so I could get a proper view of this new room.

"You sure you've gained enough strength for that?"

Whipping my head to the side, I noticed finally noticed a presence next to me, and was confronted with the Dark Lord, fully robed but lying beside me. He had a slight smirk on his lipless mouth, and his bloody eyes gleamed at me. Words failed, and this shock to my senses made me realise I was strangely cold. I looked under the black velvet duvet, and saw my boxer briefs, but nothing else. My face heated and looked everywhere but at the smug face beside me. It actually got on my nerves a fair bit.

"Did you strip me?" I hissed, "cos I didn't come here to be molested when I was unconscious."

He chuckled, the low sound making vibrations ripple through the sheets. "You passed out before you could strip yourself, I would be a bad host to have allowed you to sleep in your jeans. Besides, you mentioned a deal but didn't truly propose it, I had to wait for you to wake up and finish your thought."

I didn't understand what he meant. What was so hard to understand about me asking him to kill me? I'd even explained I was tired of being the Boy-Who-Lived and stepped on to accomplish what Dumbledore wanted. Sirius was just the last straw. I curled in on myself, hugging my knees to my chest so I felt less exposed, emotionally and physically. I opened up about feeling used and tired of losing the people I love. When I'd brought it up to Ron, he called me a coward for wanting to run away, and after losing the closest thing I had to a father after becoming so attached, it killed me inside.

"I have nothing else to live for, or the will to try and look."

"You are 15 years old, Harry." He rolled his eyes, "you've hardly started to live, let alone been around long enough to lose the will to do so."

I refused to look up. Why was he being like this? He should be taking the opportunity, relishing the chance to kill me and not wasting either of our time talking about it. I could have killed myself, but Dumbledore would have spun it off as a murder to fuel the fire of the rebellion enough for it to not die out without a teenager to hide behind. It should make more sense for him to try and kill me than for him to undress me and sleep - wait!

"Where did you sleep last night?"

"Beside you, sweet thing. It is my bed after all." Voldemort smirked, "if you have so little regard for your life, give it to someone else."

I was going to scowl that I'd basically done that but he hadn't held up his side of the deal. I was still alive. I felt his hand brush some hair behind my ear, which made me look at him on instinct. He looked in my eyes deeply, like he was trying to see in my soul. I shivered in fear, and something akin to excitement. It was a strange look to be given. It made me uncomfortable. His fingers dusted over my bottom lip and ran the tip of a finger to the other side of my face. He held my jaw and pulled my face towards his. He lips pressed against mine softly. My eyes widened in shock instead of closing as they should have for a kiss. It was over quickly, but he rested my forehead on mine.

His eyes split open, "I'll have you as my lover Harry. You will be my consort, and I'll care for your life even if you don't want to."

I'll be is what-now? What the hell was wrong with him? I backed away from him in panic, jumping out of the bed and forgetting to be embarrassed by my exposed skin. I demanded he stay away from me. I'd asked for death, not painful torture until he became bored and killed me then. I would not be his slave to use like filth, I was depressed but even I understood I didn't deserve that much hell. He merely chuckled.

"A consort is like a wife. You'll be more than my slave, though I still own you." He grinned, eyes roaming over me. "I have a desire to worship your athletic young body, bring you to peaks of pleasure you don't know exist. It will be about pleasure, not pain unless, of course, you do something deserving of a punishment."

I knew he was crazy, but there had to be no sanity left in this man. Instead of killing a boy destined to destroy him and ruin his dreams of fully separating from the muggle world, he wants to shag me. And I'm only 15, he has to know I'm not experienced in any way. I've kissed one girl and it sucked. I wouldn't know where to even begin pleasing him sexually. And what if I couldn't, I haven't been attracted to guys at the best of times, and Voldemort wasn't exactly a looker. But he had a point, about giving myself to someone who wanted me even though I didn't. And if he stuck by what he said about not making this painful then I might be able to learn to live with it. But I wasn't going to be used.

"Fine, consort of whatever. But hurt me or touch someone else and this crap is over, and I'm jumping off the roof or something."

He laughed. Not the cruel laughter I'd heard before, gloating over someone's pain or distress, but this just held mirth. It was a nice kind of sound. I sat at the edge of the bed and he pulled me back by my shoulder. Lips pressed against my shoulder blade, I guess he did have them. He kissed up to my shoulder and up along my neck, licking the shell of my ear and nibbling the top. He stopped as I shivered, it hurt but in a nice kind of way. He order me to dress so we could have breakfast, relationships had rules and boundaries, and he needed to know mine as much as I needed to know his. That was going to be an awkward meal.