Millions and millions of interminable thanks to the most wonderful beta that exists in this entire world (~˘▾˘)~ Vanillaghost. Thank you for your patience and most of all, for your time 💕💕💕


"Welcome home."

The patter of snow and cold proved difficult to miss. That, or Harry proved to be a slow learner.

"This isn't a home. Not just a home, anyway. This is a palace."

And it was. An immaculate building that stretched three stories into the sky, bright and pretty. Certainly a palace if Harry had ever seen one. Snow rested on the vast roof, shimmering in the morning light. The countless windows were large and most of them double. There was also an occasional balcony here and there, the largest being on the second floor and right in the middle. It all screamed palace. Even Lihko seemed to agree, stretching out her neck in Harry's arms just to survey the unknown.

"Our home," voiced the man as he climbed the first steps leading up to the monstrous castle.

And as always, Harry followed, taking care not to trip on the marble floors which resembled ice for how smooth and sleek they were. "Yes, another one. Just like the past two. But where are we? It's too cold for England and we don't have buildings like these back home."

"Leningrad."

"Sankt-Petersburg?"

"Petrograd, Leningrad. Choose whatever name you fancy."

"Leningrad it is. So we're all the way in freezing Russia. Did we run away?"

Voldemort shot a quick glance behind him, his gaze hiding an ounce of wrath. "Is this the note you wish to gift our conversation? One of accusation?"

"I just asked a question."

"You did far more. Now follow me," Voldemort said, though violence lurked beneath his handsome face and measured gestures.

The grand golden doors flew open and, yes, it was a palace indeed. A enormous palace so large that they had to walk nearly four minutes to reach the ostensive study to which the man lead the way. No pictures or paintings decorated the walls, only rows of books and old clocks entirely muggle in nature. Or so it seemed, but who knew? This chamber was more meeting room than private study, yet surely it had to do with its abnormal size. Aside from the desk and chairs, it hosted two couches with twice as many chairs, a coffee table, and — judging from what Harry glimpsed — another similar arrangement on the balcony. Had the Dark Lord stolen a castle? From whom?

"After extensive reading, visits to countless places, and precious time lost in the process... I found it, at last. Just like I said I would."

Harry placed Likho on the coffee table and scratched at her fluffy ears, his back to the Dark Lord. Quite content, she purred; a guttural sound low in her throat. "Found what?" Harry asked. "This palace? How?"

"No, not our home. What we discussed at the start of our fruitful partnership, or have you already forgotten? I found a safe way to extract my horcrux from inside your body. You can finally experience true liberation."

Silence, fear, refusal.

Then tentative acceptance.

Finding the stroking fingers suddenly stiff, Likho chose to flee a tense and potentially painful hold. With dry lips, Harry spoke, disregarding the departure of their little witch. "Oh." He faced Voldemort to find he was already being watched, studied beyond the cage of his flesh, deep deep deep into his mind. "You didn't find this out overnight, I'd imagine. So… why have you waited to share the good news?" He could not help his tone turning sour. "Engaging in another game, are we?"

"Games follow patterns," came the cryptic answer.

Am I useless now? was the question that hesitated on Harry's lips.

"I achieved this branch of magic yet I will not make use of it. Yes, my horcrux, fear not and conceal the amazed glint dancing in your green eyes. The answer to why I won't is both intricate and clear. Due to a whim of ownership, an unnamed game. A theoretical one, as of now…"

"I'm not a dog," Harry said as the Dark Lord neared, eating at the distance separating them. Handsome, intimidating, and filled with purpose. He circled the writing desk, approaching the coffee table like a wolf would a deer. Wasting no time, he invaded Harry's personal space. First by an obscenely little amount of distance between their bodies, then by touch.

But a fairly innocent one.

Cold fingers walked down Harry's cheek. "True." Warm breath washed down Harry's face in contradiction to the iciness soaking his face. "But you are mine."

He was, wasn't he?

"Fine, then, my lord. I trust you'll look after this possession better than you have done until now."

A nod followed a gentle squeeze of the fingers holding Harry's cheeks, the gesture reminding him that it could also not be so gentle. "I trust in your self-preservation instincts as well. Clever boy that you are, you know what's good for you and who can provide it. So consider this a fair warning, my Harry, for unfortunate times are perhaps soon to arrive. Don't ruin this tentative trust of ours, for not even my magic could hope to rebuild it."

It was an unnecessary threat but one that gave room for a forbidden yet much desired territory. A kind of territory that took into consideration their proximity. A certain type of intimacy that followed such a touch when their eyes have long since been locked together. Again, Lord Voldemort was offering a bait he did not wish to assume. But the baiting must have amused the man dangling it nonetheless.

Well, they had to pass the time somehow.

"In the muggle park... why did you kiss me?" Harry asked, throwing caution out the window and throwing himself away with it.

"Because I wanted to."

Harry frowned. "But why?"

"Because you wanted me to."

The racing of Harry's heart was going crazy while the temptation waited in front of his lips. "And what do you think I want now?" he asked, feeling both very brave and very stupid.

The corners of Voldemort's lips curled up in what might have been amusement. "Careful, horcrux," came the warning. "Test the waters before you dive in."

"Why? Should I expect to drown? If not, then what else are you preparing me for?"

"Nothing you don't want."

The filthiness of that sentence made Harry second guess his proposal. Yet the big step had already been taken, had been taken with a jump. The look in those grey eyes confirmed it even more than the fingers trapping Harry's face.

In an unhurried movement, Voldemort leaned down to kiss the side of Harry's neck. Harry sighed, tilting his chin up just like an obedient and eager pet. Back away from the monster! No, bare your neck to the monster! The Dark Lord's grasp played with his face as he so chose, turning it from side to side as if conducting an inspection. The press of the man's lips turned open-mouthed and traveled up, trailing shivers across Harry's skin from each place the lips grazed. Yes, yes, bare your neck to the monster. Show him how starved you are.

He knows, you stupid child. Lord Voldemort knows.

The fiery wet touch was at his cheek, then his chin, and finally at the corners of Harry's mouth. It was glorious. Harry whimpered as if in pain, twisting his fingers into dark hair so soft in his palms, so misleading. He did not push away but pulled closer in hopes for another kiss, a proper one.

"Look at me," Voldemort whispered between their mouths. "Tell me."

Harry's hold grew more secure while the other, far larger, body met his and pressed into Harry. Or pressed Harry into him. But in the blink of an eye the Dark Lord seized Harry's chin rather forcefully, all pretence of gentleness cast aside.

"I said to look at me and tell me."

"Yes," Harry nodded, gulping down his panic and tremors. This was happening, something was happening, something was changing, something was shattering. "Yes, yes to everything you wish for."

"Not a single scared thought?"

"No. I trust you."

Harry trusted Lord Voldemort and, well, wasn't that the peak of hilarity?

But Harry barely had time to come to terms with the realization when his clothes suddenly melted away from his limbs. Like water running down your body after you stood from a bathtub, Harry was left shivering. For Voldemort's warmth had retreated as well.

A distance of two steps separated them now and the man's gaze seized him from head to toe. Harry's hands rested at his sides as he tackled the urge to cover himself in shame. The Dark Lord would be most displeased by such a coy display, as he most certainly found pleasure in what met his gaze. Therefore, any show of humility was out of the question.

The eyes were what gave Voldemort away; the fire in them, the vague narrowing of their shape that bordered on threatening. There was only plain hunger to read in them. The grey was hidden by pupils when a pure black obscured his gaze. It promised and threatened, and Harry could not help but compare himself to a virginal bride on her wedding night when the husband expected her to perform. Harry was just as clueless. What was worse, he knew Lord Voldemort would demand far more than any ordinary husband.

"You'd look pretty on your knees." It was a million miles away from a suggestion. "Prettier than you already are, Harry. And how pretty you already are even when you breathe, Harry." The way Voldemort said his name sounded like something else. Like he was alluding to other things that were not quite as innocent as a name.

The Dark Lord's steps padded against the wooden floors as he backed away to the sofa and rested there. Legs spread, he smirked; an invitation.

Feeling both filthy and untouched, but wanting it all the same, Harry stepped forward. His stomach tightened in anticipation and he ached.

And Voldemort — no, Tom saw.

He saw and he smiled, and waited. Harry's mouth became dry at the sight. Wordless, he fell to his knees, fingers folding into the expensive material of Voldemort's trousers in an attempt to soften his nerves. It burned beneath his palms. Either from himself or the man's skin.

As Harry worked Tom's fly open, sudden realization bubbled inside his chest. He was going to suck the Dark Lord off. Harry trembled from head to toe as he struggled, to no avail, to grasp the entire width of Voldemort's cock in one hand. It was the first cock he had touched besides his. In the end, Harry settled for using both his palms and began a tentative movement of up and down that stole a moan from the man above him. Strangely, Harry could feel his pulse beneath his fingertips, thrumming almost in time with his panicked heartbeat. It felt like victory.

Then following both his wish and Voldemort's impatient hold on his hair, Harry took the head of the Dark Lord's member inside his mouth.

Breathing through his nose, Harry made to gently bob his head up and down Tom's length to get used to the taste of him and the feeling of a cock between his lips when Voldemort suddenly thrust himself inside Harry's mouth and twisted the dark strands of his hair in his palms. Harry gagged, fingers burying themselves in the firm thighs on either side of him. His breath was being stolen from him. None of his childish fumblings in the dark had alluded to something this monumental. Perhaps the bed partner made all the difference. Harry wouldn't know.

"Poor child…" chided Tom with a voice full of pity. "Are you choking?"

Harry nodded his desperation, pushing with the heel of his palms against the Dark Lord's legs. "Such a pity," he heard from above before Voldemort yanked at a handful of his hair and his cock met the back of Harry's throat.

The term face-fucking gathered meaning from then on as his throat was fucked to Voldemort's heart's desire. A litany of stop and don't stop mingled in Harry's mouth, between his tongue and Tom's cock. But neither plea left his lips though the Dark Lord must have known already. Rationally, Harry was well aware he wouldn't die like this, yet when Voldemort's member cut his air supply… he tended to panic, body jolting, hands fighting for freedom. The man's chuckle turned into full on laughter.

"You'll learn, you'll learn," the man sighed, at last slipping his length from Harry's mouth as saliva dangerously delayed the separation. It coated his still erect cock and Harry's quivering lips and chin. How obscene he must look… And those grey eyes confessed it all.

"I—" Harry managed between ragged breaths, staring up at a smirking Voldemort. But then Harry seemed to lose his voice. Though his eyes held things that were all wrong, all filthy, and all promising, there was still shelter in Tom's gaze. Promises, and something akin to adoration. A desire for many things, countless things, forever things. Harry lifted his dirty chin and his body followed as he found balance on Voldemort's thighs and sought a kiss that readily came his way. "You'll teach me, my lord."

The Dark Lord's growl was animalistic, echoing into every fiber of Harry's being as he was yanked up into the man's lap and kissed as if his soul was at stake. Hands roamed Harry's heated body as the bruised skin of his knees found solace on the soft sofa.

And Harry touched too, pushing troublesome clothing out of the way, brushing a strong chest with his palms, and took hold of what had been inside his mouth only moments before. But mostly he kissed every inch of that unfairly handsome face. The perfect nose, the sharp cheekbones, the smooth forehead, those eyelids hiding Voldemort's desire. And that filthy, filthy mouth.

"My little whore," Tom sneered when Harry grazed his teeth against his neck. "My pretty harlot eager to spread his legs for his parents' killer." He rocked hard into Harry's body with each crude word. "Mine, mine, mine."

"My vicious beast," Harry echoed with a gasp. "You are mine too."

Truth always left the deepest scars.

When a suspicious wetness dripped from his entrance, Harry supposed that was the beginning of vengeance. The sore muscles of his legs trembled like a leaf with the need to shut them closed yet Voldemort offered no chance for a safe retreat.

Harry was on his back in a heartbeat on the same sofa which appeared to have doubled in size. The careless display of power had Harry opening his legs at once, craving the body to cover his soon. Though strange at first, skilful fingers slid inside him and Voldemort fitted so well between his thighs. The weight of him crushing his chest was perfection as their eyes held each other. To Harry's surprise, Tom's expression must have mirrored his for he tipped his head down, kissing him slow and deep while he pushed inside.

It hurt and Harry's own cock ached for a genuine touch, not just friction. But the Dark Lord was commanding with the way he mouthed at the corner of Harry's lips and pinned him down on the black material of the sofa while he rocked his hips forward. He overwhelmed Harry. It came as no surprise but it shook his world just as well.

The Dark Lord was fucking him.

And oh, how he welcomed it — wanted it badly enough to cross his legs around the man's waist in a stubborn attempt to have him go even deeper, to a place deep and far enough inside him that he could meet his own soul.

"You look so good stretched around my cock," Voldemort grunted in the shell of Harry's ear.

Harry only managed to gasp, to nod and gasp and spread his legs wider and gasp some more. All for his parents' killer. Somehow, in the middle or the beginning or along the way — in this consuming act of perversity — he had begun to shake from pleasure. The bones from his lower parts creaked like twigs yet Harry pushed and pushed. Voldemort stole so much from him; pleas, cries, kisses, love. All of this from one tiny shred of soul.

Until, at last, Harry came — open mouthed and quivering, body jolting, hands grasping at Voldemort's torso while the man chased his own pleasure, ramming his cock in and out of Harry's body while whispering filthy things into his ear. My filthy little bitch, my precious horcrux, my whore. Look at me, Harry. Witness who's taking you apart. Be a good boy for me. Yes, just like that. Good boy. Only for me.

Voice lost and his entrance full of both the Dark Lord's member and his hot come, Harry stared up at the gold decorated ceiling. His fingers threaded through Voldemort's damp hair as he panted against Harry's cheeks. His large body kept Harry wide open, possessive and authoritative as they lay intertwined for a while.

"See? There was no drowning," Harry let out on a frail laugh.

"Yet." Leaning on his elbows Tom's eyes were gentle but his words cruel. And his next thrust ended up somewhere in between.

Harry whimpered and sought Voldemort's lips, feeling the limp cock harden inside him once again.


"Apologies for interrupting your adultery, but legal obligations cannot wait."

Barty's mouth twitched as he said the words. In an unforeseen yet amusing manner, Dolohov had chosen this specific morning to fuck his mistress, or whoever the young brunette girl gathering her skirts was. She certainly was not Dolohov's wife. The girl's glare was somehow intimidating as she passed Barty, calling out a confident 'later' to her lover before she left.

"Later, princess," the Death Eater called back, staring after her figure for a disturbing amount of time until at last he sat up from the living room sofa and pulled together his pants. "Haven't you heard of knocking?" He didn't sound particularly resentful.

"Perhaps. Where's your wife?"

"Praying. Friends. Praying with her friends." The usual, suggested Dolohov's passive tone. "For what legal obligations did you interrupt my leisure time?"

"Our leisure time will go to hell if this specific something is not put to rest."

That seemed to pique the man's interest. "Tell me."

And so Barty did. The problem was rather simple. Draco's silly mistake had raised pertinent questions. The type that stunk like betrayal and stabbed you in the back in a dark alley. And if that was not the case, then his secret meetings with the mudblood and the blood traitor held no rational explanation. And right under Lucius's nose, of all places!

"You think Lucius' son may be selling us to the enemy? In spite of his father's affiliation?"

"I think young Malfoy may be making many mistakes. Mistakes that may affect our cause and our lord." The hairs on Barty's arms raised, escorted by countless goosebumps. "My dilemma is whether to spread the word to the Dark Lord or deal with it myself, all risks considered?"

"It's not like you to ask," his companion noted while they sat on chairs summoned out of thin air.

True.

"Things have changed. The war has changed. And the changes our dark lord wanted are being made with Potter's hands, slowly, looking the lesser public in the eye. A disturbance on our side could be damaging."

Dolohov's smirk promised vicious rumors.

"Oh, young Potter… the Dark Lord plays him well and in more ways than one, from what I've gathered. But I'm sure you're seeking advice and perhaps an accomplice concerning the problem of Lucius' possible reaction. I image he will not be too pleased if either us or our lord obliterated his sole heir. And think of the commotion… of finances and the matter of our ideological homogeneity. There's also the alternative, however. Of having a private and discreet conversation with young Malfoy—"

"A traitor is always a traitor. What's rotten will remain rotten."

A hand went through Dolohov's dark hair. "Then what about Harry Potter?"

Harry Potter.

Barty knew Harry Potter, had been the boy's teacher not so long ago. He understood what the Dark Lord saw in him, the capacity for cold rationality when offered an intelligent purpose, a tangible goal. The determination, the complete dedication. And that pretty face which may be the object of his Lord's obsession but was the subject of many dirty whispers and presumptions among fellow Death Eaters. None knew for sure. None dared to ask.

"Harry Potter is something else," Barty said. "There's no point in comparing him to Malfoy."

"Seems the same to me. Betrayed someone's trust and his past mission."

"No, the mission remains the same. Only the solution is different. Besides, do you think our lord would tolerate doubt in those close to him? Now, on the matter of Draco…"

To tell their lord or ignore the issue?

Or kill?


"What do you really feel when you see me naked?"

The hold of those grey eyes was lewd. "Poor thing… are you this frightened of my thoughts?"

Harry had remained naked upon request. Or, better put, due to a gleeful order. A private show for the man who already possessed everything Harry's body had to offer. Harry himself stood before him, a mockery of a prize. For there was no point in hiding now when all boundaries had been plundered and buried in the ground.

Harry crossed his ankles in hopes of a little decency as he rested on Voldemort's chair behind the tall writing desk. The man in question was on his feet, in only a pair of black pants with, of all things, a cigarette in his mouth and no window ajar. His eyes, naturally, were on Harry.

"I'm frightened of you," Harry admitted.

Voldemort's smirk confirmed the feeling. "Clever boy." The tone was nearly contemplative and did not match the crude words at all. A contradiction.

The sight before Harry left him needy for this predator of a man. With broad shoulders and well-defined muscles, he stood towering over Harry like both the sun and the moon. This man who had been inside him, his parents' killer. To all hells! The delicious thrill that slid down Harry's spine was a curse. What other touch measured to that of the Dark Lord? Who else could compare?

None.

The grey gaze did not leave Harry's face and instead looked more contemplative. Then the space between them dissolved as Voldemort leaned down and Harry leaned up. The man's mouth twitched as, in an absent manner, he tucked a strand of hair behind Harry's ear. "Clever boy," he echoed. "But… leave those childish fears behind. You have been my most favoured source of entertainment for years, Harry. My interest will not be so easily lost, so breathe easy."

Blunt nails scraped at his scalp and Harry hated how needy he acted. For the other's presence, for his touch, for Voldemort's breath on his face and his fingers in Harry's hair that left him starry-eyed and as flustered as a schoolgirl. Like a virgin.

It was strange. He had thought that once the flame for Voldemort had been sated, he'd become contemptuous and cold. Not feel a bigger hunger. For the hunger to return, the same one that guided his very life. But he wanted it and he was wanted as well… at least parts of him were. The young and appealing exterior, the precious interior, body and soul. But what about Harry?

Something lurked between the vacancy separating their skins. It proved an inescapable question.

"I want something from you," Voldemort uttered, taking a long drag of his cigarette as his fingers continued to smother Harry's hair.

Of course he did. They always returned to the discussion of them.

"And you're the one to ask first?"

"Yes, Harry," the man replied with a frown, fingers stalling their journey. "Partnerships tend to work that way. Now, on this lovely morning after our lovely evening, I want you to make me a promise. For the sake of both of us and this world. Before anything else follows." The contemplative demeanour commenced its offence. "If the time should arrive when you lose your trust in me, or when circumstances become too rough, I want you to tell me first. No lies, simply tell me the wrong and I'll fix it. I only ask for the chance to change your mind again."

This was… unexpected. A promise for a promise, and accompanied by a touch? Dare this be called sincerity?

But no, sex and the need to posses did not translate into sincerity and did not change the man before Harry's eyes a single bit. Perhaps Harry himself had no right to beg for changes in the other man when he had been the one to shift the rehearsed dance so abruptly. He inched back from Voldemort's space and from his hands. "And you'll make me swallow my protests and convictions yet again."

"If you enjoy it now, you'll enjoy the test even then."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Neither do you. But don't hide what you've become from me. We are the farthest thing from strangers, especially after last night. Harry... don't hide how much you want me to fuck you this very moment. Don't play the pure and bashful damsel in my presence," the Dark Lord spat.

Harry paled at the cruelty swimming in Voldemort's eyes. He suddenly wished for clothes badly enough it hurt. Placing his hands over his face, he sighed. "Stop, please stop." His voice quivered, raising his exasperated gaze. "I don't… I don't understand what is happening. We're bad then we're good, then absolutely amazing, then we're bad again! What should I do? I lie for you! I want you! I tolerate your malice. But you… you say you wish something for us but your attitude… Tom, what are you really doing?"

Maybe it was the forbidden name or Harry's outburst, but the next thing Harry knew, the ashtray and few cups from the desk went smashing to the floor with a loud bang.

The ensuing silence was only punctuated by their fevered breaths. The Dark Lord had lost his calm. "We're not doing this," he growled, shadowing Harry with his eyes, his words, his posture.

"Yes we are," insisted Harry, lifting his chin.

"Marvelous," Voldemort said, and Harry's eyes fell to his throat where he watched it contract with a painful swallow. "Tell me, Harry… what more do you want from me? Love confessions?"

"This is hopeless." Harry stood in all his naked glory and fought to erase the image of the crack in Tom's uncaring facade behind his eyelids. "Let's talk another time, when you want to talk. I don't want us to argue."

"Harry! Don't turn your back on me."

Harry was reminded of past threats but for some reason this one rang hollow. "Funny, that's not what you were saying last night."

It was finally, at that moment, when Tom showed kindness to Harry's harshness and let him go. He did not run after Harry, and neither did his vile magic.