Disclaimer: Characters are property of J.K. Rowling. Story by me. Harassment by the FBI.
Author's Note: I realise that the core idea of this story is not the most original, but this is meant to explore a dark side of Harry hitherto never explored much cannon wise. It's a kind of 'what if?' since I believe J.K.R said Harry would never be tempted to the dark side. I wanted to produce a very interesting and different piece and I hope that you will find it so.
Summery: The war has ended, evil has triumphed and it is not only Voldemort who is reaping the rewards.
Rating: R – Yes, HP/DM slash and implied HP/Voldemort. Implied because it squicks me, although that is actually the intention. If you have any objections whatsoever then leave and don't just leave a flame telling me I'm sick and evil because I will merely look at it, laugh, save it to my computer so I can laugh it again and again and again.
The entire country was in the grip of one of the coldest, harshest winters in living memory. For the first time ever the wizarding world and the Muggle world was united over a common enemy that were both equally familiar with. Snow and icy winds battered dwellings indiscriminately. Although the most essential of things needed for basic survival were thankfully in not too short supply, communication in both worlds was extremely hard due to the awful weather conditions that showed no signs of abating.
However, there was a difference in what the two communities saw as the cause of this sudden transformation in the weather – which had in fact been getting steadily warmer through the years. The Muggles thought it was something they called 'Global Warming' which often caused extreme weather, or so they claimed. The wizarding community had a darker theory – they believed it was all being caused by the detestable figure that had effectively enslaved them all – Lord Voldemort.
For the war that had dragged on for so many years had finally reached it's conclusion that very summer, when Voldemort had finally struck down the opposing fighters of a group no one had heard about before then called the Order of the Phoenix, led by Albus Dumbledore. Voldemort had known their every weakness and utilised it to full advantage and when the battle was won, declared himself ruler before the still cooling corpses around him, Death Eaters cheering in victory.
So many died – Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black (cleared of his crimes the previous year, mostly thanks to his Godson ironically), Minerva McGonagall, Mundungus Fletcher and countless others. All gone at the flick of enemy wands.
If that was not tragedy enough, there was one finally and most cruel twist to the story as told by the very few survivors afterward. No, indeed it was not.
For laughing and capering at the side of the Dark Lord was a figure that couldn't be made out in the sudden, descending dark, until a bolt of lightening flared from the approaching tempest and lit the world for just a second. It was enough; there was absolutely no mistaking him at all, as one of the witnesses was the figure's closest friend Ronald Weasley.
It was the Boy Who Lived, the young man whom everyone has assumed was destined to save them all from the evil of Voldemort and had instead stood at his right hand and betrayed them all. Those poor, blind, countless many who had trusted the boy implicitly.
Harry Potter had helped orchestrate the ruin of the wizarding world as wrought by the Dark Lord's inhuman hands.
Despite it's use as the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix (although that status had always been unofficial), Hogwart's castle had emerged from the war relatively unscathed. But it had changed greatly in regard to its interior design now that the Dark Lord Voldemort himself resided there.
Sat at the window of his old dormitory room, looking out over the glistening, snow covered grounds, Harry Potter remembered. He remembered moments of happiness having occurred here, that he had at one time been friends with the boys who had slept here too. His face twisted into a very ugly scowl. Such memory were useless shards of a shattered past that Harry did not care to think about too much, but lately it seemed to have occurred with a frequency he didn't like. It was almost like watching a cartoon over and over; cold and artificial images that simply refused to go away.
"Why are you here?" A soft hissing voice asked him out of the darkness, causing Harry to jump. Standing behind him, dressed in ebony robes was Lord Voldemort, lidless orbs of crimson standing out against the dark and staring intently at the young man who had betrayed everything he had once believed in, as much to Voldemort's surprise as any.
"I um..." Harry leapt down from the stone windowsill and bowed respectively to his master. "I like to come up here sometimes." It sounded very corny and silly, but one important rule when asked a question by Voldemort, no matter what it would pertain to, was Do NOT Lie.
Voldemort gave a low laugh, as hard and cold as the wizard was himself.
"How charming," He hissed, voice dripping sarcasm. Harry felt a stab of fear. He wanted to back away but the bravery he had once been ever so famous for (ha ha!) made him stand his ground.
"I would advise, Harry. That you curb such impulses. To remember the past is to honour it and I hardly think one like yours, before you joined me at least, is worth such honour. Don't you agree?" It wasn't really a question. Harry nodded. Voldemort suddenly strode forward until they were barely inches apart and whispered in Harry's ear, "Good boy." Harry's face broke into a genuine smile and he murmured a thanks.
The Dark Lord turned and left as silently as he had come. The young, black haired man, now 21, stared after him. Voldemort practically regarded him, as a prince in his court, if you could call it that and despite his occasional wandering into the memories of the past Harry Potter regretted absolutely nothing.
Draco Malfoy breezed through the corridors of what had once been his school and now was his home with his trademark Malfoy arrogance.
Where on earth is he?
Draco hoped he hadn't gone back to that damned tower (once Gryffindor Tower) again. Draco could never fathom why Potter insisted going up there at all – for one thing Voldemort did not like it, saw it was a show of weakness which was discouraging when displayed by his right hand wizard. For another thing Harry never liked Draco to accompany him, as if because he had been a Slytherin it was some kind of intrusion into sacred Gryffindor territory. Draco had once tried to point out to Harry that the whole castle was now under the control of the very last descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself. The dangerous look Harry had given him had effectively stamped that subject as off limits and Draco had never dared to mention it again.
He reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower when he was startled by a figure coming out of it where once a portrait had hung in front of the entrance. It occurred to Draco for the first time that he didn't know what had happened to the Fat Lady; most likely she had been burned along with most of the other portraits. A few had remained (the less uppity ones), as had the House Elves.
The rest of the castle was virtually unrecognisable to what it had once been.
"Draco," Voldemort intoned silkily. Draco hastily bowed and replied, "My Lord."
"Searching for the elusive Harry again?" Enquired the Dark Lord, tone suddenly hardening.
"Yes," He suddenly laughed uneasily. "Isn't it funny, this is the place he is most likely to be and it is always the last place I look."
"Indeed," Voldemort replied, not seeming at all amused. "I would be very grateful if you could perhaps help to curtail this habit of his." Draco nodded and slipped through the entrance when Voldemort, seemingly as an afterthought, called out to him through the deep darkness.
"I would keep that word if I were you. After all, he's the reason I ever let you live!" He laughed then, a high, cold true laugh that was entirely to familiar to Draco. He shuddered and continued on his way.
He hated to be reminded of that fact, which was of course why Lord Voldemort loved to bring it up as often as possible. Draco himself could not understand why had not allowed the turncoat Malfoy to be tortured and killed. Why oh why had he chosen to have his rival and occasional sex partner to be spared death?
Draco had indeed asked this of Harry many times, especially after the death of his father Lucius at the hands of Aurors. Draco might have betrayed the family name by fighting, however ineptly considering his cowardly nature, for Dumbledore but Lucius has still been his father and it had hurt the steely eyed and similarly hearted Malfoy more than he would ever care to admit.
He finally reached the dormitory door and pushed it open to find Harry now lying on his back on the only bed that had been left in the room – the one that Harry had slept in back in his school days.
"Harry?" Draco whispered tentatively, gently closing the door with a soft click. Harry looked up with a lopsided smile.
"Looking for me Malfoy? How touching."
Their old banter had never died, although now it had evolved from insulting into flirtatious and teasing. Harry beckoned Draco to come over and he happily obliged and embraced him with a fierce kiss. They both gave low, animal moans as their tongues danced, simulating the act of love the two would soon be engaged in.
No doubts, no regrets. Who cared about all the blood spilt before and still being spilt now? There was nothing in that moment but the two of them and that suited them just fine.
As Harry undressed and watched his lover do the same he thought about why he had chosen to betray everyone, the reasons, the motivation. In fact that was exactly what he had been thinking over when Draco had come in.
Their lips clashed again, hands explored familiar skin, and they knew the most intimate parts of each other but never grew tired of revisiting them.
It had in fact been the expectations, the reverence and the high pedestal that came with it and on which Harry had been unwillingly placed upon that had blackened the heart of the Boy Who Lived and changed him into the man he is now – who thought of the once joyful past with distaste and sat quite happily at the right hand of the very wizard who had murdered his parents and attempted to murder him too.
All those blind worshippers, pathetic little children like the Creeveys, bumbling adults like Arthur Weasley and Hagrid. Harry grimaced as Draco entered him and the two began to make love. All those people who held him in high regard but when it came to any kind of battle with evil these worshipper were nowhere to be seen and Harry was left alone, loneliness was a feeling he was far to intimate with.
Somehow his adoring supporters had assumed a hero needed no aid, which in any case they were too afraid to give. Utter; make believe crap for the truth was that Harry often desperately craved some kind of help or support, whether emotional or physical.
Still his heart might never have become to frozen, been so encased in black ice, had his two best friends provided that support as they had always done in the past. However they had chosen instead to discover their love for one another and suddenly completely forgot the existence of their other best friend.
That had left Harry truly alone and the gathering frost became a sheet of thin ice that grew thicker when he returned to the 'care' of his loathsome relatives and his usual round of abuse from them.
Although by then, in a way, he had welcomed it, at least it allowed him to feel something.
"Harder," He growled to Draco who obliged increased the pace of his thrusts. It would hurt a lot, but that was exactly what Harry wanted – pain. He wanted to feel, to the point where he had gained a masochistic fondness for pain, particularly of the sexual variety.
Finally Draco climaxed. Harry wasn't too far behind.
When Harry had finally allowed himself to be captured (and tortured – blessed pain again) by Death Eaters, Voldemort had understandably believed it to be a trick whipped up by 'that crooked nose fool' Albus Dumbledore. It had taken a lot to convince the Dark Lord that Harry had made this choice willingly. When he was finally convinced of it after Harry had identified Severus Snape as a spy, something the Professor confessed to himself under Veritaserum and was thusly executed he had decreed that Harry be a spy, as his disappearance would spark to large a search and too much publicity which may eventually lead to his whereabouts being stumbled across.
So Harry had owled the Weasley family and asked to stay with them for the remainder of the summer and after that stay was over had gone back for his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as if nothing were amiss.
His heart was now almost has hard and unyielding as that of the one he served. Harry smirked as he drifted off to sleep, the gentle snoring from his lover telling him Draco was already asleep.
No regrets...not ever.
~*~*~*~*~
WIP.