A/N: Thank you, Mirage, for editing and mentoring.

Content warning: Attempted date rape, power dynamics, rough kink. For those of you who are reading this fic for the plot and not the pairing, first, why, and second there's an R rated section between the triple horizontal rule lines, and plot will not be affected if you skip it.

Chapter 69: Basic Instinct

The Cheshire Cat existed in Harry's time, but he'd never actually been inside. It was a little too pricy for the students of Hogwarts to frequent, and he hadn't lived in Scotland since he was a student. The big windows of the restaurant were tinted so that it was more difficult to see in, but he suspected that people sitting inside could see out. The Cheshire Cat was on the same alley, just a few doors down, from the Hogshead, and there were a few people waiting outside in the cold for a table.

Harry sighed. He wasn't excited to be there, and it wasn't exactly going to be thrilling waiting for a table to sit with the Dark Lord. He'd much rather be out looking for Albus, even if he wasn't strictly worried about his safety. Really—he wasn't. There wasn't any threat now that they'd discussed the ring (which was now in Harry's pocket).

He wasn't worried. He bit a finger nail and looked at his watch. Not worried at all.

He'd hardly been outside a little while, though, when a high-heeled hostess in a dazzling black sequined dress edged her way outside.

"Mr. Crockett?"

Harry sighed again, this time in resignation, and followed the woman inside and through a small crowd of standing people to a table by the front windows of the dark crowded restaurant. Tom Riddle was already sitting at the table, his back to the front window.

"I hope you don't mind that I took this seat. I like to have my back to a wall," he told Harry, cutting off the beginning of the hostess's Evening Special monolog, and looking only at Harry.

Harry, being an auror, also liked to have his back to a wall so that he could always see a threat coming, but he didn't respond. He sat down, and looked up at the hostess, cuing her to continue.

"Our specials today are an Atlantic salmon with…" Harry tuned out, but kept up his eye contact to be polite.

His thoughts roamed. Maybe Albus had returned to the castle, but had been busy during the meals. –But that wasn't probable, because there hadn't been a full lunch, and Albus wouldn't have returned without the house elves.

Maybe the house elves had been kidnapped, and then Albus had been kidnapped.

No, that was improbable. Who would kidnap a bunch of Hogwarts house elves?

Voldemort. But Voldemort was with Harry, and seemed to be trying to behave.

"Sir?"

"Oh—er…I'd like a butterbeer, please," said Harry

The hostess turned to Riddle.

"The same," said Riddle, never taking his eyes off Harry. –Seriously, had the dude never been on a date before? He was supposed to look at the food that way, not Harry.

The hostess scurried off, disappointed that neither of them had ordered any expensive alcohol.

"I'm glad you came, Harry," said Riddle.

"Yeah," said Harry. "So, Voldemort, why did you pick the Cheshire Cat?"

Voldemort flinched when Harry used his name. "Please don't call me that," he said.

"I'm not going to call you 'My Lord.'"

"I would like it if you called me Marvolo," he said. "It's my middle name. I find I don't care for Tom, and Voldemort is my…political name."

"Alright, Marvolo, why did you pick the Cheshire Cat?"

"It looked like a nice restaurant," he said simply, "and it's close to Hogwarts." Harry doubted that was the reason. Voldemort was very particular about places. Everything had significance. That didn't mean Harry was going to find out what it was, though—and he found he didn't care that much.

Harry nodded vaguely, intensely aware of their lack of conversation and his lack of a drink to sip during the pause.

"So. What have you been up to?"

"I…have been thinking a lot about our last encounter. I spent a lot of time wondering why you would need basilisk venom—not to mention how you knew I could get it for you, and where the Chamber of Secrets is, and how to get into it."

"I know just about everything about Hogwarts," said Harry. That wasn't true, of course. He had just found out something new about Hogwarts that past weekend, and just like everyone else, he still didn't know why the magic of the castle was failing.

"Yes, but the Chamber of—"

A waiter appeared at the table with a tray on which there were two glasses of water, two empty glasses, and two bottles of butterbeer. Voldemort pressed his lips together, annoyed at being interrupted, but stayed quiet while the waiter distributed the drinks onto coasters.

"Thanks," said Harry when he was leaving. Riddle took a swig out of his bottle. Harry took his bottle and poured the contents into his empty glass and took a sip. Seeing the way Harry drank his drink, Voldemort poured the remainder of his butterbeer into his empty glass the same way.

"I gave the hostess your fake name," said Voldemort.

"What fake name?" asked Harry.

"Crockett," said Voldemort. "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. You told me yourself; your real name is Harry Potter."

"And…when did I tell you that, again?" asked Harry.

"In the basement of Hogwarts. With Wister Bloom."

"Ah..right. When you drugged me and tied me up and molested me?"

"I didn't give that woman your real name."

Harry wanted to ask, "What do you want, a pat on the head and a biscuit?" but instead he just said, "Right. Thanks."

"We are alike," insisted Voldemort.

"In which way this time?"

"We have both discarded our given names."

Harry frowned. "Well, kind of."

"We are both immeasurably powerful, and we share secrets of Hogwarts that no one else knows." Voldemort traced the condensation on his glass and gave Harry a heated look.

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"How old are you?" asked Riddle suddenly.

"Er…" Harry had to think about it. "Forty."

"Forty? You hardly look thirty," he said.

Well, thought Harry, there were certainly perks to being Master of Death. Harry though he looked best when he was thirty, and then he seemed to…stop changing.

"So that is why I do not remember you from Hogwarts. You left before I ever got there."

Harry gave Riddle a noncommittal smile and opened his menu.

"So," said Harry as he read the appetizers, "Will you explain to me, again, why you asked me to come here?"

"I think we could do great things together, Harry. I am impressed by you, I admit. Separately, we are each immensely powerful. Together, our power would be unmatched. There is an important choice to be made here, Harry. I'm hungry, and there is so much I want to share with you. Do you want to split calamari?"

"What?" said Harry, caught off guard. Harry had been sure Riddle was talking about...He shook himself "Yeah, I'd be up for calamari. Does it say if it's fried?"

Food made sitting with the future Dark Lord much easier. The calamari was good; Harry ate the rings, and Voldemort ate the tentacles. For dinner, Harry ordered shepherd's pie, and Voldemort ordered a steak, rare. By the time the entrees came, Voldemort was on his second butterbeer, and Harry was half way through his fourth, and he found that he desperately needed to go to the restroom. He excused himself and went to the back of the restaurant to find it, and when he got there, he didn't rush. He even made sure to sing "happy birthday" twice under his breath while he washed his hands with soap and warm water.

He emerged a few minutes later and settled back down into his seat across from Voldemort.

"How are you enjoying your meal?" Voldemort asked.

"It's good," said Harry. "Yeah."

"I am particularly partial to this brand of butterbeer."

Harry eyed his half-full glass, trying to compare the memory of its flavor to the memory of other brands. He shrugged and picked up the glass.

As he brought the glass to his mouth, though, something about the condensation made Harry's hand slip off the glass, allowing it to tumble into his lap and spill everywhere.

Harry gasped as the cold liquid hit his chest and lap. He started looking around for a napkin when some movement through the window caught his eye—a swish of a cloak and auburn hair whisking out of sight.

"Er…I'm going to go clean this up. Excuse me," said Harry. He headed back to the restroom.

Once he was inside the restroom, he checked that it was empty and, as an extra precaution, he pulled out his invisibility cloak from an inside pocket and threw it over himself. He teleported outside. Fortunately, the snow was trampled down enough that nobody would notice a new set of tracks forming themselves. He crept carefully past the window behind which he knew Voldemort was sitting, and dodged around the corner of the restaurant into a deserted alleyway where he found himself immediately pushed up against the wall. Albus yanked the invisibility cloak off and looked Harry in the eye.

"Did you drink it?"

"What? No. It spilled."

Albus visibly relaxed. "Yes. I spilled it. He put something in your drink while you were away. It may have been veritaserum or something even more sinister to bewitch your mind or ensnare your senses."

Harry cursed. "But where have you been?" asked Harry. "I was trying not to worry about you, but I…did."

"I found the house elves almost immediately, but none of us could get back into the castle. It's been completely sealed off from the outside. I tried to send you a Patronus, but obviously it failed. Why are you…having dinner with Tom Riddle?"

"Sorry, I…owed him a big favor, and what he wanted was dinner. I was going to tell you, but there wasn't time and it didn't come up, and then you left."

"It's quite alright, Harry. I was mostly concerned for your safety."

"Merlin, I'm surprised that I didn't catch that potion. Normally I would have looked. I even have my bowling ball with me. What I mean is…thanks."

"Maybe I'll take a point for it," said Albus. "You know, for the contest."

Harry smiled. Albus smiled back and kissed Harry, pushing him a little more into the wall behind him.

"What? Dumbledore!" Harry and Albus broke apart. Voldemort stood in the mouth of the alleyway, wand in hand. "—Harry, what is he doing here?"

"Riddle, I—"

"You didn't even give me a chance!"

"You fucking hypocrite. You spiked my drink!"

"I just want the truth, Harry. I want to know about you! You fascinate me, Harry—but you didn't even give me a chance! You even came here with him."

Magic crackled through the alleyway and Harry's hair stood on end.

"You give me no choice, Harry…Legilimens!" Harry gasped, and memories started flashing past his eyes, torn forward by a sickening invasion. He couldn't shut it out. Flick, flick, flick, Harry, waking up in the crystal in the forest. Harry, finding out that he had traveled sixty years into the past. He was dimly aware that he had fallen to his knees. And then one memory started to play, and Harry's stomach dropped.

"Have a little remorse," said seventeen-year old Harry, circling and circling the snake-faced Dark Lord.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

The memory flashed forward, and there was Voldemort's corpse on the floor of the Great Hall, ignored.

There was a scream and the memory faded. Harry opened his eyes to see Albus magically kicking Tom Riddle's ass up and down the alleyway.

"And if you return," said Albus, looming over the bloody-faced Riddle, "you will find that you are no longer welcome here. If you ever hurt Harry again, I will personally find a punishment for you that is far worse than death. Now, begone!"

Riddle took the hint and, after one last pleading look at Harry, apparated out.

Albus's violent magical crackle went away immediately as he went to Harry. His face softened and he fell to his knees to hold Harry's face in his hands.

"Are you alright?"

Harry found he was shivering. He'd forgotten how unpleasantly intrusive legilimency was, especially when practiced by the Dark Lord himself. "He saw me kill him, Albus. He knows my name. That's why he went after my parents…oh Merlin, I led him straight to them. Never mind that prophecy bullshit; he'll go after them now because he knows I'll kill him..."

Whether or not Albus had any idea what Harry was babbling about, he held Harry tightly.

"You're soaking wet," he said. "Can you stand? Come with me. We should get out of the open in case he comes back—with help."

Harry got up on shaking legs and leaned on Albus as they made their way out of the alleyway. They went up the street past a few buildings, and Albus led Harry inside the Hogshead.

"Evening, Abe, may I use a room for a little while?"

Aberforth Dumbledore grunted his approval from behind the bar. "Room three's open."

"Thank you."

Harry was regaining some of his balance, so he went up the stairs ahead of Albus and he walked down the hall until he got to door three. He reached out for the door handle, but stopped because his hand was shaking so badly. He hadn't felt this way since waking up from Voldemort dreams as a teenager.

Albus opened the door and shuffled Harry inside.

"May I?" Albus asked.

Harry had no idea what he was referring to, but nodded anyway. Albus unbuttoned the buttons on the front of Harry's black robes. The robes were soaking wet due to the butterbeer and snow, and fell to the floor with a thump leaving Harry in a green collared shirt and black trousers.

"This shirt makes you look even more handsome than usual," muttered Albus.

"Oh…er…thanks." Harry's face grew warm and his glasses started to fog up. "I actually don't really like this shirt…the color green, you know. I know you like that color, with your new ink and all, but…"

"It's because of your eyes," said Albus. "I like that color because it reminds me of your eyes."

Albus gently removed Harry's fogged glasses, but Harry winced.

"You're cut." Albus put down Harry's glasses on a little table by the room's queen bed and lightly touched where the bridge of the glasses had dug into Harry's nose. The pain faded as the cut healed.

"This is wet, too." Albus ran the material of Harry's shirt between two of his fingers.

"Can you please dry it?" Harry asked. "I don't think I can right now."

Albus waved his hand and the shirt and pants were dry as if they'd been baking in front of a fire. Harry sat down on the bed.

"I need a minute," he said, not totally in touch with his surroundings.

Albus sat next to him and put his hand on Harry's back. Despite everything going on in Harry's mind, feeling Albus's hand on his back felt hot and electric.

They passed a few minutes in silence. Albus conjured Harry a glass of water, and Harry drank it. Finally, Harry spoke up.

"He helped me save you," said Harry finally. "That night with the Resurrection Stone. The only way I could destroy his horcrux without hurting you was with his help. He didn't know why I needed his help, and he certainly didn't know that I was going to destroy one of his horcruxes, but he helped me, and that saved you. So I agreed to his condition, and his condition was dinner."

"I never did thank you for that," Albus smiled. "Thank you."

Harry grimaced. "Let's talk about something else."

Harry laid back on the bed and winced and sucked in air. The bowling ball was somewhere under him, pressing a bruise into his thigh.

"Bowling ball," he muttered. "Why couldn't my soul have picked a teddy bear?" He struggled to roll off of it and finally fished it out. It was black, and resembled an eight ball for a game of pool in its shrunken state.

Albus held out his hand, and Harry handed the ball to him. He contemplated for a moment, and then laid back next to Harry. "In the past it made me paranoid. With your occlumency down, I thought it would be more potent."

"I feel safe with you." Harry felt his breathing finally steady, and he closed his eyes.

.

.

Albus set the bowling ball down on the little table next to the bed and took the liberty of reaching into Harry's pocket, himself. Harry's breath hitched, and his recently steadied heart rate began to beat faster again.

Albus pulled out the hat and restored it to its normal size. He smiled and looked down into Harry's eyes. "I love this hat," exhaled Albus.

Harry's eyes slipped out of focus and he bit his lower lip to keep from letting his jaw fall slack with building contentment and pleasure.

"And I love your happiness…" Albus continued. He swept the hat briefly onto his own head before removing it and putting it on the table with the bowling ball and Harry's glasses.

Harry lay completely still, spellbound by patterns Albus was tracing on his chest with one finger.

"It occurred to me the other day," said Albus, "that I've never heard what's on that record of yours. I think it's the only one of your records I've never heard."

"I've never listened to it either," said Harry, keeping his voice even. "The label's scratched off."

"I'd love to hear it," said Albus.

Harry felt a shock of adrenaline followed by his ears growing hot. The room was silent for a minute, except for the sound of Albus's fingers rustling across Harry's increasingly sensitive chest.

"Al," Harry turned his head to take the measure of Albus. He smirked, "I mean, yes. I want that a lot, right now even, but don't you wanna, like, write me a letter about it?"

"I thought I'd try following my instincts."

Harry swallowed. He watched, hypnotized as Albus's hand worked its way down his shirt, button by button. It took every ounce of his willpower to put his hand on Albus's to stop him.

"We'd be following my instincts, and I can't protect you from that right now. Al, that thing made me eat a chipmunk. I want you to know what you're getting into before—"

Through the touch between their hands, Albus pushed what he was feeling through to Harry. Certainty, desire, curiosity, hunger, trust, and heat flooded through the connection, making Harry hard faster than if Albus had been rubbing his cock. He gasped aloud as Albus slowly let his hand trail back down Harry's chest and drop into Harry's pocket.

"Albus—I—"

"Yes, Harry?"

"If you…I…I won't be able to…You'll have to—," he tried to repeat his warning through an increasing haze of arousal.

Albus smiled a smile that Harry would only be able to describe later to his talking mirror in stutter-filled phrases like "and he knew exactly what he was doing," and then he pulled that little disk out of Harry's pocket.

The world went red and hot. Harry felt his pulse throb in his fingertips as his strength returned to him. His field of vision narrowed, and the scent of sweat and wand sparks flooded his nostrils, sending all his little hum-drum Harry thoughts away. The world faded for a moment, and then came back in high resolution. He pulled himself up, eyes closed, and cracked his neck. A waft of lemon had him on his hands and knees in an instant over Albus, looking down at him. Albus froze, breathless.

With a sneer and a snarl, Harry wound one hand into the coarse hair at the nape of Albus's neck, and the other around Albus's throat. Harry felt the pulsing hot blood in Albus's throat match the thrumming in his own groin and he lowered himself to grind.

Pressing into the body beneath him, he groaned under his breath; he needed more heat. He wrenched Albus's head by the hair to expose more of his neck, and leaned in to bite, suck the blood to the surface. Albus lifted up towards Harry, and Harry yanked his hair back to keep him down.

"Harry —Ah!"

Harry growled in contempt and shut Albus up with a deep kiss, pushing tongue and instincts inside. Albus's eyes flew open, sparkling with Harry's magic, and then they fluttered shut. Magic crackled in the air.

Harry felt white pain slash down his sides and he responded by biting down on Albus's lip, drawing blood. The next thing he knew, he was flying across the room and smashing into the wall opposite. Instead of bouncing to the ground, he stayed stuck to the wall, arms outstretched. The concussive force shook him out of his fever for just long enough to recognize where he was and what was happening. He looked down under his green shirt still hanging open and saw the long stripes down his sides where Albus had scratched him. He looked, openmouthed, across the room to the bed.

Albus was climbing up onto his knees, wiping blood from his lip. His eyes shone with blue sparks of magic. He let his cloak fall to the floor.

Harry struggled to free himself with a mounting alarm. Still focused on the blood from his lip, Albus stretched out his arm to shove Harry back into the wall with more wandless magic. Air crackled around Albus, and his hair rose around his head as if lifted by wind. Refocusing on Harry, Albus twitched his hand, and Harry's shirt tore itself off and away. Heart pounding with danger, Harry tried to muster a strategy but felt frozen. Albus began a slow walk towards him, and Harry had just seconds to think before… and then Albus was across the room and as soon as Harry was in the umbra of his magic, his thoughts were overtaken again with pure fight, flight, and fuck.

Harry strained to get off the wall. He snapped at Albus with his teeth, struggling with his knees and fists to no avail. The cloud of magic around Albus made Harry's head swim like he was drunk. Albus leaned in close, down towards Harry's immobile shoulders and neck and he inhaled slowly. Albus paused for a moment, eyes shut tightly, and then some of the crackling magic softened. Albus let one hand rest on Harry's heart, and rested the other with two fingers inside the waistband of the front of Harry's pants. He softly, slowly kissed Harry's collarbone and neck just below the ear. Harry roared and strained to rip away from the wall for more contact, aching for more contact, unable to even move his head. Albus caressed Harry's face with his hand, and kissed his way across Harry's forehead and down his jaw. Each touch was electric, distracting, and grounding. Slowly Harry's growls made way for pants, and his straining made way for melting into Albus's calming touch.

Albus, for his part, threaded his hands through Harry's messy hair and finally kissed him on the lips. Harry kissed back, tasting blood at first and then tasting Albus, just Albus. Before he knew it, his arms were free to wrap around Albus, gently pulling him close.

"Al," Harry sighed. He felt Albus smile against his lips.

Harry gently unbuttoned Albus's shirt and helped him out of it, and then vanished his undershirt in a burst of cool flame leaving behind a dusting of freckles and chest hair. Albus started fiddling with the button of Harry's pants, but Harry vanished those, too. He swiveled Albus around and pressed him gently into the wall before going down on his knees.

He unbuttoned Albus's button and slowly pulled the zip down. Albus sucked in a breath and put his hands into his own hair to get out of Harry's way. Harry slowly dragged Albus's last layers down off of his hips and freed miles of lithe leg and a long awaited cock. Albus looked down at Harry and looked back up quickly as if it was all too much to take in. Harry grinned and took Albus deep into his mouth.

"Ngh, fuck!"

Albus's voice swearing for the first time sent a jolt straight to Harry's cock. He teased Albus up and down slowly a few more times. Albus moved his hips with a little moan of frustration, and Harry slowed down even more. Finally Albus threaded his hands into Harry's hair to guide him, but Harry'd had enough. He needed more skin, more warm, more Albus.

He stood and took Albus by the hand back to where the record still lay on the bed. He picked it up and tossed it like a frisbee. It flew across the room and then stopped, spinning in mid air, and the room filled with the scratchy sound of the disk spinning under an invisible needle.

The sound filled Harry's whole mind. His eyes slipped out of focus for a moment, and he slid back into smells and sounds and the feeling of his hair standing on end and the second heartbeat in his cock, but Albus's touch on his shoulder brought him back.

Albus's insistent arm pulled Harry back onto the bed. Harry lay there on the edge between consciousness and instinct as Albus's hand wrapped around Harry's cock. A few strokes and he was riding the edge of orgasm, conscious just enough to use his body aura to hold himself there.

Then his and Albus's eyes locked, and seeing the mounting hunger in Albus's eyes made Harry smirk in satisfaction. Music started, and control of this aura finally clicked into place. He knew what he needed.

He put a hand on Albus's chest and one on his face, and through each, he sent a wave of magic…a pleasure spell of his own creation, straight into Albus. Albus's eyes rolled back into his head and he tensed with sensation. Harry took the opportunity to flip him over and get back on top, where he pinned Albus's shaking hands over his head with one hand, and began stroking him with the other. Remembering a spell from months ago, Harry coated his hand with a thick, clear liquid to ease the friction.

Harry pushed his body aura and instincts towards Albus, wrapping him and feeling him. He felt nothing in Albus's mind except a pleasurable haze drowning out all thoughts before Albus could register them, lost in Harry's eyes, Harry's touch, Harry's intoxicating aura. Albus's eyes clouded over with that blue shine of magic again.

And the music egged them on. Violins and cellos danced in the background while a flute and oboe dueled for the lead.

They were connected; Harry's raw instincts to fuck were wrapped around both of them like devil's snare, licking them like a warm ocean. They were so tangled now that Harry felt his own hand stroking Albus's cock as if it was on his own.

"H-Harry…"

Harry kissed Albus and kept stroking, loving the hard weight in his hand.

"Harry! I.."

Harry cut him off with another kiss.

"—If you…I'm guh—going to…"

Harry held the two of them on the edge.

"Wait, I—"

"You were so tough, pulling that disk out of my pocket," growled Harry. Keeping Albus from cumming with his body aura, he pumped another pleasure spell down through his stroking hand. Albus groaned and twitched helplessly in Harry's hand. "You were so sure, Albus Dumbledore, and now you're afraid of what? Losing control with me? Did you think your occlumency was strong enough?" Albus's embarrassment flooded through their connection, and, to Harry's dark delight, only intensified his need to cum.

"Are you afraid of pleasure, Al? Afraid of what you'll look like when you lose control?" He pushed what he was seeing into Albus's mind's eye: a vision of Albus's tangled hair, pleasure-clouded eyes, and whole-body blush, his cock head thrusting through Harry's tight, slick fist.

"Are you afraid of what you'll do if you have too much? Or not enough?" Harry seeded a fictitious vision, this time of Albus begging, begging for release. He sent another pleasure spell through Albus's cock, feeling blindingly ecstatic tension mounting in the absence of a climax. The real Albus shut his eyes to the onslaught, unaware as his mouth involuntarily formed the words Harry'd shown him.

"Do you trust me," Harry whispered, holding both of them on the edge. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Albus nodded and swallowed, eyes still tightly shut.

"Then follow your instincts."

Albus's eyes flew open, and Harry would swear he was looking so deep he could see Albus's soul, but that was absurd because he could feel Albus's soul, and it was all around him.

And then Albus let go, his voice groaning low and husky into Harry's ear, and Harry went over with him, shouting from somewhere deep in his throat. Their pleasure reverberated, driving both of them higher and higher. Harry forgot who's cock his hand was on, and stroking felt too good to stop and find out. Oboe and flute reached frenzied fortissimo while Harry and Albus came, and then slowly, finally, began to decrescendo in harmony as the two of them panted out the last of their pleasure.

I think I love him, thought Harry to himself as they lay exhausted in each other's arms.

"I love you too," whispered Albus.

.

.

A while later, it may have been ten minutes or a day, Harry and Albus lay together in a room in the Hogshead. Harry was on his stomach, and Albus traced symbols on his back from a language that nobody but the two of them knew.

They both wished this bliss could last forever, but they knew they had work to do. They got up, got dressed, and vanished from that heaven into dark night that would challenge everything they thought they knew.