Hello! It's been exactly two years since I've updated this story... *tears* I'm sorry that there has been such a delay. A lot of things have happened (moving cross-country, new jobs, etc) so this story ended up slipping into the wayside. But I've been working on it (slowly), and I'm going to post the two chapters I have finished so far. Also from now on I'm going to try to post once a month, so the next chapter (after 15) should be up by the end of June. I want to finish this story, and will do my best. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and still reviewed even as years passed - as I work on chapter 16 I'll try to respond to everyone. :) Sorry for the wait, and thanks for sticking around!
PS - I forgot to upload this ff to last night, and just did archive of our own so here it is ...kaybye *flys away*
That night Voldemort found himself still awake at 11pm and, tired of brooding in his office, he decided to walk down to the back garden. He'd already changed into his sleeping pants but easily grabbed a plush black cashmere sweater to wear instead of his robe. The night air was cool against his face, but he ignored the slight chill, the sweater enough to keep his upper body warm.
Slowly wandering along the pebbled walkway, the stress gradually slipped away from him as he surveyed his property. His mind flitted from one thought to another, no single idea holding his focus for long; for once he was simply letting them come naturally and float away when his attention wandered.
Stopping near a circle of roses that surrounded a small fountain, he bent down and looked over the plants, checking the underside of the leaves and peering into the center of the blossoms. Light footsteps approached from behind; Voldemort knew after a moment from the gait that it was Harvey who stopped a few feet away.
"We keep running into each other in the middle of the night," Harvey commented, coming to stand next to him.
"What are you doing to those roses?" the boy continued, watching his actions with a frown.
"Checking for insect infestations," Voldemort answered. His mind traveled to the overheard conversation but the anger was easy to subdue. ' I've yet to decide a course of action - I'll wait before changing my interactions with the boy, ' he thought to himself.
Harvey snorted in surprise. "I didn't expect you to be a flower enthusiast, or that you'd have time."
Voldemort shrugged and Harvey raised his eyebrows then went quiet for several seconds. At his silence Voldemort grinned, pleased that he'd thrown the boy off.
"I don't usually have time," Voldemort said a moment later, as he stood and walked to the bench next to the fountain. Harvey eventually followed and took the seat next to him, looking unsure. Voldemort himself was unsure where this conversation was going, but refused to let it show on his face.
"But I've always enjoyed the scent of flowers," he continued, "It is one of the few simple things I appreciate." There was no harm in admitting it, though he wouldn't want it spread far and wide. If anything it would show Harvey that he was still human underneath the Dark Lord mantle.
"Do you have a favorite flower?" Voldemort prodded; Harvey looked even more surprised at the question, probably that they were still talking about flowers.
"Erm, I don't think so?" the boy responded, starting to fiddle with the sleeves of his sweater. He'd changed into a dark blue pullover and some black trousers. The combination emphasized his pale complexion and bright eyes. "I don't really know the names of the flowers that were around our cottage, and I didn't really pay attention to them."
"My favorite is the Aquilegia caerulea - the Blue Columbine," Voldemort murmured. With a quick twist of his wrist he conjured a delicate blue and white flower, and held it gently in his hand. "I quite like several other variations in the genus, but this one in particular is stunning."
Harvey studied the flower intently, and Voldemort forced his gaze from the lovely face to examine the plant. Something about it fascinated him, from the white petals in the center to the long spurs trailing behind it. As a child he'd thought it was a faerie disguised as a flower, and though he was indifferent to most things now the flower still made him pause.
"It's beautiful," Harvey whispered, raising a hand to touch a blue petal. "It's like a bird - or a shooting star!"
"Indeed." His lips twitched. "It comes in a variety of colors, each combination very striking."
He focused his magic, and soon the flower was a white and pale pink, bringing an admiring coo from Harvey. He continued the impromptu display, changing the colors and shape as he went through the variations that he could remember.
Finally he stopped, realizing that they'd been out there for quite a while - and that Harvey was trying to resist the call to sleep. The boy's head kept lowering to his chest before jerking up again. Voldemort sighed as he looked over Harvey's features once more. There was still something about him that was familiar, maybe the shape of his eyes, but the connection escaped him.
He decided to leave it for another time, and stood from the bench. Harvey startled at the sudden movement and Voldemort smirked, but offered his hand to help him up. The young man's responding blush was just barely visible in the low light.
"I suppose we should be heading inside," Voldemort said, "I wouldn't want to keep you up late again."
"You're right, it is late," Harvey agreed. He took Voldemort's hand with a smile and they both moved towards the garden entrance. While walking Voldemort smoothly tucked Harvey's hand around his arm; the boy's steps faltered slightly before resuming the pace, and his cheeks regained the light pink that had just started to fade.
Harvey cleared his throat, then turned his face towards the sky. "I love the night, though there's something about it that seems sad," he said softly. His face was a study of loneliness, perhaps from years spent alone in a cottage with only his father for company. Voldemort tried to ignore the pang in his heart from his own memories of days and nights alone in an orphanage. There had been many lonely days during those early years, spent wondering why no one would talk to him or adopt him, until he had let go of those silly dreams and embraced the darkness within himself.
"There's more to darkness than loneliness," he answered, looking up at the twinkling stars, unfettered by the light pollution produced by the filthy muggles in the city. "There's power, danger, the unknown...even comfort. Sometimes the darkness is the only place in which one can be free to be themselves."
He could feel Harvey's eyes on the side of his face and turned to meet the wide stare patiently, falling slightly into the deep green that seemed to travel into his soul.
Harvey was silent, but after a moment shuffled closer, then carefully laid his head against Voldemort's arm. Voldemort froze only for a second then continued his slow pace. The weight settled firmly against him and he couldn't help but think that maybe it was nice to walk in the garden like this with someone. The image of them walking like this five years from now came into his mind unbidden, and didn't fully leave no matter how hard he tried to force it away.
Pressed side to side they continued into the mansion until they reached the hallway where their paths separated - Voldemort's up to his room and Harvey's down the hall on the right. The darkened hallway, lined with rare hand-woven tapestries and ancient ceramic vases, muffled all sound so all that he could hear was his and Harvey's breathing. Harvey was looking up at him hesitantly, clearly struggling between speaking or turning away towards his room. Voldemort decided then - why the hell not - to take action.
He turned to face Harvey and wrapped his arm around the younger man's back, pulling him close until they were almost pressed together. Then with his other hand he tilted the delicate chin up and, sparing a glance to the widening gem-like eyes, he slowly covered those plump lips with his own. Softly at first, but then he leaned further down, sealing their mouths together forcefully. One kiss seamlessly wove into two, then into several more, and though he could tell Harvey's inexperience in the awkward movement of his lips the boy did a fair job of keeping up with him. And now that he had Harvey this close he took the time to feel the petal-soft skin of his jaw, and the way the small of his back dipped in right above his buttocks.
But before he lost control and moved his hand down lower - at what point did he start to forget himself and let his hands wander? - Voldemort slowed the kisses, and then pulled away. It took several moments for Harvey to realize the grip he had on Voldemort's sweater before he let go quickly. Voldemort chuckled, ignoring the fact that he hadn't even noticed the boy's hand on his chest, but didn't tease further. He left it with a simple 'Goodnight' and slowly stepped away from Harvey, then apparated to his room.
But after reaching his room the vision of Harvey's face wouldn't leave him. Voldemort leaned against the heavy wood of the door to his bedroom, a rare display of how overcome he was, and traced the boy's features with his mind's eye. The way that the pale neck had arched up as if to follow his retreating mouth, and those thick dark eyelashes fluttering without the boy's knowledge- it was enough to have him breathing roughly again, and his hand was gently palming his cock through his pants before he realized what he was doing. Instead of being ashamed, as he stilled his hand, Voldemort went with the feeling. He settled in the large reclining chair behind his desk, pausing to wonder if he'd ever actually jerked off in his own office before, before the thought was pushed aside to make room for more important ideas.
He didn't hesitate when he pulled down the zip of his trousers and took his swollen prick in hand. He tugged slowly, working the flushed head with a light grasp as he imagined Harvey moaning against him, and he was closer than he thought - soon he was rushing over the edge as his body convulsed with pleasure.
Voldemort took several deep breaths as the shaking died down and the climax faded, then lazily cleaned himself with a silent charm. 'I wonder if Harvey will even come to breakfast tomorrow,' Voldemort thought idly. 'I wonder if he's touching himself right now.'
He suddenly wished he'd set up spying wards that provided images, but a small yawn interrupted his plans to sneak down and look through the walls of Harvey's room. When another yawn came immediately after the first he stood and headed to his bedroom - even scheming Dark Lords needed sleep. He consoled himself with continuing Harvey's seduction tomorrow.