Chapter Three

Harry stared down at his arm thoughtfully, the mark there taunting him as it always seemed to do, but not for the reason that he thought it would when he woke up in the manor for the second time and saw it sitting there on his arm. Instead, it taunted him to use it, to summon Voldemort to him.

It had been three weeks now and Harry's brain had been through every variation of what had happened to him, what Voldemort had told him, what he had been told by other people. What he knew, what he thought he knew. He had gone over what he had thought was going to be his future, the future that he had somewhat resigned himself to, and the possibilities that he had now.

Voldemort had kept his word, Harry had seen no one during his three weeks here since that morning when Voldemort had spoken to him. He had the entire wing to himself, beautiful sitting rooms and drawing rooms, a dining room, his bedroom and five others in the wing, a kitchen, a library, a beautiful sunroom and even a private patch of garden. No one was ever in his part of the wing when he was walking around, and he had pressed his luck, almost trying to prove that Voldemort was lying to him by wandering around the next day after their conversation. But he had it to himself, and Voldemort had not pressed him to speak to him either.

The House Elves told him that their Master asked after him, asked to check that he was happy, that he was asking them for the things that he needed, that he asked if he was eating and drinking, asked about his moods, what he was doing to ensure that he was ok, but he had not pushed for Harry to speak to him, had sent him no messages, he just seemed to be waiting. He had sent gifts, things for Harry to do, things for him to read, and just little presents like ensure there were flowers on the table Harry ate breakfast at every morning, and the elves had told him that Voldemort himself picked them out every day for him from the greenhouses on the grounds of the manor.

Harry was feeling a little odd, it was the first time in his life that he could remember being able to really relax and have a break from...well everything, and the fact that this opportunity came in his enemy's home, well he thought that he should feel angry about that, but he could not find the energy for it. Instead, he found himself almost acting as though he were on holiday.

Since he could remember he had been doing housework for the Durselys, cooking, cleaning, tidying, gardening. When he was younger he was also trying to keep up with his school work and learn things so that he was able to escape the house as soon as he was old enough to get a job. After he found out about Hogwarts he had been learning magic while trying to focus on the life-endangering adventure of the year, coping with whatever was happening that year that ensured that he was not able to actually ever relax.

Here, there was no one making demands on him, there was no one chasing after him, no expectations, nothing. He was instead able to sleep in, have lazy breakfasts in one of the many beautiful rooms in the wing, he was able to have a lazy day wandering around, sunbathing in the garden, reading, playing a few of the games that had appeared for him.

He had spent a lot of the time thinking about what he was going to do though. Voldemort provided him everything that he wanted, anything that he asked for he got, through the House Elves of course, but Voldemort was the one footing the bill so to speak and authorising it. His 'gift' of Pettrigrew's hand and Bellatrix's broken wand was still sitting in Harry's room and caught his attention often enough, and the thought of what he had done for Harry, what he had done to the Dursleys for what they had done to him was often spinning around his mind.

He thought that he should have felt bad for what had been done for him, no matter what they had done to him, he should feel bad that they had lost their lives simply because they had wronged him. But then...what had anyone ever done for him? What had anyone ever done for him simply to make him happy? His suspicions about Hermione's friendship in the last few years played more and more on his mind, he had no doubt that their friendship had started out genuine, but he now felt as though she were giving information on him to Dumbledore, that he was being watched by her all the time, and guided in the right direction when needed.

Ron's jealousy was always an issue between the two of them, he thought that Ron did want to be his friend, but he had wanted to be The Boy Who Lived's friend more, and thought that being close to him would bring him fame and respect of his own, only to hate the shadow that he had been cast into because he was Harry's friend. Ron had accused him of loving the limelight, of enjoying his fame and playing on it enough times that Harry wondered more and more if he actually even knew Harry, the fact that he in any way thought, even for a moment - never mind months - that Harry had placed his own name into the Goblet of Fire, showed that perhaps he did not know Harry at all.

There was also the warm glow inside of him that he was now aware of, the part of Voldemort's soul that was nestled deep inside of him, that he had apparently been harbouring. It didn't seem to influence him, it didn't seem to do much really, except for the fact that he was able to feel an echo of Voldemort when he concentrated on it, when he really focussed using some botched together meditation/occulamency he came up with himself to poke at the bond that twined the two of them together he was able to feel where they were tied together, he was able to sense how their lives were twisted.

The prophecy bothered him, the one that Dumbledore handily had known the words to.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

They were meant to kill each other. They could not live while the other survived...but they were, they were living in the same house and were both living on quite well, the world hadn't split apart, the time continuum had not fractured, nothing had happened at all. And maybe it didn't need to. He didn't want to kill anyone, he didn't want to kill the person who had…

Well, he had killed his parents and tried to kill him on a few occasions.

But he had given him a freedom that he had never known. He had avenged Harry on the family that should have at least cared for an innocent child but had instead abused him. He had killed his own followers that had hurt Harry. He had given him a home and was giving him whatever he wanted. He was giving him time and space as he had promised and was the first person not to demand or expect something of Harry. He was the first person to give him an option, to ask what he wanted to do and give him the time to decide for himself.

He would be possessive, he would be jealous, he would be challenging and he would test Harry's patience. He was narcissistic and a psychopath and Harry was fairly sure that things between them would always be fiery. There was no real doubt about the relationship that he wanted with Harry, the gifts that he had sent to Harry left him in no doubt of that.

He was also exceedingly handsome now that he had gotten rid of the snake face thing, he was tall, dark-haired and pale-skinned in a way that made him look like he had come from a painting, his sharp jaw and cheekbones screamed aristocrat and his confidence in his own skills, the way he moved and carried himself was what could only be described as sexy, and the more Harry thought about it, the more that heat built in the pit of his stomach.

The memory of those molton red eyes burning into him, the memory of those hands holding his, the memory of those slightly thin lips pressed reverently to the skin of his hands were playing around in his head on a loop, and the life that he was imagining that they could have together was becoming more and more definitive in his mind.

More than that though, he was what Harry wanted in a relationship, he wanted someone who would love him completely and who wanted to be loved completely, he could understand Harry and what he had been through, how he thought and felt in a way that no one else could ever do, he was smart and quick, he would keep Harry on his feet and challenged. He also made Harry feel safe and made him feel as though he wouldn't really have to worry ever again as he would protect him from the world if need be.

When he thought about his future now, there was one that kept flashing in front of his eyes, one that he dreamt about, one that he was beginning to realise was being offered to him on a silver platter, and all he had to do was say yes.

He shouldn't want it, he shouldn't be thinking about it. People expected him to stand up to Voldemort, to fight him, defeat him again, kill him. But...he didn't know most of those people, and his relationships with those that he did know were beyond patchy.

He didn't want to kill Voldemort.

He wanted him.

Looking down at the book resting in his lap, he made a choice and pressed his hand to the mark on his arm, thinking about Voldemort. Barely a minute later there was a pop, and Voldemort appeared in the room dressed only in a pair of fitted trousers and a white button-up shirt, looking like something out of...well Harry's repeated and frequent dreams, dreams that had started taking the face and image of the Dark Lord now standing in front of him.

His crimson eyes looked around the room for a few seconds to make sure that Harry was not in danger before they settled on Harry, making his way over to the sofa that Harry was curled up on.

"You look well," Voldemort smiled a little, his eyes scanning over Harry hungrily, and in a way that told the younger man that he had not invaded his privacy at all, either watching him through magical means or coming to him during the night as he had worried about.

"The rest, actual rest, has done me good," Harry smiled back a little.

"Good, that is what I hoped for. The elves said that you seemed to have been enjoying the house," Voldemort settled down on the sofa next to him without taking his eyes off of Harry, turning himself a little on the seat so that he was still facing Harry, his arm resting along the back of the sofa, fingers inches away from his shoulder, his foot just inches away from brushing his leg.

"It is beautiful here, I have enjoyed the different rooms and spending time in them, and enjoying the gardens," Harry nodded.

"Good, you deserved it," Voldemort nodded. "Was there something that you wanted from me?" he tilted his head, and Harry felt his heart speeding up and his breath catching slightly.

"If we have children, would you be able to love them?" Harry asked bluntly, and watched as Voldemort's red eyes blinked, blinked again and then an expression settled into them, and over his face that had that heat building in Harry's stomach again.

"Children?" Voldemort licked his lips. "I believe I would, because they are of you,"

"Not because they are yours as well?" Harry frowned a little.

"I believe I would be able to love them as my children, because they are yours as well, if that makes sense," Voldemort corrected.

"It does," Harry set aside the book on male pregnancy that had been a revelation to him when he had found it two weeks ago. Those quick red eyes snapped to the title of the book and then back to Harry's face.

"You're serious about that? You want to carry my children? You want to…" Voldemort could not seem to voice the rest of it.

"It doesn't fully make sense to me, and I don't think it ever will, but then it doesn't need to. I have had time to think about it, about what I want and what I want...is you, what you're offering, I want to not have to worry about anything, I just want to be with you," Harry confessed, and Voldemort let out a breath that Harry felt he had been holding since their conversation three weeks ago.

"I will give you whatever you want, do whatever you want to make sure that you are happy, to give you the life that you deserve. I will give you a home, power, the ability not to have to worry about anything, I will give you all the children that you want, and make sure that they never have the life that we did growing up. Giving me an heir," Voldemort's hand shot out and captured Harry's, pulling it forward so that his arm, his mark, was revealed to Voldemort. "You are the only one that I will ever love, and I will do everything to make sure you are happy with me, I will burn the world to the ground if it is what you want,"

The vow should have been terrifying. Instead, it had that fire spreading from his stomach throughout his entire body, burning him up from the inside out, and this close he could feel the echo of that feeling coming from Voldemort to him.

Those lips he had been dreaming about were on his before he realised that Voldemort was moving, brushing gently once before they claimed him, pressing firmly against him and devouring him. It was nothing like the kiss from Cho, that was beyond a childish kiss in comparison to this kiss.

It was consuming and passionate, it felt as though he were melting and was going to be swept away with the kiss and the emotions and feelings that it created inside of him, but then Voldemort's strong arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him into his lap, and the feeling of those strong arms, the solid body between his legs, the soft black hair under his fingers anchored him as he kissed back as best he could.

"Perfect," Voldemort breathed out against Harry's lips, his red eyes boring into him as they panted against each other's lips.

For the first time in his life, Harry felt as though someone was truly seeing him, truly seeing who he was, and he thought he was perfect.

"What have you done to me?" Harry groaned between kisses, his hands gripping onto Voldemort's white shirt as he pressed himself closer to the other man, demanding more, needing more.

"Nothing that you have not done to me, my love," Voldemort responded, his arms tightening around Harry's waist and holding onto him as though he were the most precious thing in the world.

And he truly believed that to Voldemort he was.


"I would like to take you to Gringotts," Voldemort said into the quiet of the room and Harry looked up at him curiously from where he was lying with his head in his lap, the older man's long fingers playing absently with his hair.

They had spent hours kissing and murmuring words back and forth to each other, mainly promises from Voldemort to make Harry happy, to ensure that he had everything that he wanted. Children had been muttered about a lot, and Harry was a little amused at how taken the other was with the idea, but then he shouldn't have been. It played perfectly into his possessiveness to see Harry carrying his child, to see their children that they had created together.

Eventually, though they had separated. Or managed to separate before things went too far too fast. They had talked seriously about what they wanted, they had talked about what Harry desired from life, what he did and didn't want to be part of. He would have to make some public appearances at Voldemort's side as his partner, but that was it, he would not have to be part of the war effort, he would not have to take any action, do anything in regard to the war from here on out. He just had to be at Voldemort's side, which was what he wanted and so was not a hardship.

It was odd talking to a man that he knew utterly but knew nothing about, a man that he knew he was bound to and could feel that bond the longer they spent together growing deeper, entrenching further into him. They were twined together, and the contentedness that swept through him simply being in Voldemort's presence felt amazing, it felt almost like taking a calming potion, everything just felt warm and soft, everything felt right.

"Why?" Harry asked feeling lazy. They would have to move for something to eat soon, but he was feeling perfectly happy and comfortable.

"You have an inheritance there, vaults that are yours, your ancestry, your right, and I am fairly sure that Dumbledore has never told you that they are there for you?" Voldemort looked at him and Harry pinched his lips together as he shook his head. "Why am I not surprised. It is yours, and I know what it is to find items that link to your history, to where you have come from, the story that you belong to, it is yours,"

"You will come with me?" Harry asked nervously. Voldemort was right, he wanted to see these items, he wanted to see where he had come from, what his ancestors had left for him. But he did not want to do it by himself, that felt far too overwhelming, and he did not want anyone but Voldemort with him.

"Of course, I will use a glamour on the two of us and ensure that there is a Goblin waiting for us. We will spend as long as you need there. We can get a few things for you while we are there should you wish it, some new clothes," Voldemort hummed carrying on the soothing motion of his fingers through Harry's hair.

"Do you think that this is fast?" Harry asked, without pausing the combing of his fingers Voldemort hummed and looked down at him.

"Probably, I have been waiting for you to call me for three weeks though," he answered.

"We have gone from being mortal enemies to me living in your house feeling safe, to kissing and me wanting a future with you," Harry said a little bemusedly, stretching his arm out to look at Voldemort's mark on his forearm curiously.

Long thin fingers reached out and slid between his, squeezing gently. "We are bound together,"

"I feel like I should be freaking out about that," Harry admitted, tilting his head back a little and meeting red eyes that were watching him intently. "And that I shouldn't accept it, and want to be with you so quickly just because of that,"

"For me, at first I was unsure to realise that we are bound together, and that I felt for you, that I wanted you, especially because I have never truly felt this way before. It felt almost as though I was being tricked by fate. But I spent my childhood with nothing, I had no one to love or to love me, and I realised that it was lonely and that I had no one to share my life with. I realised being bound to you, being able to feel for you, love you, was a gift, that I had the chance in front of me that I would be foolish to turn away from. Why shouldn't I take something for just myself, I want you, we are bound to each other, it is as simple as that,"

Harry blinked up at him, his mind spinning a little as he took in what Voldemort had said. "That is...I am…" He stopped when Voldemort brushed his fingers gently down his face and then brushed over his lips teasingly, squeezing his fingers where their hands were still joined now resting on Harry's chest.

"You have had nothing for yourself, no one that has put you first, no one that has told you that what you want is important, what you want is their priority. Caring about your happiness and wellbeing. Wanting that for yourself, no matter the circumstances, is fine,"

"Others might not agree,"

"They would tell you that you are being selfish taking something for yourself and giving up their expectations for you," Voldemort voiced one of the things that had been going around Harry's mind. "But how many of those people with those expectations would actually listen to what you want, what you need, and put you first. How many of those expectations would just carry on building even if you defeated me, they would always have expectations of you, and you would never be able to realistically fill. It is either take the chance at what you want, and do what you want and ignore everyone else, or send the rest of your life trying to fulfil unrealistic expectations,"

Harry looked at him for a second before a smile spread across his face that had the older man staring down at him, the beauty on that delicate face stunning him was green eyes glowed almost with happiness. Harry rolled onto his hands and knees and leaned forward to press their lips together again, contentedly wrapping his arms around his shoulders and throwing his leg over his lap again, humming happily as Voldemort's arms wrapped around his again, a large and sure hand sweeping up and down his back.

"So perfect," Voldemort hummed when they eventually parted, pulling back a little to gaze at him lovingly.

"No, but I will be as perfect as I can be for you," Harry promised.

"You will always be perfect for me," Voldemort hummed scattering kisses over Harry's face. He tugged gently at Harry's dark hair until he tilted his head back, allowing him to attach his lips and teeth to the pale flesh of the younger man's throat.

"I…" Harry panted at the feelings going through his body, burning him through as they washed over him from the multiple forms of contact between them, from the lips fastened hungrily to his throat, sucking and nipping marks into it, the hands gripping his hips, the warmth in his chest from the emotions that he was feeling, and Voldemort was feeling. And then his stomach rumbled.

"Come, let us feed you," Voldemort chuckled amused detaching his lips from Harry's throat and placed a gentle kiss there before pulling back.

"Our first meal together," Harry smiled a little.

"The first of many," Voldemort nodded, his red eyes molton warm as he looked into Harry's beautiful green eyes.

He helped Harry to his feet from his lap and the two of them stood for a second before Voldemort leant down and cupped his face, pressing a kiss to his lips tenderly. Then taking his hand led him from the room to the dining room that Harry had been eating his meals in alone, but not anymore.

He did not think that he would be alone for anything anymore.


That night Harry looked at Voldemort nervously, enough concern humming through their bond that the older man looked up and raised a questioning eyebrow at him, his face concerned.

"Are we sleeping together tonight?" Harry blurted out and then felt his face go bright red.

"If that is what you want, then yes," Voldemort answered, and then carried on when he felt a little hesitance in Harry. "I would like to sleep with you from now on, go to sleep with you in my arms, and wake with you in them, but if it is not what you are ready for then I can wait. I will be content with whatever it is that you are ready for,"

"I want to sleep with you," Harry said before he could allow his nerves to get to him.

"Your room or my room?" Voldemort asked calmly, though Harry could feel the excitement going through him.

"Yours," Harry bit his bottom lip once he had spoken.

"If you are content with it, we could move you into my room, and have your bedroom set up as a private room for you, I know you have become attached to it,"

"I would like that," Harry nodded. "I have never had a room of my own before, not one that wasn't the cupboard," He admitted softly, and reached out for Voldemort who took his hand firmly within his own. He had said it out loud before when he had told people about his treatment at the Dursleys to try and make sure he did not have to go back there, and it had been like being punched in the gut every time he had to say the words. It was still tough to say out loud, but knowing that Voldemort knew anyway, he had seen it, he had felt it, it was easier to say, and it felt like a weight off his chest, not least because he knew he would never have to see that house again, look at that cupboard door again, be threatened with that cupboard again.

"I will not enter that room unless you wish me to, it is your private room, and you can have as many private rooms in this house as you wish," Voldemort promised him.

"Having that room would be nice, but it does not need to go to that extreme...I would also rather this be our home rather than having private rooms," Harry said nervously.

"I have never had a home before, I think wherever you are could be my home though," Voldemort said thoughtfully, his red eyes far away as he gazed around the room as though he had not looked at it in this way before.

He blinked and looked at Harry questioningly when he reached out and took his book from his hands, carefully placing a bookmark in it before closing it and placed it under his arm, drawing Voldemort to his feet with gentle urging.

"Let's go to bed, I am tired," Harry smiled.

"Let's," Voldemort nodded leaning down to kiss him gently, a small edge of awe to it before he straightened and led Harry from the room and down the corridor to the wing that Harry had not ventured to yet, having been informed by the elves that that was where Voldemort lived.

It had been a constant niggle when he was moving around the manor, a temptation and feeling as though stepping across that corridor was a barrier, knowing that Voldemort was so close had driven him mad. But now, he was walking hand in hand with him down the small part of the corridor to his bedroom.

He was interested in this part of the manor, of course, he had wanted to know what it was like, and while he was glancing around at it, his eyes were more focussed on the man holding his hand and leading him than on anything else.

They stepped into the room and Harry looked with interest at one of the most personal rooms to someone, the bedroom was a little spartan, a little more functional than anything else, but the silk blankets on the bed, the relaxing grey colour to the room - not missing that it was the exact same shade as had been used in his bedroom, the pile of books on the bedside cabinet told him a little more about the man that he had chosen.

He turned when arms wrapped around his waist and a warm, strong body pressed against his back, turning as a gentle kiss was placed along his jaw. "Your pyjamas," He said nodding to the bed where the House Elves had obviously already transferred some of his things into the room for him.

"Would you be offended if I went into the bathroom to change?" Harry asked, not really feeling concerned.

"Not at all, you're not ready for that step yet, whatever you're ready for, I am happy with. I am just content to know that I will be holding you in my arms tonight," Voldemort assured him.

It felt oddly domestic and normal while still being exciting changing into his pyjamas and stepping out into the bedroom to find Voldemort already in bed and waiting for him, lifting the blanket as he stepped closer to the bed in welcome.

He crawled onto the bed, and with barely any hesitation made his way right over to Voldemort's side and snuggled against him, resting his head on the older man's side as he wrapped his arm around him.

"You're still fairly tired," Voldemort hummed, combing his fingers through Harry's fringe.

"I feel a lot more rested, but still fairly tired," Harry admitted. "Do you know what is going on with Dumbledore and the others in regard to me? Do they know I am missing?" He asked curiously after a moment.

"They showed up about twenty minutes after we left, they felt the wards dropping but it was delayed because I dampened the release of the wards as soon as I arrived to give myself time with those pigs," Voldemort answered.

"How did you beat them to it?" Harry asked.

"I have been waiting for a chance to get to you, monitoring our bond constantly in case you poked a toe over the wards so that I could get to you, I felt the moment those wards snapped and came to you right away. Dumbledore and the others found what I left and have been looking for you, they are guessing that I have you but…"

"But?" Harry blinked at him.

"They are also questioning as to whether you are the one that snapped and killed the pigs," Voldemort's red eyes were a little worried as they looked at him, but Harry just snorted and made himself more comfortable on Voldemort, feeling even more sure of the choice that he had made.

"They told me that I was being dramatic about the Dursleys, but it was obviously bad enough for me to have snapped and killed them. Interesting,"

"They're fools and…" Voldemort cut himself off with an annoyed grunt. "They don't deserve you,"

"Well, I have made my choice anyway, and I won't change my mind," Harry looked up at him with a smile.

"I will make sure that you never have any reason to change your mind, that you never regret your choice," Voldemort promised.

"I believe you," Harry hummed contently closing his eyes and snuggling closer into the older man's side as Voldemort picked his book back up and resumed reading with one hand, the other holding Harry close.

The bond between them seemed to wind a little tighter, sealing them together that little stronger, the hum within their chest brightening and warming even more.

As Harry drifted to sleep Voldemort switched his attention from his book to the younger man, drinking in the vision of him lying in his bed, sleeping next to him, trusting him, having chosen him. The little boy that had stood at the window of the orphanage watching everyone else get adopted and not understanding why he felt so cold, why no one wanted him and everyone avoided him, that little boy could not have imagined being chosen by anyone, without manipulation, threats or force.

But Harry had chosen him, over his parents' friends, over his friends, over the people that had worked their way into his life and made him feel as though he owed them something, who had manipulated his gentle heart and his desire to be loved, his want to have a relationship with people, to look after others and have them want to look after him. He had still chosen Voldemort, had chosen to trust their bond, to trust him.

He really would never allow anything to happen that would make Harry regret that choice. The one person that he was truly ever going to be able to love was in his arms, he wanted to give Voldemort children that he would also be able to love because they came from this amazing man, beings that came from him and Harry, he would adore and dote on the way that he would adore and dote on Harry.

The man who was never meant to love bound to the man that had so much love to give but no one to focus it on.