A/N:

So, in case the last chapter, The Talk, and the name of this chapter isn't enough of a hint: this chapter has a sex scene. If you don't like the thought of that, please don't read it. But if you do like it; enjoy!

29. The Deed

They had chosen an uninhabited suite, instead of doing it in either of the suites they called theirs. And they had decided to do it an hour after lunch, so Harry was properly awake, and the need of the soul shard was a long way away. Harry had opted for a snifter of brandy before he went to meet Voldemort, but only one.

Voldemort put up the privacy and silencing wards and a magical keep-away sign, but locked the doors manually. Harry didn't know if Voldemort used a glamour, or if he was calm enough, content enough, to have the appearance with hair, and right now he somehow didn't manage to focus enough to figure it out. The shoulder long, black hair hung loose and brushed the band-collar of Voldemort's black robes. Harry was in jeans and a t-shirt. He was so nervous it was ridiculous. His heart was hammering in his chest and his hands were actually trembling. Nothing about the situation was new to him, only the person. It would not be so very different from sex with other men, and he did believe Voldemort when he had said he did not want to hurt or scare Harry, he did believe that. He did. And still …

This is my choice. This is what I chose. I chose this. I chose this!

Harry clenched his jaws.

I chose this. It's my decision to do this. My decision.

Voldemort turned towards him. The curtains were drawn, and the illumination was minimal. It was awkward enough as it was, they didn't need full light. Harry didn't, at least.

Harry removed his t-shirt and Voldemort began to open the buttons on his robe. They undressed in silence and when Harry was done, his clothes over a chair and his heart hammering so hard it was almost difficult to see, he looked up and at Voldemort. Even with the nerves making his head spin, he had to admit that Voldemort did look good. Broad shoulders and chest, lightly muscled arms and a flat stomach, trim waist, and long, toned legs. All of him was as pale as his face and the only hair on his body was on his head.

Some part of Harry was relieved that Voldemort's cock didn't seem very interested in the proceedings either, same as his own. Another part of him was a bit worried how this possibly could take place if Voldemort couldn't get it up, Voldemort was supposed to fuck Harry, after all. Voldemort's cock was quite big, not that it worried Harry, even if it was a long time since he had been fucked. Proper preparation was key, size wasn't a problem, quite the opposite. In more usual circumstances, Harry might have claimed that a bigger size was a bonus.

While Harry's gaze went over Voldemort, Voldemort studied Harry, slowly and, as far as Harry could see, without any kind of derision or judgement, despite the fact that Harry still was hardly more than skin and bones, and scars, lots of scars. Some places it could be a bit difficult to see undamaged skin, between the scars. Like on his lower legs from all the cutting curses that had tried to stop him from running, from dodging, from moving. It was a long time since Harry had stopped to consider how his body looked. It needed to function, it needed to be able to fight, all else was nice, but not necessary. He didn't have it in him to be insecure about it now.

He really, really wished that he could be drawn enough to Voldemort to be able to focus on the attraction, and not on his own concern about the whole ordeal. Just a bit of sexual interest to take the worst of the worry away. What would Voldemort do? Would Harry be able to stand it? Would he be able to relax enough for it not to hurt? If Harry couldn't stand it, would he be able to tell Voldemort that, or would his magic snap out of control without warning?

Voldemort took a couple of steps towards Harry. "Are there any preparation spells you would like to use?" Both his face and his voice were quiet.

Maybe for the first time, Harry wished to hear silk in his voice. It was something about that tone that pulled at him, even if he didn't want it to. That could help right now.

Or would that be too much of an outside influence?

Damn. He didn't know.

"I cast an internal cleaning spell just before I came here," Harry said and met Voldemort's red eyes. "As for any other preparation … The slower we go and the more time we use, the better. While I do want to simply be done with it, any kind of hurry would be … bad, I think."

"Very well, I will prepare you by hand." There was the silk Harry had missed, it stroked over him and made him shiver. Not too much, not intrusive, but there. "May I touch you, Harry?"

Harry watched his husband for a little while, swallowed hard and then nodded once.

"I think I would like a verbal answer in this situation, if you do not mind." More silk.

Harry closed his eyes, drew a breath, and let it out. "Yes, you may touch me." His voice was low, but clear and audible.

Long fingers slipped down his arm, first one arm, then the other, then both before the hands landed carefully on his shoulders and began to knead the stiff muscles there. Harry's eyes snapped open and looked right up into the red gaze that was locked onto his face.

"While I do not believe that you actually will relax by me doing this, we must begin getting physically closer in some way or another, or this simply will not work." His voice was still silky and it made Harry shiver, but the gleam in his eyes somehow helped more. The eyes weren't heated, or possessive, or even decisive, but held a kind of wry mirth reflected in his words.

"Well, yes, I guess … I guess magic can't do everything."

"Indeed." The long fingers stroked and pressed and caressed Harry's shoulders and upper arms and drew Harry closer to Voldemort so slowly that it was hard to really notice.

Harry swallowed once, and then again. "May I … may I touch you?"

"You are welcome to touch me in any way you like, Harry." The velvety purr shot straight down between Harry's legs and made his cock take notice for the first time. Harry locked his teeth around the sound, the gasp, but he wasn't able to stop himself from leaning into Voldemort, almost close enough to be chest against chest now.

Harry placed his hands on Voldemort's waist. "Holy fuck, your voice!" His own voice was hoarse. "That … that wasn't the soul shard's fault, not this time."

Voldemort's hands stilled on Harry's shoulders. "Should I avoid using that tone of voice then?"

"I …" Harry slowly let one hand glide up Voldemort's back, cool, soft skin under his thin, callused fingers. The voice made him feel drawn towards Voldemort in a way he didn't understand, but not forced, not cornered. Was it truly different from a situation where he got aroused from how someone looked? Voices could be attractive. Sure, this felt a bit extreme, but was it so different? And if it had been the voice of someone else, not Voldemort, that made him feel like this, would he have thought it a problem then?

No, he didn't think so.

He found his husband's voice attractive, excessively so, but still … That was all.

"No, I think it's alright." The first hand stopped on Voldemort's shoulder-blade, and he used the fingers of his other hand to slowly caress his back. Voldemort's hands began to massage and caress his shoulders, upper arms and back again.

"Do tell me if you change your mind, Harry."

"I will," Harry whispered and felt how his cock stiffened just a little bit more because of that voice. He stroked Voldemort's back and sides with both hands. He had to get used to it, had to get used to the closeness when it wasn't forced by the soul shard. When he did have a choice.

He had been given a choice.

This was his choice.

He had chosen this.

This was his decision.

Slowly, so slowly, Voldemort drew Harry into his arms and ended up massaging the back of Harry's head with one hand while the other eased down his back. Harry wasn't near as adventurous, but his face was against Voldemort's neck, one hand on his lower back, sometimes moving, but mostly still, and one hand on Voldemort's shoulder. It was an awkward kind of hug, but it had brought with it a necessary intimacy, even if Harry wasn't particularly calm, or aroused. Voldemort had reacted, at least, and Harry felt him flush against his abdomen, big and hard. He felt grateful for the thought when he wondered how it would feel to have that cock slide into him. His body was able to appreciate the prospect of getting fucked, even if his head wasn't in on it.

"Would you like to move to the bed, or is that too soon?" Voldemort asked.

Harry hesitated and felt those long fingers glide through his hair, the scratch of nails against his scalp. Voldemort had been doing that for several minutes now, the whole while he had been just as attentive, just as careful as he had been the first minute.

"We can move to the bed."

They did, and Voldemort found the bottle of oil he had placed on the bedside table when they entered the room, before he lay down alongside Harry. He didn't open the bottle.

"You know, you have to relax at least a little," he said and carefully stroked a hand down Harry's chest, before he raised it and let it stroke down Harry's chest again.

"I know. I know. I'm working on it." Harry met his gaze, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath trying to put his anxiety behind his Occlumency shields. That was uncommonly hard for someone that had mastered Occlumency several years ago.

"Would you let me attempt to rectify the situation?" Voldemort purred, and Harry had no trouble whatsoever with guessing what he was proposing.

Harry's eyes flew up, stared right into Voldemort's red gaze, and gulped. Then he blushed, like an inexperienced school-boy. Voldemort merely looked at him, almost expectantly. He swallowed again.

"If you do not mind … then yes … I don't know if it will help, though …"

"Let us find out, then, Harry." The purr made Harry shiver and he looked on in a kind of a daze while Voldemort oiled his hand and slowly lowered his hand and grasped Harry's cock, all the while having his eyes locked on Harry's face. Harry suspected he looked for any kind of indication that Harry found this intolerable. If Harry only listened to his body, and he was trying very hard to, it wasn't intolerable in the least.

The long fingers glided up and down his cock, sometimes with a bit more pressure, sometimes with less. Voldemort's eyes gleamed when Harry moaned after a slight twist over the head of his cock, and he did the exact thing again a few strokes later. It was impossible not to become aroused under Voldemort's ministrations and when that oiled hand carefully slipped lower and began to massage his balls, Harry's eyes lowered to half-mast and he listened to the moans that came of his mouth with a bit of astonishment.

Voldemort might not have had sex in decades, but the man knew what he was doing.

Harry's heart was thumping hard, but not out of nervousness. His hands were trembling and he clutched at the sheets, but not out of anxiety. His face felt flushed and when Voldemort stroked his cock again, a bit harder and a bit faster than before, with several twists around the head, Harry gasped and groaned and shuddered, and realised that Voldemort had managed to arouse him after all. With the hand job of the decade. He was hard, aching and leaking and it took everything he had not to arch up into Voldemort's touch.

A finger brushed his puckered hole and Harry writhed. "Yes, please."

He forced his eyes open and met Voldemort's smouldering gaze. His eyes were undeniably heated now, but it didn't bother Harry now.

Voldemort's cock was pressed against Harry's hip, rock hard and velvety, but Harry couldn't mind that.

"More of that, please. If you would." His voice was hoarse and breathy.

And he couldn't mind that either.

This was his choice.

This was his decision.

Still.

Always.

His decision.

And when an oiled finger brushed his pucker again, Harry breathed, met Voldemort's gleaming eyes, and opened his legs to give him better access. Then, after a slight hesitation he grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under his arse. Voldemort had stopped for a moment when Harry grabbed the pillow, but was soon back at it, stroking, brushing, barely there. Making him moan. Soon Voldemort stopped to just brush against him and began massaging both his pucker and the rest of his arse. Oiling him up, making sure he relaxed, and thus teasing him mercilessly.

Harry groaned and opened his legs further in invitation. "More, please, more."

Harry could have sworn that the hard cock pressed against his hip twitched slightly.

"As you wish, Harry." The dark, velvety purr made him shiver and the first joint of one long finger slipped into him. Harry grasped on to Voldemort's upper arm, just to have something to hold on to. In answer Voldemort put a hand on Harry's shoulder and stroked the skin with his thumb. Strangely enough that gentle connection made it even easier to calm down, to trust that this was alright, that this could work out without him being hurt.

And without him killing Voldemort, himself, or anyone else.

The tight ring of muscles was relaxed enough not to give a lot of resistance when the finger slipped further in. Harry whimpered and squirmed when the finger moved inside him and began to retreat, almost slipping out before going back in, all the way. It continued like that for a while.

"Do you want more, Harry?" The purr made Harry squirm even more and clutch at Voldemort's arm. "Do you?" The finger played at the outer ring of muscles, slipping in and out, teasing. Making Harry wish for more. Crave more.

"Yes, yes, I do." He almost heaved for breath. "I do."

Voldemort used more oil and two fingers slipped into Harry. They moved and scissored. Fucked him slowly and let him relax and feel the pleasure … and it didn't feel enough. Not nearly enough.

"More, again, more please."

The three fingers were eased into him with a caution that almost made him scream, but when he looked at Voldemort, the pure hunger in his gaze drove the air from Harry's lungs. He just held that gaze, feeling the fingers slowly fuck him, and then brush against his prostate, sending tingles of pleasure up his spine. He gasped and arched and begged for more in a way that would probably make him feel humiliated and angry later. The long, clever fingers brushed his prostate again and again and the tingles of pleasure became more and more insistent, more and more powerful and it felt like Harry was about to explode.

And it wasn't enough, not nearly enough.

"More, please. Fuck me, please, just fuck me now."

Voldemort watched him with burning red eyes. Hungry eyes. His cock was both twitching and leaking against Harry's hip.

"Fuck me, please, just fuck me."

The fingers were slowly removed from Harry's arse and Harry whimpered at the loss. He went from feeling not filled enough, to feeling empty. Voldemort moved to kneel between Harry's legs and Harry felt the head of his cock against his pucker. Red eyes followed his every moan, his every movement, every twitch. Harry still had his hand on Voldemort's upper arm.

Slowly but steadily Voldemort slid into him. He was relaxed enough, oiled enough, and warmed up enough for it to only feel like pressure, without any burn or even an uncomfortable stretch. He encompassed the big cock quite easily. And he didn't think Voldemort minded the groans or the fact that he arched against him and drove him completely in, the last little bit. Voldemort didn't look like he minded in the least, but he stayed in that position stroking Harry's hip and thigh with one hand, and Harry's shoulder with the other.

He … was … too … damn … motionless! And it was driving Harry insane.

"Are you going to get on with it anytime soon?" Harry asked dryly and squirmed.

"May I get a please? You were so very generous with the word just now."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. The bastard was teasing!

Harry moved his legs and hips enough to let Voldemort slip out of him a bit, before impaling himself on the rigid cock and moaning. Voldemort actually groaned with him.

"No, you may not," he said hoarsely and met Voldemort's gaze. He wouldn't have been surprised if he had seen flames there now. Voldemort's pupils were so big, it was impossible to guess that they usually were vertical. Voldemort withdrew and pushed back in again in a long stroke, hitting Harry's prostate on the first try, which had Harry moaning. The long slow strokes continued, almost always hitting his prostate, and turning Harry into a puddle of pleasure.

Out of absolutely nowhere, the world disappeared.

It turned white, and if it hadn't been for the pleasure Harry felt he would probably have panicked.

Pleasure, and other sensations. Too many of them, really.

Far too many.

His cock driving into him, faster and faster.

His hand on his upper arm.

His cock penetrating the tight heat of his arse.

His cock bouncing and leaking against his stomach.

His cock penetrating even deeper into his arse, his arse spasming around him, massaging him.

His balls hitting his flesh while his cock hit home again and again.

His hand around his cock, pumping it, hard, fast.

Pleasure rippling up his spine.

Pleasure making his balls and abdomen tighten.

His cock giving up and spurting warm droplets against his stomach.

His cock driving into his tightness again, giving into the pleasure and emptying himself.

He felt his cock jerking and filled him with warm, creamy liquid.

So much pleasure at once. It felt good. So good.

So much pleasure …

The world drew breath and Harry realised that he wasn't in two bodies. Just in one. Just in himself. But he had been in two. He knew it. He had just felt Voldemort fuck Harry, fuck himself.

*Alright, what in all the hells just happened now?! Wait, am I talking or thinking this?*

*Thinking, I believe.*

*I did not think that.*

*No, Harry, we are two in this … space.*

*What is this space then? What happened?*

*I do not know, but I suspect this might be the consequence of me having sex with someone who holds a fragment of my soul. I suspect that neither of us are entirely in our own heads right now, but in a … shared space. A mind bridge, for the lack of a better word, between us.*

*Fascinating. How the fuck do I leave?*

*At the moment, I do not know. This might be hard to believe, Harry, but this is actually a first for me, too.*

Harry was, without any doubt, certain Voldemort was laughing. He could feel the mirth. Quite a bit of that mirth, that laughter, was directed at him, at Harry. Voldemort was laughing at him.

*I can … feel your feelings?*

*Read my feelings, as I can read yours. Not your thoughts though, just the thoughts you mean to convey in words.*

*Again, fascinating, but how do we stop this?* His feelings belied his words, he felt a lot of relief that Voldemort couldn't read his thoughts.

*So impatient.* Still, there was no censure in the feelings Harry got from him, only mirth. It got Harry to wonder if this was normal for Voldemort, if he felt more mirth than he generally gave the impression of.

Not important right now.

*I know that we started out a lot mentally closer than we are now,* Voldemort stated, *so we must have been able to retreat from each other somewhat already. If we keep calm and think about it, I am certain we will find a way to get wholly into our own minds again.*

*Are you saying that we have to put our minds together to figure this out?* Harry asked before he could stop himself. *That two heads, two minds, think better than one? That shouldn't be a problem for us then.*

The warmth and slight exasperation from Voldemort would have made Harry grin if he had had a mouth to grin with. Which was part of the problem. Surely, he still had a mouth, he just didn't know what it was doing at the moment. He was cut off from his own body, stuck on, in, this mind bridge thing. They both were.

*How very droll you are, Harry.* The words were dry and Harry could easily see them accompanied with an eye roll.

An eye roll from the Dark Lord Voldemort.

*Thank you. I try my best for an appreciative audience.*

*What has gotten into you?*

*You did, I believe.*

There were no sounds, no words, but Harry could swear there was a feeling of sputtering.

*It's wit and snark and all the good stuff, or panic over the situation, I'm afraid,* Harry admitted. *It's your choice. But honestly, I do tend to get chipper after a good fuck, it's all the dopamine and serotonin in my brain. Apparently, even if I can't as much as feel my own head, my brain can work on my mind … I'm not certain that sentence even makes sense …*

That is also not important right now.

A long, contemplative silence. *Snark it is, then.*

*Good choice!*

Another figurative eye roll. And wasn't that something to remember.

*Back to your question turned snark bonanza. Yes, I am ultimately saying that we have to collaborate, reason and experiment to figure out how to get our minds off this mind bridge. Both of us masters Occlumency, that should help in the task. We are used to our own mindscapes.*

*True, true. Hey, can you lie?* If Harry could feel Voldemort's feelings, could he also feel the inconsistency between his words and his feelings when he lied, or would he be able to hide that, even here?

*Am I able to lie? Yes, I most certainly am. Though, I do not do it often.*

*Could you try it now? The sky is yellow and the grass is blue.*

There was a long silence. *Interesting. I see what you are getting at. Very well. Nagini is the name of a kitten.*

There was a disharmonious resonance to his words, though Harry couldn't actually feel the lie from his feelings. More like hear it because Voldemort himself knew he lied. Did this have something to do with the ring of truth Harry sometimes heard in Voldemort's words? Was that ring there because of this mind bridge, because of the soul fragment in Harry?

*Could you try again? Please?*

*I have never talked to a snake in my life. I do not like to read.*

*Both obvious lies. Vernon Dursley broke two of my fingers in the door of my cupboard when I was six.*

*Lie.* Voldemort didn't even hesitate.

*I was five. I had scraped Dudley's hand when he tried to suffocate me with a pillow.*

Silence. *The first time I spoke to a snake, I thought I was as evil as the caretakers at the orphanage told me I was, as snakes are the symbol of the Christian devil.*

*Truth.*

A long silence. *Because of my accidental magic I got exorcised by a pastor several times.*

*Truth.* Harry's words weren't more than a whisper in his own mind, their mind.

*It stopped after I began at Hogwarts.*

*Lie.*

Voldemort's words were slow and completely without any inflection, but Harry could feel a flash of pain from him, nonetheless, for the child he had been, and never had been allowed to be, just as Harry himself.

That flash of pain was mirrored in Harry. Exorcism. Harry wasn't surprised in the least. What people could do to each other, to children … No, after a long war he was no longer surprised. It was a wonder it could still hurt him, but it could. He was still human enough for that. Still human enough to feel sympathy with a child that never got to be a child.

Given half a chance, I will do everything in my power to stop it from happening to anyone else, Harry thought. No more abusive caretakers, in any shape or form. Children should be safe and healthy and happy and loved, and if I can do anything to promote that, anything at all, then I will.

*Harry, what did you do?* Voldemort asked slowly. *Your feelings … Did you just give an Oath?*

*I guess I did. I want to stop any child from growing up under the conditions we did.* He knew that he probably wouldn't get a chance to do anything to help, not anytime soon, but if he did, he would take that chance. He also realised that while his Oath encompassed all children, if he ever got the chance, he would have to start small. He would have to start with just the magical children. Maybe he would have to stop there, maybe not. Maybe he would never get a chance to do anything at all.

Time alone would show.

*I concur. No magical child should have to grow up like that. Under the new rule, no child will, I will do everything in my power to make certain of it.*

So that's what an Oath feels like in here, Harry thought as Voldemort's feelings blazed like a sun for a moment; wish, determination, hope and conviction in one single burst of power.

Harry approved.

Then he set to figuring out where exactly he was in his own mindscape, only to come to a harrowing conclusion.

*I'm not even in my own mindscape. I'm in another part of my mind altogether.*

*That was my own conclusion, too. It seems like I cannot reach my familiar mindscape at all.* Voldemort didn't seem uncertain, more baffled. *This is purely a shared space. A new space.*

*That would explain how we can talk to each other and feel each other's feelings, but not actually read each other's mind. So … if you focus on not moving in any way, and I try to withdraw …* Harry ventured.

*Feel free to try.*

Harry did, and he felt like their closeness got less close. He thought himself farther away from Voldemort's mind, farther away from him on the mind bridge. Suddenly it was like he could feel, or even see, the mind bridge in front of his inner eye. A vast expanse of an arched bridge made out of white mist and smoke, stretched between two enormous doors made of gleaming metal.

*Am I the only one who sees this?* Harry asked.

*No, I too see the bridge and the doors. But I believe that you are the one who made them thus, or at least made them look like that.*

*It felt like it should look like that.*

*It was not a complaint. Simply a comment.*

Truth.

*I will try and retreat behind what I believe to be my mind door now,* Voldemort stated, and without further ado, the great door farthest from Harry slammed shut with the sound of a massive gong. Reverberating through Harry and tossing him right back into his own body.

He was screaming. Body arching of the bed, only one heel and the top of his head actually touching the bed. Back straining. Arms flailing. Tears burning down his cheeks.

"Harry!" A shout.

Then, just as suddenly as he had left, Harry was back on the bridge. His mind was as calm and collected as it had been moments before. But he remembered his own screams.

*That was … I don't know what that was …* he whispered.

*Me neither,* Voldemort stated, right by him on the bridge. It was the truth. And Voldemort felt worry for what had happened to Harry. It was so very strange, having Voldemort worry for him. *I was back to looking out of my own eyes, and abruptly you reacted rather … forcefully.*

*I don't think … I don't believe it was actual pain. I think it might have been … shock … of some kind. When you left so suddenly, I was tossed off the bridge and right into my own body. I would like to try again, but this time we both leave slowly and close the door just part way, to begin with.*

*Very well.*

Harry retreated slowly towards the big door that towered over him at his end of the bridge, the moment he thought of it. He felt Voldemort do the same. They both went through their doors and Harry became aware of his own body again, it lay still this time, no shock, no pain, no strain. Voldemort's slightly cooler body was pressed against his right side, and he still had a pillow under his arse.

Gradually Harry began to close the door to the mind bridge, bit by bit. His mind became sharper and the connection with his body became stronger. He stopped and hesitated. He could still feel Voldemort's mind, still feel his feelings even as those red eyes looked into his. There was some confusion and some speculation, but also quite a bit of contentment and languidness. A flash of pain, there and gone. There was no change in Voldemort's face or posture. Harry wondered if he had imagined it.

Harry closed the door to the mind bridge, while holding Voldemort's gaze. This time there was no shock or any kind of uncomfortable feeling, if not a hint of … loneliness. A feeling of being completely alone. Which was good, wasn't it? He should be alone in his own head, in his own body.

That was normal.

That was right.

It also left him guessing what was going on behind the eyes of his husband. Moments before he had been able to feel Voldemort's feelings and tell if he spoke the truth or lied. Harry didn't like the loss of that advantage, never mind that Voldemort had had the same advantage right back. While watching Voldemort watch Harry, he realised that a few moments ago he had been able to relax, even if he had Voldemort more or less on top of him. He had been able to relax and trust Voldemort more than had been possible, so far, even with the other man literally inside Harry's own mind.

Or because of it.

When they had been on the mind bridge Harry had been absolutely certain that Voldemort didn't harbour any hatred or ill will towards Harry. He had been certain that he didn't plan anything nefarious, because he had been able to feel the other man's feelings, and if Harry asked, Voldemort wouldn't be able to lie. And that had given Harry a strange peace of mind. A peace of mind he already regretted losing.

"Harry, are you quite alright?" Voldemort asked, with so much silk in his voice Harry didn't even try to hold back the shiver or small sigh.

He was attracted to his husband's voice, so fucking what! Big deal! There was a bloody mind bridge between them now, what did it matter that Voldemort's voice could make him shiver in pleasure. If Voldemort ever did it in a way that made Harry uncomfortable, Harry could make Voldemort aware of exactly how that made him feel. His voice and what that did to Harry wasn't a threat, not anymore, not ever again. If he misused it, Harry could force those feelings down Voldemort's own throat. Even if Harry hadn't already been as certain as he could be about Voldemort's lack of evil plans when it came to Harry and anything remotely sexual, the fact that he could turn the feelings right back on him, clinched the deal.

Harry removed the pillow under his arse and took stock of his body. "Yeah, I feel fine. A bit mind blown over what just happened, and confused, let's not forget confused, but physically I'm fine. Mostly fine mentally, too, just … Bloody hell, I can't say I like surprises anymore. Actually, I never did. And you?"

He remembered that flash of pain. Had that really happened? If so, what was that about?

Voldemort tilted his head in thought. "I believe … that I feel about the same. Fine and slightly bewildered."

Harry couldn't tell if he was lying or not anymore. But if he was … No, why would he lie?

"Glad I'm not alone with the bewilderment. Magic is weird as all hell. Mind magic even more so. Or no, this is soul magic, isn't it? We call it a mind bridge, but it's more like a soul bridge, isn't it?"

"It is soul magic, yes, but while it technically was made to bridge soul to soul, that is not what we used to communicate with. I believe mind bridge is the better term."

"Weird, and unpredictable."

"Most definitely unpredictable," Voldemort agreed.

Harry drew a deep breath and let it out. "I think, I believe, that I need some space for a few hours, if you truly are alright …"

"I truly am. Thank you for asking."

Harry nodded. If Voldemort wasn't fine, then it was obvious he didn't want to speak about it with Harry.

"Then I will see you at tea." He got up, got into his boxers and jeans, grabbed the rest of his clothes, and left for his own rooms, a shower and another snifter of brandy. He needed that after this kind of shock, and what Astoria didn't know, she couldn't gripe about.

A/N:

So … did that work out alright, or should I stay far away from sex scenes hereafter? Please tell me what you think.

Thank you so very much for the comments, the favs and the follows! I love, love, love to hear what you think about the story and the characters! Each and every review make me smile. It makes writing this story even more fun!

Hope you liked it! Please review!