When the young boy walked in, and with determination, the Dark Lord was already awake and sitting up. He wore a self satisfied smirk on his pallid face, one that Harry had seen many times before, notably on those that he had just screwed. The smirked hinted at the darker side of pleasure, things that no one mentioned in public. It stabbed at his heart to see Tom wearing that smirk, but he pushed the feeling away and stalked towards the bed.
This was business, just business.
He climbed on to the four poster bed and crawled on all fours towards Voldemort. Harry pushed the Dark Lord down, a swirl of sex, heat and possession in his gaze. He had one shot to make things look real. That so, the boy straddled the older man and leant down so his ruddy mouth was next to the latter's ear.
"I've decided," the Boy Who Lived said in a husky voice to Lord Voldemort; Tom immediately went ridged beneath Harry.
"And…" he prompted as the other fell silent. The younger wizard sat up, still straddling the slender body under him, his hands pressed against the naked chest there.
"I pledge my alliance to you," Harry stated, slowly and with quiet reverence, as he softy trailed a hand down the thin chest. "But," he said holding up a hand to silence the words that he knew were coming, "I want be your consort; I will not just be your whore. Make me your second."
The last was not a request, but a command. Voldemort looked thoughtful for a moment, and the slowly said "Lucius Malfoy is my second."
Harry smiled a small smirk and purred, "There's something you ought to know about dear old Luc. You remember that first night, or was it the second…?" He paused to think but then desisted. "At any rate," he continued, "it doesn't really matter. It was the night after you healed me."
The Dark Lord nodded in understanding and Harry resumed his story.
"It was Lucius that bloodied me up again. He undid all the nice hard work you and Snape did."
"Professor Snape," Voldemort corrected a little distractedly, as a mild wash of shock shook him momentarily, before blind rage took over. With his voice deadly calm and his bloody eyes blazing, he snarled, "That arrogant fool! He should have known not have touch what is mine!"
Something in Harry fell; he presumed it was his heart; he had been hoping that he meant more to Tom than just a possession, but it appeared not. Nevertheless, it was business, not love, which was on the table, so Harry shoved his feelings aside.
"Well, he did," he said bluntly, "and I want him punished."
Voldemort, without looking at Harry, muttered, and more to himself than anything, "I promise you, he will hurt for a very long time..."
"Yes, he will," replied the former, who stopped his hands from moving.
"He shall be summoned and punished immediately," Tom agreed darkly, trying to sit up as Harry pushed him back down.
"You misunderstand, my Lord," the young wizard reprimanded his lord, "I wish to deal with Lucius personally. He hurt me and I want to bring him agony." He looked pointedly at his paler fellow.
Voldemort however looked more than ready to burst out laughing.
Harry Potter, the poster boy for the light, dish out pain properly? Was that not something to laugh about?
The fleeting image of Harry the Whore passed through his wicked mind. The tiniest trace of humour faded rapidly as he thought about just what the boy above him was capable of. It was with careful words that Tom spoke up.
"If you wish it, Potter, then so be it. Your demands are acceptable. After you dress we will venture to the throne room and call Lucius."
For the second time he struggled to get up, but yet again Harry stopped him, though this time it was by smacking his hand on the chest that he was leaning on. He had just remembered something.
"I want a title." He personally thought that he sounded somewhat petulant, and Voldemort cocked a bald eyebrow.
"I take it that you already have something in mind?" he inquired dryly.
"Naturally," the boy answered in the same, almost sardonic tone.
Tom sighed resignedly. "Say it then."
Harry smiled.
"The Red Consort." He purred, before snapping at the snort Tom let out, "it's better then rearranging the letters in my name, Voldemort."
The man in question glared balefully at his younger companion, before saying snappishly, "I unwillingly acknowledge your newest demand and accept it grudgingly."
The Boy Who Lived smirked and left the bed. The Dark Lord remained alone in his bed as watched Harry sift for a shirt in the large wardrobe. Every so often he would hold out random garments, eyeing them closely before he put them back moments later. It was with a huff that Harry turned around and placing his hands on his hips; he glowered hotly at the older wizard, who merely raised a hairless eyebrow again.
"You have nothing red," Harry stated in flat annoyance, and as though like it was the most obvious thing in the world, as well as the stupidest. Tom inclined his head to acknowledge that his more youthful fellow was correct, and the act frustrated the recipient all the more. He pointed first at himself, but the Dark Lord just replied with a politely puzzled look.
"How the fuck am I supposed to be the RED Consort if there are no red robes anywhere?" Harry stormed, plastering the word red with particular emphasis.
Voldemort merely gave him an expression of mild comprehension; the other just shook his head in exasperation and dropped his sleeping pants. He was conscious of the gaze focussed upon him as he and dressed; he chose to wear nothing underneath what clothes he had selected for the day. On finishing and returning his attention to the bed, he found such raw lust in the ruby eyes that he decided that it might be prudent to wait outside for the Dark Lord.
It only took a few minutes of patient waiting before Tom had collected himself, dressed, and rejoined Harry, who had spent his time leaning with cool boredom against the wall. He straightened as Voldemort entered the corridor.
"Where to?" Harry asked, falling into step beside Tom; he had no idea where the throne room was.
"Severus' laboratory."
"Why?"
"Because he Flooed me to say that my potion is ready."
The ever curious teenager probed further.
"And what does this potion do?"
Voldemort did not pause in his stride, but he leered creepily and said, "Now that would be telling, my Crimson Consort-"
"It's Red Consort," Harry corrected instantly.
The pale, older wizard adopted a look of mystery as he said softly, "Perhaps to others…"
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
The pair strode closer to the dungeons, and there, the laboratories, where potions were experimented, invented and created en masse and with specialist intentions.
"It means," Voldemort told him at last, "I have my own name for you. You are my consort after all."
Harry pulled a childish face.
"Well, if that's the case, then I think I should make up an irritating nickname for you."
"The change made was insignificant; therefore the 'nickname', as you call it, would only have to be a small change."
There was a moment of silence, before Harry said, "Voldamour; it literally means 'flight of love'." He got no reply.
When they finally got to the dungeons and had descended into the fume scented dankness, they found Snape in an aggravated mood. He was unresponsive as they pushed open the door to the smallest laboratory; he was peering grumpily into a smokeless cauldron.
"You are late. The valuable ingredients and my more valuable time was almost wasted with your tardiness." Snape intoned with his back to his guests.
"Caution is advisable, Severus," hissed Voldemort in warning.
The Potions Master sighed audibly and probably rolled his eyes as he said, without conviction or apology, "Yes, milord. It will never likely to happen again." His grovelling was terrible and his attention distant; his black eyes never left the simmering substance.
Tom rolled his eyes irritably and all but glared at his toiling servant. It was unwise to hurt the man, he knew, as he was the best that he had access to; to boot, and unfortunately so, Severus Snape knew it. The matter only helped to make his sarcasm all the more impertinent and wilful.
"I would prefer to get on with this today, Severus," Voldemort cut in curtly, and the sallow man finally averted his focus for long enough to grab a rag and clean his hands. Throwing the scrap of cloth down, he proceeded to disappear into an antechamber for a moment, before returning with a copper goblet. With ginger care he ladled some of the vomit hued contents from the cauldron and into the undecorated cup, until it was filled to the brim. The Potions Master then presented it to the Dark Lord, who took it with a curled lip; the stench was quite horrid.
"You will need to take two more doses after this one. The changes should then commence almost immediately from there."
On finishing with iVoldemort, he turned to Harry, and asked snidely, "And how is the Chosen One faring today? Does he need to be patched up again? I am a potioneer, not a Healer you know."
"You are what ever I command you to be," Tom butted in sharply as he thrust the emptied goblet back at Snape, another warning flicker passing through his narrowed eyes. He refused to tolerate any abuse, verbal or otherwise, towards his self promoted consort; the greasy man seem to realise that fact wordlessly, and Harry himself said nothing.
Voldemort choked down the two other servings of potion, an expression of great distaste plastered across his bloodless face. As he passed the mug, empty for the third and final time, to his waiting servant, he was suddenly seized by a fit. He collapsed barely a second after he had relinquished his grasp on the copper mug; he fell to the floor thrashing and writhing in unbearable pain. He fought to make little noise though, as it was undignified for a man of his elated status to do so.
Tom Riddle's skin began to crawl, tiny bubbles appearing on the surface, like his skin was boiling water. They boiled and liquefied pouring over to completely cover the man in black liquid. Not a drop it dripped to the flagstone floor. It never left the surface of his skin. It was like his aura in liquid form, re-creating his outer shell.
Harry, trying to be true to his title, attempted to rush over and aid the man he had made himself the consort of, but the Potions Master caught ahold of his robes before he could take a second step. The man insisted that he wait.
After a short while, the violent spasms tamed themselves and became mere twitches at irregular intervals. The black substance absorbed into the body it had briefly mummified, and it receded into the white flesh that was undeniably the Dark Lord. Even before it had fully gone, it was apparent that an entirely new person, in looks only, was lying at their feet. The only visible remnants of the old facade were the crimson eyes that were boring into emerald green ones.
Severus Snape, who was not involved in the staring competition, stalked around the newly embodied Lord Voldemort. He bent to poke and prod the improved wizard, and Tom seemed not to mind; that, or he was otherwise occupied, which Harry thought to be more likely.
The Potions Master completed his examination by manually checking his Lordship's vitals, before he straightened and proclaimed, "I pronounce you capable of leaving me in peace. You will not drop dead, so if you would kindly leave my laboratory. I have many potions to brew, most of them for you, milord."
"These are my laboratories, Severus!" Voldemort snapped automatically, "I merely allow you to use them." He stood up and smoothed his robes a tad vainly. "Bring me a mirror; I wish to see what I have become."
Harry complied, although he was still rather dumbstruck by what he had witnessed. He handed over a mirror that was sitting conveniently on the nearby workbench; mostly likely Snape had brought it out from a cupboard somewhere for this exact purpose, as he hardly seemed to be the sort of man to preen himself daily.
The Dark Lord snatched at the mirror and held it to admire his new face. He hid his hesitation, despite that he was almost afraid seeing his old and ugly self. He wanted to have the charming visage that he had had before many, many years before. To his joy, he was not disappointed. Although he still had his unnatural red eyes, he found that they were now framed by long dark lashes, which were beneath surprisingly delicately arched brows. He continued to assess the differences for several minutes.
Before, he had been scaly and bald. Now he had a full head of raven coloured locks that fell to his shoulder blades. His skin was smoother and maybe just a touch more coloured than it had been. The rest of his body was no longer a frame of bones, though he lacked the musculature that the likes of Crabbe and Goyle had.
Thank Circe.
He had a competent amount though, and through his robes his could feel that his chest had filled out somewhat. He might not have been the Adonis of his own youth, but overall his new body was not the worst to be living in.
If he had asked Harry Potter, he would have found that the boy could have and would have readily agreed with him that his new form was indeed rather delectable. With his snowy skin, ebony hair and full mouth, the Boy Who Lived would have avidly said that he was now down right fuckable.
"It is satisfactory," Tom stated in the end. He did not want to confess his absolute pleasure and delight, particularly to Snape of all people.
"I'll say," murmured their teenage third party, who licked his lips, as he gazed intently at the Dark Lord, who stood and approached him; he tilted the bespectacled head upwards.
"Will this do?" He whispered teasingly to his consort.
"It is satisfactory," Harry mocked with a hungry smirk gracing his own full lips.
Voldemort smiled.
"Then I shall keep it. But the clock ticks and we have things to get done. Good day, Severus." Tom swept imperiously out of the underground chamber with the Red Consort following along silently behind him.
Just as the door closed Snape heard Harry ask his former enemy, "Isn't it an oxymoron for you say good day?"
His voice was innocent enough, but the Potions Master knew he was teasing the other man. Apparently the latter was unaware of the jolly jest, because he said sourly, "Shut up, you ponce."
Harry laughed at him.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading. I know I am getting this out a little later than I said I would-it took me a while to type, what with the hard courses I am taking this year and all. But I am making time so it's ok. Thanks to my beta's for looking this over. Please REVIEW this story when your done. The next instalment will be out somewhere in November I'd make it sooner but I have a shitload of projects that need doing and handing in in October. Thanks and REVIEW. though to be far i did get it out in september!