"You're getting rather good at this Harry," Voldemort appraised as he looked around the camp site they had settled into this time. It'd only been about three weeks since they had first started from the Manor, though it felt like years.
Harry's only response was to shoot him a dirty look as he hung towels up to dry.
There was an enormous tent sitting beneath a tree - charmed to stay up if the tree fell. There was a large fire a few meters from the tent and two chairs transfigured from logs. You could hear water running in the back ground from a river they had stopped by.
Harry looked up the sound of an owl.
"Draco!" and Voldemort once again felt that twinge in his gut as fury became known, but he said nothing as he watched his charge open the letter and light up like a light bulb.
December 13, 1995 Harry is fifteen.
"I can't believe you still don't have any magic. This is getting bloody tiring Marvolo, and where the hell are we going; we've been traveling for years...literally." Voldemort glared at the boy's attitude but ignored him nonetheless.
"It's none of your business Harry." he said as he looked back in the fire.
"Fine, I'll find you when you're finished traveling the path of life."
"Where are you going?" Voldemort hissed,
"To Draco's, I need to go clubbing, get laid, something. Spending all day everyday with you is getting tiring." And with that, Harry was gone. Leaving a furious Lord Voldemort behind.
Clubbing he did though, and everyone knew who he was. The Daily Prophet was having a blast selling the scandal that was Harry Potter.
When Lord Voldemort got the Daily Prophet however, he knew immediately what that feeling was and this time he was not afraid to admit it. He was jealous. Harry was his. Period. Yet, his Harry could do so much better then him. He trashed the paper - throwing it into the fire. Later he heard the tell tale pop of apparation. He looked up to see Harry, his body loosely flowing and his hair mused.
"Evening, Marvolo." He was ignored and the boy - teen, he had to remind himself - plopped down in his lap.
"Marvolo?" his voice was hurt, and unsure.
"Why don't you go back off and fuck Draco?" He spat nastily. Harry recoiled falling off the man's lap.
"Draco...what does he have to do with this?"
"Nothing," it was hissed.
"No, what does he have to do with this? I want nothing to do with Draco pretaining to anything sexual."
"Nothing," there was silence as Voldemort looked down at Harry, who was focused on the ground he sat on.
"No...I don't want, Draco." Harry said before he looked Voldemort in the eye. And Voldemort wasn't sure when but the next time Harry was gone - so was the moon. He sighed and went into the tent Harry was sleeping peacefully in. Curling up, his serpants words rang in his head.
'I...don't want, Draco...'
