Chapter 37

.

"You cheated."

Voldemort raised a hairless eyebrow, giving him a pitying look.

"That would imply I had been trying."

Harry snorted, wiping sweat from his brow and stifling the impulse to stick his tongue out at the bastard.

That afternoon, Voldemort had brought him into a large, empty room and, without explaining a damn thing, had turned and shot a spell straight at Harry. Thankfully, his years of fighting for his life with this man had been triggered and he'd blocked it, ready for an explanation, but Voldemort had merely smirked and shot another two rapidly, one of them striking him in the chest.

What followed had been a brutal duel. Voldemort— shock of the world— had fought dirty, cursing him while he was down and not showing any mercy regarding which spells he used.

Harry had tried to keep to harmless jinxes, but Voldemort's third blood-boiling curse had missed him by less than an inch and Harry could only take so much goading.

Obviously, Voldemort had won, somehow sending two curses at him from opposite directions and when Harry had had to hit the ground to avoid them, Voldemort had destabilized a pillar in the room and made it crash down onto Harry. Which would have killed him, except that Voldemort had miraculously frozen the collapse so he could enjoy Harry's terror and then gratitude.

And then his fury.

"Oh yeah?" Harry mocked him, now feigning disbelief. "I bet you lost your touch. I bet I scared—"

Suddenly, magic engulfed him, pressing his body tight, suffocating him, lifting him off the floor and he was dying, his eyes pulsed with pressure as they bulged out of his sockets, he was dying—

And then, it was gone.

He crumpled to the floor, gasping and heaving, trembling with fear and shock.

Voldemort's slow footsteps came towards him.

"If I had wanted you dead, Potter, you would be. Do not persuade me to change my mind."

Harry's cock twitched in his trousers at the menace in that dark tone. Merlin, but the man was sexy.

Harry pointed at his own chest.

"Master of Death, remember?"

Voldemort studied him before huffing through his slit nostrils and turning away.

"Hey," Harry called to him, before he could wander off to sulk. "I had a question about that."

Voldemort kept walking as he replied, his back to Harry.

"Come, if you plan on interrogating me. I am thirsty."

Fuck, wish you would let me come.

"Fine," Harry said instead, and followed the man out of the room.

"So how does someone stop being the Master of Death?" Harry asked, wiping some more sweat from his upper lip. "I can't be killed. I suppose I could hide the Cloak and Ring—"

"Never trust your precious items to stay hidden, no matter the enchantments you employ," said Voldemort dryly.

Harry smirked.

"You're thinking of your Horcruxes, aren't you?"

Voldemort nodded and Harry laughed.

"But seriously," he continued, as they walked along the corridor together, getting closer to the kitchen, "supposing the Master of Death can hold onto all three, why hasn't that been done a ton? Why don't we have all sorts of stories about people living forever?"

"Most people are fools," Voldemort said, derisively. "The weak cannot handle their loved ones perishing and being unable to follow. Immortality is an ideal not many can handle. I believe anyone else who has achieved what you have eventually decided to give up. To lose. To relinquish the precious relics and follow their loved ones."

Harry watched the Dark Lord's face as he spoke, his expressive features finally settling on disdain.

"An action I will never understand."

"I can see it, though," Harry quietly replied.

They had arrived at the kitchen and Harry leaned against the wall as Voldemort walked to the cupboard and took out two glasses.

Two.

He then went to the sink and filled them up with water. Harry watched as the Dark Lord came back to him and wordlessly handed him a glass.

Harry accepted it with a bewildered smile and Voldemort walked out of the room.

Merlin. It was little things like that.

It would have been reasonable for Voldemort to just satisfy his own thirst and let Harry worry about himself. The Voldemort everyone else knew would not have considered anyone else's needs, nor deigned to satisfy them.

Yet Voldemort had done so for Harry, not only with water, but with many other things throughout his time here. Summoning blankets if Harry was cold. Procuring more food if Harry finished his plate too soon. Taking their conversations outside if Harry's gaze became caught by the sunlight.

All of it was done without comment. It didn't even seem to be done with an agenda or to earn Harry's favour. It felt like Harry was uncovering a latent, beaten-down impulse within the man to provide for those he cared about.

And he was good at it. Harry usually struggled letting people help him or do things he could do himself, but with Voldemort, there was no pressure to accept or show gratitude. It seemed almost unconscious on Voldemort's part.

Shaking his head with amused disbelief, Harry left the kitchen and went to find the other man. He made his way into the sitting room where Voldemort was waiting for him, his own glass resting, almost empty, on his knee.

The sight of Lord Voldemort at ease in an armchair was one Harry knew he would never grow tired of seeing. Those long, lean legs stretched out, his feet planted firmly on the floor, and his fingers resting elegantly on one of the armrests.

"I believe," Voldemort said, lazy scorn lacing his tone, "that you were defending those fools who cannot handle the Hallows."

Harry allowed his eyes to linger on that smug, arrogant face for a moment longer, feeling the irresistible pull towards him that he always did, and trying to ignore the way it affected his body. He was expected to answer.

Harry cleared his throat.

"I was saying that I get it. Wanting to follow your loved ones into death. There's no way I'd want to live much longer than my kids, if I had them. Or outlive my… partner."

Merlin, smooth, Potter.

"Fortunately for you, I am also immortal."

A shocked, nervous laugh broke out of Harry. The bold declaration was a relief. It wasn't that Harry had any doubt that Voldemort cared, but rather that they had both been diligently working to avoid discussing their next moves.

Harry enjoyed being here with Voldemort, but he had his own home to get back to. Hermione would worry and he was sure that Voldemort had evil plans with his Death Eaters that he had to return to as well.

They had both made pledges to work it out between them, but actually sorting out what that looked like was quite another matter.

Harry tried not to think about the fact that it was likely impossible and that's why they were avoiding the topic. So long as they kept delaying the hashing out of details, they could pretend this whole mess was tenable.

Because it wasn't. It couldn't be. Even ignoring their contradictory natures, their antagonistic past, and the ocean of betrayal they had between them, it was hard to imagine their personalities coexisting peacefully together.

But then, did either of them really want peace? Did they want sunshine and flowers or did they want more than that? Harry didn't want Voldemort to suddenly become a different man, he just wanted to curb his bloodlust. He actually adored the man's arrogance and superiority because he could back it up.

The man believed he was a god and, in actuality, he basically was.

Harry could accept the blood purity mania, the Muggle hatred, the violent impulses, the narcissism, and the darkness within him because he understood where it all came from now, and again, as long as it didn't translate into murder, on some things, they could agree to disagree.

"Are you planning on sitting, Potter?"

Harry smiled, gathering his dirty hair into a bunch and then letting it fall free again.

"Actually, if it's alright with you, I'm going to go lay down for a bit."

Voldemort clicked his tongue.

"I see you are unable to keep up. Disappointing."

Harry stepped closer, all sweaty and smelly, leaned down and wrapped his hand behind the man's lithe, smooth neck.

"I can keep up just fine, old man."

Voldemort's eyebrows raised as he looked at Harry.

"Your stamina has certainly improved, though that is due to my success not yours."

Harry stepped back, with a shrug.

"Maybe you just can't satisfy me anymore."

Harry walked towards the door, smirking, totally unsurprised when a hand gripped his throat and slammed him against the wall, face-first. He managed to catch himself before the lunatic broke his nose, but his left ear was ringing from the impact.

"Is that so?" Voldemort hissed in his other ear, biting down on the lobe.

Harry gasped from the pain, but quickly stifled it.

"Guess so," he growled, trying half-heartedly to struggle free. "Maybe I should give Gavin a—"

Harry screamed as all of his clothes burned off of him with actual flames. He felt his body hair singe and the smell accompanying it proved that Voldemort had just removed it all with fire.

"Merlin! Warn a guy—"

"Mention that Muggle one more time, Potter," Voldemort threatened in a deadly whisper, pressing his still-clothed body against Harry's naked one, "and I will eviscerate him. I will enter your mind and rip from it his image and torture him for a month for daring to touch what is mine."

"You'll lose your—"

"This is not amusing!" Voldemort shrieked, letting go of Harry's neck to grab his wrists and pin them spread-eagle, against the wall. "I will not have your betrayal constantly thrown into my face."

The man shifted and then Harry felt Voldemort's hard cock resting against his lower back.

"You demand I curb my violence," the man said, pressing his forehead against the top of Harry's head, "and then you mock me relentlessly about something I am trying hard to forget."

Magic dragged him up the wall a few inches, and Voldemort let go of his wrists. Harry could not move with Voldemort's magic immobilizing him. It was a bizarre sensation, being pinned to the wall, in the air, with Dark magic. It wasn't like hanging with cords because there was no pressure on him anywhere. He was just… floating.

Fingers at his entrance made Harry moan despite the imminent promise of violence and then the Dark Lord's dry cock pushed against his arse, breaching him.

Harry held his breath as it sunk in slowly, painfully. His own prick was straining against the wall, desperate for attention.

"Is this a test?" Voldemort asked raggedly, as he buried himself fully. "Are you seeing how far you can push me until I snap?"

"No," Harry denied, his fingers scratching against the plaster. It's just fun.

Voldemort pulled out agonizingly slowly and then paused.

"For your sake, I hope you are not."

The man's hand reached around and then gripped Harry's testicles, squeezing them. Harry groaned, closing his eyes and trying to shift his hips to get some friction for his cock, but he was unable to move enough.

"When I kill him," Voldemort said, his fingers tightening cruelly as he breached Harry once more.

Harry moaned, trying to bring his legs together for protection, but it was no fucking use. He let his head fall against Voldemort's still-clothed chest. Merlin, he felt so vulnerable: fully naked, immobilized, with an angry Lord Voldemort behind him, his long fingers wrapped perilously around his abused bollocks.

"After I have explained to him his mistake," Voldemort continued.

Harry's eyes snapped open. Oh yeah, the Dark Lord was threatening to murder Gavin. Fuck. Why had he brought that up again?

"I will not lose my magic. I will simply take yours."

Harry paused, confused.

"You can't," he breathed, mostly certain, but still worried because: Dark Lord.

Voldemort made a dismissive, derisive sound in his throat. He let go of Harry's bollocks and then began to slowly pump his cock in tandem with his own leisurely thrusts.

"There is nothing I cannot do."

Harry let his forehead thump into the wall, powerless against the teasing stroking. The agonizing revenge-fucking.

Voldemort shifted and managed to hit his prostate directly and Harry keened.

"Beg me to come, Potter."

"Please!" he shouted, panting, thrilled that he would finally get to. "Oh please, Master, please let me come, I'm dying here, you fucking wanker."

Those fingers dropped his cock and gripped his testicles in a vicious fist.

"Ahh! Fuck— ouch! I'm sorry! You're not a wanker— you're great! You're the scariest, most powerful... supernatural deity— fuck! That hurts, you know!"

"I am aware," Voldemort replied roughly.

"Merlin, what more do you want me to say? Please, Master, let me come."

Voldemort continued to thrust into him, almost ignoring Harry's words, like he was ignoring his cock. Harry tried a different tactic.

"I'm sorry for everything. You are the absolute best. I love you. You're so fucking sexy and powerful and— and— intimidating."

Voldemort's fist returned to Harry's cock, his fingernails dragging over his foreskin painfully.

"Yes, oh fuck, yes," Harry moaned. "Can I come now? Jesus, I'm so close, please, let me come."

Voldemort's thrusts sped up, still punching that spot that jolted his nerves each time, while gripping Harry's long hair and yanking his head back.

Harry gritted his teeth, the sting on his scalp distracting him from his orgasm that was so close, so fucking close—

Voldemort snapped his hips forward hard and dragged his nails across Harry's chest to yank at his pierced nipple, pinching it mercilessly. Harry screamed in pain, the cry immediately ratcheting up a few decibels when Voldemort bit down hard on his shoulder and then froze, obviously reaching his climax.

Harry didn't let him enjoy it. He thrashed as wildly as he could, still helpless in the air, and furious at being denied yet again.

"You bastard, let me come!" Harry shouted, trying to knock his head back against the other man, ruthlessly attempting to trigger Voldemort's PTSD, but the fucker remained maddeningly out of reach. "You said I could, you evil prick!"

Voldemort pulled out of him silently and Harry almost sobbed at the sensation. He felt used and worthless and goddamnit if that wasn't just adding to his overwhelming arousal.

"I commanded you to beg me to come," Voldemort replied, his tone indifferent, but sounding out of breath. "I did come. If you misinterpreted my instructions, that is not—"

"You— you— fucking sadist!" Harry shrieked, because no way was it over, no fucking way, he was so bloody close!

He heard Voldemort scoff.

"The truth does not wound me, Harry."

"Jesus!" Harry cried, drawing out the vowels into a strangled yell.

He felt tears prickling in his eyes and he was so bloody frustrated and furious and so fucking aroused that he could have punched a hole through metal.

Or, through the man still behind him, who had left him hanging ridiculously in the air, quaking and crying and anguished.

"I said I was sorry!" he said despairingly, ignoring the tears on his face. "Please! I'll do anything! Let me come, you sodding prick!"

The magic holding him aloft melted away and Harry followed it to the ground, sliding messily down the wall.

Arms embraced him from behind and Harry half-heartedly tried to shove them off. Voldemort obviously ignored the attempt and gathered him into his lap, sitting back onto the floor.

"Let it go, Harry," Voldemort whispered in his ear, stroking his sweaty forehead. "You are not in control here. I am. Your anger is wasted."

Harry was shaking, feeling like he was going to shoot out of his skin. He tried to compose himself, naked, sweaty, and vibrating with frustrated need as he was, but that was useless as well. Voldemort simply held him tighter, letting him sniffle and breathe erratically.

"Imagine the heights to which you will soar when I finally allow you to orgasm, Harry," Voldemort murmured, pressing his lips against Harry's temple.

Harry stuttered his breath, irritated to be reminded again of his furious resentment. He didn't want more later, he wanted some now.

"I will destroy you."

Harry closed his eyes, moaning at the possibilities the man's dark tone was promising.

"Be patient for me, my soul. I will take care of you."

.

.

Torture had always come naturally to him.

He and the boy had spent almost a week conversing, sharing meals, duelling, strolling across his grounds outside, all the while he was either stimulating Harry or pointedly ignoring him.

He had not planned on denying the boy for this long, but the wild desperation in his eyes, the delicious way he would beg for release, for mercy, the sight of that erection constantly straining against his trousers was all too compelling to abandon just yet.

And he relished control.

Knowing that the boy must rely on him alone for something essential was invigorating. Withholding it was even better.

He let his eyes wander over to the boy napping in his bed. Harry had been a shaking mess after their interlude against the wall and, with nothing pressing to attend to, Voldemort had let him sleep.

He should be organizing his plans for Jeffers to convey or accepting reports from his Death Eaters, but pulling himself away from Harry's company was not an easy task.

His eyes lingered on the boy's fragile eyelids, the gentle arc of his nose. That same face had been pressed up against his groin this morning, Harry waking him with his mouth wrapped around his cock. The thrill at being caught off-guard had surprised him. He somehow trusted the boy to be in a position to do so.

Truthfully, Voldemort was exhausted as well. As much as their schedule was relaxed at the moment, the boy was insatiable and Voldemort could not keep his hands off of him. Lust had never so consumed him before. Amusedly, Harry believed that he could trick Voldemort into allowing him to climax if given enough opportunities, which was absurd. The boy's suffering was its own reward.

His eyes roamed that pliant body and he considered joining him in bed, but dismissed the idea. He would only wake the boy when he fucked him and Harry would need his rest to handle the rest of their day together.

The rest of their lives.

The possibility that this could be permanent induced anxiety in him, but also a sense of predetermination. They had always been linked: by prophecy, by magic, by blood, by their very souls. It seemed more preposterous to deny that than to simply accept it.

And since the possibility of being imprisoned again had been eliminated with the safeguards he had placed upon his body, he need never fear vulnerability again. A series of runes, etched into his skin, would protect him from his inability to access his power by means of magical items. Vows, he remained gallingly susceptible to, but as that was only to Harry, it did not worry him.

Harry loved him.

He could believe that now. The boy made sure to remind him often enough, but more than that, his actions supported it. Although Voldemort's own sentiments were complicated, he could accept it from Harry.

Yet he did not need to rely on the boy's affection to keep himself safe. A realization had occurred to him recently that brought him considerable comfort.

He could steal the boy's wand.

Duel him in earnest and claim the right to master the Elder Wand, thereby ending the boy's status as Master of Death.

Ending his superior immortality.

He would not take his life; he no longer wanted the boy dead. In fact, he would do much to safeguard him, but it was abhorrent to be vulnerable to anyone.

There would be no one who could challenge him, then. No power to surpass his own.

Harry would be furious, of course. He may even interpret it as a betrayal, which would hinder his ability to retain him.

It seemed that it would come down again to a choice of priorities. If he wanted to keep Harry he would have to relinquish his desire to command the Elder Wand and strengthen his immortality. If he wanted reassurance in his own indestructibility, he would have to take the Hallow, but possibly lose what he had with the boy.

Again, a choice.

And he wanted everything. The contradiction of his desires was intolerable.

The boy stirred on the bed and Voldemort suddenly realized that he was pacing animatedly. He stilled and watched to see if Harry would wake. For a few moments it seemed as if sleep had reclaimed him, but then he made a delicate, mewling sound and opened his eyes.

Voldemort was caught.

Harry sat up when he saw him and smiled. A burgeoning, warm feeling pulsed in his chest as Voldemort stared, absorbing the boy.

"Sorry," Harry said, unfathomably.

"Whatever for?"

Harry frowned.

"Was I asleep for ages? What time is it?"

He looked down at his watch and Voldemort rolled his eyes. Harry smirked and shifted back a bit on his bed.

"Any chance you'd like to join me?"

Voldemort narrowed his eyes as Harry pulled back the covers to reveal his obscenely tented pants. He felt his heart begin to accelerate.

"I bet you could go for some more. Maybe you want to fuck me while you hurt my cock like yesterday."

That had been enjoyable.

He had made the boy ride him for over an hour while he punished his nipples and played roughly with his swollen cock. Watching the exhaustion and desperation play over his features as he screamed and cried had been addictive. The boy took it all, staying perched in his lap, continuing to pleasure Voldemort, all the while Voldemort tortured him mercilessly. The boy's cock had been rubbed raw and bloody, yet still Harry had allowed him to stroke it, to pull the foreskin. Slap and squeeze his testicles.

Voldemort walked towards the bed helplessly.

"Such a dirty mouth you have, Potter."

The boy grinned.

"Only one way to shut me up, I reckon."

He said it like a challenge.

"You are attempting to lead again," Voldemort warned, but his knees were already on the bed, leaning over the boy and pressing him back into the mattress. "Are you not still recovering from what I did to you before I put you to bed?"

"I'll always welcome you, Master," Harry said salaciously, his eyelids lowered.

Voldemort felt his breath catch at the word. Hearing the boy call him that without instruction was almost impossible to handle. Harry had finally accepted their roles. His place.

Yet Voldemort could detect a hint of manipulation in the proceedings. It was too contrived. The boy was still trying to please him so that he might get to come.

He relaxed his weight on top of the smaller body, leaning down to capture his lips.

"Wait," Harry said, and Voldemort pulled back to regard him.

Harry rolled over and grabbed a broken quill, of all things, from the bedside table and turned back to Voldemort to show him. His face was hesitant, perhaps even embarrassed.

"I was wondering," the boy said, and then paused, searching Voldemort's face. "You can say no. Obviously. If this isn't something you're into."

Harry continued to stare at him so Voldemort rolled his hand to encourage him to go on. Harry nodded and then looked away, his cheeks flushing.

"I did this once with…" He looked up, panicked and Voldemort felt his own body tense in anger, but the boy went on before he could interject. "It doesn't matter, I'm just saying, this is something I like and I'd like you to do it to me."

He held up the quill again as if that was explanation enough, but Voldemort had no idea what the boy was referring to.

"You wish me to write something?"

Harry shook his head, looking away and then down at the featherless quill.

"It's called sounding. You… take this quill— I've removed the feathers to make it safe and smooth and unbreakable."

He looked up at him, maybe hoping for comprehension, but Voldemort was still confused. Harry went on.

"You insert it into my…" The boy gestured vaguely at his penis. "You have to lube it up and guide it in. It feels so—"

Harry stopped talking at once, but Voldemort was no longer paying attention.

He was laying on his back on a sofa, naked and commanded not to move by that infernal collar, over the wide knees of his old professor. His exposed genitals were right in the man's lap, perfectly accessible and vulnerable, and his head and legs hung off of the armrests at either side.

"Gentle now, see, Tom? It's not as bad as all that."

His body was trembling with the effort to stay still despite what was being done to him.

He dared to look down at where the incomprehensible action was occurring and saw the metal rod delving deeper into his urethra, stinging and pulling, but worse, far worse, was the feeling of humiliation. Another, more unnatural form of rape, of penetration.

Perpetrated by a man he had once looked up to. Someone he had thought had admired him.

"I have wanted to touch you like this since you were in my little club."

Voldemort ignored this information, having suspected the man's interest at the time. The metal pressed deeper, scraping along his potion-induced erection.

"You were quite handsome, then. Not like the monster you are now."

Slughorn twisted the rod and it dug in painfully. Voldemort hissed, but it was clearly intentional because the man smiled.

"I'm not as young as I once was, you see. It's harder to keep up than it once was. So I have had to learn new tricks to entice young men into my bed."

The man's fingers wrapped around his exposed penis, attempting to stimulate him while he fucked him with the implement. Voldemort felt sweat bead on his face and he closed his eyes, hating the swine, longing to fight back, to shove the fool away, rip the metal out of himself and stab it into Slughorn's drooping eye.

"Just wait until it hits your prostate. I'll tuck it in there and hold it with magic and then you can attend to me. I like a bit of multitasking from my partners and you did not come cheap. You'll have to make this well worth my time."

Voldemort pulled in a deep gasp and sent a defensive tidal wave of his magic upon the figure looming over him. He watched as they flew across the floor, their skin squeaking as they slid, and hit the wall.

Where am I?

He looked around, trying to make sense of his surroundings, trying to understand.

Escape— I must get away before he sees me, before he can catch me again.

The body against the wall got slowly up.

"Voldemort."

Slughorn had never called him that. Something clicked into place.

Harry.

He looked around himself once again and managed to recognize his bed. His window, his desk. He was at home, not with his old professor. It had been another memory attack, which he had not endured in days.

Not since Harry had come to stay.

"Are you okay?" the boy asked, not coming any closer, but stretching out his hands as if offering to do so. "What happened? Where did you go?"

Voldemort shook his head minutely and tried to calm his breathing.

"I'm so sorry," the boy went on. "It was the sound, wasn't it? Did someone use one on you?"

Voldemort slammed his eyes closed.

The intense flashes of pain came relentlessly as Slughorn plunged the metal rod in and out of him at a pace he could not get on top of. The older man was seated at a table now with Voldemort's mutilated cock in the place a dinner plate would normally be. It was agonizing, his urethra on fire as the man dragged blood and tissue out of the inflamed hole.

"You scream so prettily, Tom. I always knew you would."

"Voldemort."

I knew you would.

"Voldemort!"

He opened his eyes and looked up to see Harry holding him, a worried look on his face. He pushed the boy away and stood, trying to ignore the trembling of his skin.

"Where are you going?"

He realized he was walking towards the door, yet he had no idea why. He stopped.

Hands gripped his arms firmly, bracingly, and Voldemort allowed it. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes once more.

I am free. I have my magic. Slughorn will soon be dead.

"Can you hold me?" Harry asked in a hesitant voice.

Voldemort frowned. Why should the boy require consoling? Yet it did not matter, he could do that for him.

He allowed Harry to lead him to the sofa and then the boy burrowed in close. Voldemort raised his arms and brought them around the warm, solid body. He took a breath.

This was it.

This was the peace that Harry brought him.

His mind had always been a rapid torrent of machinations, of books, of magical lore. He had never known silence until Harry.

He closed his eyes and allowed his consciousness to pause, let his body relax. That he could achieve this state in the presence of another person was one thing, but that it was because of another person left him startled and yet proud.

Harry was teaching him.

Lord Voldemort was complete, supreme, and yet the boy had found a way to elevate him still further.

"You are the strongest person I know," Harry whispered against his chest. "What people have done to you does not change that."

Voldemort let the words pass through his brain like calm water, not reacting.

"I don't want you to hide these flashbacks from me. Do you have them all the time?"

Self-preservation quietly suggested that he not answer.

"Not recently."

The boy began to stroke his back, an action that would have irritated him and yet he allowed himself to accept it.

"What's changed?" the boy asked in a small voice.

"You are here."

Voldemort felt the arms around him tighten, but that did not immediately panic him as it normally would have. He took a deep breath and surrendered himself to Harry, if just for a moment.