SPOILER ALERT! There is mature content at the end of this chapter. I would have liked to have made it separate, but the way in which their sexual tension is relieved is sorta relevant to the plot? But anyway, I will mark it clearly where it is in case anybody wishes to avoid it

They were sneaky about it, Voldemort would at least admit that. The first spell fired was from the direction of Knockturn Alley, making it look like it had come from one of the Dark, but Voldemort and his troop knew otherwise; they were under strict instruction not to attack unless attacked first. Now they were in open combat in Diagon Alley. It was a dangerous place for the Dark side to be, as the Aurors would undoubtedly arrive eventually. The Aurors were the only department in the Ministry that Voldemort was not yet certain he had in his hands. There were some of his members involved, but he suspected a few were also Light spies. Still, this meant that it was possible that they could be taken under custody in the event of Aurors arriving. There would be anti-apparation and anti-portkey wards. They would be stuck, and they would need to fight their way out. Ideally, Voldemort wanted to be able to gain a victory against the Light before any Ministry officials turned up.

Though there had been few to begin with, Voldemort had summoned all of his forces, they had managed to get hold of the werewolves and those who could join the fight had done so. Those of Potter's who had been carrying out inside tasks deemed non-essential were also present. Unfortunately, Voldemort had not had the time to convince the Polish vampire clan to engage in open combat with them, but their numbers meant that this was not a great loss. The two sides had spent hours upon hours of military training, and so they were organised and efficient against Dumbledore's weaker force. The current problem, however, was the public. Voldemort had reluctantly fallen into agreement with Potter about their appearance to the public; the public was not their enemy, but their allies. And so, Voldemort was juggling with sending off curses to the Light forces and trying to work out where the public was hiding. Ideally, he needed them completely out of the way of the fighting, and warded against wayward spells. He found that most were in shops, which was a great help, but some were still out on the streets, huddled in groups.

He was weaving in and out of people, up and down the long street, eyes everywhere; sending curses at Lights, shouting instructions at his troops, and setting up powerful wards around the public while soothing them about the situation. It was a difficult task, especially since dealing with the public was not something that Voldemort was used to doing – in fact, he should not have been doing it. In their training, this was not what his role was. Voldemort was supposed to focus on giving orders, mobilising the forces, putting his attention where it was most useful. Unfortunately, the person who was supposed to be reassuring the public and keeping them safe was glaringly absent.

But Voldemort did not have time to be pissed off at Potter's absence. Dumbledore's forces were stronger than they had anticipated, and were holding on for much longer than Voldemort wanted. The duelling was fierce, and even though Voldemort helped where he could, many of his people were gaining injuries. They were strong fighters, but they needed more instruction, Voldemort could tell, and while he was doing his best, he could not be everywhere at once. As much as he wanted just to leave the people to fend for themselves, there was something in him urging him to continue, Potter's voice reminding him about public appearance.

Suddenly Voldemort spotted a man stood alone in the centre of the action. He was holding no wand; an innocent, then. A particularly stupid one. Voldemort made his way towards him, deflecting curses when he could and aiding his forces in their duels as he went by. When he reached the man he immediately put up a basic ward around them.

"Let me get you to safety," he said with a charming but soothing smile.

Wand out, he negotiated the two of them around the people, trying to protect the man as best as he could until he got to a safer area. It must have been only a fraction of a second that his attention was away from the fighting, but just as he turned to place a final ward around the innocent, he felt a sharp sting hit his arm.

It had shocked him, rarely being hit in any circumstance, but he did not have time to sit in his shock. He left the man, re-entering the thick of the battle. It was not long after that the Light called a retreat, apparating away. Wasting no time, Voldemort called his forces to vacate; in his last millisecond in Diagon Alley, he saw the Aurors arrive. It had been an incredibly close fight.

Potter is going to fucking get it, he thought bitterly.

Harry felt the adrenaline coursing through him as he made his way to the Wizengamot. He was getting more than a few fearful stares, and he was surprised that he was allowed to make his own way there, not accompanied by a Ministry official. The Ministry was full of Light and moderate magicals, even if he did have some support in the Wizengamot, and so many would be wary at seeing the high profile Dark Lord, especially months into the civil war as they were. It might have been a stupid idea, really, organising this meeting; he would not be surprised if it turned into a trial, accusing him of treason or such nonsense. It was for this reason that he had not informed Voldemort of his plan. The man would have outright refused to let Harry go, somehow blocking him from contacting the Ministry at all, ranting about how it was a suicide mission to even attempt it. But Harry would be fine. He hoped. If he was not exuding such a powerful aura to keep people away, Harry felt that he might have been cursed by the time he reached the lifts. As it was, everybody was too busy cowering in fear at his impatient stride, so much so that he even ended up in the lift on his own.

When he stepped into the Wizengamot, Harry was pleased to see that there was a fair number of Dark or moderate allies as they stood to greet him. It made him feel safe, certainly safer than he had felt when meeting the European Light Associates. He had not actually ever been in the room, strangely, and so he took a moment to admire it. The architecture was quite Victorian in style, but the ceiling was littered with twinkling lights, looking much like stars above him. There were rows of chairs and desks, seating the Wizengamot members, all facing another lone chair in front of a desk.

"Lord Potter, we are pleased to have your company today, do sit down" said a witch from the front, the spokesperson for the day.

Harry nodded in acknowledgement and took his seat at the lone desk.

"You must be aware, of course, that your opposition has had much opportunity already to speak with the Wizengamot, Lord Potter," she started.

"I am indeed aware of the advantage that they have being led by Professor Dumbledore," Harry acknowledged. "That is why I was so eager to be able to speak to you today."

"I am pleased to hear it. Some of our members have some concerns that they would wish to discuss with you today, in advance of our debate on the Ministry's involvement with the civil war you have engaged in. As it stands, Aurors are under instructions to assist in preventing and stopping outbreaks of violence that are linked to both groups, but there is an anxiety to know where you stand; there are many who wish to vote on taking sides."

"You all know my stance do you not? I cannot see one person in this room who I have not spoken to at some point, whether that be in person or as part of a speech. I stand for much the same things now as I have ever." Harry spoke, his voice echoing around the room.

"While that may be true, Lord Potter, we still wish to allow any clarification of your cause. May the first questioner stand."

Towards the back, a tall spindly man with very little hair stood, a sheet of parchment before him.

"Lord Potter," he spoke, gentle voice reaching Harry through the acoustics of the room. "It has ever been ambiguous what the Dark fight for. Sometimes it seems that they are fighting for their rights, sometimes as an excuse merely to use violent magic, sometimes out of bigotry. We all know that you are a principled man, who places a great deal of weight on the importance of democracy for all peoples, including the Dark creatures and practitioners of Dark magic. Democracy which is indeed a very muggle concept, one which is deemed radical by many witches and wizards, but gives hope to the people. I wonder, Lord Potter, if your principles will hold strong next to Lord Voldemort, who you have allied yourself with, who seems only to fight against what small idea we have of democracy we have today and who seems dedicated to the suffering of the muggle people." The shaky man then sat down, and Harry stood.

"Lord Voldemort is a very powerful man, and I will allow you that him and I do indeed have conflicting views on certain issues, and so I can understand any concern that I may allow him to overshadow my views and principles. But I assure you that this will not happen. While Lord Voldemort is very powerful, I too am a very powerful man, with a force just as strong as his own. He would be a fool to believe that he could step over me, after my decades of work in British and European politics. True it is not information open to public eye, but since the war has begun and the alliance formed, not one muggle has been harmed. Take this as a promise that I will not stand for any unnecessary violence towards this dangerous race, and that I do intend to assist this nation in living in peace with muggles."

It went on in such fashion for hours – Harry had had no clue that there were so many potential ways to word a question about his beliefs and Voldemort.

Voldemort's patience was just about reaching its limit when Potter walked through the door of the drawing room, and he rose menacingly from his chair. Potter, unfortunately, seemed to be oblivious to the danger.

"Thank Merlin you're here, I'm desperate for a drink," he said, reaching immediately for the cabinet, but Voldemort was one step ahead of him, splaying his hand across the man's chest and pushing him back against the door.

"Where the fuck have you been today?" Voldemort growled, drinking in the look of shock on Potter's face like he was parched.

"What does it matter?" Potter asked, frowning. "What do you need?"

Voldemort hissed in annoyance, his hand balling into a fist to grasp Potter's shirt threateningly. "I needed you to be in fucking command of your own damn army!"

"What?" He questioned meekly, but his body was tense.

"There was an attack in bloody Diagon Alley and you were prancing around doing who knows what, while I had to fucking cover for you, you imbecile!" Voldemort let go of his shirt and pushed him away, towards his desk.

Potter's mouth formed a small 'o', and his eyes were vacant. "Did we lose anybody?"

"I'll consider telling you that when you inform me of exactly what it was you were doing that was so much more important that defending your people against Dumbledore's forces!"

Potter's face contorted into a mixture of guilt and fear, and Voldemort approached him again, predatorily.

"I will find out, whether you tell me or not," Voldemort purred, finding a sick pleasure in the fear of such a powerful Dark Lord. The man needed taking down a peg or two, and he was thoroughly enjoying the task.

"I was speaking with the Wizengamot."

Voldemort's fury buzzed in his ears, blocking all his senses, and he found himself in equal parts surprised and aroused when he discovered he was suddenly holding Potter over a desk, one hand tightening around his neck, the man's face pressing into the surface.

"You could have been fucking killed, they could have imprisoned you, you could have been given the fucking kiss," Voldemort hissed out. Through the rage he could see the emotion being coloured by a hint of fear, which only heightened the feeling.

"I was fine," Potter ground out against the wood. "It was essential that I went; if the Ministry decide that they are against us it could lose us the war."

"The Ministry is already Light, you could have been killed for your efforts. It was useless; we can fight the Ministry with half of our forces!" Voldemort fumed.

"You're overreacting, it was an important task! We have much potential of support in the Ministry, I've been working on it for years. I'm sorry I wasn't there for the battle, but it's over now. Just let me go and I'll get you a damn drink, alright?"

Voldemort threw Potter off the desk. "I have things to do."

He left for his base, intending to spend some time letting off steam and wishing he had the guts to torture Potter for all the torture he gave Voldemort. He was desperate for a muggle to kill, but the training room would have to do.

The Dark Lord Voldemort Saved My Life

For a long time, I had been lucky enough to say that I had never been in a fight. To an extent, this is still true, but on 25th April 1957, I became involved in the most horrific one I had ever seen.

Many of you of course know that on this day, a battle broke out between the Dark and Light militant forces in Diagon Alley, resulting in many injuries, civilian and fighter alike, and even a few deaths. One of those deaths could have been my own. It has taken me a day or two to get my head around that fact. I could have been just part of the statistics published in this very newspaper. But beyond what could have happened, I want to focus on why it didn't.

I know that there has been much debate over who fired the first spell, but I can honestly tell you that I have no idea – nor do I care. I was paralysed in fear the moment I realised what was breaking out around me. As a muggleborn, I had felt that there was no hope for me. One of the Dark wizards would recognise me, being a fairly well known writing for this paper, and they would off me then and there. There was a small hope that someone from the Light would interfere before I was killed, but I did not put much weight to that thought; everyone was so involved with their fighting. Morbid as it may seem, I was waiting for death.

As I saw the notorious Dark Lord Voldemort making his way towards me, this thought only strengthened. He is known for his hatred of everything muggle, me included, surely. I felt that this would be the end. I felt doomed.

But I was wrong.

It was not death that awaited me in the form of this powerful wizard, firing spells around him. It was hope. Lord Voldemort put a protego around me, and escorted me to safety to hide with other members of the public, as if it was the most natural thing for him to be doing.

Nobody else had seen me. Well, if they had, they were far too occupied to think of saving me. Nobody but one of the most powerful and feared men in this country, maybe even the world.

And readers, I do not consider myself a special case. I have spoken to countless survivors since the event. Some had found their own refuge in shops. Others had branded their wand and protected themselves. But a considerable few of the more vulnerable of us had each been saved by none other than Lord Voldemort himself.

Say what you will about their politics; when it comes down to it, the Dark care about magical blood.

-Jonathan Stone

Harry and Voldemort were sat in the drawing room days later, having once again settled their differences. As Voldemort scanned the article, his face contorted in disgust, and Harry laughed.

"You're a saviour!" He exclaimed.

"I am not impressed," Voldemort deadpanned in response. "This would not have happened if you had been there; I was doing your job."

"And that's what makes it so noble a thing to do! That poor man would have died for my foolishness had you not stepped in and saved him," Harry gushed, revelling in the way Voldemort squirmed in his seat as such a thought, despite his usual poised demeanour.

Harry had honestly been touched that Voldemort had taken on the role in his absence. When he had first given himself the task of escorting civilians away from the line of fire, Voldemort had scorned the idea, said it was petty and meaningless. But here, this article, was the proof that Voldemort was willing to put that aside even when Harry was not there to scold him, to see that the lives of the people do matter in the grand scheme of things. Furthermore, even though Voldemort was hardly to know it at the time, he had saved the life of a muggleborn – potentially multiple muggleborns.

"I am honestly disgusted," Voldemort sneered, "and because it is entirely your fault you will get me another drink."

"Yes master," Harry joked, getting up from his chair. "And may I add what an honour it is to be your house elf, master, a great honour indeed."

"If it's respect you desire, you should start turning up when you're needed in battle," Voldemort retorted, accepting his glass of wine.

"Regardless, you must admit that it is far better for our media coverage that you saved a muggleborn – everyone knows that I respect all magical people, but they're far more uncertain about you," Harry pointed out, sitting down with his own glass.

"As much as I hate to say that you're right," Voldemort sighed, not willing to finish the sentence. "You still owe me."

"Yeah, yeah," Harry waved it off, used to 'owing' Voldemort a great many things by now.

Silence fell for a moment, before Harry spoke again.

"What d'you think it'd be like if we weren't both Dark Lords with anger problems?" He asked, turning to Voldemort.

"I can honestly say that I've never once considered not being a Dark Lord with anger problems," Voldemort responded drily.

"Well, yeah, but that's because of your upbringing. Say we were adopted by magicals, or at least a decent pair of muggles if there's any out there. Raised normally, with unconditional love and support. Where do you think we'd be?"

Voldemort shut off momentarily, and Harry wondered if he had crossed a line by discussing upbringing. After a moment, though, he responded.

"I would like to think I'd be in better company than this," he smirked.

"Ha!" Harry laughed out loud. "There's no better company than me, I'm sorry to tell you. This is as good as it's going to get."

"Hm. Well that's a shame. Go on then, where would you be?"

Harry thought for a moment. "I used to want to be a writer," he admitted.

"A writer?" Voldemort asked incredulously. "And turn out like this wet cloth?" he gestured to the newspaper still on the table.

"Hey, it might be fun!" Harry defended.

"I'd be the Minister of Magic. Or an Unspeakable."

"Of course you would," Harry rolled his eyes.

"You know I would."

In a late Spring evening, Harry and Lin decided to take a walk in a sparse forest. Walking over the blanket of flowers, it was a welcome respite to the stress of the conflict.

"It's been a while since we've spoken like this," Lin commented, his grey hair glinting slightly in the sun.

"It really has," Harry admitted guiltily.

"You've been spending a lot more of your time with Lord Voldemort, have you not?"

Harry felt his face heat up. "I- well- with the war, I mean, I know you're my right hand but I know you're loyal, and so I need to keep Voldemort happy, y'know?" Harry defended himself, feeling awful that he had neglected his closest friend.

"It's okay, Harry," Lin soothed, placing a hand on Harry's arm and stopping them. "I am not upset that you are focusing your efforts on Lord Voldemort – you are quite right to. It is merely nice to have some time like this."

"Right, yes," Harry agreed, and they started walking again.

"I have noticed he's become quite attached to you lately."

"In what way?" Harry asked, knowing better than to question his old friend's judgement.

"Lord Voldemort is not one for friendship; he would not spend so much time drinking in that little room of yours if he did not genuinely enjoy your company. His growing attraction to you is more obvious than he thinks, if one chooses to look. It might nearly be as obvious as your feelings for him soon enough."

Harry frowned. "My feelings for him aren't obvious!"

"Your feelings are an open book, my friend, I wouldn't be surprised if even Lord Voldemort's followers know that you'd happily be tied to the bedpost and fucked so hard you can't sit down for a week."

"Hey now!-" Harry protested, but Lin interrupted, grinning.

"My apologies, of course, you would top; you have always been very insistent on that."

Harry just scowled as they kept on walking.

"You know you can't hide from him forever. The war will only distract you for so long. What will the both of you do?" Lin prompted.

"There's no need to do anything," Harry said, though his heart clenched as he did so. "Go on the same as normal. I expect I'll still see him from time to time, what with politics."

"Whatever makes you happy."

It was a bitter thought, though, Harry knew. It would not make him happy. But he did not have a choice.

THIS IS THE SECTION THAT HAS MATURE CONTENT

The clock chimed once, indicating to Harry and Voldemort that they were a full hour past midnight, but they would not stop working. The single bell echoed loudly in Harry's head and he wished more than anything that he could just give up and go to bed.

But there was still work left to do, and it was imperative that it was done before daybreak. The war had raged on tirelessly for many months more; the Light had gained support from Sweden and America, but the Dark had countered this with the help of Germany, India, and the Polish vampire clans, much to the surprise of both sides. It was becoming messy, but further and further in, the Dark were gaining the upper hand.

Tomorrow – or later that very day according to the clock – they were hoping to corner the Light and defeat them. It would be hard, but Voldemort was confident that they were ready, and Harry could only accept this decision. They had been planning this decisive battle for a month, but there always seemed to be fine details to work on, and so they found themselves surrounded by empty vials from potions to keep them alert. By now, however, there was no hope in becoming any more awake.

"If we move Avery towards the front he'll be able to make use of his long-sightedness," Voldemort mumbled, scratching the quill against the parchment as he thought.

"But then we'll be blocking Dennison, and we need his abilities where he is," Harry pointed out; they had gone over this before.

"... Damn," Voldemort dipped his quill in ink again to cross the suggestion out.

"There's no point in us working any longer, Voldemort. We've exhausted our ideas for over a month now. We're as ready as we'll ever be."

"Hm," was the response, as good an agreement as any.

They stood over their work, scattered out on the meeting table, and stared at it in silence. This was it. This was the plan to end their war victoriously. It seemed far too simple, despite the plan's complexities and their years of efforts.

"It's not too late for you to get a horcrux."

In Harry's tired state, he had barely registered the words being spoken. More murmured, really. The cogs in his brain turned slowly over what had been said, until they came to a sudden stop. Harry tensed.

"What?" he asked, unwilling to believe he'd heard it correctly.

"I think you should get a horcrux."

The sentence had been reworded. Clarified. A pause. Harry processed the information again.

"What the fuck," he whispered in shock..

Voldemort was serious. He was staring at Harry intensely, too sincerely. He wanted Harry to make a horcrux. He was not joking. He wanted Harry to tear his soul, he wanted Harry to kil– he wanted Harry to have immortality.

He was hit by a storm of emotions, feeling as if he was a teenager again, losing control. He could feel his magic slipping through the barrier in place, escaping into the air around him, disrupting the peace. The table began to shake, the parchment shuffling from the disturbance. Voldemort was unaffected by this, holding Harry's gaze, refusing to back down.

"You could die. All this work we've put in; do you not want to build on our victory once it is over? What would happen to your friends, your followers, all your political work? Wouldn't you rather live forever?" Voldemort asked, sounding almost confused at Harry's reaction.

"No," Harry breathed, horrified. He had allowed himself to believe that Voldemort was fine, that he was safe and sane, but this... "You know what horcruxes do to the soul, how could you ask such a thing of me?"

"We've become quite close over the war, haven't we Harry?" he felt the breath empty his lungs as Voldemort spoke softly. "We've become friends, I don't have many friends. Wouldn't you do this for me?" Voldemort stepped forwards, eyes smouldering.

Manipulating, manipulating, manipulating, manipulating

"I wouldn't tear my soul for anybody," Harry bit out, stepping back.

Voldemort's expression did not change, and Harry had to work to get a hold of his thoughts. Yes, he was attracted to Voldemort. Yes, this request was probably triggered by a genuine attraction in return. But Harry could not let this distort his principles, his purpose. He had not let such a thing happen for decades, and it would never again. He was a grown man, he was a Dark Lord. He would not be manipulated, even if he was dealing with the Heir of Slytherin. Voldemort would not seduce him into tearing his soul.

"Come on now, Harry," Voldemort practically purred, stepping towards Harry once again and tentatively brushing his hand against his cheek. "I know you've noticed what there is between us. You want it just as much as I do. Make a horcrux, for me," and in that moment Voldemort looked almost like a lost puppy, and Harry was at complete loss for words.

The touch, the cold hand against his face was making his pulse quicken, his face heating more and more in each moment. It was almost too much to bear.

When Voldemort leaned down to kiss him, however, it was too much. Soft, warm lips against his own, gentle but possessive. His heart fluttered and the heat that was concentrated in his face rushed around his body, filling him with adrenaline and desire.

"I can make it sweet and gentle, Harry," Voldemort murmured against his lips, and then spoke in parseltongue "I can feel your desire to be with me."

Harry's magic swelled in response, and barely aware of what he was doing he had wandlessly flung Voldemort across the room, the latter looking stunned. Harry took his turn to prowl towards the other man, dragging him up and pressing him against the wall.

"I think that you have severely misjudged the nature of my desires, Voldemort," he said lightly, pressing himself up against the Dark Lord. "I do not bow to anybody, least of all the subjects of my desires, and I do not do gentle." Then, leaning in to Voldemort's ear, he hissed "and the language of the snakes does not intimidate me."

Voldemort did not have much time to react to Harry's use of parseltongue before Harry crashed their lips together violently, allowing himself to completely give in, revelling in the way Voldemort responded eagerly, grinding against him.

His heart was beating so strongly that he was sure Voldemort could feel it like a heard of buffalo on his chest, and the desperate kisses only grew in intensity, both men desiring more. Harry broke away from the kiss, bringing his hands around to remove Voldemort's robe, then tearing at the buttons of the shirt beneath it, exposing the man's toned torso, his chest rising and falling heavily in desire. Harry's distraction at the body he had been imagining each night for so many months, however, led him to a disadvantage, and Voldemort began to push Harry down onto a chair, climbing onto him and reaching to suck at Harry's neck.

He could feel the entirety of the man's weight pressing down painfully on his thighs, the back of the chair digging into his spine, smell the sweat from the training earlier in the day and the current arousal, but all of this only heightened his own pleasure, letting out breathy gasps as Voldemort sucked at the sensitive spot beneath his chin.

"Make a horcrux, Harry," Voldemort hissed, the sibilant words causing a spark in his arousal.

"Never," Harry hissed back determinedly, and with all of his weight pushed him and Voldemort off of the chair and onto the floor, quickly pinning Voldemort's arms down above his head.

The subsequent kiss was somehow even more violent, Harry taking Voldemort's bottom lip between his teeth and eliciting a sharp exhale of breath from the other. Using one hand to keep Voldemort's arms down - a struggle for all that the man was protesting the restraint - Harry used his other hand to unbutton Voldemort's trousers, throwing the man's shoes and socks off in order to tug them down, though in doing so he lost his place over the man.

Left only in his boxers, Voldemort looked more human than Harry had ever seen him, and more magnificent. He watched the way his arm muscles flexed as the man claimed his place over Harry once again, hungrily removing his clothes, frustrated at the inequality. Voldemort seemed fascinated with his body, sucking and biting the tender flesh of his stomach, nowhere near as firm as Voldemort's, running his hands over the soft pale skin almost obsessively, and Harry recognised from the glint in Voldemort's eye that his brain was working a mile a second trying to memorise every inch.

Growing impatient, Harry tugged Voldemort back down by the neck into another heated kiss, grasping the man's soft hair and tugging at it desperately, earning an unintelligible hiss from Voldemort.

Rubbing himself against the fitter man, the sweat sliding their thighs over each other and matting his leg hair, Harry felt himself wondering and worrying at what may actually happen in their battle. Would this be their first and final embrace? Would they be parting ways for good once it was over?

Voldemort was obviously having no such anxieties, as he rose himself to carefully remove Harry's boxers, then moving on to his own. He then grabbed Harry's wrist demandingly and brought it to himself, placing his own hand around Harry firmly, before leaning down to suck sensually at Harry's neck again as they rubbed each other almost clumsily, slipping with the wetness of each other. He was in ecstasy all the same, letting out a shuddering breath as Voldemort felt him, almost sighing at the pleasure. Harry's free hand was restless, gripping at Voldemort's thighs, marvelling at their strength, wandering over hardened nipples, a gasp in response to him circling them teasingly, clawing against his back desperately, until Harry let go of Voldemort completely, moving from under him and letting him fall to the floor, hair flopped over his face, body rising and falling with each laboured breath.

Tentatively, Harry placed himself over Voldemort, feeling his arse cheeks almost as a request. Covering his fingers with saliva, the only crude form of lubricant he could think of in the moment, he carefully felt around Voldemort's entrance. Voldemort hissed sharply at the touch, but leaned into it, and so Harry entered his fingers experimentally. Warmth pulsed through him as he felt Voldemort's whole body react to his movement, but the man was clearly determined not to show how affected he was by it. As Harry removed his fingers, he shifted his hips forward. He had done this many, many times, but never had he been so concerned about getting it perfect. Voldemort, for all of his flaws, deserved perfect in this moment. He entered Voldemort slowly at first, letting the man get used to the intrusion, then began to rock his hips, pushing further inside each time.

"Ah," Voldemort gasped, and Harry rocked harder at the sweet sound of victory.

Other than the first sound, however, the only noise in the room was the occasional soft grunt and the wet sound of Harry thrusting in and out of Voldemort. Despite the pleasure of it all, there was a part of him – and a part of Voldemort as well, probably – that felt an anxiety at it. Their coming together was so joyful and made Harry feel more alive than he had felt in a very long time, but Voldemort was still Voldemort, and Harry knew that he could not just end their problems with a good fuck. But in the moment, in those early hours of the morning where it felt like they were the only two people on the whole of the Earth, none of that mattered.

As Harry reached his climax he dug his nails into Voldemort's sides, chin falling to his chest as the blood left his head, leaving him feeling dizzy and happy. Not finished yet, he rolled Voldemort back over, grasping at him again and rubbing against the slick skin. He then leant down and took Voldemort in his mouth, running his tongue over the tip teasingly and sucking lightly. It was not long before Voldemort also reached his climax, and Harry fell back onto the floor, panting slightly.

Though they both lay for a few moments, he was vaguely aware of the other man getting up off the floor tentatively, walking over to where Harry had strewn his clothes in order to dress himself again. He looked over, watching the robotic motions of dressing, Voldemort's face betraying no emotions. The only give away was the way his lips were still moving nervously, and the way his Adam's apple would bob from time to time.

"I will see you at the final briefing, Potter," he said quietly. His voice was as smooth and baritone as ever, and Harry would have thought that he had completely shut off if not for the way his voice broke over his name.

The final battle would be incredibly tough for the both of them. Voldemort felt that having the backup of horcruxes made him better off, but Harry was sure that the man was just as nervous as he was.

The crack of apparation was enough to snap Harry out of it long enough for him to stand, taking a look at the wooden floor. I best not leave this for the house elves, he thought, casting a basic cleaning spell over the wet looking area he had just vacated. He then found his handkerchief and wiped himself clean before putting his clothes back on slowly and lazily, ready for sleep.

As he walked along the corridor, he slowed down as he saw Lin approaching him.

"Uh, hi," Harry greeted, knowing that he would not be successful in coming across collected but hoping that Lin would attribute it to the war.

Lin looked Harry up and down, then raised a brow. "Perhaps you should glamour those love bites before tomorrow, Harry. We wouldn't want anyone thinking you weren't dedicating all of your free hours to planning."

Harry felt his face go hot. "Um, yeah. That's a good plan. Thanks, Lin."

"No problem," he smiled, before walking off once again and leaving Harry well and truly humiliated.

I hope that that scene was acceptable, I felt like they were ready but it seems so quick at the same time! Anyway, I am well aware that had it been me reading this fic I may well give up at this point... which is bad, but hey we all live for the sex scenes. But I promise you there is a lot more character development still to go through, so please do stick with me!