Author Note: It's hard to believe, but I managed to slip in some writing time in between study. I've found that it's a rather relaxing escape from exam stress. Please do enjoy this new chapter, and I hope you all like the bonding ceremony. Also, I know it's late, but it was Firerosemon's birthday on June 6th last week. I hope you had a lovely day, and good luck also on your exams.

Please read the author note at the end of this chapter once you are done reading, because I have some important things to clear up and discuss.

Thanks,

Drops of Nightshade x

Chapter Twenty-Five

Malfoy Manor

1996

It was the strangest feeling for Harry, being so focused inwards and yet acutely aware of his surroundings. As he placed one foot in front of the other, walking down a long corridor towards the ceremony, it felt as though he was able to pick up every tiny detail around him.

The cold flagstones beneath his feet, the faint haze of purifying incense, the familiar scent of rosemary permeating the air and the building power in the runes coating his smooth skin pressed upon his senses with startling clarity. It was as though the meditation had opened not only his magical core, but expanded his ability to take in the elements surrounding him.

The corridor took Harry closer and closer to the chamber where he would officially bond with the Dark Lord, and the feelings of apprehension and fear that the teen expected he would be experiencing were unusually absent. He was filled instead with a sense of absolute calm, his breathing deep and slow and his heart beating with rhythmic steadiness in his chest.

It was due in part to the runes upon his skin, preparing him for the ceremony, but also to the three hours of meditation Harry had completed, which seemed to have disconnected him from his emotions.

As the emerald-eyed male reached the end of the corridor, and stepped through a set of doors into a prepared chamber, he took in the new surroundings with detached interest.

The room was windowless, and of moderate size, with three sets of doors from which to enter or exit. Taking up a vast portion of the stone floor was an elaborate design of runes that had been painstakingly painted onto the ground in clear strokes. Harry recognised some the symbols on the floor that decorated his own body also. It was there that he and Lord Voldemort would stand, within the circle of runes, as Lucius Malfoy spoke the ritual words.

The silvery-blonde haired man was standing before the design on the floor, dressed in a simple grey cotton robe. If Harry had been connected to his emotions, he would have marvelled at seeing the pureblood man in such rough apparel.

Harry approached the man, noticing out of the corner of his eye that a similarly rune-covered figure was taking sure steps in the same direction. As Harry took up a position to Lucius' left, feeling the shiver of magic as he stepped inside the design on the ground, his future bond-mate claimed the space to Lucius' right.

Lucius murmured the activation spell beneath his breath, the words sharp and foreign to Harry's ears. Although he did not understand what the pureblood had said, he did know what the spell had done. The runes upon his skin started to glow, warming him from the inside out.

On the floor around him the design lit up likewise in a brilliant light, and the latent magic in the runes began to weave around Harry in an intricate web of power. Instinctively Harry turned to his companion, vaguely registering the other man's nakedness and glowing rune-covered body, before his eyes found burning crimson.

There they locked, green into red, emerald into ruby.

Lucius began speaking once more in the unfamiliar tongue; his words clear over the building hum of magical energy emanating from the ritual. As he paused, as though waiting for an answer, Harry found his mouth opening of its own accord and a single word came tumbling out.

Across from him, the Dark Lord simultaneously spoke.

'Volo.'

Harry had never spoken this word before, nor had he ever come across it in any of the texts he had read. But he knew it was the right thing to say.

Lucius spoke again, each word like a lead weight settling in Harry's chest, the magical web tangling around him pressing tighter and stronger.

Once more the Dark Lord and Harry had their mouths prompted open, and the single solemn declaration emerged.

'Volo.'

The magic of the ritual drew them closer.

Harry was able to sense Lord Voldemort now, fluttering along the edge of his conscious, his magical core a vast and inviting well of power. The temptation to sink within its ocean of strength, to lose himself within its embrace was very strong, but Harry had too much power of will to allow that to happen. His eyes never left his companion's however, lost in the crimson depths even as he struggled to avoid losing his sense of self as the ritual merged them.

Lucius said something short and commanding then, and carefully nudged two sharp knives and a single chalice into the circle of runes. The magic swept the implements in deeper, depositing them before the men in the centre of the design.

In perfect synchronisation, Harry and the Dark Lord sunk to their knees and each claimed a knife, the runes upon their skin directing their actions. Without hesitation, they each grasped the hilt of their respective knives tightly, and then pressed the pointed tips at the crooks of their right elbows.

With his eyes still drawn, as though magnetised, to all consuming crimson, Harry barely felt any pain as he drew a cut down the underside of his arm, from elbow to wrist.

The knife fell from his fingers with a clatter that was echoed across from him, and Harry reached out with his bleeding arm to grasp his partner's identically cut one. His scratch stung dully as it was pressed to the open wound beside it, but the vague pain was lost as the magic of the ritual charged itself with anticipation.

Beneath their clasped arms was the chalice, and as their blood mingled it fell into the waiting container. The runes that had been painted upon their palms activated and widened the shallow cuts, encouraging the blood to flow thicker and faster.

The chamber was silent but for the hum of magical energy and the faint dripping as Harry and Lord Voldemort's blood landed within the chalice below them.

Eventually the cup had been adequately filled, and another magical surge caused the wounds on the two male's arms to knit closed.

Lord Voldemort reached for the chalice first, raising it to Harry lips and feeding him the concoction. Harry ignored the unpleasant metallic tang and obediently swallowed the necessary amounts of mingled blood.

Sensing he had had enough, Harry curled his hands around the chalice himself and placed the rim at Lord Voldemort's lips. The man slipped his mouth open and Harry tilted the goblet for him, allowing the older man to take his fill of the blood.

When the chalice was empty but for a few dregs of blood, Harry replaced it on the ground and the ritual's magic swept it, and the knives, away from the two men and out of the design.

Both reached out for the other again, finding each other's hands and grasping them firmly, runes on their palms tingling with magic. Still kneeling upon the stone ground, hand entwined, they listened as Lucius spoke the final words needed.

The hum in the design around them increased ten fold, now a deafening roar as the runes began to move and swirl over their bodies in a complicated dance of shadows.

Lucius finished speaking and backed away from the design on the floor, waiting as the two men opened their lips for the third and final time.

'Volo,' they both whispered, and there was a moment of complete stillness and silence as the ritual registered the last declaration. Lucius took the opportunity to make a hasty exit, sealing all three doors shut as he went to safety.

The two males gripped each other tighter.

There was a breathless pause.

Then everything exploded.

Lord Voldemort struggled to consciousness with some difficulty, fighting through an oppressive cloak of fatigue to open his eyes and take in his surroundings.

Or lack there of.

There was an opaque nothingness beneath him, above him, around him.

He was naked, his skin unmarked by the black runes that Lucius had painted upon him earlier. However he could still sense them hidden beneath his outer exterior, humming under his skin.

But a more important matter pressed upon him than his state of undress.

Where was Harry?

Rising to a standing position and taking a few steps forward, Lord Voldemort found that the nothingness was solid enough beneath his feet. He pivoted in a circle, seeing nothing but the same bleak non-existence around him.

Anger overtook him.

'Take me to Harry!' he yelled commandingly, painfully aware of his lack of clothes. He could hardly be particularly authoritative to anyone or anything as bare and vulnerable as he was. As though sensing his discontent about his state of undress, a dark shroud began forming around him. It draped over his limbs and morphed into a plain black robe.

Pleased at this new development, Lord Voldemort turned his attention back to working out where his lover was. Perhaps a more diplomatic approach would be successful in convincing whatever power was keeping him here to take him to Harry.

'I am looking for-' he began to say clearly into the opaqueness but broke off when he heard a voice.

'Harry! Sweetheart come here,' a kindly female voice echoed brokenly over the expanse of nothing.

The Dark Lord could not pinpoint where the noise had come from much to his frustration. He was distracted from his irritation when his surroundings began darkening and changing.

Colours began flooding the once opaque space and objects began forming around Lord Voldemort, rapidly creating a scene for the ruler of wizarding Britain. Flagstones appeared first, followed by sturdy walls and a cavernous ceiling. Floating candles blurred into existence, casting a warm glow over the large room that had formed.

The choked crying of a small child was all that could be heard, filled with misery and underlined with pain.

'Oh Harry…there you are,' the unknown woman's voice spoke again.

Suddenly she was there, a plump figure with a head of reddish-brown curls, chocolate eyes warm with love and concern that Lord Voldemort was so unfamiliar with. Following the direction of her gaze he saw a small male child tucked up in a dark corner, looking no more than four, tiny fists balled over his face as his little body shook with the force of his sobs.

The matronly woman approached the small child, then sunk to her knees, the folds of her grey dress creasing. Lord Voldemort noted that both she and the child were Menials, the iron collars around their throats confirming this.

The woman tugged the boy into her arms and pressed him to her in a comforting embrace. The Dark Lord saw a head of strangely familiar raven coloured hair over the woman's shoulder, as well as a pale face still characterised by lingering baby fat.

Then the child's eyes opened blearily through their tears.

Lord Voldemort froze.

A pair of unforgettable emerald eyes were staring his way.

Harry.

The child was Harry.

A four-year-old version, but still the same young man he had come to feel so strongly for.

'It-it hurts,' the little Harry whimpered, burying his face in the woman's shoulder and hiding his features from Lord Voldemort's intense gaze.

'I know sweetheart. But if you come with me, I can get you some cream for your pain. Would you like that?' the woman gently cajoled.

Harry took a shuddering breath in and then whispered quietly, 'O-ok.'

She rose to her feet, easily holding Harry on her hip. Rubbing her hand soothingly over his back she started walking away from Lord Voldemort, taking the scene with her as she moved, the surroundings blurring and fading until only the sharp figures of she and little Harry were still visible.

The Dark Lord wished to follow them, and yet his feet seemed to be fixed firmly in place, the nothingness beginning to seep around him once more. Looking up to see Harry again, he noted the red chafing around the boy's little neck and realised he must have just received his Menial collar. The sight of the painful abrasion around Harry's neck, those beautiful emerald eyes filled with misery and hurt, struck a chord deep within Lord Voldemort.

He knew instinctively that this was not a vision of his own making, nor something conjured to cause him torment.

This was Harry's earliest memory.

He was inside of Harry's mind, walking through his memory stream.

The realisation calmed his concerns for his lover somewhat, as he realised they were undergoing the bleeding effect, sharing their lives with one another. Harry would be inside the Dark Lord's own memory stream right now, bearing witness to the important events in his existence. It was uncomfortable thinking of someone treading through his life and his experiences, but there was no one he trusted more than Harry to be wandering within his head.

Lord Voldemort refocused on his surroundings to find them completely opaque once more, ready to receive the next memory. Staring more closely at the nothingness, the Dark Lord noticed that it was not as blank as he had initially thought.

There were irregularities that quickly gained clarity to form snowflakes, drifting from above which darkened until it resembled heavy grey clouds. Glancing back down from the newly formed sky, Lord Voldemort saw that the scene had rapidly developed while he had been distracted.

Snow covered grass stretched in every direction, broken only by the odd bare tree. Away in the distance was a looming structure that Lord Voldemort identified as Hogwarts, the lake frozen solid in the cold grip of winter.

'Attack!' came the abrupt battle cry and frozen missiles began flying.

It was fortunate that the Dark Lord was insubstantial; otherwise he would have found himself with a snowball in the face. Instead the projectile soared straight through him and ploughed into a tree. From behind the trunk came a frightened squeak and a small head poked out to see where the snowball had come from.

Once again, the Dark Lord found himself gazing at Harry, this time looking to be roughly six years old. He had lost a great deal of baby fat and had put on a few inches of height. His emerald eyes were still the same, beautiful and large on his pale face.

Another snowball came flying from a different direction, too hard and fast for Harry to retract his head in time. Lord Voldemort found himself moving forward to shield Harry, before remembering this was nothing more than a memory and it had already occurred. Not to mention his insubstantial state.

He needn't have feared for Harry regardless, as the boy's hands rose and with a gleam in his green eyes he sent a surge of wandless and wordless magic toward the incoming projectile. The snowball froze in its path, before neatly turning and speeding off to find its thrower.

From behind a snow bank in the distance, there was a muffled yelp before a teenager's head appeared from his hiding place. He had a mop of blazing red hair and a freckled face, that was currently coated in snow.

'Harry! Using your magic is cheating!' he yelled accusingly before adding under his breath, 'I didn't even want to play this stupid game.'

Two more snowballs smashed into his face leaving him spluttering in indignation. 'Harry!' he howled.

'It wasn't me!' Harry shouted back playfully, a grin evident on his face.

Indeed, it hadn't been little Harry whom had thrown the missiles, but two identical redheads hiding adjacent to the boy. They smirked at each other for their accurate aim before baiting the teen, obviously a relation of some sort if the hair was any indication.

'You don't want to play anymore, Percy?' one asked mischievously.

'Well that's too bad!' the other cried and the twins charged from their hiding spot to tackle the teen.

All three disappeared behind the snow bank, the sound of their scuffle echoing over the grounds. Harry was laughing, the sound joyous and free. Lord Voldemort found his eyes drawn to the six-year-old, who commanded attention even at such a tender age. It was clear even now that he would grow up to be a stunning specimen.

The scene was fading, Harry disappearing like a wisp of smoke in a strong gust of wind. The nothingness soon reigned once more, even as Harry's ghostly laugh still lingered in the space.

The next memory came swift and fast on the coattails of the previous one, Lord Voldemort's surroundings darkening and forming a shadowy corridor. His eyes immediately sought out Harry, as this was his memory.

'Potter,' came a harsh voice and Harry appeared, standing up against the wall of the corridor. His hands were clasped in front of him, and his head was lowered demurely. He didn't look much older than he did in the other memory, perhaps a few months older.

Severus Snape came into existence, looming over him, black robes billowing as he stared down with hatred at the son of his school tormenter. The Dark Lord's crimson eyes narrowed at the scene, watching as Harry began to shake very slightly.

'Yes Headmaster?' Harry ventured, not daring to look up.

'How many times must I tell you to not run in the corridors. This is a school, not a playground, and you are nothing more than a servant here! Do I need to remind you of your station?' Severus asked, his voice a snarl. With each word he spoke, Harry turned a little more in on himself.

'No Headmaster. I apologise. I will not let this happen again,' Harry assured him quickly, voice quivering slightly.

'See that it doesn't,' Severus replied coldly, relishing in the power he had over the boy. 'You're just like your father. Arrogant and weak.' He swept away after those harsh words.

As soon as he was gone, Harry sunk down to the stone floor, arms wrapping around his knees. He did not cry, but instead buried his face in the safety of his knees and held himself, alone in that dark corridor.

The Dark Lord stood helplessly to the side, caught between fury at his loyal follower and the strong urge to pull the Child-Harry into his arms and find some way to offer comfort. The compulsion to do so was unusual, but Lord Voldemort had already come to the realisation that Harry made him feel things he had never felt before about another person.

He understood now that it was fortunate that Harry had not had to begin his Occulemency lessons with the Headmaster. The teen would have been treated with the same cold disdain he was being shown here in this memory. Lord Voldemort knew of the history between Severus and James Potter, but the hatred his Death Eater had bestowed upon Harry was unacceptable. He would be speaking with the man once he was freed from the bleeding effect and he and Harry had been settled into their bonded life.

Harry was his planned future Consort, and he refused to have a man who held so much loathing for said Consort to be anywhere near him. If Severus could not let go of his anger and bitterness, then the Dark Lord was resolved to remove him from a position of authority.

Lord Voldemort continued to travel through Harry's memory stream.

As Harry got older the memories he was able to recall grew more and more frequent, making it impossible to focus solely on one scene.

The memories surrounded the Dark Lord, offering him glimpses into Harry's life. It became apparent that the teen's foster family had been an incredibly positive influence on his life, offering a system of support and love for Harry to turn to.

Through both positive and negative memories, Lord Voldemort did roam, all filled with a pair of gorgeous emerald eyes. As Harry entered his teen years, the Dark Lord grew wary as he realised he was fast approaching the time of Harry's training as a Courtesan.

There had been a memory of Rabastan Lestrange promising to keep an eye on Harry, and hoping that he would be a Courtesan so he could buy his contract. That had caused an insurmountable amount of fury in the Dark Lord. He had to remind himself that Harry was his, and although Rabastan did end up getting him, he would not keep him.

Suddenly Lord Voldemort was taken up with the vortex of Harry's memories of Aphrodite's House of Pleasure. They assaulted his senses, showing him brief flashes of Harry's training.

Witnessing Harry's experiences, both of a sexual and even a non-sexual nature, the Dark Lord did grow angry, as he had expected. But as he saw glimpses of the Curse-Breaker, Harry's teacher, educate Harry in the ways to pleasure a man, he felt a surge of another emotion.

It was…sadness.

Sadness for the crying child with the chafed neck, for the laughing boy playing in the snow with his foster brothers, for the scared child sitting alone in a deserted corridor, for the smiling boy who helped his surrogate mother in the kitchen, for the terrified pre-teen shivering in his bed at night, for the miserable teen who tearfully hugged his foster-sister goodbye.

It was perhaps the first time the Dark Lord felt regret for someone, for a person whom he had indirectly harmed from his ambitions.

Because it was Harry.

He had now seen first-hand how Harry was affected by his station in life, the trials he had had to face because of it. And it gave him this emotion, this feeling.

Sadness.

Lord Voldemort's hand hovered over his chest, as though unsure how to deal with the tightness sitting there. There was a lingering puzzlement in his red eyes as he experienced the newly uncovered emotion.

It was impossible.

He had severed his soul too many times to have space in his heart for emotions such as that...then a theory came to him.

The bleeding effect.

It shared not only the memories of the bonded partners, but their emotions too.

He might be incapable of feeling emotions to an extent, but Harry was not. Beautiful, sweet Harry with an impossibly pure heart. Because he had bonded his magical core with Harry's he would now be able to feel again.

Sadness, regret, joy…all foreign things to the Dark Lord.

And what of love?

It was an inconceivable concept to Lord Voldemort, but when he considered it, only one person came to mind. But it was too soon to admit anything to himself, the bonding still fresh.

His emotions would not all come crashing back at once, nor did he believe they would ever truly hold sway over him. But because of Harry's influence, he would have them.

The Dark Lord was not yet sure whether to be pleased with this or not.

Time would tell.

The memories had slowed down, as their silent witness grew distracted with internal musings, but as Lord Voldemort returned his attention to the remainder of Harry's memories, they sped up once more.

He watched as Harry had his contract bought by Rabastan Lestrange, and forced himself to not turn away from their copulation. It was punishment in a way.

He had given Harry this life, and so the least he could do was witness what Harry went through.

The Dark Lord experienced a brief moment of smugness when he acknowledged that whilst Harry enjoyed sex with Rabastan, he did not respond as well as he did with Lord Voldemort. This knowledge helped him to survive through the memories of Harry's intimacy with his previous contractor.

He knew he had reached the end of the memory stream he was to bear witness to, when he saw himself in Harry's memory. It was the first time they had laid eyes on one another, and the Dark Lord took a moment to admire Harry as he smashed the doors of Rabastan Lestrange's meeting room open and walked towards him with his green eyes on fire.

As soon as his other self and Harry touched, the memory dissolved, fragments brushing past Lord Voldemort and leaving him alone in the nothingness again.

He felt heavy with all he had seen in Harry's life, burdened now by another set of memories, the ones belonging to his bond-mate. The Dark Lord had seen Harry now at his best and his worst, had watched him experience extreme highs and crushing lows.

And of course there were the emotions now available to him.

They were faint, but they were there, gifted to him by Harry.

Lord Voldemort felt a flicker of consternation as he considered what Harry had just gone through. The teen would have been able to see his every mistake and triumph, his cruelty unmasked and the sadistic things he had done on his way to victory over the Light side.

But what really concerned the Dark Lord was the knowledge that Harry would now understand what he had done to ensure his immortality.

Harry would know that he had mutilated his soul.

It was as though his thoughts about the gorgeous teen had summoned him, because in near distance he saw a figure standing with his back turned to him. The slightly messy raven hair and a hastily conjured green robe were strong indicators.

'Harry,' he called, willing for the other male to turn around, to show him that whilst he had seen the terrible things he had done in his life, he would still accept him.

To his immense relief, Harry did turn around.

There was new wisdom in his green eyes as he locked gazes with his bond-mate, the knowledge of Lord Voldemort's own life at the forefront of his mind. The Dark Lord could not discern any particular emotions on his lover's features, as Harry had his Courtesan mask in place, disguising his true feelings.

Harry took a few steps forward, the opaque nothingness breaking around him to allow him passage to the Dark Lord. As Harry moved forward so too did Lord Voldemort, wanting to erase the distance between he and his bonded. The bleeding effect had kept them separate for too long.

When Harry paused a few steps away, the Dark Lord halted his progress forward and waited for Harry to make the next move.

Almost tentatively the teen approached, as one might step towards a dangerous beast. Lord Voldemort did not blame the emerald-eyed male for treating him with such caution. He had witnessed what he had done. He knew that the Dark Lord could be monstrous.

Feeling the urge to try and assure Harry in some way, desiring to erase that careful behaviour around him, Lord Voldemort said calmly, 'I would never harm you Harry. Not before the bonding ceremony and not after. Especially not after – you are my bonded now. If I hurt you I hurt myself.'

Harry cocked his head to one side and a flash of warmth shot through his emerald eyes. 'I know that.'

If Harry knew that, then why was he acting so cautious around him?

He found out why soon enough.

Harry stepped close enough to touch him, raising a hand to place it against his cheek. The feeling was indescribable. His core – no, their core – fluctuated, sending pleasant tingles through both their bodies.

Then Harry spoke, wonder tinging his tone as he brought up what had been burning within him since he had started traversing Lord Voldemort's memory stream.

'Your name…your real name…'

The Dark Lord froze.

'Tom Marvolo Riddle,' Harry breathed.

Author Note: PLEASE READ! I have a few important things to clear up. Firstly, I know that Slughorn taught Riddle and thus would know that he is the Dark Lord, but obviously Lord Voldemort put precautions in place to prevent his true heritage from becoming known. He is a half-blood after all, registered as such in the school records. Slughorn can claim that he taught the Dark Lord, but if asked about his true name etc. he would be incapable of providing answers.

As for the whole thing with emotions, I assure you, the Dark Lord will not suddenly become a fuzzy kitten of joy. Even before he mutilated his soul, he was a reserved young man. Because of the bleeding effect, he will have all of his emotions returned to him, but they will not rule him nor his actions. Keep that in mind.

Some of you might say, "But I thought he already had emotions, feelings etc.?" and in response to that, I just want to reinforce the knowledge that he could 'feel' but only to an extent. Also, most of the emotions in his arsenal were negatively based, such as anger and jealousy. Being in Harry's presence alone would not have been enough to unlock deeper feelings. But now that he has bonded, he will be able to touch those emotions (love etc.)

I have not forgotten about Harry's Courtesan collar, and it will be gone by the next chapter.

If some of you are curious as to what 'Volo' means, it is Latin, and it translates to 'I do.' In some weddings, the bride and groom actually use, 'Volo.' This doesn't mean that the bonding ceremony was a marriage ceremony! It was just the response needed to show that the couple agreed with what was happening to them.

Finally, I have gathered my notes together to write this, but how many of you want a detailed insight into Lord Voldemort's life? I could write in my next update of Harry's experiences in the Dark Lord's memory stream, but it would take me an entire chapter. Also, I cannot promise that it would even come soon, because I am obviously still on exams. I will touch on it of course (Harry will probably have dreams and/or flashbacks) but do the majority of my readers desire to read about Harry's experiences inside of the Dark Lord's memories in its entirety?

I am happy to write it, but again I must stress that the update would take much longer than usual to come, as it is a big job and I am still on exams.

So have a think about it, and write a response either in your reviews or PM me.

Thanks,

Drops of Nightshade x