A/N: FYI I changed the time frame of this fic a bit—instead of six months after the battle at Hogwarts, it's now only 3 months after…. Because reasons ;)
And please don't expect this fast of an update all the time--this is crazy fast for me, and it happened because my muse simply wouldn't shut up, LOL.
Also this chapter is very much NSFW.
Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos! I hope you enjoy this chapter.
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Chapter 2
Harry apparated directly into the foyer of Grimmauld Place, and soon as he landed a wave of exhaustion came over him and he swayed on his feet for a moment—the only thing that kept him from falling over was Voldemort's lingering grip on his arm from the apparition. Harry glanced up at his unlikely new roommate (slave, his guilty conscious reminded him, he's your slave now), then he forced a smile and told Voldemort, "Welcome home, I guess." Which was just plain weird, and Harry had the rather absurd and slap-happy thought that he'd gone to Azkaban hoping to get a Horcrux and he'd ended up getting the whole Voldemort. He stifled the laugh that wanted to escape, certain that his guest wouldn't appreciate it.
He couldn't quite decipher the expression on Voldemort's face, but it made him nervous, so he started to ramble. "Erm, this is number 12 Grimmauld Place. It used to belong to my godfather. Used to be the Order headquarters too. We, er, had to redo the Fidelus after we accidently brought a Death Eater here once, so only a handful of people have access now. Congrats on being one of them, I suppose." He paused but Voldemort remained silent and his expression didn't change, so Harry continued, "Er, it's still kind of a mess around here, but it's livable. You can have whichever bedroom you want except the one with Sirius' name on the door, or the master bedroom since that one's mine."
"Naturally," Voldemort finally said, then his strangely blank expression gave way and he let out a shaky laugh that morphed into borderline hyperventilation after a moment. He was staring off into the middle distance, and he still hadn't let go of Harry's arm.
Harry's eyebrows went up and he tried to catch Voldemort's eye. "Erm, Voldemort? You all right?"
Voldemort locked eyes with Harry and his grip on Harry's arm tightened a fraction as he focused his red eyes on Harry's green. He gradually managed to pull himself back under control, visibly forcing himself to take deeper, slower breaths. After a long few moments he finally blinked a few times and answered wryly, "It's been a rough few months."
Harry huffed a laugh and said, "Understatement of the year, that."
"Indeed."
He still hadn't let go of Harry's arm, and there was a pleasant sort of buzzing feeling building in Harry's skin where they touched. The feeling seemed to echo in his scar as well. After a moment, Voldemort's brows furrowed slightly and he glanced down at the point of contact as well.
Suddenly feeling awkward, Harry started to pull his arm away and said, "So, er, do you want to pick a room and get settled in, or—?"
Voldemort held on to Harry's arm gently but insistently, not letting him pull away. "No," Voldemort said, wearing a look of resignation. "We should get the consummation over with—I can already feel the bond drawing from my magic."
Harry blushed. "Erm, can't it wait til tomorrow at least? I mean, I'm kind of exhausted, and we should talk about it first, you know? Likes and dislikes, safe words, that kind of thing?"
Voldemort raised a judgmental eyebrow at him and said, "You're seventeen, I'm sure you can manage an erection no matter how tired you are."
Harry blushed again and corrected, "Eighteen now, actually."
A little over a week ago, he'd suffered through an awkward birthday party at the Burrow, desperately trying to keep his little problem with his erratic magic a secret, and trying to act as normal as possible so Ron and Hermione wouldn't catch on that anything was wrong, or that Harry was planning something entirely insane. Between the entire Weasley family's grief over Fred's death and the newness of Ron and Hermione's romantic relationship, Harry figured his two best friends and his surrogate family should be distracted enough for him to get away with it. He'd also had a rather awkward kiss with Ginny at the party, but it hadn't gone any further and they'd seemed to mutually agree without really talking about it that whatever they'd had before had fizzled out.
"Congratulations," Voldemort said dryly. Then he ran a hand through his hair in a rare nervous gesture, and said, "I don't feel the need for a safe word, and it doesn't really matter what we normally prefer—it's a quick fuck to consummate the bond, that's all. Just think about someone else and get it over with."
Harry blinked, and uncomfortably said, "Right."
The silence stretched on until Voldemort finally prompted, "Well?" and gestured vaguely towards the stairs. "Show me to your room."
Harry blushed again, but nodded and determinedly escorted the former Dark Lord up the stairs and down the corridor to the master bedroom Harry had claimed for his own. Voldemort, keeping his eyes on the floor, finally let go of Harry's arm and unceremoniously tugged off the loose and unflattering grey Azkaban tunic he wore, dropping it to the floor. Harry gasped at the patchwork of mottled bruises all over Voldemort's back and chest.
Voldemort paused and glanced over at Harry, then down at himself as if he'd forgotten the bruises were there, or even worse, as if he was simply used to their presence. "Ah," he said uncomfortably. "If you'll lend me your wand for a moment, I'll get rid of this mess."
Harry shook his head a bit numbly and stepped closer, drawing his wand and ignoring Voldemort's slight flinch when Harry extended his wand to heal the damage himself. Bit by bit, the bruises disappeared and Voldemort visibly relaxed. Harry felt Voldemort's intense gaze boring into him, so he saved the man's face for last, quickly healing the bruises and the black eye and the scratches on his neck and finally the split lip, all while avoiding eye contact. "There," Harry finally said.
Voldemort gave him an inscrutable look, then quietly said, "Thank you."
Harry forced a small smile and said, "Yeah, well. The way I see it, it's my duty to take care of you too now."
Voldemort blinked but said nothing, giving Harry a long, scrutinizing look that made him squirm a bit.
"Erm," Harry said, "do you want to have a shower first, or?"
Voldemort hesitated, seeming torn between getting the consummation over with and having a hot shower for probably the first time since he'd been tossed into Azkaban. Finally, he nodded.
Harry pointed to the door to the en suite bathroom and said, "Bathroom's through there. Take as long as you want."
Voldemort nodded again and strode into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Harry let out an enormous sigh and sat down on the edge of his bed, burying his face in his hands. He was still exhausted, still half in shock, still feeling slightly punch-drunk and giddy after regaining the Horcrux in his scar, and still entirely uncomfortable with the idea of having sex with someone who was his slave.
But despite all of that, Voldemort clearly wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible, so Harry took advantage of the temporary solitude to try to shove away all of his compunctions and try to get himself into the right mindset. It was just sex, after all—nothing new. Even sex with a man wasn't new to Harry, thanks to a tumultuous and short-lived secret fling with Draco Malfoy back in sixth year.
It was just sex, he told himself again and again. He stood up and pulled off his robes, carelessly tossing them over the back of a chair, then kicked off his shoes and socks and shed his trousers as well. He started to unbutton his shirt, but then he hesitated—was he getting too far ahead of himself? Was it going to freak Voldemort out if he came out of the shower to find his master already undressed and waiting for him? Harry shivered a bit—both in discomfort and in something he refused to name—at referring to himself as Voldemort's master. It felt wrong, but also a bit…thrilling? Horrifying? Both?
"This is so fucked up," Harry muttered to himself, pushing past his hesitation and tugging off his shirt. Just get it over with—that's what Voldemort wanted, so Harry was going to respect that. Unfortunately that meant getting a certain reluctant body part on board with the plan—and despite the imminence of getting laid, he wasn't even half hard, too conflicted by the whole slavery thing and too anxious about the fact that if he didn't consummate the bond, then it would hurt and eventually kill the man who was now dependent upon him.
Harry sighed and sat back down on the bed, wearing only his y-fronts. He shoved the pillows out of his way and leaned his back against the headboard as he splayed his legs out in front of him and slipped one hand into his underwear to try to coax his reluctant cock into hardness.
He stroked himself, starting out with a light, almost teasing touch, letting his eyes drift closed as he tried to push away his conflicted thoughts and just focus on the physical sensations. It was just sex. Just sex, that's all. Just this wonderful friction and pressure, and the anticipation of the tightness and heat of another body underneath him. After a moment his cock started to harden and he tightened his grip, going just a little harder, just a little faster. He remembered the glimpse of Voldemort's bare chest he'd gotten while healing him, and licked his lips. He remembered that heated, perfect kiss back in Azkaban, and the bright-cold-explosive feeling of the Horcrux reentering his scar. Harry's hand sped up, sliding up and down his now fully-hard cock while he bit his lip, eyes still closed.
The sudden sound of a throat clearing startled Harry, and his eyes snapped open and he immediately pulled his hand away from his cock and out of his underwear, despite already being caught.
Voldemort, wearing only a towel around his hips, stood in the bathroom doorway, unabashedly watching Harry. "Don't stop on my account," he said in a mild but teasing tone.
Harry felt the blush heating his face, and said, "I was just—you said you wanted to get it over with quickly, so, yeah."
"Indeed," Voldemort said, giving him a hint of a smile as he walked over to the bed. Harry couldn't keep from staring—his eyes trailed over Tom Riddle's gorgeous face, which was made even more attractive somehow by an unruly lock of still-damp hair that kept falling into his eyes. Then Harry's gaze trailed down his chest, and down further until that damned bath towel blocked the view. He was vaguely aware that Voldemort was saying something, but he missed almost all of it.
"Er, sorry, what?" Harry asked.
Voldemort gave him an unimpressed look and then tossed him a small vial of clear oil, which Harry caught reflexively. "I said," he told Harry with a slight glare, "that this should suffice as lubricant. I've already prepared myself, but," he paused and glanced away with just the slightest look of apprehension, "I've never been on the receiving end of this before, and I would appreciate it if you would start slowly and show some restraint."
Harry blinked and very valiantly tried not to imagine Voldemort working himself open with those long elegant fingers, then he cleared his throat and nodded and awkwardly said, "Yeah, of course. I have been. Er, I mean, I've done it both ways, so, I know what I'm doing. I'll be careful."
Voldemort raised an eyebrow at him, but evidently he decided not to ask for more details. Instead, he unceremoniously dropped the towel from around his waist—effectively short-circuiting Harry's brain—and then climbed onto the bed beside Harry. "Get on with it, then," he muttered as he positioned himself in the center of the bed on his knees and forearms.
Harry swallowed, letting his gaze rake over the beautiful man beside him—who was tense and staring down at the bedspread, refusing to look at Harry as he waited. Voldemort's cock, Harry noticed, hung completely soft and uninterested, and Harry's own erection had flagged significantly at his partner's obvious distress. "Erm," Harry started uncertainly.
"Fucking do it already," Voldemort hissed at him, still staring straight down at the bedspread as if trying to glare a hole through it.
"All right," Harry said in what he hoped was a calming tone.
Harry scooted to the edge of the bed and stood up, quickly discarding his underwear, and then he climbed back onto the bed behind Voldemort, who impossibly tensed even further when he felt the mattress dip.
"Not going to hurt you," Harry murmured, reaching out to smooth his palms along Voldemort's back in a soothing manner. He repeated the motion a few times before trailing his hands down further to the man's hips, and then tentatively reaching one hand around to grasp Voldemort's cock.
Voldemort startled and flinched away from the touch, then snapped at Harry, "That isn't necessary, just do it already, Potter."
Harry quickly pulled his hand away, stung both by the reaction and by being called his surname—he was fairly certain Voldemort had always called him Harry. "Haven't you ever heard of foreplay?" Harry muttered, his own erection completely gone now.
"This isn't sex," Voldemort snapped at him.
"Could've fooled me."
"It's a regrettably necessary part of a ritual to prevent me from losing my magic and dying," he ranted, "so I would appreciate it, Master," he sneered, "if you would just get on with it."
Harry sighed and rubbed one hand over his eyes and then nervously ran it through his hair. "I know," he said. "I just—I can't do it like this."
Voldemort's head whipped around to glare at Harry over his shoulder. "Excuse me?" he hissed.
Embarrassed and frustrated, Harry gestured down to his own limp cock and said, "I can't do it like this—you're not into it, and you won't let me try to get you off, and I just can't." Harry paused, and sighed again, and said, "You don't want it—it's just too much like rape. I can't."
Voldemort glanced down at Harry's cock, then back up at his face. He studied him for a long moment, then said, "Fine—you can touch me if you have to. Close your eyes and think of someone else, and just get it over with."
"That's not—"
Voldemort let out a frustrated growl and let his forehead drop to the mattress.
Harry sighed, and knee-walked up the mattress so he was no longer looming behind Voldemort, then he laid down next to him instead. Voldemort turned his head to make eye contact, and Harry asked, "What if you get on top?"
Voldemort blinked, then said slowly and derisively, "I already told you that the master has to be the one to penetrate the slave to finalize the bond."
Harry winced, then said, "I'd really rather you not call us that in bed. And that's not what I meant anyway—I was thinking that you could ride me." Harry blushed, but bravely held eye contact as he elaborated, "That way you'd be in control of the pace and everything, but you'd still technically be bottoming."
Voldemort seemed to consider it, but eventually said, "If I'm in control, the bond might not recognize it as you 'claiming' me."
Harry sighed. "Then I don't know what to do. Can we, I dunno, take a lust potion or something?"
"Do you have a lust potion lying around?"
"No…and I'd rather not be mobbed by the paparazzi trying to go buy one either," Harry said. Voldemort snorted in amusement, and Harry glanced back over to catch his eyes and chuckled too. "Yeah, imagine that," Harry said, grinning, "Rita Skeeter's next front page story: The Boy Who Lusted."
Voldemort laughed—a genuine, amused laugh-and somehow it made him even more handsome. It was totally unfair, Harry thought, for anyone to be that gorgeous.
"Hey," Harry said softly after a moment, his heart somewhere in his throat. "Erm—that kiss wasn't so bad earlier. Maybe—we could try that again? See if it helps?"
Voldemort blinked and his expression grew serious again. "All right."
"And, er," Harry quickly added, "if it does, and if we go further, I'd rather we face each other—I can't tell from behind if I'm hurting you, or if you're freaking out or anything."
"I'm not going to 'freak out'," Voldemort said derisively.
"Prove it then," Harry said, tilting his head closer to Voldemort's. "Kiss me."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed briefly, but then he was shifting closer to Harry and running one hand through his hair as his lips descended on Harry's, capturing them and claiming them and parting them with his tongue as it sought out Harry's to brush against it in tantalizing motions. Harry moaned into the kiss, but Voldemort abruptly pulled back and said flatly, "The bond considered that an order."
Harry's blissed-out mood evaporated and his heart sank, "Oh god, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" Voldemort rolled his eyes and leaned in to kiss him again, but Harry turned his head and frantically blurted out, "You can stop kissing me now! Order cancelled! Erm—"
Voldemort chuckled and put one finger over Harry's lips to silence him. "The order was fulfilled after the first one," he explained, then leaned down to pointedly kiss Harry again of his own volition. It was every bit as amazing, but he pulled back much too soon and continued explaining, "Now, if you had said 'don't stop kissing me' it would be a different story."
"I'm sorry," Harry repeated again. "I didn't do that on purpose. I'm not going to force you to do things like that—I'm not like those guards, I swear."
"I know," Voldemort said solemnly, giving Harry a look that was almost grateful. "Just be more careful with your phrasing when you speak to me."
"All right," Harry said, then he tentatively leaned up for another kiss. Voldemort met him halfway, and their lips seemed to be made for each other with how perfectly they fit together and how in-sync their movements were. Not to mention the pleasant buzzing in Harry's scar that flared up between them when they kissed.
Harry gasped when he felt Voldemort's hand boldly wrap around his cock and begin to stroke it. Harry moaned into the kiss and broke away just long enough to ask, "Can I touch you too?"
Voldemort didn't answer verbally, but he reached for one of Harry's hands and pressed it against his cock. Not hard yet, not even half—maybe a quarter, Harry thought absurdly as he stroked it from root to tip, swirling his thumb over the tip and pressing against the slit there on every upstroke. After only five or six strokes, Harry smiled into the kiss because—yep, Voldemort was definitely half-mast now—and Harry's own cock was standing at full attention. It made a world of difference that his partner was responding and engaging and no longer acting terrified of him. And it certainly helped that he was so bloody gorgeous.
Harry's brain-to-mouth filter malfunctioned and he blurted out against Voldemort's lips, "Why are you so bloody gorgeous?"
Voldemort chuckled and flippantly said, "Just lucky, I suppose."
Harry kissed him again but then said, "No, really—what happened to make you look like this again?"
Voldemort met his eyes, gave him a humorless smile, and answered, "You told me to try for some remorse…so I did."
Harry blinked. "You—"
"Had a lot of time to think in Azkaban, in between sessions of the guards beating me senseless—they would usually leave me alone for a few days afterwards, to heal just enough that I wouldn't die the next time. Magical healing wouldn't work properly on me with the collar," he said with a bitter smile.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, kissing him again and then hissing in pleasure when Voldemort continued stroking Harry's cock.
Voldemort hummed into the kiss, then pulled back just far enough to say, "You said it with such conviction, 'try for some remorse', so when I had nothing left to lose, I decided that it couldn't hurt." He paused for a moment, bucking into Harry's hand when he tightened his grip slightly, then said, "But it did—it hurt terribly. Worse than the night I first tried to kill you. But at the end of it, the pieces of my soul came back together, back into me, and somehow it restored my body as well."
"But, the collar?"
"The soul has its own separate kind of magic—the collar couldn't prevent it."
"The Horcruxes, though—?"
Voldemort already seemed to know what Harry was going to ask, and he said, "The pieces of souls in Horcruxes aren't completely destroyed when the vessel is destroyed, but neither do they move on—they linger in a sort of in-between place, a purgatory. Evidently remorse really can bring them back together."
Harry stared up at Voldemort, caught somewhere between lust and pride and awe—but then he abruptly remembered what he'd demanded of the man and felt a flood of shame. "You—you fixed your soul, and then I barged in and made you tear it apart again," he said guiltily.
Voldemort kissed him to silence his self-recrimination, and whispered, "It was worth it. Now hush, you're supposed to be claiming me."
With that, Voldemort let go of Harry's cock and rolled over onto his back, tugging at Harry's arm and shoulder to bring him along. Harry went with the motion, ending up between Voldemort's legs, propped up over him on his knees and forearms and looking down into the dark red eyes of the man that used to be his enemy. Harry swallowed and nervously asked, "You sure you're ready?"
"Yes," Voldemort said, pointedly spreading his legs a bit further apart. "Do it."
Harry wanted to, wanted so badly to just thrust inside and take him, but he held back and awkwardly asked, "Er, can I just check to make sure? With, erm, with my fingers?"
Voldemort raised an eyebrow at him, but said, "If you must."
Harry nodded and said, "I don't want to hurt you, especially if you've never done this."
"Go on, then."
Harry swallowed, then tore his gaze away from Voldemort's face, trailing down his body and lingering on his cock before focusing on the tight ring of his entrance. He reached for the vial of oil, which had ended up on the nightstand, and poured a generous amount into his hand, coating his fingers before reaching down to lightly trace Voldemort's hole with one finger. Voldemort's breath hitched but he didn't protest or try to pull away, so Harry pressed forward until his finger slipped inside that tight heat—which was still much too tight, Harry realized as he felt around inside.
"Yeah, that's…wow," Harry said. "Still too tight. You need more prep."
Voldemort huffed impatiently and said, "I used two fingers."
"And that's not enough," Harry reiterated as he cautiously worked a second slick finger alongside the first, carefully scissoring them several times before withdrawing.
"It's always been enough for the men I've fucked."
Harry's eyebrows shot up—he certainly had some questions but he refrained from asking them, and instead said, "Maybe, but I bet it wasn't their first time bottoming." Harry added more oil to his fingers, then used his other hand to stroke Voldemort's cock while he pressed three fingers against his hole. "Push back against me a bit, it'll help," Harry said, waiting for Voldemort to comply before pressing inside. He kept it slow and shallow at first, letting him adjust and continuing to stroke Voldemort's cock with his other hand.
He pressed in a little further, but paused when he heard a sharp intake of breath from Voldemort and he tensed around him. On impulse, Harry leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the tip of Voldemort's cock, murmuring, "It's all right, try to relax." He mouthed at Voldemort's cock, taking the tip into his mouth and laving it with his tongue while his hand kept stroking the shaft. As Voldemort relaxed, Harry's fingers pressed incrementally deeper, past the first knuckle, and at the same time he sucked harder on Voldemort's cock, sliding his mouth a little further down his shaft to take more of it.
"Harry," Voldemort gasped.
Without pulling his mouth off of Voldemort's cock, Harry glanced up at him and quirked a questioning eyebrow.
Voldemort bit his lip and then said, "If you keep that up, I'm going to come in your mouth."
Harry hummed around him and sucked just a little bit harder, then pulled off with an obscene pop and said, "I wouldn't mind."
Voldemort blinked and seemed to be rendered speechless. Harry took the opportunity to slide his fingers in those last couple inches until they were fully inside, as deep as they could go. Voldemort hissed but it seemed to be from surprise rather than pain.
Even so, Harry asked, "All right?"
Voldemort nodded. "Can we move this along?" he asked impatiently.
Harry smirked and carefully prodded his fingers around inside, searching for a particular spot—there! He nudged against Voldemort's prostate, and was rewarded with a shocked moan and a full-body shudder as Voldemort pushed back on Harry's fingers, seeking that feeling again.
"Why?" Harry asked innocently, "Are you not enjoying yourself?"
Voldemort ignored Harry's playfulness and murmured, "Gods, I never knew it felt like that."
"Ready for more?" Harry asked, deeming him adequately stretched and withdrawing his fingers when Voldemort nodded immediately. He reached for the vial of oil, pouring more into his hand and slicking up his cock while Voldemort watched with a half-eager, half-apprehensive expression. Harry wiped his hand on the sheets, then leaned down over Voldemort, propped up on his forearms. "Still all right with kissing?" Harry asked, just to make sure.
"Why wouldn't I be?" Voldemort asked, looking puzzled.
"Well, I did just have your dick in my mouth."
"So?"
Harry laughed, kissed him briefly, then pulled back and said, "Nothing, just some people are squeamish about that kind of thing."
"I'm hardly squeamish," Voldemort said, reaching up to tangle one hand in Harry's hair and pull him down into another filthy, intense kiss.
Harry moaned into the kiss, and then brought one hand down to position himself, pressing the tip of his cock gently against Voldemort's entrance. Harry pulled back from the kiss just far enough to whisper, "Ready?"
Voldemort whispered back, "Do it."
Harry kissed him again, his tongue pushing past Voldemort's lips at the same time Harry's cock slowly pushed inside him. Voldemort tensed up at first, clenching around him, but Harry kissed him and ran his hands soothingly along his sides and whispered against his lips, "Bear down a bit, push back against me," Voldemort did, and the resistance disappeared and Harry slid a few inches deeper without meaning to. "Yes, fuck, that's perfect." He forced himself to stay still, to give Voldemort time to adjust before going any deeper.
He rested his forehead against Voldemort's, sharing the same air, feeling that pleasant buzzing in his scar once again while they both adjusted. When he thought it was all right, he pressed forward another inch or so and then paused again.
"Move," Voldemort finally said, leaning up to steal a kiss from Harry before wrapping his legs around Harry's waist and nudging him forward those last few inches. The motion forced Harry to bottom out completely, to bury himself balls-deep in the gorgeous man beneath him, and it was so fucking exquisite Harry nearly came right then. Voldemort muffled another moan against Harry's lips, and Harry reached down for Voldemort's cock, taking it in hand and stroking as he pulled out about halfway before sliding back inside.
"Still all right?" Harry asked, somewhat breathlessly.
"Yes," Voldemort hissed, "stop asking."
"Fine," Harry said, "but you better tell me right away if I hurt you or if you want to stop."
Voldemort blinked, then frowned at him. "That was an order," he pointed out.
Harry nodded, "Yeah. That was."
Harry leaned down to kiss the frown away from Voldemort's lips, then he pulled out almost all the way before carefully pushing back in. Voldemort's breath hitched but he didn't protest, so Harry did it again, a bit faster this time. A bit harder the next.
Their kisses quickly grew sloppy and uncoordinated as Harry's thrusts sped up, so Harry leaned down to kiss Voldemort's neck instead, his tongue tracing the dark shapes comprising the collar of runes while he fucked into the man below him. Harry's hands had abandoned Voldemort's cock at some point to grip his hips instead as he thrust into him, but when Voldemort reached down to stroke himself, Harry hissed and reached up to pin both of Voldemort's hands to the bed beside his head instead, leaning down to kiss the Dark Lord's surprised expression away.
"You feel so good," Harry breathed, "so tight, so perfect." Their chests were pressed together, and every thrust gave Voldemort's cock some much-needed friction as Harry's abdomen slid over and against his straining erection.
"Harry," Voldemort gasped.
Harry kissed him again, then said, "I'm close—if you can hold off til I finish, I'll suck you, all right?" he offered, thinking that Voldemort definitely deserved a reward for feeling this amazing, for being this responsive, for simply having to let Harry fuck him in the first place.
Voldemort hissed in a gasp and bit his lip as Harry's next thrust nailed his prostate. "You might want to stop that, then," he said pointedly.
Harry grinned at him and squeezed the hands that had at some point entwined fingers with his own as he pinned them down. Then he changed his angle to deliberately miss the prostate, and chased his own pleasure instead. Harry had never felt this complete in his life—not only did he have the Horcrux back inside him, Harry himself was inside Voldemort, and the connection between them was humming pleasantly and every nerve in Harry's body was lit up with ecstasy. Harry pounded into Voldemort faster and harder and more erratically as he felt his orgasm approaching and he started to lose the rhythm. "Coming," he whispered against Voldemort's lips, just before the white-hot bliss overtook him and he spilled himself deep inside of his former enemy.
The collar of runes around Voldemort's neck briefly shimmered with a bluish white light, as did the runes on Harry and Voldemort's wrists. Harry blinked, and even through the post-orgasmic haze he murmured, "You all right? Did the runes do anything to you?"
Voldemort swallowed and seemed to consider it for a moment before answering, "I'm fine—it just felt strange. The bond is finalized."
Harry nodded, then let his forehead rest against Voldemort's while he caught his breath. After a long, silent moment, he shifted his hips and pulled out of Voldemort, who unwrapped his legs from Harry's waist and lowered them to stretch out on the mattress instead. Harry pressed another kiss to Voldemort's lips, then moved lower, licking a stripe across the rune collar before moving lower again, latching onto a nipple and teasing it with his tongue and gentle scrapes of his teeth before kissing a trail even lower and lower and finally pressing a kiss to the tip of Voldemort's cock before swallowing it whole and shocking a surprised and ecstatic moan out of the Dark Lord.
"Fuck, Harry," he breathed, tangling one demanding hand in Harry's messy hair to guide his movements, to push him to go just that little bit faster and deeper. Harry moaned around his cock, hoping that conveyed permission well enough for the bond to not interpret a little roughness as Voldemort hurting Harry. Harry went still for a moment to see whether anything adverse would happen, but nothing did and he relaxed—just in time for Voldemort to grasp Harry's hair and pull his mouth fully off of him, and then demand, "What?"
Harry blinked, licked his lips, and echoed, "What?"
Voldemort frowned slightly and said, "You got really tense for a moment."
Harry smiled at the man's thinly-masked concern and said, "I was worried that the bond might think getting a little rough counted as trying to harm me, and that it might punish you. Evidently not."
Voldemort blinked as if it hadn't even occurred to him, then said, "Ah."
Harry licked his lips slowly and deliberately, then asked, "Shall I continue?" Voldemort nodded, and Harry smiled and leaned back down, licking a teasing stripe up his cock from base to tip before saying, "And just to be clear, I'm perfectly fine with you being a little rough."
Then he plunged down and engulfed Voldemort's cock once more, bobbing his head and sucking and then swallowing around it when it hit the back of his throat, taking him as deep as possible. Voldemort's hands returned to Harry's hair, gripping fistfuls and taking control of the rhythm, essentially fucking Harry's throat as he thrust his hips up to meet him each time he tugged Harry down onto his dick. Harry moaned around Voldemort's cock, and then reached one hand down to fondle his balls while the other pressed three fingers back inside Voldemort's arse, still slick with lube and with Harry's come. Harry thrust his fingers in twice before hitting his prostate and sending Voldemort over the edge.
Voldemort's grip tightened in Harry's hair as he held him still, coming down his throat as Harry eagerly swallowed every drop. Even when Voldemort's breathing slowed back to normal and he let go of Harry's hair, Harry didn't pull off, reflexively swallowing a few more times around Voldemort's cock. After a moment, Voldemort finally pushed Harry off of him with a hiss of, "That's enough," at the overstimulation.
Harry allowed it, then wiped his mouth and rather giddily threw himself down on the bed beside Voldemort, glancing over and giving him his most charming grin. "Well, that was amazing," Harry said.
"Quite," Voldemort said, still sounding a bit breathless. His eyes flicked down to stare at Harry's mouth in something like awe.
Harry chuckled, then turned on his side and dared to throw one arm over Voldemort and rest his head on his bare chest. "This all right?" he asked, unsure whether the Dark Lord would have some kind of aversion to cuddling afterwards.
Voldemort hesitated, then said in an odd tone, "It's fine."
Harry frowned, tracing his fingers along Voldemort's chest. "Your words are saying 'it's fine' but your tone seems to be saying something else. Do you want to maybe clarify that?" Harry asked, careful not to frame anything as a command.
"You didn't have to do that," Voldemort finally said, clearly meaning the blowjob. His tone was a mixture of confused and appreciative and suspicious.
"I wanted to," Harry replied.
"I killed your parents," Voldemort said bluntly, also managing to kill the afterglow. "I tried to kill you several times." His disbelieving tone asked the silent question of 'how could you possibly have wanted to?'.
"I technically just raped you," Harry replied just as bluntly. He felt Voldemort tense up beneath him and he added, "I figured I owed you a happy ending at the very least."
"It wasn't—" Voldemort started to argue, but Harry interrupted.
"Yeah, yeah, I know—it wasn't rape and it wasn't even sex, it was 'a regrettably necessary ritual,' right?" Harry threw Voldemort's words back at him, feeling oddly angry and rejected. He'd gone out of his way to make it as enjoyable as possible despite the circumstances, and now it felt like Voldemort was throwing that consideration back in Harry's face.
"Precisely," Voldemort answered in a strange tone.
Harry scoffed and pulled away, laying on his back and rubbing both hands over his eyes. "Right, well it's over now, so you can go pick out a bedroom and regret it somewhere else." Voldemort seemed to hesitate, and Harry heard him draw in a breath to say something. In no mood to have more salt rubbed in his wounds, Harry cut him off before he had a chance to speak, snapping, "Do I need to make that an order?"
There was a very cold and heavy pause, then Voldemort answered, "Not at all, Master," with his tone full of derision
Harry's temper flared, and he ordered anyway, "Get out of my room."
Voldemort shot a glare at him, then stood up with a slight wince that made Harry feel a twinge of guilt. He strode first to the bathroom to retrieve his prison tunic and trousers, hastily getting dressed and then storming out of Harry's room without another look at him. He even slammed the door behind him.
Harry let out a frustrated groan and turned onto his side, punching the spare pillow next to his head and idly noting even through his frustration that he would need to buy Voldemort something to wear other than that tattered prison outfit.
With that thought, Harry finally allowed the exhaustion of the day to carry him into a restless but welcome sleep.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Harry slept late the next morning, and woke up in a rare good mood—for once, he didn't feel hollow, didn't feel like his magic was rebelling, didn't feel like he was missing a part of himself…and then he remembered.
Harry groaned and sat up in bed, grabbing his glasses off the nightstand. Physically, he still felt amazing—well-rested for a change, whole, and with that special sense of languid relaxation that always followed a spectacular shag. Emotionally, however…'conflicted' was an understatement. He'd finally cracked and gone to Azkaban to see Voldemort. He'd taken Wormtail with him as a premeditated sacrifice. He'd demanded a Horcrux back and gotten it, and he'd agreed to a magical rite he knew nothing about and ended up enslaving his former enemy. Who lived with him now. Who was his slave now. Who he'd very thoroughly fucked the night before… And who he'd more or less kicked out of bed afterwards (after technically raping him) because Harry lost his temper. Harry groaned again and muttered, "Fuck my life," before reluctantly climbing out of bed to dress.
He pulled on a pair of jeans and a charcoal gray tee shirt, tucked his wand into his jeans, and then cautiously stepped into the hallway. He had no way of knowing which room Voldemort had chosen, but on a hunch he walked all the way to the end of the corridor and knocked on the door of the bedroom furthest from his own. No answer came, but Harry felt compelled to check the room anyway—it was empty, but the sheets on the bed were in disarray and it was clear someone had slept there (or tried to, anyway). The door to the en suite bathroom was wide open and the light was off—the room truly seemed to be empty. Harry frowned, but then decided to head down to breakfast. He could get some food in him, some coffee perhaps, and then he'd try to find Voldemort to apologize and to talk about things.
He stifled a yawn as he stepped through the doorway into the kitchen—and then he stopped in his tracks, because Voldemort was already seated at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee and looking rather exhausted.
"Erm, good morning," Harry said awkwardly.
Voldemort tensed at first, then seemed to instantly pull himself together as he sat up straighter, projecting a sense of confidence and security that the man clearly didn't actually feel. He raised a critical eyebrow at Harry, then said politely but tersely, "Good morning." He nodded towards the counter at the half-full coffee pot, and added, "I made coffee, if you'd like some."
"Yeah, thanks," Harry said, heading for the coffee pot. He pulled his favorite mug out of the cabinet, a black one with a white silhouette of a stag that reminded him of his Patronus, and fixed himself a cup. Then he took his coffee over to the table and sat down across from Voldemort, who glanced curiously at him but remained silent and took a drink of his own coffee. "Right," Harry said after a moment, "I know this is awkward as hell, but we need to talk."
Voldemort tensed slightly, but his tone sounded nonchalant when he asked, "Breaking up with me already?"
Harry blushed slightly, then said, "Well, sort of." At Voldemort's raised eyebrow, he elaborated, "Look, last night was amazing once we actually got around to it—but I want to make it really, really clear that I'm not going to order or expect you in my bed anymore. I don't want you to worry about that happening, because it won't—we had to do it the once for the bond, but I'm not going to take advantage of you that way, all right? I promise."
Voldemort gave Harry a long, scrutinizing look, then finally nodded.
Harry sighed, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, then said, "Good. All right, erm, I have some more questions about the bond too, if you don't mind?"
Voldemort took a sip of his coffee, then waved one hand in a 'go on' gesture and said, "Fire away."
"Well, er, how did you know about it in the first place? Have you used it before?"
Voldemort blinked, clearly having not expected that to be Harry's first question. "I read about it extensively several years ago when I was researching different ways to bind my Death Eaters to me and ensure their loyalty. I've never used it on anyone—it was too involved and demanding for my purposes. On top of that, I found the consummation requirement repulsive. I discarded it as a possibility, and eventually developed the Dark Mark instead."
"All right, so, erm—how exactly does it decide what to consider an order? Like if I said, 'pass the salt' would the bond count that an order even though it's really more of a request?"
"It's very literal," Voldemort said, seeming a bit uncomfortable with the topic. "It would probably consider it an order." He gestured to the salt shaker on the table and said, "Go ahead and try it."
Harry cleared his throat, then said in a mild and undemanding tone, "Pass the salt."
Voldemort frowned and immediately reached for the salt shaker as if Imperiused, sliding it across the table to Harry, who stared down at it for a moment. Voldemort said tensely, "Evidently it's an order."
Harry glanced up at him, then over at the innocuous pepper shaker. He thought for a moment, then carefully asked, "Will you please pass the pepper?"
Voldemort glanced up at him, blinked, then smirked and said, "You know, Harry, I'd really rather not."
Harry smiled too, then said, "Questions are safe, then. Guess I'll just have to pretend I'm on Jeopardy whenever I talk to you."
"Jeopardy?"
"It's a Muggle game show on the telly where people have to answer in the form of a question."
"I see."
They both went quiet and drank their coffee. After a long silent moment, Harry suddenly gasped as he remembered something and jumped to his feet, nearly knocking over his chair. Voldemort tensed up but stayed seated, wary eyes locked on Harry.
"Oh my god," Harry said, "I just realized I left Wormtail's body back in Azkaban! What if it turns human again? Or if someone does that Animagus revealing spell? What if somebody sees the silver paw and figures it out?"
Voldemort huffed a laugh, then pulled something out of his own pocket and tossed it onto the kitchen table where it landed with a soft, squelchy thump. Wormtail.
Harry stopped his barrage of panicked questions and felt relieved but also rather nauseous as he said, "How? Did you have him in your pocket this whole time?"
"Obviously," Voldemort said, raising a critical eyebrow at Harry. "Did you think I knelt at your feet in front of the warden merely for the aesthetic? I grabbed Wormtail while I was down there and put a wandless Stasis Charm on the body, rather correctly assuming that you would forget to clean up after yourself."
"So sorry for not being a murder expert like yourself," Harry said sarcastically.
Voldemort shrugged one shoulder and said lightly, "Nobody's perfect."
Harry laughed, and said, "Berk. Thanks, though, for thinking ahead." Harry sat back down and took another sip of his coffee, and added, "I think I just about had a heart attack." Then he glanced at the disfigured rat on the table and his stomach turned. "Er, should we bury him, or?"
Voldemort raised an eyebrow at him, then answered, "If you're feeling sentimental. Otherwise just banish it or burn it or toss it in the woods for the wildlife to eat—the body won't return to human form after death."
Harry started to reply, but a call from the vicinity of the living room fireplace interrupted him.
"Harry? It's Kingsley—can I come through?"
"Shit," Harry muttered, quickly pulling out his wand. "Get rid of Wormtail, I'll stall him." Harry pressed his wand into Voldemort's hand, ignoring the surprised look on his face, and then hurried out into the living room.
Kingsley's head in the fireplace turned towards Harry at the sound of his footsteps, and he asked, "How are things going with your…charge?"
"Fine," Harry said, walking right up to the fireplace. "Yeah, no problems. He picked out a room, and I'll have to get him some proper clothes, but everything's fine so far."
Kingsley gave him a dubious look, then asked again, "May I come through? I have the papers for his new identity, and there are some things we need to discuss."
"Erm, well," Harry said hesitantly.
Voldemort chose that moment to appear in the doorway, leaning against it casually with his mug of coffee in his hand. "Oh," he said mildly, "am I interrupting something?"
Harry raised an eyebrow at Voldemort, silently asking whether Wormtail had been disposed of. Voldemort gave him a subtle, almost imperceptible nod. Harry replied, "Er, no, it's fine. The Minister was just about to come through," Harry said, stepping back a few feet from the fireplace to make room. Voldemort meanwhile walked into the room to stand next to Harry.
The flames flared up higher and Kingsley stepped out of the fireplace, giving Voldemort a cautious look before turning towards Harry and handing him a folder.
"His new identity," Kingsley said.
Harry didn't even open the folder, just handed it sideways to Voldemort, who casually handed Harry his coffee to hold in exchange.
Voldemort flipped open the folder, then after a moment he said, "Thomas Smith? Are you kidding me?"
"No," Kingsley said, "but keep reading."
Voldemort glanced back down, then after a second he scoffed and said, "Muggleborn and Ravenclaw, employed by the Ministry as an Unspeakable…and you've made me twenty years younger as well." He read a bit further, then laughed and said sarcastically, "And the icing on the cake is that I'm officially Harry Potter's new bodyguard." He glanced at Kingsley and then at Harry, and matter-of-factly said, "I'll be needing my wand back—no competent bodyguard would walk around without one."
Harry shrugged and said, "I was going to give it back anyway."
Kingsley's eyebrows went up at that. "Are you sure that's wise?"
Harry shrugged and gestured towards the folder in Voldemort's hands. "Are you sure this is? You know the bloody tabloid parasites are going to try to dig up everything they can on anyone who's part of my life—is that cover identity going to hold up?"
Voldemort was the one to answer, "It likely will, actually—he's made it as anonymous and unmemorable as possible, and the Unspeakable work will explain the largely unaccounted-for past. Unspeakables are sworn to absolute secrecy about their tasks, so I won't be expected to explain where I've been and what I've been doing for the past few decades. Likewise, being Muggleborn accounts for the lack of Wizarding family or connections, and Ravenclaws are notoriously introverted for the most part so it won't be strange for no one in my supposed class from Hogwarts to remember me."
Harry blinked, then said, "All right, if you're sure."
Kingsley gave Voldemort a long look, then said, "Glad we're in agreement." Then his expression shifted into something uncomfortable, and he turned to Harry to quietly say, "I did some further research on the Magical Conquest bond, and I learned about a rather disturbing aspect of it—I'd like to discuss it with you in private, Harry."
"Oh, erm," Harry said.
Voldemort glanced up and bluntly said, "If you're referring to the consummation, we've already taken care of it."
Harry blushed, Kingsley blinked a few times, and Voldemort casually reached over to reclaim his coffee cup from Harry's hands and take a sip.
"Well," Kingsley finally said. "All right, then." He cleared his throat, then said, "Harry, I would still like to speak with you privately."
Harry turned to give Voldemort an apologetic look, and said, "Could you, erm—?"
Voldemort cut him off with a sharp look and said in a blatantly fake, saccharine tone, "Of course, Master. I'll just go make breakfast and let the free wizards talk, like a good little slave." He turned abruptly and strode back into the kitchen.
Harry blinked and called after him, "I didn't mean it like that—Voldemort!" He sighed and when he turned back to Kingsley it was to find a rather alarmed and curious look on his face.
"Is he always like that?" Kingsley asked.
Harry shrugged. "He's touchy, but we've been getting along decently for the most part."
Kingsley studied him for a moment and then carefully asked, "How did you know that the consummation was required?"
Harry blushed again and looked at the floor when he answered, "I didn't. But Voldemort had apparently read about Magical Conquest a while back, so," he awkwardly trailed off.
Kingsley narrowed his eyes and asked, "And you don't find that suspicious at all? He could've manipulated the warden into getting you to invoke it—"
Harry interrupted, "All due respect, but does it really matter if he did?" Harry sighed, and said, "It's done, and it's permanent, and we're both just going to have to live with it now. Throwing accusations around isn't going to make things go any smoother."
Kingsley gave Harry a long, concerned look then said, "Harry, it worries me how easily you defend him. If he's taking advantage of your kindness—"
"I think he's owed a little kindness after what he's been through," Harry said. To Kingsley's stunned expression, Harry said, "Yeah, I never would've thought I'd say that about Voldemort either, but," Harry glanced towards the kitchen, wondering whether he was in there eavesdropping, and lowered his voice a bit, "he's spent three months with his magic bound, having guards beat the shit out of him every few days, not to mention the other stuff after his appearance changed."
"How did his appearance change?" Kingsley asked. "I've been wondering about that."
"Er, well, he told me that he looked like a monster before because of certain Dark rituals he did—but in Azkaban, he felt genuine remorse and it undid the effects of the ritual, gave him back his old looks," Harry said, treading carefully without technically lying.
"Hmm," Kingsley hummed, looking thoughtful. "Is that why you're being so lenient? You believe he truly feels remorse for what he's done to you and to the world?"
Harry shrugged and said, "That's part of it, I suppose." Kingsley's raised eyebrow prompted him to elaborate, so he sighed and said, "The other part—I don't talk about this very often, so please don't repeat any of it."
"Of course not," Kingsley said quietly.
Harry sighed again and said, "My Muggle relatives, the Dursleys—Dumbledore left me with them because of the blood protections from my mother's sacrifice. They didn't want me there and I didn't want to be there, but we were stuck with the situation because of the blood wards." Harry paused, then said, "They were awful to me—it was mostly just neglect, but they did hit me sometimes when they lost their tempers or when I accidentally did magic. And they called me a worthless freak almost every day of my life. They made me cook and clean and do yard work from the time I was old enough to walk, and, well, essentially they treated me like a slave." Harry glanced up to find a horrified, pitying look on Kingsley's face.
"Harry—I'm so sorry. I had no idea."
Harry smiled humorlessly and said, "It's fine. It's in the past. My point is, I'm not the Dursleys."
Kingsley blinked, then nodded solemnly. "I understand." There was a heavy pause, then Kingsley cleared his throat and said, "Well, I suppose I'll leave you to it—I will be checking in on the two of you occasionally, of course. I understand that you don't particularly want to order him around, but I expect you to keep him in line—and don't let him walk all over you either." Kingsley paused and waited for Harry to give at least a perfunctory reply.
"All right," Harry said.
Kingsley continued, "There haven't been any announcements yet about your 'bodyguard,' but all of the background documentation is in place for whenever it's necessary. Let me know if you need anything."
"Of course. Thanks."
Kingsley nodded, then stepped back through the floo.
Alone in the sitting room, Harry sighed again and ran a hand through his messy hair before steeling himself to go back in the kitchen and smooth things over with Voldemort.
He walked back into the kitchen, and was somewhat surprised to find Voldemort simply leaning against the wall right inside the open doorway with his arms crossed, not even trying to pretend he hadn't been eavesdropping.
Harry stopped short in the doorway and said, "Erm?" He wasn't sure he could handle another serious or emotional conversation right now.
Voldemort simply looked at him for a long moment, then he pushed away from the wall and asked, "How do you like your eggs?" as he walked towards the stovetop.
"Sorry?" Harry asked, a bit thrown by the fact that Voldemort had made it obvious that he'd heard Harry's conversation with Kingsley but he was very pointedly not asking about it.
"Scrambled? Fried? Over easy? An omelet, perhaps?" Voldemort suggested.
"You don't have to cook for me, I have a house-elf."
"You also have a slave."
"I already told you I'm not going to treat you like one. What I have," Harry said emphatically, "is a grumpy bodyguard who also happens to be my housemate."
Voldemort gave him an inscrutable look, then muttered, "I'll show you grumpy," startling a laugh out of Harry. Voldemort glanced over at Harry and cracked a reluctant smile as well. "Very well," Voldemort said, sitting back down at the table. Harry sat down too. "Call your elf, then. I haven't had a proper meal in months."
Harry's smile faded slightly, and he called, "Kreacher?"
The house-elf popped into the kitchen, glancing warily at Voldemort before asking Harry, "Master called?"
Harry suddenly realized the potential this had to get ugly—he had somehow completely forgotten about the whole Voldemort using Kreacher as a lab rat for his horrible potion thing—and he was supremely grateful that Kreacher evidently hadn't recognized Voldemort's new (old) look. "Yes, Kreacher—this is, er, Tom. He's going to be living here now, and we'd appreciate some breakfast. Nothing too rich or heavy—just eggs and toast, a bit of fresh fruit maybe."
"As Master wishes," Kreacher said, with another suspicious glance at Voldemort. He popped away, returned seconds later with two heaping plates of food, and then disappeared again.
Voldemort gave Harry a curious look, and Harry said, "Yeah, erm, don't ever tell him who you really are. He used to belong to Regulus Black—you tested that horrible cave potion on him and left him to the Inferi."
Voldemort blinked and asked, "How did he survive?"
Harry smiled grimly and said, "Because Regulus had ordered him to return after whatever task you used him for. So he returned."
"I see." Voldemort seemed to ponder it for a moment before drawing Harry's wand and casting a poison detection spell over first his own plate and then Harry's. "Just in case," he said to Harry's concerned look. He placed the wand down in the center of the table, then finally picked up a fork and dug in to his breakfast.
Harry left the wand on the table between them for the time being, then cleared his throat and awkwardly said, "If you haven't eaten for a while, it's best to start slow. This is not an order, but you probably shouldn't finish more than half of that plate."
Voldemort gave him a pointed look, then said, "Yes, I know the drill—I lived in a Muggle orphanage during wartime rationing."
Harry blinked, feeling foolish because he'd known that of course, and he said, "Right."
Voldemort didn't look away, and after a moment he asked, "Your relatives starved you as well?"
Harry stared down at his plate and shrugged one shoulder. He was really, really not in the mood to talk about it.
There was a long silence before Voldemort said thoughtfully, "You know, if you were to order me to torture a specific person or persons, logically I think it would supersede the first order not to harm anyone—as a one-time-exception, of course."
Harry blinked and looked up at him. "What?"
Voldemort shrugged casually. "Just a thought." He held eye contact with Harry for a moment, then pointedly said, "Let me know if you ever want to test that premise."
"Right," Harry said, a bit stunned. On the one hand he was horrified, but on the other hand—Voldemort offering to torture Harry's abusers was evidently his idea of a gift. It was sort of touching, in a Dark Lord kind of way. "Erm, thanks for the offer."
Voldemort nodded magnanimously and went back to eating his eggs. Harry did the same, and the two of them ate in an only slightly awkward silence.
About ten minutes later, an owl tapped at the kitchen window, and Harry got up to let it in. He gave the owl a treat, feeling a pang of grief for Hedwig, then he took the letter to the table to read as the owl flew away.
The letter was from Hermione—after the first few lines, Harry sighed and realized that he hadn't been as subtle as he thought about his post-Horcrux breakdown, and Hermione had finally decided to call him out on it. The letter was full of phrases like 'we're worried about you' and 'acting different' and 'you can tell Ron and I anything' and 'just want to help.'
"Bad news?" Voldemort asked from across the table.
Harry shrugged and absently held the letter out towards the other man.
Voldemort raised an eyebrow but took it and quickly skimmed the contents before glancing back up at Harry and giving him a questioning look. "Dare I ask what has you worrying your friends this much, Harry?"
Something finally gave, and Harry felt like a dam had broken on all of the things he'd been denying and locking inside himself for months. He found himself venting, "Well I couldn't exactly tell them that I missed being your bloody Horcrux, could I? Or that I've felt empty every day since the battle? Or that my magic was out of control? Or that I missed speaking and understanding Parseltongue? Or that I didn't feel like myself anymore without my connection to you?"
Voldemort listened with a rapt expression, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "Harry," he said softly when Harry finally paused for a breath, but Harry continued.
"Should I have told them that I didn't even make it three days before wishing the Horcrux was still there? Or that I spent weeks on end in the Black library looking for any hints at all on Horcrux creation? Or that I paid an ungodly amount of money to a very shady bookseller to finally get the right one with the complete instructions? Should I have told them that I tracked down Wormtail and kept him in an Unbreakable cage as a rat for over a month because I knew you would need someone to murder? Or that I was planning to throw my fame around for the first time in my life to get a visit with you in Azkaban? Or, here's the real kicker—should I have told them that my contingency plan, if I couldn't get the Horcrux back, was to use Unforgivables on whoever got in my way and get myself thrown into Azkaban, just to be closer to you because maybe that would be enough to stop feeling so hollow?"
Voldemort looked stunned and slightly unnerved for a moment before expertly masking it. "Harry," he said again, but he seemed to be at a rare loss for words.
Harry forced a smile and confessed, "Truth is, I'm not even angry about this—about us being stuck together. I hate the slavery part of it, but other than that?" Harry hesitated but decided that he might as well get it all out in the open and lay himself bare, "This feels…right. You and me, connected. It's always been you and me." He paused and glanced up to meet Voldemort's eyes, then smiled and finished, "And now it always will be."
Voldemort's expression remained unreadable and he didn't say anything but he didn't look away either, and Harry chose to believe that that meant something.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
A/N: next time might possibly feature some of Voldemort's POV, if it works and feels right.
Also, if you're interested, I have a twitter account for my HP fics, where I give heads-ups about updates, occasionally have polls, vent, flail, etc. If you're interested, it's @eidrokcuf (after my other Harrymort fic The Mirror of Eidrokcuf, but I post pretty equally about all of my WIPs)
Thank you for reading! As always, comments and con-crit are very welcome.