37. Mate
Voldemort leaned back in his armchair, eyes on his husband, sleeping restlessly in Voldemort's own bed. Harry had surprised him when he had been able to shake off the Sleeping Charm Voldemort had hit him with. The fight that followed, before Voldemort succeeded in pouring the worst-case-scenario potion down Harry's throat, hadn't surprised him nearly as much. Neither had he been truly surprised when Harry's claws had slashed open his fighting robes or when he even managed to pierce skin through the robe's defences, more than once. He had almost expected it, in such a close quarter fight.
Harry's claws …
Voldemort looked at Harry's hands again, as he had done several times already. They were just normal hands now, a bit too slender, but still better than a couple of months back; they were definitely not claws. But Voldemort knew what he had seen, knew what he had felt when those massive, hooked claws had scored his skin and almost ripped flesh from bone. He had chosen to repair the damage himself this time, most of it with a hasty spell before giving Harry the skin-to-skin contact he urgently needed. And the rest with a few potions and salves some hours later when he could be certain that the soul shard Harry held would not hurt him anymore.
He didn't rightfully know why he had put Harry in his own bed. Maybe because this was Voldemort's own domain and he had been hurt, and thus wanted to be in the safety and familiarity of his own rooms. Maybe because he knew where everything was in here and didn't have to fear that he intruded on his husband's privacy … But even if that was true, that didn't answer why he didn't put Harry in his own bed now, now that the danger was over, and they both were healed and safe.
He watched Harry's face, shoulders and arms, the only parts of him that could be seen above the duvet. Harry's skin had paled again after all the weeks in the summer sun, and the pale stripes of scars told the story of a tough life and an even tougher war. Some places the scars were still a red or bluish hue, they hadn't had the time to heal and pale, not yet. Voldemort's gaze lingered on the scars. He wondered what had made them, he wondered how many were true curse scars and how many Harry simply hadn't been able to close properly with magic before they scarred. There were salves and potions to remove most normal scars, and a wound closed with magic seldom left a scar at all. Harry had so many, as if he had gone through a hailstorm of sharp blades. Could all of them truly be from curses?
His husband had filled out in the last few months, and more than just gotten some meat on his frame. He had gotten muscles from all the running and swimming he insisted on doing every day, now that Astoria would let him. Voldemort wouldn't be surprised if he did callisthenics in his rooms too. He looked almost healthy, and absolutely human. But in truth, he was neither, Voldemort was certain of that.
He scrubbed his hands over his face, a gesture he made sure to only do when no one could see him.
His husband wasn't human, and it shone through more and more often with a frightening frequency and in even more frightening ways. It didn't bother him the way it might bother a pure-blood that didn't want to admit that creature blood often made for stronger and more resilient individuals. No, whatever Harry was, he was enough of a human to also be an enormously powerful wizard. And while he might have a somewhat broken mind, he also clearly was both human enough and rational enough to function in society, most of the time. That was enough for Voldemort, at the moment. And really, as Harry had so aptly pointed out on one occasion; no one had thought to ask a few pertinent questions before the marriage, not even Voldemort. Simple questions like; are you human? Are you sane? Do you have all your limbs?
It hadn't been important, not at that moment. The marriage was what had been, and continued to be, important. The peace it wrought, and the opportunity to rebuild, was more important than anything else. They had needed to stop the war, to stop the decimation of the magical population.
That didn't stop Voldemort's curiosity, though. Nor did it stop the fact that if this continued, Harry would at some point either expose himself in a way that could not be covered up, or kill someone in a fit of uncontrolled rage, or both.
Most likely both.
So, it wasn't only Voldemort's curiosity that pushed at him. It truly wasn't. He needed to know what Harry was and what that entailed, to be able to help him cover it up, or cope with it in a way that would work better than whatever he did right now. Because whatever Harry did right now wouldn't work for much longer.
With a small sight Voldemort rested his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. He didn't often sleep, he only needed a few hours now and again, but right now he would have appreciated a few hours of true rest, after the last twenty-four hours. It was soon noon and Harry didn't show any indication of properly waking up, not counting the three nightmares he had woken up from, screaming his lungs out. It was no longer a wonder for Voldemort that Harry slept so late practically every day, it was more a wonder that the man ever got up and seemed cognisant at all, if this was the kind of sleep he usually got, even with the potion that forced him to be calm. Voldemort hoped, for Harry's sake, that the different sleeping potions he took gave him better sleep than this. He had known that Harry suffered from nightmares, but this was absurd!
As if thinking about the nightmares made one manifest, Harry began to toss and turn on the bed. Sweat gathered in his hairline and poured down bloodless cheeks, his arms began flailing and the almost silent moans turned to louder cries, before he began to scream like he was burning.
Voldemort promptly doused him in water from his wand, like he had done the three other times, because he suspected Harry wouldn't like being shaken awake. Harry sat up in the bed with a gasp and blinked the water out of his eyes before he scrubbed at his face.
"Shit!" he gasped with his hands over his face. "Shit, fuck and damn!" He gave a heavy sigh, removed his hands from his face and shook his head hard before he opened his eyes and looked around with a frown before his gaze landed on Voldemort. The frown deepened and he tilted his head while he studied Voldemort like he was a strange puzzle piece. Then his eyes widened.
"The numbers, are they the same?" he asked hoarsely.
Voldemort blinked once before he realised what Harry was asking. "The number of fallen is the same as when we left Hogsmeade last night," he affirmed. "Most of the wounded were healed, last I heard."
Harry's shoulders slumped and he gave a heavy sigh, then he stiffened again. "Dragon, she left before we did, didn't she?" He frowned. "What happened to my memories … I feel …"
Voldemort opened his own mind door in invitation. He was seldom the one to initiate because he knew that of the two of them, it was Harry that needed the mind bridge most and Harry that gained most of the benefits of the openness between them. Voldemort almost always agreed to open his own door when Harry did, and Harry almost always wanted the doors open when they were in the same room, but as Voldemort didn't need it the same way Harry did, he didn't want to push by inviting the closeness too often.
Harry opened his own door and the fear, anger and frustration slammed into Voldemort before Harry was able to rein it in. Above all those feelings was bewilderment and it took Voldemort a mere moment to understand that the episode with the soul shard had scrambled Harry's memories of last night's events.
"What is the last thing you are certain that you remember accurately?" Voldemort asked.
Harry scrubbed at his face and a tinge of desperation and sadness reached Voldemort.
"Dragon, I think. I talked to Dragon and we … we were going to make new ward stones because the old ones had been destroyed … I think … Why don't I remember?!" Harry dragged his hands through his hair and pulled hard at the already wild locks.
"The soul shard made trouble for you, because we forgot about it in the turmoil, more trouble than it has caused since the very beginning."
The confusion and sadness got more intense, together with a massive dose of desperation, and Voldemort decided to try and distract Harry a bit.
"Would you like me to tell you what occurred?"
Harry drew his knees up and put his arms around them, before nodding once. He kept silent while Voldemort talked, recounting the major points from the place in time where Harry's own memories began to get hazy and scrambled. The whole process was helped by the fact that Harry could tell that Voldemort told the truth, the whole while. Slowly Harry calmed down completely, desperation and confusion disappeared, but the sadness didn't. Voldemort found that more than understandable.
"Why am I here, then? I assume this is your rooms?" Harry asked in the end, but he didn't feel any kind of trepidation.
"Yes, we are in my rooms, and I just admitted to myself that I do not actually know," Voldemort stated, and because of their connection Harry knew it was the truth. "I know I should have put you in your own bed, at the very least after you were safe from the soul shard, but I did not … And I have no justification. I can merely give you my apology if it upsets you."
"No, no, just curious, no apology needed."
Voldemort nodded. He knew that it would have been very different some months ago, before the mind bridge and its connection between them. Trust was so much easier when they knew if the other spoke the truth or not, and could read what the other felt as they were feeling it.
"Harry …"
Harry froze and Voldemort knew that he could read the uncertainty Voldemort felt at the moment, and Harry knew that uncertainty wasn't usually in Voldemort's repertoire of feelings.
"I need to talk to you about something that I do not believe you would like to talk about. Unfortunately, I deem it necessary to talk about it, circumstances have left me little choice. But please know, I do not demand answers you do not have; we simply have to find a suitable solution and I cannot do so without your input."
Harry answered his uncertainty with his own uncertainty and a bit of confused hesitation, but no fear.
"Alright," he said guardedly and met his gaze.
"On three different occasions now, you have clawed my back open, on one of them you also almost ripped my throat out with your teeth. Mind, this was not the work of your normal nails or teeth. We need to figure out how that could happen and how we can stop it from happening again. Also … on a few different occasions your eyes have changed. The last time was last night; they glowed a pure green, without pupils or white. That is the furthest they have gone to my knowledge. I was not the only one who noticed."
Harry had grown pale when Voldemort told him he had clawed Voldemort back open, and deathly white when he mentioned that he almost had ripped out Voldemort's throat. When Voldemort told him about his eyes, he simply grimaced. Harry's feelings were all over the place. Confusion, fear, curiosity, revulsion and regret. He looked down at his own hands.
"I'm sorry," Harry said after a while, regret filling both him and his voice. "I only know about the one time, the time after the soul shard made me so very ill. I believed … or maybe I made myself to believe … that I imagined it, that it couldn't have happened. Even if … even if I saw both your back and your robe. You never mentioned it and so … I decided I must have been wrong. I should have known better, even if I don't really know how it could have happened."
To Voldemort's surprise, shame flickered through Harry.
Harry met his gaze with a small sneer. "You are surprised that I feel shame for hurting you when I did not mean to, did not want to, and do not remember that I did?"
"Apologies, I should know better," Voldemort said without hesitation, because he really should. Harry could and would both kill and maim, without much trouble, but he hadn't given any indication, even the nights when he screamed that he hated Voldemort, that he truly would like to harm or kill him. Not since the truce and the marriage contract had been signed.
Harry nodded.
"That was the first time it happened, and the one and only time I felt your teeth," Voldemort said, "and I do understand that it is hard to believe it happened. I would not have believed it myself if I did not both feel and see the result. Do you have the slightest idea of how it could be possible?"
Harry nodded, then shook his head, feeling hesitant and uncertain. "I don't know … I don't know everything you want to know."
Truth, but not quite.
"Would you tell me what you do know, and work with me to figure out how to best cope with it?"
Harry nodded. "We can do that."
Voldemort used his wand and a Tempus to check the time. "I have a meeting now, and I suspect that you would want to both shower and eat. Would you like us to have tea alone today, and then take the opportunity to talk?"
Harry made a gesture, and the curtains withdrew and showed a grey but dry sky.
"I'm alright with that. Let's meet at the beach outside, if the weather holds. For this kind of conversation, I need air and space." He got out of the bed and picked up his warded robe from where it hung over a chair. Voldemort had gotten Dobby to put everything else, including the wands and the sword, in Harry's rooms.
Harry hesitated, doubt rearing its head again. He didn't look at Voldemort when he said: "Have you gotten any reports, and if you have, may I read them?"
Voldemort did not hesitate in his answer but nodded and got up from his chair. "I will get the full reports now, and I will send copies to your study if that suits you?"
"Yes, and thanks."
Relief and gratitude filled Harry, far too much of both from someone that was Voldemort's equal, his husband, and the commander of the battle in question. The mind bridge had done much to bridge the divide and help with the misunderstandings between them, but there was still a way to go.
"It is no bother, Harry. We will speak later."
Side by side they went into Voldemort's drawing room and from there Voldemort continued out into the hallway, while Harry went towards the doors to the drawing room that was between their two suites.
As Voldemort left the room, he began to close the mind door, and as usual they closed their doors almost simultaneously. The last feeling he got from Harry before the doors closed was a resigned kind of acceptance.
The meeting held few surprises, it was mostly reports after the battle and Voldemort had already gotten quite good preliminary reports hours before. The number of fallen and wounded had not changed, only now all but four of the wounded were completely healed. The work with putting the tent camp to rights was ongoing and Voldemort suspected that Harry would demand to volunteer his time and power to get the buildings in Hogsmeade built faster than before. Just like he already had made clear that he would supervise the final ward net over the village, if not make it himself. Four of the finished houses had been torched during the attack, but they had luckily been empty. All the funerals would be the day after next and Astoria carefully expressed that all of them should consider going. Voldemort would ask Harry, but not demand his presence in any way.
The only thing that was slightly surprising about the reports were the paragraphs on Harry. While Astoria, Draco and Narcissa had kept to the edges of the camp while directing the Fiendfyre, Harry had gone into the camp to fight while both conjuring, controlling and directing the Fiendfyre. Some from Severus' squad had seen him with a pack of Fiendfyre wolves backing him, while he cursed, slashed and cackled his way through the fight. From the reports it was Harry that had killed three of the enemies that had fallen in the fight, instead of taking their own lives with a truly nasty bit of magic, after they had been incapacitated. It was because of Harry and the picture he made, that the north side of the camp had been as deserted as it had been. People, both allies, civilians and foes, had literally fled from him.
The last report Voldemort got was from Head of DMLE Susan Bones. Her main worry was that no one had thought to contact the Auror's before Harry did, while someone had gone to Voldemort and the Death Eaters as fast as they could. Her complaint wasn't, surprisingly, that Death Eaters weren't authorised Auror's and shouldn't do such a job. But rather the fact that she worried that the Auror Department was lacking, if people would hesitate to make contact when it was needed. She and Astoria decided to meet and try to figure it out after the funerals. Maybe it would be possible to make a new form of communication, to make it easier to summon Auror's when there was an attack or some other form of crisis. To summon Auror's through your Floo when your tent or house were on fire, was not ideal. Head Bones mentioned the Patronus Charm, but hardly one in forty, if that many, knew how to cast a corporeal Patronus.
Head Bones also talked at length about what she, the Auror Department and the rest of DMLE was doing and would be doing to figure out who these people were and how to stop them. That would be the top priority for all of DMLE until it was solved. Voldemort gave her leave to use all the resources and all the people necessary to see the task done. They could not afford any more attacks of this kind, they could not afford to lose more people. More children.
After the meeting Voldemort read through all the reports in his own study, made some notes of things he would have to figure out or situations he would have to remember to look into, then he sent a copy of the reports to Harry's study and went to speak to the press. Astoria had taken the first press conference all on her own, in the early morning hours, but this time he would have to be there.
When it became time to talk with Harry, the sky was still grey and heavy with promised rain, and the wind was cold and harsh, but it didn't rain, so Voldemort asked Dobby to serve them tea outside on the beach. Dobby did, and put up a small table, chairs, and a magical wall against the wind, without being asked. Harry and Astoria might have been right when they insisted on kindness towards their elves. Voldemort could not remember ever hearing about an elf that went this much out of his way to make his master happy. Neither had he heard about elves that were willing to risk their lives in a battle between magical humans, to save some of said humans that weren't their own family.
He sat down in one of the chairs and waited. He could see Harry on the other side of the beach, slowly finding his way towards him. When he saw Harry's drawn and pale face, he wished he could tell him that this talk wasn't necessary.
Unfortunately, it was.
Harry stopped some metres away from the table, and him, and swallowed hard.
"I didn't know that I could do that, harm you that way. It never happened before I came here, but I have accepted that it did happen, and that there is a chance that it can happen again."
Voldemort held his gaze calmly. "Will you not sit, Harry?" He made a gesture at the other chair and place setting.
Harry shook his head. "I'm too … too wired, I need to get it over with, at least some of it. This is a situation where you really shouldn't be in any kind of connection with my mind, if you can help it. So please, close the door tight and put up your strongest Occlumency shields."
Voldemort frowned, but did as he asked. "Is there anything else?"
Harry eyed him in a way he hadn't done for some time now. All the hours with the open mind doors between them helped Voldemort interpret the look correctly.
"Do you want an Oath that I will not divulge your secret to anyone else, or is my word enough?" Voldemort asked carefully.
Harry's shoulders relaxed a bit, but he bit his lip. "You have always kept your word, as far as I know …"
The hesitancy told Voldemort that Harry needed his Oath. He didn't particularly blame him. He drew his wand and gave a Secrecy Oath and felt the magic bind him, before he met the green eyes of his husband. Harry swallowed hard and nodded at him.
"Thanks," he said hoarsely. "I will show you … and then I will tell you what I can and answer what questions I can, and then we might try and figure out a solution, if there is any." He swallowed again. "Do you think that would work for you?"
"That sounds acceptable."
Harry gave a huff of almost hysterical laughter, met his eyes, and transformed right there on the sand in front of him. From one moment to the next, Harry was gone and a black jaguar, a panther, with shining green eyes stood in his stead. He was big for a panther and his fur gleamed black in the grey light. The panther just stood there, watching him with wild, green eyes.
"An Animagus …?" Voldemort made it a question, because that did not really answer any of his questions. Animagi did not partly transform so they could get only teeth and claws, even if this form matched the injuries done to him.
In a kind of answer the panther turned into a great tiger, at least double the size of the panther. He was beautiful with his orange fur and broad stripes of pure black, his eyes were still bright green. The beast, Harry, chuffed at him and sat down.
Voldemort felt his breath catch. This wasn't possible. Animagi had one shape, and one shape only. This was not possible …
On the other hand, everyone knew that there was no such thing as a dragon rider and that dragons were wild animals without understanding outside of their own instinct. A dragon could not, would not, come to help a human, with anything, ever. But that had happened last night, right in front of his eyes. He had called it yet another impossible feat from his husband, and here was another one.
Another impossibility, from his utterly impossible husband.
The tiger became a small dog and then an owl, then a Niffler and a Cerebus, a boa constrictor and a stag before he stopped for a while in the shape of a big, black wolf with the same gleaming green eyes as Harry.
Voldemort's mind was completely hung up on the word impossible, even with the proof right in front of him.
"Shapechanger," he whispered, after long moments where the wolf and he just stared at each other. "I have never, never, heard about those outside of myths and fairy-tales."
Harry changed again and Voldemort had to use every drop of self-discipline to keep himself in the chair and force his face into a cool mask to hide the feelings unexpectedly roaring inside him. Suddenly he was glad, even grateful, that Harry had insisted that they close the mental connection between them completely. He would not have liked Harry to read these feelings from him. The confusion and curiosity in the beginning was one thing, those were harmless. The curiosity would probably have made Harry smile. The slow understanding when Harry kept changing shape was also alright, but the greed and possessiveness he tried to keep in check was worse, and now …
The covetousness that thundered through him was only modest next to the desire that filled him and made it very uncomfortable to sit still, knowing that Harry would see clear signs of his arousal, if he couldn't already smell it. The only other time he had been aroused near Harry was when they had agreed to consummate their marriage. He decidedly did not want to put Harry's guard back up when he finally had begun to relax somewhat around him.
But he dearly wanted to approach Harry now. To touch him, let his hand trace the pale skin and the shimmering scales covering part of his arms, torso, and face. Let his hand card through his long, silken looking black hair and touch those plump, pink lips that he knew must hide sharp, deadly fangs.
No, it was for the best that Harry did not know exactly what went through Voldemort's mind right now. But sweet Merlin … He was painfully hard.
Voldemort forced himself to not close his eyes, to get away from the green gaze with the slitted pupils that stared unblinkingly at him.
Harry Potter, his husband, was a shapechanger.
A shapechanger with a very wide variety of shapes, that apparently included both magical creatures and magical beings, like Nagas. Which was the shape Harry held right now. A devastatingly beautiful and powerful Naga with a tail that merged seamlessly with his hips and curled around him in impressive coils covered in green scales. The tail had to be at the very least seven metres in length, maybe even eight. Most of it was also a lot broader than Harry's legs was, it was truly massive. It was a green so dark it was almost black on top and more of a glittering emerald-green on the bottom.
The pale, scarred skin of Harry's arms and torso had become paler and part of it was covered in the same emerald-green scales, his temples and forehead also had some of the green scales. His eyes were an even clearer green than usual and had vertical pupils as Voldemort himself had. His hair flowed over broad shoulders and down his back, and his hands and fingers were longer and tipped with small claws. Claws that, if Voldemort's information on Nagas were correct and Harry now in essence was a Naga, would grow with strong feelings or need, just as his fangs would. Somehow, this shape made Harry not only seem exotic and attractive, but also stronger and healthier.
The dark green tip of Harry's tail wound its way over the sand and closer to Voldemort before Harry looked at it and frowned, the tail froze as if taken in the act, and remained still.
Harry looked from his tail to Voldemort again.
"Any questions?"
The damn man, Naga, sounded amused.
"After you more or less have given me the shock of my life, which is quite saying something, I will have you know … No, why in the world would I have any questions, Harry?" His voice was hoarser than he would like, but at the very least he sounded calm.
Harry rolled his eyes and sat down on his coils, quite comfortably, it seemed, like he had done it a lot.
Voldemort wished Harry would change his shape to anything but this startlingly beautiful and extremely alluring creature.
Voldemort wished Harry would never change shape again.
Voldemort eyed his husband who looked steadily back. Unfortunately, there was simply no way Harry didn't notice his effect on Voldemort, the robe had no hope of hiding it, but he didn't seem bothered. If anything, there was an unfamiliar smirk in those stunning eyes.
"You have a bet with someone who already knows about this ability of yours," Voldemort stated. No use making it a question.
"Why, yes, yes I do." The smirk grew to his plump lips, just barely there.
Voldemort had slowly begun to think of his husband as aesthetically pleasing. The more he got to know Harry, the better he liked both what was inside and outside of his husband. The main draw was still the mysteries, the fascination and the magical power, but he realised that he liked the way Harry looked more now than in the beginning, when he hadn't truly taken it into consideration further than if Harry was healthy or not.
Harry as a Naga was another matter entirely.
"And you just won." Not really a question either.
"It was not truly a hard bet to win, husband mine. You are known to like snakes; the question was only how much." The tone was teasing, but to Voldemort's surprise, not deriding or disgusted.
Voldemort blinked at him, and Harry smiled beatifically, small fangs gleaming against rosy lips. Did Harry seem younger like this, both in mind and in body, or was it simply that his appearance was so far from his usual one that Voldemort considered that?
"Do you plan to stay in that shape for long?" He still couldn't decide what he really wanted. It was disconcerting and almost painful being this aroused, but at the same time, he couldn't not want it either. Not yet, at least. He fought the need to squirm.
"Actually, unless you truly do mind, I would like to stay like this for a while longer. I haven't changed for months now and … I miss it, it's … freeing, and this shape is one of the safer ones. Also, I'm able to talk to you in this shape."
While Voldemort only understood part of that statement, what he did understand made a lot of sense.
"Alright. Would you mind explaining what you meant by 'one of the safer ones'? Is shape changing not safe for you?" Maybe, if he concentrated on the academic part of this, his body would be able to calm down.
Maybe.
"This is tied to my wish to make sure that we mentally are connected as little as possible for the duration of my change," Harry began, and Voldemort could already guess what he was going to say. "I change shape, but it's not only my shape that changes, my mind changes to fit the shape. If I stay in one shape too long, I will begin to act more like the shape, the animal, I have changed to. What 'too long' is varies a lot. Some of the variables are how tired I am, how often I have changed lately, how much magic I have used recently and what I do when I have changed.
"How human the shape is, is another important one. I can stay much, much longer as a Naga and keep a mostly human mindset with some Naga characteristic and instincts, than say a wolf. At times I kept my Naga shape for long spans of time, because that shape is quite ideal to living in the wilds, especially if one has magic and can make good, warm dens. If I had tried to stay a wolf for as long as I have stayed a Naga, I might have lost myself, at least partially, to the beast. Nagas are humanoid and civilised. My mindset might change some and I will follow my instincts more, but I will never forget who I actually am in this shape. That is a genuine risk I run in animal shapes."
Harry's tail wriggled over the sand towards Voldemort again, and again Harry stilled it with a glower. Voldemort looked fascinated down at the appendage that now was a mere metre away from his foot, before looking up at Harry again.
"Old, should have stayed forgotten ritual," Harry said suddenly and shortly, his voice stiff and his posture rigid. "Almost killed me. Thought it was a way to decide my own Animagus shape."
He almost radiated hostility and while Voldemort wasn't certain if that was because of the memories of the ritual or because he was afraid that Voldemort would demand to know more about said ritual, he did know that he didn't need to know more. Not right now.
Something curled around his ankle, and he gasped at the same moment Harry hissed. Voldemort looked down at the tail that had wound twice around his ankle and then he looked at Harry who watched him with trepidation and distrust in those glowing, green eyes.
"Why does your tail have a life of its own?" Voldemort asked gently, fighting with everything in him to not react to the delicious feeling of soft, cool scales against his skin. Nagini and other snakes were nice to touch, calming, friendly, but they were animals, and his … fascination only went so far, fortunately.
Harry in his Naga form was another matter entirely.
His husband looked mutinous and the glower he sent his tail tip should have shrivelled the appendage right up, but instead it just continued to stroke around Voldemort's leg, making the pleasure downright unbearable. He forced himself to sit still and breathe slowly. Forced himself to not pay attention to the tail and the delicious feeling of it against his skin. It was ludicrous that something that should be insignificant could feel so … gratifying.
Harry breathed out slowly and met Voldemort's gaze.
"One thing that I'm unable to escape in this shape is Naga instincts," Harry said slowly. "Right now, I am a Naga, instincts and all. This early after the change I should, by rights, have better control and be able to keep my instincts enough in check to at least not act on them. But I have never run across this … instinct … before. It's stronger than anything else I have felt so far …" He breathed deeply again. "Since we are married and we, for all intents and purposes, have mated, I guess I shouldn't be too surprised when my Naga-self sees you as my mate."
A/N:
Thank you so much for the comments, the favs and the follows! They are much appreciated! I love to hear what you think about the story and the characters! It makes writing this story even more fun! Each and every comment makes me smile! Thank you so very much for them!
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