A Christmas tree (entirely Muggle, obtained by Mundungus and decorated with an array of vividly colored fairy lights in an effort to make it look at least somewhat tasteful which didn't serve for much affect) blocked the Black family tree from view; the severed elf heads which lined the dark stairway had been adorned with Santa hats and fake beards which, in Harry's view, made them look far more like Dumbledore than anything else. Presents if all shapes, sizes, and colors were piled up beneath the tree and the mood throughout Number Twelve, boosted by the return of Mr. Weasley (though periodic visits to St. Mungo's would still be required for another few weeks) was one of warmth and buoyancy rather typical of what could categorically be called 'holiday cheer'. Hermione had put off a skiing trip with her parents to join them there for the occasion and, despite the hostile tinge of his encounter with 'Julian' a few days prior, his Godfather was in a good mood. Harry, for his part, was anticipating leaving for Slytherin manor owing in large part to the desire to give the Dark Lord a 'gift' of his own.

Breakfast (an invariable feast, as always, and provided by Mrs. Weasley) had just come to a conclusion and now, eager and talking excitedly with Harry stuck in the middle of them, the group of teenagers tumbled into the sitting room in pursuit of presents.

Ginny got to the pile first despite the best efforts of Fred and George, slipping between the twins and all but taking a flying leap into the massive horde; beginning to pass out package after package. Blue. Red. White. Green. Gold. Large and small. Thin and wide. Light weight and heavy. Soon enough the single large pile had been reduced to multiple smaller piles at everyone's feet. The adults had joined them by then, their entrance markedly more calm and with smiles on their faces. Wrapping paper began to fly in all directions, the sharp sound of ripping and tearing filling the room as they went at it like wild animals. With a bit calmer affect, Harry picked up his first gift and began to unwrap it.

The package had handwriting that was distinctly Hermione's; peeling away the crimson paper revealed a book which Harry at first mistook for a diary but he soon discovered the truth that it was, in fact, a homework planner when he opened it and was promptly informed "do it today or later you'll pay!" in a voice which was much too authoritative for his liking. Ron, too, had received one of the dreadful things and as the red head was currently complaining to the brunet about the lacking quality of her gift Harry didn't feel the need to join in. He set it aside and picked up another of the gifts which sat beside him.

Sirius and Remus had given him a set of frankly disappointing Light books entitled Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts. He'd still read them, probably, once he'd gotten bored enough and was out of anything else to hold his attention. At least the moving full color illustrations of all the Counter jinxes and Hexes it described were…kind of interesting. And they could be of help with the D.A. Feigning enthusiasm, he flipped through the first volume before dispensing with it as well and picking up another box.

Hagrid's gift was a brown furry wallet with a set of fangs which would have made Nagini jealous. Though they were likely meant to be some sort of antitheft device they also made it impossible to use the thing for its intended purpose as any attempts to insert money led to his fingers nearly being ripped off. Aware that Voldemort's protections did not extend into physical damage Harry quickly discarded the wallet into the pile of recently opened gifts with no intention of ever using it.

Tonks' gift was a miniature but fully working model of his Fire bolt which Harry watched whizz around the room, wishing he had his real one and a place where he could fly.

Ron's gift, a massive box of Every Flavor Beans, was rather uninspired.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had given him the typical yearly gift of a knitted jumper and mince pies.

Dobby had given him a…painting? …Of himself? ….At least, that's what Harry thought it was it was really hard to tell; turning the thing upside down didn't make it look any less like a gibbon. No matter, he could finally move on to the only gift he'd really wanted to open.

"Who's that one from dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked as Harry lifted the emerald package.

"Julian." Harry picked at the edge of the wrapping and, when it ripped, quickly tore it open. Inside was a closed box and a small card covered in familiar handwriting. "He gave it to me before we left the Leaky Cauldron after he and Sirius had their little talk."

Picking up the card, Harry examined the message which had been left behind.

'A lion needs its claws. A rose needs its thorns. Here are yours.' And below that 'the accompanying vial is to be kept on you at all times. Use immediately in the event of self-injury.'

Self-injury? Had he been given something poisoned? Lifting the box to his ear, Harry shook it gently but no sound which could alert him to the contents was heard. Eager to solve the mystery of exactly what was inside the box he pulled off the lid and peered inside.

The majority of its contents were hidden from view beneath a sheaf of emerald silk, colored to match the velvet which lined the box, but set into a small divot at one end was a crystal vial about the size of his pinky strung on a silver chain. A thin label threaded around its narrow neck and read Phoenix Tears. Pulling it free Harry held the vial up to the light, turning it in an effort to get the pearlescent sheen which he'd seen in Fawkes' tears both times the phoenix had healed him but it remained inert. To him, it looked like water. But the Dark Lord was a magical genius, the greatest student Hogwarts had ever had, and Harry trusted him of all people to know Phoenix Tears when he saw them.

Of course, that didn't alleviate any of his nervousness as the only poison which would require phoenix tears and not some other more easily obtained antidote, the only poison that could actually harm him, was Basilisk Venom. Dropping the vial around his neck and tucking it beneath his shirt alongside the locket Harry removed the silk which covered the box's other inhabitant and felt his eyes go round.

The gleaming silver blade curved into the shape of a thorn, and strung around its hilt and guard were vines and budding roses of precious stone. A ruby, shaped like a rose in full and brilliant flower, adorned the pommel and glittered in the light. The sheath which sat beside it was made of smooth ebony, its sides adorned with stylized lions. When he lifted the dagger, its weight fitting comfortably against his palm, the tapered point glinted with a yellow tone which instantly confirmed his suspicions: the entire length was steeped in the most toxic poison in the world.

"Bloody hell, mate!" Ron said, gaping at the blade. "Is that a dagger?"

"Yeah." He said, sliding the sheath over the blade and feeling the tension leave his shoulders. "Yeah, it is."

"Can I see it?"

Harry shrugged and handed it over. "Sure; pass it around. Just don't take it out of the sheath because the blade is poisoned."

"Poisoned?" that seemed to be the last nail in the proverbial coffin on the matter as far as Mrs. Weasley was concerned. "It's bad enough that he's seen fit to give a piece of medieval weaponry to a child but to think that the blade is poisoned on top of it all! How absolutely, utterly irresponsible! I cannot believe-!"

The little raven tuned out the witch's shrill shrieks in favor of directing his attention to Nihil whom had manifest amidst the snow drift of shredded wrapping paper. To his surprise his form was different: eyes still red and with a pelt as black as Harry's own hair, the chimera reached out a dinner plate-sized paw to nudge at a crumpled ball of tissue paper.

"You find it interesting, I'm sure, that he'd arm you with a weapon which could harm us?" he sat back on his haunches once the paper ceased to hold his interest and, in a flash of dark smoke, shifted back into the form he was familiar with. Reaching up to tug the red robe he always wore into its proper place. "Well, any weapon could harm you but the likelihood it would kill you is next to none. Permanent coma, maybe. But kill you?"

Unable to speak while surrounded by the others Harry was forced to settle for sending the Horcrux an pointed glare.

"Even if you cut yourself, or somehow otherwise came into contact with the venom of a Basilisk, the Phoenix tears will prevent both of us from dying." Nihil said. "You'd have a minute, after the exposure, to uncork the vial and pour it out onto the wound. Perhaps a bit longer if simply saving your life, and not mine, is in the cards. Plenty of time."

Though if that happened Harry knew he wouldn't get to live for very long. Voldemort wouldn't allow it.

"There by, the risk of damage to us by your having that weapon is either very low or entirely nonexistent. Which makes the fast acting power and potency of the venom of a Basilisk so very attractive to instead be transformed into another protection." He said. "All it takes is a scratch, no deeper than a paper cut, and a threat will be disposed of within a minute."

Covering his mouth and mimicking a sneeze, Harry hissed "what's the point when almost nothing can kill me? I don't need extra protections."

"Is not our Lord known for being paranoid?" the Horcrux purred. "The locket didn't need more than the Draught of Despair, really, to protect it yet he still hid it away in an extremely remote and difficult to access tidal cave; behind a blood-sealed stone wall; on an island in an Inferus filled lake under heavy anti-summoning and anti-apparition wards. It was only a fluke that it was removed from those protections, and even then it still couldn't be destroyed." Reclining on his elbow, Nihil examined his blue-tinged talons. "Expect at least one more defense of some sort to be erected around you. I only hope that, this time, it's something edible."

Having kept his end of the bargain he'd made with his Godfather and remained at Grimmauld for long enough to have holiday breakfast and open presents with everyone, Harry-after the dagger had been returned to him by Ginny-had gotten up from his chair and voiced his intentions to leave only to discover (and, really, he should have expected this by now) that it wouldn't be as simple as packing his trunk and using the portkey. Up in arms about his being provided with arms it took a further hour and repeated mention of the provided vial of phoenix tears before he was finally allowed to return to his bedroom on the second floor and put away his things.

Trunk secure and excited anticipation near to brimming over the little raven bade a hasty and tinged-false farewell to the inhabitants of Number Twelve with promises to meet them at Platform 9 and 3/4s in time to catch the train before activating the bracelet portkey with the hissed phrase "Black Lion."

Like the last time he'd arrived in Slytherin manor by portkey, he landed in front of the crackling hearth but, this time, his trunk was the only thing which tipped over and fell; landing with a muted sounding thunk on the flame-warmed rug.

"I see you've been working on those landings." There was a tint of mild amusement to Nagini's voice when she spoke, black tongue flicking out to taste the air. "That's good. I'm not listened to nearly enough around here."

"I think our Lord knows better than either of us, Nagini." He said, straightening his robes. "Expecting him to listen is rather presumptuous."

"He knows best in many things, brother, you're right. But not everything. Not about himself and his own feelings. In that regard, he's dumber than an unhatched egg." Without waiting for a response the massive snake turned and began to slither from the room. "Our master is in the study; he asked that I take you to him when you arrived."

Harry stared after her for a solid moment, rooted to the spot by second hand offense at her comment, before he managed to unfreeze and follow her out into the hall. The path to the study was by now familiar and the raven was more than able to locate the door on his own.

"Will you be coming in?" he asked the snake as he reached out to rest his hand on the knob. The only reply he received was the scratching slide of scale on wood and a look which was all too knowing for his liking. Annoyed, the little raven pushed all thoughts of the serpent away and opened the door.

The Dark Lord sat behind the desk, large white hands folded in front of him against the bare wood and red eyes glinting beneath the cowl of his hood. Despite it only being near mid-day the cloud cover outside was thick enough that it, combined with the velvet curtains drawn astride the windows, allowed very little sun into the room to compete with the fire roaring in the obsidian hearth.

"I'd begun to wonder," the older wizard said, "if you were going to come and visit me at all, my lion."

"I had a bit of trouble getting away." He admitted. "I hadn't meant to keep you waiting."

And he had, it seemed, kept him waiting. That knowledge, along with the fact that keeping the Dark Lord waiting was ill-advised and never ended well, sent a thrill of fear shooting down his spine. Would he be punished? How badly?

Voldemort simply smiled at him, the flash of sharp teeth indulgent if not comforting. "You're here now, cherished. We've much of importance to discuss so let us not waste further time. But first, I must ask, did you enjoy your gift?"

Harry pushed back the hanging tail of his robe to reveal the blade where it hung buckled at his thigh like a deadly garter. "It's beautiful." He said, fingering the jeweled petals with the same delicacy as he had the real thing months before out in the manor's garden. Awareness of the way those red eyes lingered on where the leather strap vanished around the swell of his inner thigh heating the fear back into anticipation. "Roses are my favorite." Harry could feel his gaze like a physical weight and his clothing began to feel uncomfortably tight. "Though it will take a bit of training before I'm able to make use of it."

"And what gift do you have, my cherished, for your Lord?"

The fire in the hearth behind them let out a particularly loud pop as the little raven skirted the desk and lowered himself to his knees. With the light of the chartreus fire reflecting in his eyes, outlining his own slightly slitted pupils, he made the rest of his approach on all fours. Back arched just so, drawing that gaze to precisely where he wanted it. Sitting back on his haunches once he'd reached the feet of the older male and without breaking eye contact, Harry rested his head against the Dark Lord's knee.

Long, taloned fingers carded through his hair; cupped his jaw; traced the cupid's bow of his parted lips. As before, he took each into his mouth in turn. Sucking on them. Feeling the sharp press of talon and scale against his tongue. Twinning the pink muscle about them like a serpent. And all the while Voldemort stared. Slitted pupils steadily growing round, overwhelming red with black.

"You're beautiful, my lion." The dry rasp of Parseltongue made the little raven shudder as the Dark Lord removed his fingers with a slick popping sound. Using them to trace the lips of the smaller male again, leaving them gleaming wet in the light of the fire. "The embodiment of debauchery. Asmodeus himself."

The hand which wasn't involved in toying with Harry's mouth twisted, viciously, in his hair. Dragging him upwards before his legs could react to support him, scalp screaming at the abuse. His yelp of pained surprise was swallowed by the hungry descent of the Dark Lord's mouth onto his own. A foreign tongue, long and forked, forcing its way into his mouth. Tasting. Conquering. Harry groaned, the sound low and lewd. A trickle of drool leaking from one corner of his swelling lips. His hands groped for and found solid purchase against Voldemort's knees.

Just when spots had begun to dance before his eyes from lack of air he was released. Collapsing into a heap on the floor; hair and clothing rumpled, lips kiss-bruised and eyes dazed. A bare, pallid foot slipped between his legs and applied pressure. Drawing a helpless whine from his throat.

"I believe you were in the middle of something, Harry," was hissed from above him, the foot beginning to alternate between pressure and relief; rubbing slow circles into blood-filled flesh. "Continue."

Shaking head to toe, eyes blown and heart racing the raven reached forward to slip his hands beneath the folds of the older man's robes. Pressing against the hard planes of bone and cold flesh as he fumbled with a button his vision had gone too blurred to properly see. Finally getting it undone and pulling down on the last layer of separating fabric.

The best approximation his imagination had been able to provide for his dreams hadn't been anything near adequate enough to do the real thing justice. Hairless and pale as the rest of him, flushed ruddy at the tip and covered in the same near invisible scales. Raising his eyes back to meet Voldemort's stare the little raven slowly dragged his tongue up along the dominate vein, feeling the rhythmic thud of his pulse and reveling in the clouding warmth of their direct contact, then pressed an open mouth kiss to the swollen crown. Taking the length in his mouth. Suckling on it. Purring. Enjoying the weight of hot flesh against his tongue and the soft scrape of talons against his scalp.

Without warning the Dark Lords grip tightened, thrusting forward at the same moment, forcing Harry to take him all the way down to the base. The little raven choked, hands scrabbling desperately at the other male's hips, but Voldemort held him down. Merciless. Continuing his steady motion. "Come now, my dear." With a deceptive gentleness, he wiped away the reflexive tears which had formed in the corners of his eyes. "Control yourself for me."

The urge to gag swelled up again, tensing the muscles of his throat, but Harry forced down his discomfort. Struggling against the natural reaction of his body as the Dark Lord continued to fuck his face. Doing the best that he could to breathe through his nose and operate his throat and tongue in a way that would at least be pleasant if not pleasurable; to remember that, as this was meant to be the other's gift, his own pleasure wasn't important; to prevent his reflexive tears from watering eyes from becoming real tears.

He didn't know how long it all went on before the pace of the other wizard's thrusts quickened, the grip of the pale fingers getting stronger, but the only warning Harry had before a warm and unfamiliar fluid filled his mouth was a harsh command of "Swallow it!" which he complied with without thinking. Coughing, he slumped to the floor of the study once he was released as the Dark Lord tucked himself away and put his clothing back to rights.

"Your gift, my lion, was far superior to those of my followers." He said. "A true display of devotion." Again those talons found his hair. This time, their touch was gentle. "You've done so well, Harry. I'm more than pleased."

Even with his throat sore and his own needs left unsatisfied, body gathered in a heap on the floor, Harry couldn't help but preen. He'd pleased him. Had been praised by the Dark Lord!

"But now is the time we speak of business." Gripping his arms, Voldemort lifted Harry up off the floor and set him down on the desk, leaving his legs dangling off the edge. The Dark Lord stood beneath them, pressed flush against Harry all along his body. The young Horcrux's breath hitching, heart beginning to race. "The order thwarted my efforts to obtain the prophecy. A necessary piece of information if we're to move forwards of which I only know a portion. That portion is what sent me after you." The thick black fabric of his robe crinkled as Voldemort brought thin lips to Harry's ear. "'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him. Born as the seventh month dies.'" The raven shuddered against him, the tone of his voice seductive. "You're my Horcrux. My consort. Mine, now, body and soul, and no longer a threat. But loose ends cannot be left hanging for our enemies to find. I must have that prophecy, Harry." Voldemort rested one long finger against his neck, the spark of heat flaring to life at the contact, and dragged it down the pale column of his throat. "You'll retrieve it for me, won't you ame?"

"Yes." His voice crackled, throat dry.

"Succeed and I'll reward you richly." The Dark Lord's words dripped with honey, hands sliding up along the raven's thighs. "I'll give you that which you most desire if you bring it to me."

"You'll stop teasing me?"

Sharp teeth confronted him, studding the grin of a shark. "You'll deserve the honor, then, to fulfill your duties as my consort. But only if you succeed. And to do so you'll need to begin to formulate a plan."

"I think I already have one."

The Dark Lord pulled back, raising a hairless eyebrow at him. "Oh?" he said. "Did you suspect this?"

"Nihil did."

"Let's hear it, then."

"It starts with getting Dumbledore out of Hogwarts and on the run." Harry said, his green eyes sparking with hostile glee. "And I've just the way to do it."