Summary: Voldemort comes up with the idea of chain beasts, using them to capture Light-affinity wixen for various nefarious uses. He is deeply confused when none of the exoskeletal constructs capture his nemesis Harry Potter.
Pairing: Harry Potter/Lord Voldemort
Beta: —
Spoilers: HP
Tags: Crack Treated Seriously, Incest, Parent/Child Incest, Time Travel, Master of Death Harry Potter, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bondage, Sex Toys, Blood Adoption (Harry Potter), Underage, Minor and Major Character Death
Notes:
1. Title is a reference to several things, and sort of a pun.
2. More self-indulgent silliness from my cracked/pervy ideas project.
3. Chain Beasts come from (to the best of my knowledge) a mod for Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, which was later remade to function in Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. However, the ones I'm familiar with are more perverted. (I originally intended to use them as a creation of Hojo over in FF VII. I still might.)
4. Very little actual dialog for quite a bit of this, until toward the end, but a number of messages.
5. Assume whichever you prefer regarding Voldemort's appearance, because of circumstances (that might make more sense along the way). Either way, it is never explicitly mentioned.
6. Also uses a charm from the mobile game.
Written: 2022 06 04 - 2022 06 05
Assembly: 2022 06 05 [1.0]
Voldemort was feeling rather annoyed. He had spent all that time creating what he decided to call chain beasts, and the damned things had failed, time and time again, to capture Harry Potter, his nemesis and pinnacle of Light-affinity idiots. He sent Nagini off on a mission to spy. She would enter via the Chamber of Secrets, and hopefully from there be able to track the boy down and observe, to report back to him later.
She returned after a week to inform him that Potter had spending time daily in the Chamber itself, using Dark magic, practicing curses and the like on various small animals. In addition to that, each time he was done with his practice, he would indulge in sexual activities.
«Clarify,» he said. It was a good thing that Nagini had once been human, because a true snake might not understand the intricacies of what they had witnessed.
«The boy strips and pleasures himself, not only with his hand, but by using an enchanted item to mate with him.»
Voldemort blinked. It was probably a good thing that he had regained a large portion of his sanity once he had adjusted to being in an actual body again, because he had no idea how he would have reacted to this news otherwise. Her words did point out that some aspects of being a snake had coloured her speech.
«I think I need to see this for myself,» he mused, then made plans to travel to the Chamber personally. He would simply need to cover himself in invisibility, so he could observe without the boy being alerted to his presence.
Some time later he was slithering into the Chamber in his snake form. He found a good vantage from which to spy, then transformed and went invisible. He had no idea how long of a wait it would be, but hopefully his time would be well spent in the end.
Potter wandered in, not from the main doors, but through one of the side tunnels. Voldemort nodded to himself in approval. At least the boy had the sense to explore and find alternative means of accessing the Chamber. A girls bathroom was hardly subtle.
Of interest was the portrait Potter was carrying, which clearly showed an occupant. That the occupant was seemingly wroth and banging on the inside of the canvas was also of interest, as it implied they were there unwillingly, and that Potter had happened upon a rather obscure bit of Dark magic.
Of even more interest was the runic circle etched into the floor in front of Salazar's statue. He could not see the composition from where he stood, unfortunately, but expected to get an idea of it just as soon as Potter made use of it. Or, perhaps, after Potter had left.
Potter conjured an easel just at the edge of the circle, placed the portrait, then stepped to the other side of the circle, so whatever it did he would not be subject to it. A flick of his wand saw the occupant of the portrait emerge into that circle, face first on the floor.
Potter quickly disarmed the witch and set her wand aside, then set to torturing her, a slight smile on the boy's face as she begged and screamed. Not a bad effort, really, but it was clear the boy was not terribly far along in his education regarding the use of Dark magic.
Part way through the session Potter paused to remove a book from what looked like a mokeskin pouch suspended from his neck, and consulted it before putting it away and resuming his practice.
The witch in question appeared to be that year's Defense professor (not that she was in any way qualified if what Lucius reported was accurate). And, considering that Potter seemed to have yearly troubles when it came to Defense professors, and this one was known to be particularly sadistic, Voldemort could not be surprised she was presently playing victim.
As Nagini had reported, as soon as Potter's plaything was dead, the boy banished his clothes off, dropped to his knees, and began to pleasure himself. An enchanted dildo was used to fuck his arse, and his right hand to stroke himself to completion.
The boy looked just lovely like that, and Voldemort could not help but want to be the one fucking him. The fact that his own cock had gone hard said as much. This also more than explained why his chain beasts had not succeeded in capturing Potter. He was Dark, not Light.
He could only assume the boy was getting away with this due to Dumbledore frantically trying to figure out where his common support base was disappearing to, and therefore was not paying attention to his Golden Pawn Hero. And, given that he had already captured three of Potter's friends—he was questioning that friendship now—Dumbledore would also likely assume the boy was off mourning, or possibly isolating himself to avoid his own capture.
It mattered not. What mattered was that he knew why Potter was immune to his constructs, and that Potter was looking more and more interesting as the minutes ticked by.
He also sounded just lovely when he came, and Voldemort wanted to be the one causing those sounds to issue from Potter's throat.
He was further enlightened when Potter cleaned himself up, levitated the corpse over to a spot of floor off to the side, incinerated it, and then pulled a time turner out of his mokeskin pouch.
Voldemort again felt appreciation for Potter. Those were not easy to come by. The boy headed off down a different tunnel—not the one he entered by—and vanished into the darkness.
A second later a house-elf appeared, took care of cleaning up the ashes, snapped away the conjured easel, and popped out again. Clearly, the boy had at least one house-elf bonded to him, which was another point in his favor.
Voldemort exited the Chamber so he could return to his base of operations and consider what he had witnessed, but not before setting a few monitoring spells, so he could remotely view any activities therein.
The next thing he noticed was Potter bringing in several free-standing chalkboards and a supply of chalk. One was used to make notes on and, judging by what he could make out, record either what the boy considered learned or what he wanted to learn. Unfortunately his monitoring spells were not designed for that level of detail.
To test the waters, Voldemort delivered the mudblood Granger to the Chamber, bound so she could not escape, her fingers broken so she could not manage anything in the way of wandless magic, left a note on one of the chalkboards, and positioned himself to spy.
His monitoring had given him a base idea of when Potter would arrive each day, so he should not have long to wait.
Potter wandered in and stopped dead on seeing the weakly-struggling witch. His eyes then went to the chalkboard, where he had written:
» A gift for you. «
There was a pregnant pause as Potter considered the situation. The boy made a slow sweep of the Chamber, but clearly neither spotted or sensed him. Eyes returned to the message, then the witch, and then a clearly delighted smile erupted.
"Hello, Granger," Potter said.
She stilled briefly, then resumed struggling. "Harry! Help me!"
"I don't think I will, you insufferable, know-it-all, mudblood harpy," Potter said, then began practicing his torture curses on her, that same delighted smile coming back.
'How delightful,' he thought. 'Potter clearly appreciates the gift, and just as clearly despises the mudblood.' Perhaps he should offer up the odd book as gifts, along with more victims to be Potter's playthings.
He waited a week before he dropped off the younger of the Creevey brothers. Admittedly, he was quite curious to see how Potter would take the gift. He also left a new message.
» I'm keeping copies of my memories of your practices, precious, so that I can re-experience them at my leisure. «
When Potter saw the gift he seemed conflicted. When he saw the note, however, he seemed to get the implication that Voldemort could blackmail him with what he had seen. Some of the boy's uncomfortable posture was suspect in a way Voldemort could not quite place his finger on.
Interestingly, though, he never witnessed Potter trying to locate him in the Chamber, nor checking for monitoring spells. He had yet to decide if that meant the boy was stupid, ignorant of the magic to do so, or simply did not care.
Voldemort was pleased when Potter finally nodded to himself, fetched out his wand, and started torturing screams out of Creevey, that delighted smile appearing again on the boy's face. As always, once his victim was dead, Potter stripped, pleasured himself to orgasm, then dealt with the body. The time turner came out again once he was dressed, Potter vanished into the darkness down that one particular tunnel, and the house-elf appeared to do clean-up.
He dropped off the older Creevey brother a week later, and that time Potter spent far less time considering his gift. Instead he stared at Voldemort's message.
» Just imagine what the world would say if I exposed your activities. «
Of exceptional interest was that the uncomfortable posture was back, with the added observation that the boy was turned on as evidenced by his cock trying to tent the front of his trousers.
'How delightful,' he thought. 'The boy is aroused by the threat of exposure. Or, perhaps, being blackmailed?'
Potter seemed to take additional time when he pleasured himself after torturing Creevey to death, almost as if he was putting on a show.
A few mornings later when he checked in the center blackboard had a message on it. Either the boy had snuck in during the night, or had his house-elf do it. Below the chalkboard was a crate with a piece of parchment on top.
» A present for you. «
Voldemort was so intrigued that he ignored the work he had planned to start and left his base to go investigate. Potter generally only showed up to the Chamber in the evenings, but as he had the monitoring spells tied to "screens" in his office, he could spy at any time. The point being, it should be safe to sneak in and retrieve the gift.
When he got it back to his office he perused the parchment, which was instructions for the crate of potions. All he had to do was slip the potions into the drinks of muggles, leave town, and set off the trigger. And, so the parchment claimed, instant explosions and a lot of dead muggles.
They were filth, so why not?
Voldemort called in Rookwood and handed it off, enjoining him to keep an eye on the muggle papers in the aftermath. He wanted a copy of whatever was printed. Rookwood hastened off to handle the task, and two days later Voldemort had a newpaper with the "tragedy" as front page, above the fold news.
"How delightful," he murmured as he read the report. "An entire village wiped out with barely any effort. I wonder how he found this little marvel."
The next morning he headed off to the Chamber once breakfast had been eaten, to leave the paper propped up on the right-most chalkboard ledge, as well as a message.
» Delightful, precious. See what your gift has wrought. Another wonderful memory I shall keep close, just in case. «
Potter brought his own victim that time, but waited on torturing them to investigate the paper. That time, however, he checked it for any magic which might harm him, or whisk him away. The boy smiled on reading the report and nodded to himself, then tucked the paper away in his pouch. That he displayed signs of arousal again was just a bonus.
Voldemort got to finish up his work while watching the boy pleasure himself.
The next morning he entered his office and sat down, ready to work, and did the usual glance at the screens. The center chalkboard had new writing on it.
» If high concentration of magic disrupt muggle electronics (assume that isn't just an old goat fucker talking out his arse), would it be possible to discharge enough magic on the island to drive them away? Or at least, drive them back into the Dark Ages? «
Voldemort smiled. The boy was proving to be utterly delightful. Why hadn't one of his Unspeakables thought of this? He temporarily hid the screens and sent for Rookwood, then posed the question to him.
Augustus looked almost shocked at the idea, but then started muttering to himself. He wandered out of the office without even being dismissed, but Voldemort was accustomed to such behavior when it came to the Unspeakables amongst his minions.
The next message he left was:
» Are you not worried I could use what I know against you as blackmail, precious? That I would use this to force you to my side? «
Potter became aroused again, which made him think the boy wanted the excuse of his activities held over his head as a threat, and possibly to give him every excuse to do worse things to muggle filth and Light-affinity idiots, while being able to claim he was forced into it.
Potter managed to slip in another message when he wasn't looking.
» There's always someone trying to control me and make me obey them. Why should I believe you'd be the kind of master I'd want? «
He took that to mean Potter was open to the idea, and willing to negotiate.
» Clearly, you need a master who will protect you, teach you, and fuck you senseless on a regular basis. «
Potter's response to that was to look a bit shaky, but still aroused, and the display he put on after torturing his latest victim was again extended in length.
Voldemort next dropped off another victim along with a nice tome on some truly awful Dark spells.
Potter ignored the sacrifice in favor of the book, so he could educate himself on new ways to do those sacrifices, then promptly started testing his newfound knowledge out on the Light-affinity idiot he had been gifted with.
Voldemort would eat his nonexistent hat if the boy wasn't at least a Dark Grey, if not Black.
His reports that morning had showed that Dumbledore was still running around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to figure out where all those wixen had disappeared to. Molly Weasley had been sending howlers on the regular to him at the school, to the point that new wards were erected to keep the damnable things out.
» I'm not always very good at obeying orders, so why would you want me as one of your own? «
What a silly question, but still not a denial of desire.
» You just need the right kind of master, precious. Or is the right kind of master one who blackmails you into it? Do you like to pretend it's not what you really want? So you can feebly rail against the unfairness of it, all while you want it so badly? Can you imagine how it would feel were I to fuck you? Teach you new curses? Give you even more gifts to play with? Would it make you happy if I were to chain you to my bed at night so you could maintain the illusion that you did not want to be there? «
Potter dropped to his knees and palmed his erection, but Voldemort did not give him the opportunity to play by himself. He came up behind the boy on silent feet and banished the clothes off him, pinned him down, and guided his cock into the boy's arse.
He was nice enough to use lubrication. He might be a Dark Lord, but he was not going to torture Potter to gain compliance. He wanted him to give himself over.
"Is this what you want, precious?" he asked sibilantly.
Potter just groaned at the intrusion and made a weak attempt to struggle away from him.
He chuckled softly and started thrusting into the boy, reaching round to start stroking Potter's cock while his other hand held the boy in place. "This will make for another wonderful memory I can use to hold over your head."
Potter responded by coming, far quicker than usual, which told him so much.
He laughed and kept right on fucking the boy. "If you don't want your exploits on the front page, you will accept me as your master, precious. Say it."
"…Yes, Master," Potter gasped out.
He sped up because he could feel himself approaching that point, then came hard. Once he was himself again he pulled the boy up against his chest, cock still in him. "I shall have to think of a new gift for you, precious. Nothing in the way of a traditional mark, no. That would make it far too easy for people to figure things out. Perhaps I shall blood adopt you as my son, and keep right on fucking you."
Potter moaned and struggled feebly again, but Voldemort could see that the boy's cock was already rising to the occasion again.
"It's so deliciously wrong," he said as he reached down to start stroking the Potter's cock again. "I suppose since you would try to escape me doing so, I would have to bind you in place so that you cannot help but let it happen. And then, I would take my time fucking my new son, owning him. You, precious."
Potter came again, far too soon, but that was youth and being ridiculously turned on.
But, bonus, Voldemort was ready for round two, so he pushed the boy back down and fucked him a second time, pleased to leave a second measure of his seed inside that tight arse. Before he left he said, "If I catch you down here again, that is exactly what I shall do. Farewell for now, precious."
Ω
Harry panted from his place on the Chamber floor. That had been the most intense experience ever. He wanted it to happen again, repeatedly. To be that close to his nemesis, actually be fucked by him, threatened with exposure by him…
Once he managed to collect himself he cleaned up and got dressed, then thought about what had just happened. Voldemort had left, without trying to drag him along, and what he had said…? That was effectively an out, a chance to not go along with it.
His resurrection must have fixed something in his brain, because this behavior was far too sane as compared to previous encounters. He did not count the diary, because that version of Riddle was from prior to him ever having made a Horcrux.
He clearly needed to think things through and avoid the Chamber for the time being. Dobby could write messages for him in the interim. For the moment…
» I will devote due diligence to consideration. Certain decisions should never be done in haste. «
He quick-stepped to the tunnel he used to exit the Chamber, time turner in hand, and waited until he got near the exit to actually use the device, spinning back three hours.
He was still thinking things through when he was woken out of a sound sleep by a vision, and hastily tossed on some clothes so he could book it to the headmaster's office, pestering the guardian gargoyle until it let him up.
Shortly thereafter he had been sent off to pack his things, as he would be leaving the school early, and was back in the office, then sent through the floo to № 12 Grimmauld Place. He fully expected that Mr Weasley would be all right in the end.
And, like the last time, not much was different if he discounted the lack of people like Ronald, Ginevra, and Granger. He nearly heaved another sigh of relief over those three being gone. As it was, as it had been, Sirius was … not all there. Still too often mistaking him for James, still too often trying to encourage a love of pranking when what he really meant was for Harry to become a bully like the Marauders had been.
It was as if Sirius simply could not correlate between what Harry had shared of his own experiences with bullying, and what they had done as Hogwarts students. Remus was not much better. He wasn't so much a proponent of pushing the pranking angle, but he did treat Harry like an idiot child. To be fair, his Hogwarts career thus far had been suspect when it came to intelligent decisions.
But, well, after an early childhood of being a slave to a bunch of freaks (and they had the gall to call him the freak?), then a slave to the whims of the headmaster of the school he attended (and sometimes the people around him), was it any wonder his decisions tended to be skewed?
Was it any wonder he was looking for a better option as to who got to hold his leash?
Mrs Weasley was being her usual overbearing self. He was not surprised. Between two of her children going missing and her husband being attacked, her reflex to smother people was stoked high. She kept trying to stuff him with enough food to feed a half dozen people, seemingly forgetting he was not her child (thanks, but no thanks) and certainly had neither Ron's desire nor capacity to eat that much.
Dumbledore, when he even deigned to stop by, kept on with never looking at Harry, and actively avoiding him whenever possible. And Harry was supposed to just shrug that shit off? Pretend it wasn't hurtful? Respond with the desire to figure out how to gain the man's attention again? If he hadn't been sitting at the table for dinner he would have bitterly laughed long and loud.
All in all, Yule was quite the downer.
He did not miss getting the usual garbage gifts from his "friends". Because sure, of course he would be riveted by yet another dull book like Cauldrons, a History (which was far better suited for a stuck-up swot like Percival), a chocolate frog (of which the card would be snatched out of his hand before the frog got in one jump), or some sappy and delusional card hand-crafted by a sappy and delusional girl looking for a fantasy romance.
Still, he would do well to get a certain something out of the way. The Order thought he was an idiot, and did not always bother to censor what they said closely enough. When 3am rolled around he had Dobby pop him to the Ministry, down to level nine, where Mr Weasley had taken him for his laughable excuse for a trial.
Harry used his cloak to hide himself and Dobby, then infiltrated the Department of Mysteries. It seemed to take an age, but they finally made it to the Hall of Prophecy. He located the one with his name on it, snatched it up, then retreated back out. He heaved a massive sigh of relief once they were back at № 12, and asked Dobby to secure the room.
Dobby nodded once he was done, so Harry eyed the sphere and, with a grimace, activated it. Then he frowned heavily; he had been expecting something different. The sphere went into his mokeskin pouch.
'But,' he thought, 'if I look at this the right way, becoming Voldemort's son, becoming a new person, in essence—that should negate this stupid thing. Harry Potter would be dead. Right?'
He grabbed some parchment, quill, and ink, and wrote out a message containing the contents of the prophecy sphere, as well as well as:
» By my reckoning, this could be negated by your suggestion. Am I wrong in thinking that doing so would in essence "kill" me, in a way that leaves me alive, effectively reborn as a new person? «
"Dobby, I need you to transfer this message to the center chalkboard, all right?"
"Yes, Master Harry!"
He was back at the school a few days later, thankfully not having had to take the train. There was a reply waiting for him, that Dobby had copied onto some parchment so he could read it without risking himself.
» Really? How interesting. I find your interpretation to be a valid one, should that come to pass. Are you still pondering the idea, precious? I will give you all the time you need to come to a decision. Perhaps you will even try to sneak into this Chamber, to see if I notice. Would that thrill you? The risk of being caught by me, then bound and forced to go through the adoption ritual, only to be fucked by your new father directly afterward? It would be worth it to shatter this prophecy, would it not? «
Harry bit his lip even as he burned the message to ash. Did the man's messages have to be so damn hot? He scowled, but could not help the small smile that crept in at the thought of Voldemort fucking him again, father or not. What would his name be even, under those circumstances? And how would it affect his ability to receive post (what little he ever saw)?
He sent Dobby off to leave those questions on the board.
» That is easily handled, precious. I can ensure you would get post under both names, at least for so long I desired it to remain in effect. As for a new name, should I be so lucky as to catch you in the Chamber, I was thinking Cynfael Faustus Riddle. «
'That's … not a terrible name,' he thought. 'And it doesn't share much, either, unlike there being three Sirius Blacks or Thomas, Tom, and Tom Riddle.'
That prompted another message for Dobby to transfer.
» You should probably be aware that I was placed under a complex glamour after the events of that night. After a time I started to cringe whenever someone told me I looked just like James but with my mother's eyes, so I did some checking when I was able to slip in to see the goblins. If you actually wanted to see the results a blood adoption of me would have, it is something to keep in mind. They called it the … «
Ω
While feeling just a bit impatient at how long it was taking to claim the boy as his own, by several meanings, he was pleased that Potter was not just rushing into things like an idiot, and he did continue to be amused and thrilled by the dance. Potter was bringing up valid points prior to when he would inevitably let himself be accidentally-on-purpose caught.
He knew of that particular glamour, and it would need to be removed prior to the blood adoption ritual. Reconstructing it, however… He shook his head. He had a much better idea of how to handle the situation. With that in mind he sent a house-elf in with a new message.
» I am familiar with that glamour and am already working on a solution which would allow you to bear both your current appearance, and the new one as produced by the adoption. It will take a little time to enchant, once I have decided on the anchor for it. «
As for what…? A piercing would do, preferably in a place where it would never normally be noticed, also preferably in a place where the boy himself would be unlikely to try to remove it. He could transfer the existing glamour into the anchor, to save himself time and effort. The very fact that Potter was still reading and sending messages said it was just a matter of time before the boy got impatient to torture someone again and ended up in the Chamber, which meant he would need to work quickly, and be on the alert.
He was ready in time. That evening he noticed Potter slipping into the Chamber again, which he expected given that the portrait had made a reappearance, brought in via house-elf. Clever boy must be using his elf on occasion to capture people for his master, so as to keep suspicion elsewhere. And with Voldemort's chain beasts still hunting down fools, it made all the sense in the world for people to assume it was anyone other than Potter responsible for yet another disappearance.
He slipped away from his base and entered the Chamber himself, then settled in to watch, noticing as he made himself comfortable that there was a prophecy sphere off to the side.
His soon-to-be son looked terribly pleased to set about torturing again—he was using some of the curses from the book Voldemort had left—despite the scowls and sneers he sported. Voldemort could only imagine that this clearly Gryffindor student had done something to piss Potter off, and had then made the mistake of placing himself in a vulnerable position. Hogsmeade, he supposed.
The victim tried to play tough, but that was laughable in the face of all the screams of agony. Potter finished up with a distinct air of satisfaction, then banished his clothes off and knelt down for the usual.
Voldemort did not give him that chance, and knocked him out from behind.
He set the boy's wand off to the side where it would be safe, then set about transferring the existing glamour to the piercing he had prepared and brought along. Potter's real appearance sported dark red hair and the same green eyes, so those were from his mother. His hair was also less wild. His facial features were still mostly his father's, but there was more of a mix, so he was in no way a clone, not naturally. Still good looking and eminently fuckable, but not a clone.
He set the piercing back in his pocket for the time being. He would insert it right then, but it could interfere with the ritual, so it would have to wait.
That done he positioned the boy on his hands and knees and bound him with unbreakable chains, then pulled an inflatable dildo out of his pocket and inserted it into the boy's arse, then gave the bulb a good few squeezes to enlarge it to at least the size of his own cock.
Only then did he wake Potter up.
To his credit, the boy realized almost immediately what was going on, and his cock began to rise.
"Hello, precious," he said. "It is time. Of course, if you want to back out you'll not only have to free yourself and manage to flee, but find a place to hide from the world when I let it be known what you've been up to down here."
The boy's cock twitched, which made him laugh softly. "I trust you feel nice and full. That's so you're more than ready for when I fuck you. And now, I make you mine." He pulled the necessary potion out of his pocket and opened it, then pulled Potter's head back so he could tip the contents into the boy's mouth. The vial was re-capped and put away, and then he started the ritual.
That took only a few minutes; the integration did not. That took an hour, and Potter was in pain the entire time. Surprisingly quiet, though. Just to be an arsehole he squeezed the bulb every so often, just to give Potter something else to think about, but otherwise he read a copy of one of the books he had recently tracked down.
Near an hour had gone by when he looked sharply to the side; the prophecy sphere had shattered. How delightful. The boy's theory had proven sound.
Once it was clear the integration was complete he put the book away and moved around so he could see the changes. Potter's hair had lightened to a copper red and his eyes had gone a hazel-green, which was a nice combination. His features had shifted, as well, mostly replacing James Potter's influence with his own. He would have questioned the hair colour, but since the boy started out as a redhead, and Voldemort's own mother probably had reddish-brown hair (if his other Gaunt relatives meant anything), it wasn't too far outside reason.
But, magic. Who knew, right?
All in all, he had a very attractive newly-made son, and he was even better looking than before. Most certainly a success, in his opinion. It also appeared, given the way the boy's eyes were sharply focused on him, that his eyesight might have been corrected.
"Time for the piercing, then," he murmured, and moved around to the back again. He gave another squeeze to the bulb just to hear his son moan, then pulled the piercing back out of his pocket. "This will hurt a little."
He was not so kind as to numb the boy's perineum before using a transfigured, curved needle to pierce through the skin, nor when he pushed the ring through, and then sealed the metal together. He did a second piercing, a little "below" the first, another ring that functioned as a permanent portkey to his office.
Both wounds were disinfected and healed up, so there would be no complications. The final thing he did was activate the glamour ring. It would be some time before his new son would know what he truly looked like now.
"I suppose I should mention that I am the only one who can turn the glamour on and off, precious," he said before he deflated the dildo and removed it. A second later he was guiding his cock into place and fucking his new son.
"I am definitely keeping this memory, precious. Just in case I need it later," he threateningly teased.
Potter—though it was now Riddle—moaned and started pleading for him to bring him to completion. He ignored that until he was just about ready to come.
"Are you mine?"
"Ye-ah. Yes."
"Have you accepted me as your master? That I own you?"
"Yes, Master."
"We'll see just how obedient you are in the end, precious, or how often I'll need to threaten you," he said, then let himself come. Only then did he reach around and under to stroke the boy to orgasm. "I see you enjoyed that quite a bit."
Potter breathed heavily for some time before saying, "Thank you, Master."
"Now, now, you need not say that all the time," he said magnanimously. "Unless you want to, of course. You are my beloved son now, after all."
Potter huffed, possibly in amusement. "How have you been capturing so many?"
He chuckled, then pulled out, cleaned himself, and tucked his cock away. The dildo was cleaned with a quick spell, then shoved right back in and inflated quite a bit. Then he moved to sit in front of his son, leaving him bound for the time being. He found it amusing.
"A delightful little device I created. They are rather like mechanical beasts, just a skeleton of one. They are set to search out Light-affinity wixen and capture them, like an exoskeleton that slides in under their clothes and takes control of their motor functions, guides them to a collection point. I was quite puzzled as to why they did not capture you, which led me to investigate. And then I found you, down here, doing such delightful things."
"How does no one notice?" Harry asked. "I should think people would call out for help."
Voldemort chuckled. "They can try. The chain beasts wrap around their necks, as well, like a collar, and prevents them from using their vocal chords due to the enchantments. They walk to their doom fully aware of their helplessness."
Harry started laughing. "That's brilliant."
"So, my son, what has caused you go do Dark?"
"I'll tell you, but I don't know that you'll believe it. Not without evidence, anyway."
"I'm listening."
"Time travel. Sort of. Except I didn't wake up until this summer, the morning after the first night back. I've lived everything before, up through May of the year I would have turned eighteen. I knew Umbridge was going to send dementors after me, and later would be here at the school when she and Fudge failed to get me expelled. I was left alone that summer, ostensibly so I could 'mourn' Diggory's death, and with how incompetent some of the Order's watchers are I was able to slip off to Gringotts to check on a few things, verify a few things.
"Things here aren't any different from what I learned previously. I walked into the forest outside the school and let you hit me with the killing curse, all because I'd learned I was an accidental Horcrux of yours, and that I would need to die for you to be vulnerable." He paused.
Voldemort could feel his expression go through some interesting contortions as he cycled through fury, disbelief, confusion, and more fury. Eventually his regained his equilibrium and said, "And what things weren't any different?"
"The betrayals. Dumbledore is quite the Machiavellian figure if one assumes he's not actually stupid. I mean, he was besties with Grindelwald back in the day, plotting world domination and all. I think he only dueled and defeated the man when he did because it probably would have been harder to hide what was going on without the cover of World War II.
"He told me once that that he knew he would be leaving me to ten dark and difficult years with my filthy muggle relatives, but I have to wonder what he meant by that. Dark and difficult because he's an idiot who believes I would miss growing up in a magical home? Or dark and difficult because he knew what they would beat and use me like a slave?"
"And they are still alive…?"
"Because the second they die a tragic death, I'd probably be either imprisoned during holidays at headquarters, or forced to live with the Weasley family. Ronald and Ginevra are missing now—thanks for that, by the way—but I'd still have to deal with Mrs Weasley. You would think Dumbles would have the sense he was born with to realize that you used my blood during that ritual in the graveyard, which could easily mean the alleged blood wards on the property would recognize you as me rather than keeping you out."
"Other reasons?"
Potter shrugged as best he could while still bound. "As I said, betrayals. Dumbledore's been paying the muggles out of my vaults for my alleged care, while I've been beaten, worked half to death, and starved on the regular. Ronald, Ginevra, and Granger were given incentives to spy on me and report my every movement to the old goat. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the money taken out for my relatives was actually going to those three.
"It's also hilariously funny that the one thing that might have saved my mother's life, the family invisibility cloak, was in Dumbledore's hands when all that shit went down. The point is, over the years—I don't know how well you've been able to keep up on school news while you were indisposed for my second and third year—Dumbledore has been pushing me into confrontations, been just a tad biased and patently unfair about any number of things, especially if it paints Slytherins in a bad light, and an all around arsehole.
"I mean, come on. That prophecy thing, he knew what was coming down the road, still used the Fidelius, and yet couldn't be arsed to check his own minions for spies? Seriously? And this Yule break I had to deal with Mrs Weasley again, the cow."
"Cow?"
"She's such a bitch. They've been holed up in a Black property—sorry, Fidelius, so I can't say much—and she acts like she owns the place and not my godfather. And speaking of him, he keeps calling me James and trying to tell all about how fun it is to prank people when what he really means is bully and torment, with bonus points if you get a Slytherin. He's never grown up, though I imagine Azkaban wasn't a nice place that allowed for such things.
"And half the Order seems to look up to Dumbledore and think he's Merlin fuckin' reborn, which is ludicrous. Thankfully I have two house-elves. One is checking everything I eat or drink in the event that someone tries to sneak me something. I had at least two girls try to love potion me last time around, and I want none of that nonsense. The other one is running errands and doing wonderful things like skewing the results on those trinkets the old goat keeps in his office that are linked to me, or were.
"There's a reason I was such a bone-headed, go go Gryffindor idiot last time around. As for other evidence, I have two of your Horcruxes stored down here, three if we count me, the locket and the diadem. You might want to take those with you and—I dunno, can you do the Fidelius? Or they could stay here. I mean, the Room is good and all, but putting it in the Room of Lost Things was…"
Potter paused again, glancing at his new parent as if hoping he wasn't offended by the implications he was throwing around.
Voldemort was willing to admit that insanity made for poor decision-making skills. "Not my best work."
Potter exhaled in relief. "I'm not going anywhere near the ring. I'm in no hurry to die again, nor am I in any hurry to break into Gringotts and bust out with the cup on the back of a stolen dragon again. Bellatrix might be cuckoo for cocoa puffs, but we damn near died in that vault due to the protections in there."
"So the reason you are a parselmouth is due to the Horcrux."
"…I think so, Master? The old goat implied as much, but I don't know how much of anything he says can be taken seriously. And I didn't exactly live through through round two of the killing curse, so I have no idea. Sounds mental to me that a teensy bit of your soul stuck in my head means I'm suddenly a parselmouth, but it's possible, I guess. That reminds me. Snape."
That made him feel irritated. "What about him?"
"Aside from him being a disgusting bully who can't let go of the past and instead takes out his bitterness on innocent children? It's about his loyalties. Everyone assumes he's such a dirtbag because he's secretly on your side. But I know based on memories I was shown that he made a vow to the old goat to protect Lily's son. So, really, he has a very loose definition of protect, because if I'd not already been accustomed to being treated like dirt, he might have made a real impression. Just sayin'.
"The thing is, you apparently were very angry with Lucius. Oh, right, the diary. Yeah, that got destroyed. But in my defense, your diary self was trying to kill me via basilisk, and I almost did die, but managed to come out of that one still breathing. The upshot is I stabbed the diary with a basilisk fang. Hopefully however much soul was in that thing went off to some other Horcrux, because I find the idea that a mere mortal can destroy a soul downright silly.
"So you were angry with Lucius over that, and set Draco the task of offing Dumbledore. That didn't go so well, because Draco is a coward and not nearly as clever as he thinks he is. That and he was terrified for the lives of his parents. He failed repeatedly. But for whatever reason, when the time came—at the end of the school year, of course—he only managed to disarm the headmaster, who was already dying because he went to get the ring that summer and foolishly put the thing on.
"Snape stepped up and killed the man, then the two of them fucked off outside the wards. That act apparently made you believe that Snape was completely loyal, even though he wasn't. You also set Draco the task of finding a way to get your Death Eaters into the school by less than obvious means. He purchased a vanishing cabinet at Borgin & Burkes, then spent a good part of the year fixing the one already here at the school. So they all came in via the Room of Requirement and caused loads of chaos.
"And the year after that was the camping trip from hell, because by then you'd managed to take over the Ministry and I was Undesirable Number One, and Umbridge had somehow survived and was putting muggle-borns and sympathizers into camps not unlike the Nazis did to Jews and such—or outright setting a dementor on them—and then you stormed the castle and demanded I come to you in the forest to die if I wanted my friends to live. And I did, because as Snape lay dying he 'gifted' me with a bunch of his memories, which showed me that Dumbledore had always intended for me to die, and ended up back at the start of this summer.
"I woke up pissed off, but not at you. I think the only lies you ever told me were when you said you could give me my parents again—and you've half come through on that this time—and when you sent me those visions about the Department of Mysteries and finally got me there by making me believe you had my godfather there and were torturing him. Too many others, though… So fuck it, right? I don't know the whole story, and I really wanted to just hurt something, or someone, so that's what I started doing. And you caught me at it."
"Because, as I said, I was curious as to why my constructs were not able to capture you. No matter. This is a better outcome." He took a moment to squeeze the bulb again, that time with magic, as if to make a point.
Harry moaned softly.
"Wouldn't it be interesting, precious? If I had one of those infernal muggle cameras I could record the two of us right now, and then as I take you again, and as you plead with me for release."
Harry's cock predictably hardened again.
"What made you think of that potion, my son?"
"I know not all muggles are filth, but far too many of them are, or are so cruel to the planet. Air quality is horrible, they poison the rivers and oceans, and they've caused the extinction of too many species. Causing a war to break out amongst them is a bad idea, because it might hurt us. Diseases can mutate and might likewise affect us. But if we can slip entire groups of them the potion…
"And if we can drive them out of the countryside by pushing magical interference, maybe we can dose an entire city in one go. Spike their water purification plants on the flip side? Plants that bottle water? I dunno. I do worry that their scientists could start to figure out the form of energy we're using, but… Then again, put world leaders under the Imperius Curse? Obliviate their scientists and destroy their computers? I wonder if a burst of magic could mimic an electromagnetic pulse?"
Voldemort just listened and stored information as his new son rambled about various ideas regarding the extinction of muggles and occasionally gave a squeeze to the pump, which invariably made Harry break off to moan before continuing with what he was saying.
His new son had not gone into detail about the betrayals, but clearly the combination of his time with those filthy muggle relatives plus his experiences in the wizarding world had left him with a deep loathing for a number of things or persons, and a strong willingness to join the very man who murdered his parents, torture and kill people, and get fucked by his own newly-made father.
It was a win-win situation as far as Voldemort was concerned. Needless to say, he was fairly certain his new son was just a bit insane, not to mention sexually deviant. Then again, that seemed to run in the Gaunt family, marching alongside a strong tendency toward incest, so Cynfael would fit right in. It was family tradition, after all.
He actually considered not breaking his followers out of Azkaban, if only because doing so would mean having to dodge Bella's advances, and also because he wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Bella decided to pretend Cynfael was her son and make him even crazier than he was.
Perhaps there could be a slight accident if he went? Bella tragically died, but the Lestrange brothers survived? He would have to think about it. When Harry finally wound down he got up, trailed a hand along his new son's back as he changed positions, then deflated and removed the inflatable so he could fuck his son all over again.
The boy made such delightful noises, especially when he made threats. Cynfael fit right the hell into the Gaunt family. Best decision ever to adopt the boy, though he would be very careful to not follow in the footsteps of his maternal uncle or grandfather when it came to being physically violent, or even verbally derogatory. They both had a lovely orgasm, and only then, after he had tucked his cock away, did he finally release Potter from his bindings and allow him to get dressed.
"Before I go," he said, "I brought a new book for you. Read, learn, and don't be surprised if I send along some gifts for you to practice on, precious." He slipped the book he had been reading earlier out of his pocket and handed it over, then said, "And one other thing. The second piercing is a portkey to my office. You will either have to shove a hand down your trousers to activate it, or be naked."
He smirked when Potter went pink. "The key phrase is 'fuck me, master'. I'll let you know what the return phrase is after the first time you use it." He pulled his new son to him so he could ravage his mouth. A moment later he was gone.
Ω
Harry sighed. With happiness. The book, after a glance, promised to have some lovely stuff in it, but he would have to make an appearance soon, so he did not have time to read it. He placed it on the ledge under the left-most chalkboard as a reminder, and eyed Seamus' corpse with a frown. Stupid bastard.
He levitated it off to the side, where he usually dealt with corpses, and burned it to ash. He was a little stiff from being bound for so long, and he really wished he had gotten the chance to see how his looks had changed, but oh well.
He headed off to the tunnel he only ever used when he intended to employ his time turner and went a fair ways down it, then spun back three hours. He conjured up a mirror just to make sure there was nothing odd about his appearance, then emerged into the school proper. It was a damn shame it was only safe to go back a maximum of five hours.
Dinner was just a bit odd, mostly because he had forgotten to do anything about Voldemort's come in his arse. His robes would prevent anyone from noticing that his trousers were becoming wet at the back, but it still felt uncomfortable and made him wonder if anyone could smell that he had recently had sex.
Hopefully he remembered enough runes to set something up in the Chamber, or if necessary, hit the library (again) to refresh his memory. All he really needed was a "drain" (that would vanish whatever went through it) and a "shower head" (with a neverending stream of water on demand of the right temperature) so he could clean up before he left the Chamber.
It didn't even have to be hidden from whatever Voldemort was using to monitor things. Why hide that from the man who had already fucked him multiple times and gotten him to call him Master?
Being threatened with exposure like that turned him on so hard, but he would never directly admit it, because that would ruin things. He wanted that feeling, that sense of danger, even if he didn't believe the man would ever do it, not when he had Harry where he wanted him, on his side, at his mercy, an accidental Horcrux who would be protected.
He really liked that toy, though. He hadn't noticed if Voldemort had left it behind or taken it with him. If he had left it? Harry planned to have fun with that thing. Maybe even during the day, while in classes.
Ω
Voldemort had the impression, based on what his new son had rambled on about, that Cynfael was in large part sick of fighting for people who would so easily use a child that way (for he was still legally a minor, despite the time traveling) and probably toss him aside to die in a ditch somewhere had he survived the destruction of the Horcrux, or into Azkaban for being an up-and-coming Dark Lord for having been a Horcrux.
Those closest to him were dead, or would soon be. He still had the two Weasley children. In his rambling, Harry had spoken of the other members of that family. Percival was iffy, it seemed. Initially neutral to Harry, then increasingly disparaging, and graduating to a Ministry toady and boot-licker. He should capture that one.
The twins were misogynistic, but brightly clever and inventive. As his chain beasts had yet to snag either of them, they were probably not Light-affinity. Harry had been mostly approving of the two. The two older boys were not as well known to his new son, and both lived out of the country, only having come back in any capacity due to the war Harry had described. They could be ignored for the time being.
The father sounded like the definition of a hen-pecked husband, with some backbone (or else he would never have stayed in his position at the Ministry, nor continued his collection of muggle things), but not sounding very bright or particularly worthwhile aside from being capable of fathering so many pure-blood children.
The wife, however… Harry was wroth with that one. Some might take his words to be the hyperbolic emotional reactions of a hormonal teenager and thus to be brushed aside. But there had been stories aplenty about that woman, stories even he had heard, or overheard. For all that she was a blood traitor, she was still remarkably purist in her views, and thought she should have control to dictate the lives of her children well past their childhood.
And she wondered why so many of them rebelled against her?
He would have to see if she could be captured, too. His new son might be interested in ending her life. In fact, there were a number of people he should capture, and then keep them safe so that he could offer Cynfael his pick of any or all of them.
Voldemort nodded. That was a better option than just dumping one in the Chamber, someone he might not yet be emotionally equipped to torture and kill. Or he might be. Offering him a selection of victims would be more polite overall, more considerate, even.
Ω
When Harry next visited the Chamber (Dobby had informed him there was another gift for him) he found a gift-wrapped witch he was not familiar with (but could feel was Light-affinity), and a note from his father.
» I have decided to collect certain specimens, precious, ones you may wish to personally play with. I will keep them safe until you have the opportunity to look through what I've captured and decide which, if any, you wish to have. I have people working on several things related to what you have said, and I expect they will see results. All must be planned with devotion to detail before anything is enacted. «
Harry was impressed. Voldemort actually sounded sane. He had earlier, of course, but this? He had no idea what the hell had happened to effect such a return to sanity. It could not possibly be simply that Voldemort had found his workspace, spied on him, and suddenly stopped being insane just because Harry was Dark and held no qualms about torturing and killing people for eduction, amusement, and release purposes.
So, okay, he was a tiny bit addicted to the feeling, but his status as Master of Death afforded him one hell of a buffer against drowning in it. Dark magic felt blissful. It curled his toes, made his insides go liquid, and made him want to find the nearest cock to impale himself on. But he was only a tiny bit addicted.
And he was definitely sane. Really. He was.
— fin —
