Title: In the Absence of Memory
Author: Yih
Disclaimer: All characters & original universe belong to J.K. Rowling.
Spoiler Warning: There are spoilers of OotP in this fanfic. They are embedded into the fanfic. I won't tell you which are spoilers and which aren't, but readers that haven't read OotP should be aware that they are in the fanfic.
Thanks to my fan-BLOODY-tastic beta-reader, SERRA!
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I wake up
I don't know who I am
It's all lost
Those memories of me
Nothing's there
Not anymore, it's gone
Gone away
To a place, far away
I run hard
Attempting to get there
Where is there?
I don't know, I don't know
Wish I did
Wish I could remember
But I don't
The memories are gone
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5: Waking (July 14, 2003 to July 20, 2003)
The potions had definitely done their job, and they had done it well. Even Voldemort was hard pressed to find a single thing wrong with the potion with his keenly sharp crimson eyes. The only thing he could fault was how long it'd taken. It'd been an entire week of waiting for Harry to wake from the forced sleep that was the side affect of the revival potion, since that was what it'd take for Harry to actually look relatively healthy. If Voldemort had done things entirely Severus' way, Harry would have been in the slumber state at least another week.
But Voldemort wasn't going to continue to do things Severus' way when it was clear that Harry was more than healthy enough to decrease his intake enough that he wouldn't be sleeping 24 hours a day. He was highly anticipating Harry's reaction to him, since from what he'd gathered during their brief exchange when Harry had first awoken after the bonding, there had been absolute trust and adoration in those brilliant emerald eyes. And that was strangely enticing to him in a way having Death Eaters bowing down to him wasn't. He supposed it was Harry's innocence that drew greater appeal.
Corrupting something that naive was pure deviousness at its best. It was something he took great satisfaction in. Especially since somehow despite Harry's awful childhood experiences, he had managed to maintained a horribly pure aura. There was something about this boy that was special; he certainly was powerful. Just thinking about the power rush he'd gotten when he'd drained the boy was enough to make him shudder with intense burning desire. Too bad it wouldn't be wise to even think about sucking energy from the boy for weeks.
But there were other ways to slake his lust, he thought with chillingly calculating eyes that swept over Harry's slender yet nicely muscular form. It was quite reminiscent of his own body in its youth, though he certainly didn't mind the slightly bulkier built of his body that he had now. Undoubted it was a vast improvement over the dilapidated form of his miraculous resurrection. None as obvious as when he stared at Harry's delicious sleeping body and felt the fire flickering downward to his groin.
His pet was definitely attractive, quite pleasing to the eye. No wonder Lucius had felt it fit to inform him of a certain Potions Master had been making eyes at his Harry. He narrowed his eyes vindictively as he heard the door creaking open, Severus had arrived to give his bond-mate another dose of the revival potion, the last dose. Tomorrow morning Harry would finally wake up and embrace the world with the same light as a newborn baby.
Until the next morning came, he wasn't going to let Harry out of his sight, not when the traitorous bastard was with him tending to him with the most tenderness of care. The more Voldemort saw Severus with Harry, the more he was convinced that Lucius was spot on, that Severus did indeed care for the young man as more than a mere student. It simply was not like the Severus that he knew to be so gentle without undue reason. And a student wasn't reason enough.
"Timely as always," Voldemort stated with a distinct edge to his tone, "Severus."
"Yes, I am Master," Severus muttered his answer with straining reluctance, but the harsh lines that marred his severe face faded slightly when he saw the sleeping Harry. "I'm here to administer the last potion to Mr. Potter."
"Then administer it," he commanded harshly, his eyes never leaving Harry's sweetly innocent form. "The sooner that you do," he began with a sinister undertone, "the sooner that he will awake and that things will start up again."
Inside Severus shuddered at the deviously gorgeous picture that his former Master was making. No wonder the insanely brilliant Bellatrix was caught in the web; no wonder that the cunningly deceptive Lucius had no choice but to bow to this man. But his Harry didn't deserve this, no his gentle young lover didn't deserve this. Yet as much as he wanted to rid Harry of the certain misery he would be facing, he hadn't been able to.
Not with Avery and Lucius watching over him like hawks to make sure he was making a revival potion and nothing else. The ingredients they had gathered made it pointless to try anything else; they had specifically gathered what the book had required. There was no fooling Avery, and there was especially no fooling Lucius. So after today, this last day, Harry would again have to face Voldemort and the horrors that awaited him.
He just wish that Harry didn't have to; that this terrible nightmare would be over. But that was too much to hope for in a world that was looking quite bleak without further faith. From all that he had managed to attune his ears to, he had only pieced together part of the bigger picture. He knew that Voldemort had cast some sort of dark curse on Harry, that Voldemort had then used the aftereffects of such a curse to cast a Forbidden spell that had helped him regain his lost body.
The conclusion Severus had come to was that Voldemort must have bonded Harry to him, for that was the only possible way Voldemort could have tapped into Harry's power. But what curse had he used? And would that change the lovely young man he had grown to care so deeply for? That he had learned to love? He shuddered to even think that it would twist something so beautifully naive into something demented and evil. No, not his Harry.
~
Waking up without any knowledge of anything about himself that pertained to him at all was insanely frightening. Oh, he still knew about the world as the world, but not in any significance to himself. It was basically like he was a slate that'd been wiped entirely clean, except for a single piece of knowledge. That a wizard called Voldemort was very important to him. That was all.
What was scary was that he knew exactly what Voldemort looked like, every detail about him but he didn't have the faintest clue what he looked like. What color were his eyes? What did his face look like? What did he look like? He didn't know, yet he knew precisely how Voldemort looked like. Gaunt, skeleton-like form that was devastatingly wasted and deep crimson eyes that pierced into his soul.
It wasn't only the appearance that he knew so well; he also knew about the man himself. No one would ever use just a man when describing Voldemort, he was the Dark Lord--- or at the very least, possibly the most powerful wizard since Grindelwald. Probably even more powerful if something hadn't happened to delay him. But what exactly, he didn't know. It was like he had no recollection of any events that happened beyond the first fall. He surmised that must have been when he was born since he had no recollection of himself either.
With trembling hands and shaking nerves, he managed to crawl out from the bed and make his way to a mirror where he took in his physical appearance. He found that he wasn't as skeletal as Voldemort was, even if he was on the rather thin side. His hair was a unruly dark brown, and his eyes were brilliantly green. Any other details were a bit obscure since his eyesight was fairly poor. He must use glasses, he construed. But where were they?
It was certainly very curious that he didn't know anything about himself, yet he did know very much about the wizarding world--- a world that he shouldn't know if he wasn't magical. And he had to be magical, he concluded, he had to be a wizard. Since he knew that if he chanted out spells with a wand that something would happen, even if it wasn't always the result that he wanted.
All his memories, his very being of who he was had been erased entirely out of his mind like magic. It was undoubted magic, his logical mind concluded, but why? Who had done it? Was it Voldemort? No, he didn't want to think that Voldemort had done it. He didn't want to believe something so bad about the only person that he recognized in the world even if what he knew about the Dark Lord was hardly any good.
Quite frankly, it wasn't hard to believe the atrocities that Voldemort had committed prior to his first fall from grace. The very appearance of the man was like the reincarnation of death and evil itself, especially with the blood red eyes that drilled so deeply in. He shuddered to think to have that man against him, but he didn't think that the torture and cruelty Voldemort had shown to those that went against him was anything like what Voldemort felt for him. He was important to Voldemort, thus he wouldn't be touched.
That much kept his mind from panicking as it started pulling up all this history about Voldemort and his Death Eaters. The crimes against humanity they'd done was unspeakable. He felt like he should be sickened with disgust; he certainly didn't approve of it but he felt that Voldemort had to have a reason. Despite his rather ruthless treatment of his enemies, he felt that Voldemort had to have had a reason.
From all that he recalled of the powerful Dark Lord was that the wizard was first and foremost a cunningly intelligent man with a thirst for power and fulfillment. True, it had led him to being a tyrant, but perhaps he'd learn his lesson in his downfall. Then again, maybe not. All these thoughts were theories, really. This information in his head was there, but it was not his opinion he concluded just stuff that he knew from whoever or whatever had taken his memories away from him.
Then maybe Voldemort didn't have a reason for his unmerciful maliciousness. Maybe Voldemort was just simply dark and evil. Yet, he didn't want to believe that even if all the evidence of his knowledge pointed to the contrary. His only real memory was that of waking up briefly some time ago and hearing the man say that he belonged to him, that he was his. It was after that possessive declaration that Voldemort had kissed him, not tenderly yet not in a way seeking to hurt him. It was more about possession than anything else.
That and want.
He supposed it was a miracle that he still remembered magic even if it was somewhat connected to Voldemort. All his knowledge, which he kept mixing up with memories that were nonexistent seemed keyed to Voldemort. He certainly knew he could do magic, and he vaguely remembered how to do magic, yet he didn't consciously feel the magic there. Was magic really all tied up to the wand that he knew he had to hold? He didn't recall ever holding a wand, yet he just knew that was the key to wielding magic. It acted like a focal point for concentration, he imagined.
Sighing, he realized during these reflective thoughts he'd moved away from the mirror near his bed to the small window that was the only glimpse into the world outside of his room. Well, he assumed it was his room since he was staying in it. He guessed he still had the concepts of life even if he had no information on his own life. This was all very frustrating, he thought with dark humor, and highly annoying.
He tried looking out at the outside surroundings, but his eyesight was so poor that it did him no good. Another irritating thing, he thought to himself, that he would have to remedy as soon as possible. He sighed and leaned against the window sill, using it to support his body weight since his limbs still felt quite weak. He had to concentrate very hard so that he would not tremble too much.
"So you're awake," murmured a softly compelling voice of a person that obviously knew him since there was a familiarity in the tone. He turned around and was confronted with a heartbreaking magnetic dark hair man with eyes that were bearing down into his very soul. "Do you know who I am, Harry?"
So his name was Harry? He knew that this darkly beautiful man knew him, but he had no idea who this man was. "No," he responded softly, "I don't know."
The man chuckled, strangely pleasing to the eat though he suspected that the man didn't often make the pleasant sound. "It is curious you don't remember who I am, then again I do look quite different than I did before," the mysterious man commented. "Do you recognize the name, Voldemort?"
When he heard the name uttered, the only information that he knew he was connected to himself, he found himself approaching the alluring man. "Do you know where he is?" he asked in earnest. "Where Voldemort is?"
"He stands in front of you," murmured the sinfully gorgeous individual. "I am Voldemort."
He couldn't be, but there was something hauntingly familiar about the crimson blood eyes. They were exactly the same as the eyes that he remembered bearing down into his soul when he'd seen Voldemort for the first time he had awoken. However, everything else was different. This beautiful individual in front of him was simply too different to be Voldemort. Even the voice, the raspy voice from before had been replaced by a throaty sexiness. Entirely changed, but the eyes were still the unchanged.
"You. are not the same," he said--- Harry said, stating the obvious. "You are different."
Voldemort smiled barely, a slight humorous upturn of his lips. "This is my true self. Thanks to you, my pet--- my precious, I am again myself." Throughout the entire conversation, he had slowly moved closer to his bond- mate though never rushing his approach. It wouldn't do to scare the young man, not when he wanted Harry to trust him inexplicably. And with that trust, he'd mold Harry into the perfect pet, serving and adoring. What more could be asked? Precious little, he concluded as his eyes feasted on the raven boy's loveliness.
Too much to process in such a short time period, Harry thought--- he thought with overriding uneasiness. But he found that as much as he wanted to draw away from everything and hide himself away, he was also magnetically compelled to stay where he stood as Voldemort came closer to him. When the man--- his master, a voice whispered in his head--- reached to touch his cheek he actually felt himself lean into the gentle caress. It was like he needed the physical closeness, how alarming.
Interesting how his pet drew closer to his touch, Voldemort noticed with veiled pleasure. It pleased him greatly that the skin was even softer than he remembered, much like the finest silk. His crimson eyes met the emerald orbs and challenged his bond-mate to even dare to look away from the drowning force connecting them. Not that Harry could, even if he wanted to since he was holding his pet's gaze to him to let him understand that he controlled him. No matter what Harry might want to do, he could not ignore the power Voldemort had on him. That he wanted to make clear to his pet.
He could not lift his eyes away; he could not draw his gaze from the compelling wizard. It wasn't that he wanted to, but that he felt the undeniable compulsion to try. Yet he couldn't, no matter how hard he attempted to. His will was not his own for he felt the invisible thread that kept pulling his entire consciousness to the man standing in front of him. This man was his master, just like the little voice inside of him had said. Voldemort was his master.
It was dawning on Harry, Voldemort saw quite obviously from the expressive array of emotions that passed over the young man's face. Everything from perplexity to apprehension to bewilderment and much more was reflected on his bond-mate as he came to the realization the power he held over him. He supposed it must an awful shock to reach the epiphany that your actions could be commanded by another.
"You are mine," he whispered delicately but not without possession. His fingers curled under Harry's chin and held the firm jaw in his gentle grip. "Mine," he echoed once more before he gave into temptation and covered the remaining distance needed for him to claim the sweet lips as his own once more.
It was different kissing Harry when he actually had lips instead of just an opening for him to feed on the food that was necessary to replenish his strength. It was infinitely more enjoyable, he noted, and it stimulated his senses far more. It was with distinct pleasure that he realized the fire that had been flickering in his groin had fully erupted into full blown raging lust. Coaxing his pet's lips to open, he slipped his tongue in to begin his assault on Harry's intoxicating innocence.
Mind boggling and saccharine sweetness was all Harry could think of as he melted under the skillful manipulations of Voldemort. Unlike his first kiss, was that his first kiss? He really didn't know, and theoretically it was his first kiss that he remembered. anyway, it wasn't like the first one at all. That one had been about possessing him; this one was about seducing him. Seducing him it was.
Even if he had wanted to pull away from the kiss, he was too lightheaded to do so and it had nothing to do with the weakness that he had felt before. This was purely because of Voldemort, because of the man snogging the very breath out of him. If he hadn't been pressed against the wall and held up by the arm that had snaked around his waist, he would have crumbled down to the ground. He felt that weak kneed.
Alarm broke into his mind like a fresh wave of awareness from the desire that was addling his senses when he felt Voldemort push his legs apart and press the definition of his arousal against his inner thigh. This was not right, his mind was screaming to him, he was not ready. The problem was that he couldn't fight Voldemort, all he could do was whimper and try to pull away from the drowning enticement.
Lucky for Harry, Voldemort had decided that the kiss had to be stopped before it led to other activities that his bond-mate wasn't ready for. Even if he was looking a lot healthier and brighter, Voldemort concluded, it would not be wise to push too much physical activity onto the boy when he was still recuperating. No there was more than enough time to do whatever he wanted to do to his Harry. And when he took, he wanted to take not only his sweet innocence away but drain him at the same time. What an ecstasy that would be.
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Author's Note: I finally introduce Harry's POV. It will be equally split between Harry/Voldemort now, though Lucius will have a huge role as well. I did say there'd be HP/LM, which is introduced in the next chapter. So thoughts on Harry? He's not weak, but being the Slytherin that he is. he's checking out the situation before making any move. He's not weak. How's Voldemort? HP/LV interaction? BTW, this is my least popular WIP--- thus I update and write less ;p. I'm still writing it though, no worries just don't expect updates every week. This will probably be every other week.
Thanks to Renee Fay (Sev/Harry were in a relationship), Karaberos (hopefully), tamz, tati, Lolita, Party Girl, Quickjewel, Queen of Vegetasei (I'm not a smut writer, we'll see about SM ;p), MP, Yxonomei, lil kawaii doom, Tempest.
ntamara: There needs to be a precedent, Harry w/ older men. Bella takes a backstage a bit in the future chapter, but she's still there. Don't forget her.
Malakai: Lucius is a bastard, he is he is! Severus' still wily, I wouldn't underestimate him he may just turn on you ;p. Harry might be submissive, but Voldemort does -need- him. Severus isn't a masochist, remember everything is in Lucius' POV. Besides it's all about consent/control.
Abraxis: Very true, he may have some sort of feeling but it's not love. It may get there, it may not. I think Harry's the only one naïve/innocent enough to truly fall in love in this story. And I agree, they are underestimating Severus.
Author: Yih
Disclaimer: All characters & original universe belong to J.K. Rowling.
Spoiler Warning: There are spoilers of OotP in this fanfic. They are embedded into the fanfic. I won't tell you which are spoilers and which aren't, but readers that haven't read OotP should be aware that they are in the fanfic.
Thanks to my fan-BLOODY-tastic beta-reader, SERRA!
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I wake up
I don't know who I am
It's all lost
Those memories of me
Nothing's there
Not anymore, it's gone
Gone away
To a place, far away
I run hard
Attempting to get there
Where is there?
I don't know, I don't know
Wish I did
Wish I could remember
But I don't
The memories are gone
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5: Waking (July 14, 2003 to July 20, 2003)
The potions had definitely done their job, and they had done it well. Even Voldemort was hard pressed to find a single thing wrong with the potion with his keenly sharp crimson eyes. The only thing he could fault was how long it'd taken. It'd been an entire week of waiting for Harry to wake from the forced sleep that was the side affect of the revival potion, since that was what it'd take for Harry to actually look relatively healthy. If Voldemort had done things entirely Severus' way, Harry would have been in the slumber state at least another week.
But Voldemort wasn't going to continue to do things Severus' way when it was clear that Harry was more than healthy enough to decrease his intake enough that he wouldn't be sleeping 24 hours a day. He was highly anticipating Harry's reaction to him, since from what he'd gathered during their brief exchange when Harry had first awoken after the bonding, there had been absolute trust and adoration in those brilliant emerald eyes. And that was strangely enticing to him in a way having Death Eaters bowing down to him wasn't. He supposed it was Harry's innocence that drew greater appeal.
Corrupting something that naive was pure deviousness at its best. It was something he took great satisfaction in. Especially since somehow despite Harry's awful childhood experiences, he had managed to maintained a horribly pure aura. There was something about this boy that was special; he certainly was powerful. Just thinking about the power rush he'd gotten when he'd drained the boy was enough to make him shudder with intense burning desire. Too bad it wouldn't be wise to even think about sucking energy from the boy for weeks.
But there were other ways to slake his lust, he thought with chillingly calculating eyes that swept over Harry's slender yet nicely muscular form. It was quite reminiscent of his own body in its youth, though he certainly didn't mind the slightly bulkier built of his body that he had now. Undoubted it was a vast improvement over the dilapidated form of his miraculous resurrection. None as obvious as when he stared at Harry's delicious sleeping body and felt the fire flickering downward to his groin.
His pet was definitely attractive, quite pleasing to the eye. No wonder Lucius had felt it fit to inform him of a certain Potions Master had been making eyes at his Harry. He narrowed his eyes vindictively as he heard the door creaking open, Severus had arrived to give his bond-mate another dose of the revival potion, the last dose. Tomorrow morning Harry would finally wake up and embrace the world with the same light as a newborn baby.
Until the next morning came, he wasn't going to let Harry out of his sight, not when the traitorous bastard was with him tending to him with the most tenderness of care. The more Voldemort saw Severus with Harry, the more he was convinced that Lucius was spot on, that Severus did indeed care for the young man as more than a mere student. It simply was not like the Severus that he knew to be so gentle without undue reason. And a student wasn't reason enough.
"Timely as always," Voldemort stated with a distinct edge to his tone, "Severus."
"Yes, I am Master," Severus muttered his answer with straining reluctance, but the harsh lines that marred his severe face faded slightly when he saw the sleeping Harry. "I'm here to administer the last potion to Mr. Potter."
"Then administer it," he commanded harshly, his eyes never leaving Harry's sweetly innocent form. "The sooner that you do," he began with a sinister undertone, "the sooner that he will awake and that things will start up again."
Inside Severus shuddered at the deviously gorgeous picture that his former Master was making. No wonder the insanely brilliant Bellatrix was caught in the web; no wonder that the cunningly deceptive Lucius had no choice but to bow to this man. But his Harry didn't deserve this, no his gentle young lover didn't deserve this. Yet as much as he wanted to rid Harry of the certain misery he would be facing, he hadn't been able to.
Not with Avery and Lucius watching over him like hawks to make sure he was making a revival potion and nothing else. The ingredients they had gathered made it pointless to try anything else; they had specifically gathered what the book had required. There was no fooling Avery, and there was especially no fooling Lucius. So after today, this last day, Harry would again have to face Voldemort and the horrors that awaited him.
He just wish that Harry didn't have to; that this terrible nightmare would be over. But that was too much to hope for in a world that was looking quite bleak without further faith. From all that he had managed to attune his ears to, he had only pieced together part of the bigger picture. He knew that Voldemort had cast some sort of dark curse on Harry, that Voldemort had then used the aftereffects of such a curse to cast a Forbidden spell that had helped him regain his lost body.
The conclusion Severus had come to was that Voldemort must have bonded Harry to him, for that was the only possible way Voldemort could have tapped into Harry's power. But what curse had he used? And would that change the lovely young man he had grown to care so deeply for? That he had learned to love? He shuddered to even think that it would twist something so beautifully naive into something demented and evil. No, not his Harry.
~
Waking up without any knowledge of anything about himself that pertained to him at all was insanely frightening. Oh, he still knew about the world as the world, but not in any significance to himself. It was basically like he was a slate that'd been wiped entirely clean, except for a single piece of knowledge. That a wizard called Voldemort was very important to him. That was all.
What was scary was that he knew exactly what Voldemort looked like, every detail about him but he didn't have the faintest clue what he looked like. What color were his eyes? What did his face look like? What did he look like? He didn't know, yet he knew precisely how Voldemort looked like. Gaunt, skeleton-like form that was devastatingly wasted and deep crimson eyes that pierced into his soul.
It wasn't only the appearance that he knew so well; he also knew about the man himself. No one would ever use just a man when describing Voldemort, he was the Dark Lord--- or at the very least, possibly the most powerful wizard since Grindelwald. Probably even more powerful if something hadn't happened to delay him. But what exactly, he didn't know. It was like he had no recollection of any events that happened beyond the first fall. He surmised that must have been when he was born since he had no recollection of himself either.
With trembling hands and shaking nerves, he managed to crawl out from the bed and make his way to a mirror where he took in his physical appearance. He found that he wasn't as skeletal as Voldemort was, even if he was on the rather thin side. His hair was a unruly dark brown, and his eyes were brilliantly green. Any other details were a bit obscure since his eyesight was fairly poor. He must use glasses, he construed. But where were they?
It was certainly very curious that he didn't know anything about himself, yet he did know very much about the wizarding world--- a world that he shouldn't know if he wasn't magical. And he had to be magical, he concluded, he had to be a wizard. Since he knew that if he chanted out spells with a wand that something would happen, even if it wasn't always the result that he wanted.
All his memories, his very being of who he was had been erased entirely out of his mind like magic. It was undoubted magic, his logical mind concluded, but why? Who had done it? Was it Voldemort? No, he didn't want to think that Voldemort had done it. He didn't want to believe something so bad about the only person that he recognized in the world even if what he knew about the Dark Lord was hardly any good.
Quite frankly, it wasn't hard to believe the atrocities that Voldemort had committed prior to his first fall from grace. The very appearance of the man was like the reincarnation of death and evil itself, especially with the blood red eyes that drilled so deeply in. He shuddered to think to have that man against him, but he didn't think that the torture and cruelty Voldemort had shown to those that went against him was anything like what Voldemort felt for him. He was important to Voldemort, thus he wouldn't be touched.
That much kept his mind from panicking as it started pulling up all this history about Voldemort and his Death Eaters. The crimes against humanity they'd done was unspeakable. He felt like he should be sickened with disgust; he certainly didn't approve of it but he felt that Voldemort had to have a reason. Despite his rather ruthless treatment of his enemies, he felt that Voldemort had to have had a reason.
From all that he recalled of the powerful Dark Lord was that the wizard was first and foremost a cunningly intelligent man with a thirst for power and fulfillment. True, it had led him to being a tyrant, but perhaps he'd learn his lesson in his downfall. Then again, maybe not. All these thoughts were theories, really. This information in his head was there, but it was not his opinion he concluded just stuff that he knew from whoever or whatever had taken his memories away from him.
Then maybe Voldemort didn't have a reason for his unmerciful maliciousness. Maybe Voldemort was just simply dark and evil. Yet, he didn't want to believe that even if all the evidence of his knowledge pointed to the contrary. His only real memory was that of waking up briefly some time ago and hearing the man say that he belonged to him, that he was his. It was after that possessive declaration that Voldemort had kissed him, not tenderly yet not in a way seeking to hurt him. It was more about possession than anything else.
That and want.
He supposed it was a miracle that he still remembered magic even if it was somewhat connected to Voldemort. All his knowledge, which he kept mixing up with memories that were nonexistent seemed keyed to Voldemort. He certainly knew he could do magic, and he vaguely remembered how to do magic, yet he didn't consciously feel the magic there. Was magic really all tied up to the wand that he knew he had to hold? He didn't recall ever holding a wand, yet he just knew that was the key to wielding magic. It acted like a focal point for concentration, he imagined.
Sighing, he realized during these reflective thoughts he'd moved away from the mirror near his bed to the small window that was the only glimpse into the world outside of his room. Well, he assumed it was his room since he was staying in it. He guessed he still had the concepts of life even if he had no information on his own life. This was all very frustrating, he thought with dark humor, and highly annoying.
He tried looking out at the outside surroundings, but his eyesight was so poor that it did him no good. Another irritating thing, he thought to himself, that he would have to remedy as soon as possible. He sighed and leaned against the window sill, using it to support his body weight since his limbs still felt quite weak. He had to concentrate very hard so that he would not tremble too much.
"So you're awake," murmured a softly compelling voice of a person that obviously knew him since there was a familiarity in the tone. He turned around and was confronted with a heartbreaking magnetic dark hair man with eyes that were bearing down into his very soul. "Do you know who I am, Harry?"
So his name was Harry? He knew that this darkly beautiful man knew him, but he had no idea who this man was. "No," he responded softly, "I don't know."
The man chuckled, strangely pleasing to the eat though he suspected that the man didn't often make the pleasant sound. "It is curious you don't remember who I am, then again I do look quite different than I did before," the mysterious man commented. "Do you recognize the name, Voldemort?"
When he heard the name uttered, the only information that he knew he was connected to himself, he found himself approaching the alluring man. "Do you know where he is?" he asked in earnest. "Where Voldemort is?"
"He stands in front of you," murmured the sinfully gorgeous individual. "I am Voldemort."
He couldn't be, but there was something hauntingly familiar about the crimson blood eyes. They were exactly the same as the eyes that he remembered bearing down into his soul when he'd seen Voldemort for the first time he had awoken. However, everything else was different. This beautiful individual in front of him was simply too different to be Voldemort. Even the voice, the raspy voice from before had been replaced by a throaty sexiness. Entirely changed, but the eyes were still the unchanged.
"You. are not the same," he said--- Harry said, stating the obvious. "You are different."
Voldemort smiled barely, a slight humorous upturn of his lips. "This is my true self. Thanks to you, my pet--- my precious, I am again myself." Throughout the entire conversation, he had slowly moved closer to his bond- mate though never rushing his approach. It wouldn't do to scare the young man, not when he wanted Harry to trust him inexplicably. And with that trust, he'd mold Harry into the perfect pet, serving and adoring. What more could be asked? Precious little, he concluded as his eyes feasted on the raven boy's loveliness.
Too much to process in such a short time period, Harry thought--- he thought with overriding uneasiness. But he found that as much as he wanted to draw away from everything and hide himself away, he was also magnetically compelled to stay where he stood as Voldemort came closer to him. When the man--- his master, a voice whispered in his head--- reached to touch his cheek he actually felt himself lean into the gentle caress. It was like he needed the physical closeness, how alarming.
Interesting how his pet drew closer to his touch, Voldemort noticed with veiled pleasure. It pleased him greatly that the skin was even softer than he remembered, much like the finest silk. His crimson eyes met the emerald orbs and challenged his bond-mate to even dare to look away from the drowning force connecting them. Not that Harry could, even if he wanted to since he was holding his pet's gaze to him to let him understand that he controlled him. No matter what Harry might want to do, he could not ignore the power Voldemort had on him. That he wanted to make clear to his pet.
He could not lift his eyes away; he could not draw his gaze from the compelling wizard. It wasn't that he wanted to, but that he felt the undeniable compulsion to try. Yet he couldn't, no matter how hard he attempted to. His will was not his own for he felt the invisible thread that kept pulling his entire consciousness to the man standing in front of him. This man was his master, just like the little voice inside of him had said. Voldemort was his master.
It was dawning on Harry, Voldemort saw quite obviously from the expressive array of emotions that passed over the young man's face. Everything from perplexity to apprehension to bewilderment and much more was reflected on his bond-mate as he came to the realization the power he held over him. He supposed it must an awful shock to reach the epiphany that your actions could be commanded by another.
"You are mine," he whispered delicately but not without possession. His fingers curled under Harry's chin and held the firm jaw in his gentle grip. "Mine," he echoed once more before he gave into temptation and covered the remaining distance needed for him to claim the sweet lips as his own once more.
It was different kissing Harry when he actually had lips instead of just an opening for him to feed on the food that was necessary to replenish his strength. It was infinitely more enjoyable, he noted, and it stimulated his senses far more. It was with distinct pleasure that he realized the fire that had been flickering in his groin had fully erupted into full blown raging lust. Coaxing his pet's lips to open, he slipped his tongue in to begin his assault on Harry's intoxicating innocence.
Mind boggling and saccharine sweetness was all Harry could think of as he melted under the skillful manipulations of Voldemort. Unlike his first kiss, was that his first kiss? He really didn't know, and theoretically it was his first kiss that he remembered. anyway, it wasn't like the first one at all. That one had been about possessing him; this one was about seducing him. Seducing him it was.
Even if he had wanted to pull away from the kiss, he was too lightheaded to do so and it had nothing to do with the weakness that he had felt before. This was purely because of Voldemort, because of the man snogging the very breath out of him. If he hadn't been pressed against the wall and held up by the arm that had snaked around his waist, he would have crumbled down to the ground. He felt that weak kneed.
Alarm broke into his mind like a fresh wave of awareness from the desire that was addling his senses when he felt Voldemort push his legs apart and press the definition of his arousal against his inner thigh. This was not right, his mind was screaming to him, he was not ready. The problem was that he couldn't fight Voldemort, all he could do was whimper and try to pull away from the drowning enticement.
Lucky for Harry, Voldemort had decided that the kiss had to be stopped before it led to other activities that his bond-mate wasn't ready for. Even if he was looking a lot healthier and brighter, Voldemort concluded, it would not be wise to push too much physical activity onto the boy when he was still recuperating. No there was more than enough time to do whatever he wanted to do to his Harry. And when he took, he wanted to take not only his sweet innocence away but drain him at the same time. What an ecstasy that would be.
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Author's Note: I finally introduce Harry's POV. It will be equally split between Harry/Voldemort now, though Lucius will have a huge role as well. I did say there'd be HP/LM, which is introduced in the next chapter. So thoughts on Harry? He's not weak, but being the Slytherin that he is. he's checking out the situation before making any move. He's not weak. How's Voldemort? HP/LV interaction? BTW, this is my least popular WIP--- thus I update and write less ;p. I'm still writing it though, no worries just don't expect updates every week. This will probably be every other week.
Thanks to Renee Fay (Sev/Harry were in a relationship), Karaberos (hopefully), tamz, tati, Lolita, Party Girl, Quickjewel, Queen of Vegetasei (I'm not a smut writer, we'll see about SM ;p), MP, Yxonomei, lil kawaii doom, Tempest.
ntamara: There needs to be a precedent, Harry w/ older men. Bella takes a backstage a bit in the future chapter, but she's still there. Don't forget her.
Malakai: Lucius is a bastard, he is he is! Severus' still wily, I wouldn't underestimate him he may just turn on you ;p. Harry might be submissive, but Voldemort does -need- him. Severus isn't a masochist, remember everything is in Lucius' POV. Besides it's all about consent/control.
Abraxis: Very true, he may have some sort of feeling but it's not love. It may get there, it may not. I think Harry's the only one naïve/innocent enough to truly fall in love in this story. And I agree, they are underestimating Severus.