Chapter 7

Severus Snape looked at the young man before him. He could tell by the lopsided grin and the hazy eyes that Hercules was well on his way to being drunk. Severus supposed that it was no surprise. He himself wished that he could simply drink himself into oblivion and yet he did not have the protection of the Dark Lord. If Severus was to allow himself anything other than full metal capacity the results may be less than pleasant. So Severus simply retracted his hand and gave the young man a tight lipped smile.

"You enjoying the party Sevrrus?" the word was slurred, his name butchered. However that was not the thing that shocked Severus the most, no, the fact that the husband of the Dark Lord was calling him by his first name. That was not something that he had expected. However rather than gaping like a fish, the young man responded.

"It is" he paused. The words pouring from his mouth did not remotely reflect the true nature of his feelings. "most enjoyable, Master Hercules." Harry snorted as Severus finished. His hands came to cover his mouth as his eyes sparkled. Even as he took his hand away the large grin remained. Severus found that he could not help the twitch of his lips as he saw the white, sparkling teeth.

"It's Harry Sevrus" the young man whispered, leaning toward Severus; a hand hovering above Severus' robed shoulder. The young man was close enough that Severus could feel the hot breath on his cheek. "and I think you like this party as much as I do" the boy continued to smile with each word that he spoke and Severus could do nothing more than respond in a similar fashion, his lips were pulled up without consent, as though lifted by the boy's own infectious smile.

However as Harry reached for another glass of wine a hand came into the bubble that the young man had seemingly created around Severus and himself. The pale hand placed itself atop the glass and menacing brown eyes met with the hazy green. The Dark Lord spoke.

"I believe that you have had enough Hercules" Harry quickly turned away from the piercing gaze. He did, however cast a longing look at the goblet that remained trapped by the hand. He pouted as he turned back to Severus, the face childish, the alcohol having an evident effect on the young man.

"He's mean" Harry mumbled with a huff. Severus snorted loudly, the sound coming unexpectedly from his lips. The boy had just used the word mean to describe the Dark Lord, one of the most powerful wizards in the world. The whole situation was ludicrous. The sound of amusement seemed to pull Harry from the sadness as the pout vanished, replaced by a shy smile.

The meal progressed, with Harry attempting to start conversation with the young man next to him; Severus giving only the socially acceptable answers. Harry, of course, chose to interpret those as he wished. He laughed and complained, honest expressions flitting across his face. The conversations threw Severus off kilter. He had not had conversations like this since he had lost his friendship with Lily. Hercules seemed to have very little to hide. His emotions were clear on his face. However as the effects of the alcohol seemed to wear off, so did the openness that Harry presented. His questions were less intrusive the more the young man sobered up.

By the time that the dessert appeared on the table the young man that sat next to Severus seemed painfully different person from the one that he had first sat down next to. Severus attempted to talk of things that he himself was well acquainted with.

The food was delicious, the creme brûlée one of the best desserts that Severus had ever eaten; each mouthful a taste sensation. Harry, however, barely seemed to touch the food, taking only a few small meal finished and people began to stand, making their way across the room to talk to friends and allies. Others made their way back to the ballroom. Movement flurried wildly for the next few minutes; people fluttering like hummingbirds from one place to another.

The Dark Lord stood, pulling Harry from the conversation that he and Severus had been engaged in. Potions had been the name of the game, a safe topic that Severus could become animated about. There was also little to no chance of stumbling upon a social faux pas.

"Hercules, accompany me to the Ballroom" an extended arm was all the indication of the position that the Dark Lord wanted his husband in. Harry sighed internally. He may feel more steady, the fact his wine had been cut off ensuring that his feet were planted more firmly on the ground. However he had been rather enjoying the conversation that he had been having with Severus. The man was guarded and suspicious, yet he had a passion for potions. Harry had never really enjoyed the topic at school, yet hearing the other talk of it, watching the jaded eyes light up, was inspiring. Every word was beautiful due to the intensity behind them.

Harry was led to the Ballroom, the regal posture of his husband leaving no room for escape. Eyes turned to the pair, burrowing into them; attempting to find their secrets in the hope that they could use them against them. Harry stiffened. He hated the eyes looking at him; hating the people that they belonged to even more. He let his head drop, his chin getting closer and closer to his chest as he attempted to escape their pinning gazes.

Harry was halted as the purposeful steps beside him came to a stop. He kept his head down as conversations flittered about him, like leaves on the breeze. All the conversations were light; inconsequential. Too heavy and the conversation would fall to the floor with an embarrassing thud. Such an indignity was not easily redeemable in the eyes of the pureblood circles. A tarnished reputation was as unappealing as death in some eyes.

A ripple of music spread through the room as the orchestra began to play. The lilting tones filled the room gradually, a gentle caress. It began to take control of the room as many responded to the steady rhythm. Dancers paired up as they elegantly made their way across the dance floor. The Dark Lord's conversation paused. He looked to his young husband who stood with obvious discomfort. Voldemort took the young man's hand in his.

"Lets dance" Voldemort's voice demanded as he tugged firmly at the hand that he clasped in his. He ignored the stiffening in Hercules' shoulders as he pulled the young man toward the group of others that had begun their dancing. Eyes, more vicious than before zeroed in on the pair. It may be tradition for these dances to be held; a way to build relationships, a way to test out potential matches. Lucius Malfoy was dancing with his fiancé, Narcissa Black. Alice Yaxley had been swept away by Evan Rosier. Harry could even make out his brother dancing with Lucinda Talkalot. However the Dark Lord never danced. Not in all his years had he ever once invited a single person to dance. He had, however, rebuffed and denied a fair few offers in his time.

Harry tensed as hands came to rest on his hip and on his shoulder. His eyes flicked up as he was pulled into the dance against his will. The green clashed with the brown. Harry's breath caught in his chest as he felt a wave of something rush over him. An emotion he could not place, feelings he did not quite understand.

The Dark Lord pulled Harry closer, his arm tightly pulling his waist toward him. Harry couldn't even blink. He was so close to the man, his breath, his eyes, his very being. They seemed to consume him. The very power from the man before him was overwhelming. It was intoxicating. Harry was finding it hard to breath. Voldemort pulled him across the dance floor.

Harry knew how to dance, of course, but his skills paled in comparison to the man that held him. The sheer intensity in each step. The commitment to the movements, the way he forced Harry's each and every move. The man was a river and Harry was little more than a raindrop that had fallen into the pulling currents. He could feel himself being washed away. He was loosing himself as each step was taken.

Harry pushed back against it. He would not get lost. He would not let himself be consumed. He could feel the magic of the Dark Lord rippling around him, demanding that he submit. Harry did not. His own magic sparked to life, forcing the other's power back. He shielded himself from the power that was radiating from the being before him. Harry may not want to get in trouble, he may not want to appear to be a threat, but he would not let anyone rid him of his sense of self. He was who he was. No one was allowed to take that from him. Not even the Dark Lord.

Every set of eyes in the room was on the pair, the fluidity of their movements, the grace and the power that flowed in each of them. Many pairs halted in their movements, entranced by the scene that played out before them. The pressure of their magic filled the room, each step causing fluctuations. It was breathtaking, it was consuming. Not one of them could look away as the two danced. It was a battle. It was an artwork.

Harry clenched his teeth as he felt the strain of the movements; his power was weakening with each twirl that he took, each turn stealing the strength from him. Harry's legs weakened, his mind fluttering as the struggle became almost to much. As Harry felt that he could fight no longer, the magic left, the dance over. Harry stumbled, held up by the hand that was still on his waist.

"Lets go" the Dark Lord growled out into his husbands ear. Harry's eyes had snapped closed of their own volition, his heart pounding as he was dragged from the room. Every set of eyes watched the pair go. No-one dared follow.

Harry was dragged up a set of stairs and a door was flung open. His eyes snapped open as he was pushed against a wall. Hot lips were on his in a second. The adrenaline pumping through Harry's veins was still strong, his fight or flight reactions intense as he felt the lips on his. He had not lost, he had not submitted. HIs mind screamed at him not to fall into the same patterns that he had been in before. He was not weak. He was more than a toy.

Harry's hands came to Voldemort's chest before he even had a chance to think. He pushed. The lips were freed from his, the Dark Lord stumbling back at the unexpected movement of the body beneath him. Harry made his way past the stunned man, toward the door.

He felt a hand grab at his wrist, pulling him back, trapping him into a situation that he did not want to be in. The thoughts of entrapment, of suppression all piled upon him. He needed to be free. That was all that Harry had ever wanted. His instincts screamed at him, his voice reflecting the internal battle that raged within him.

"NO!" Harry screamed. The sound was loud, harsh and grating. His face was red, his breath harsh and his eyes dangerous as he turned to look at his husband. The Dark Lord was reminded of a wild animal, cornered and dangerous. He took a step forward, his hand still clutching at the wrist he had a grip on.

"No!" the young man before him yelled again, steeping back. He pulled his wrist violently away from the harsh grasp. The Dark Lord, however, did not let go. His grip only tightened. He watched as Hercules' eyes only became wilder, panic seemingly taking over each aspect of his form.

Harry flicked his free wrist, thankful that his right arm was not the one encased by the strong arm of his husband. A wand appeared in the pale palm with a soft thud as skin hit wood. Before the Dark Lord had time to blink a quick spell shot from the darkened wood. A red flash of light shot through the air, targeted at Voldemort. However, reflexes honed of years of experience blocked the spell in an instant; no wand required. The Dark Lord easily waved the spell away, the red sparks scattering across the stone floor.

Harry's eyes widened in shock as his husband quickly dispersed the spell with ease. Harry tightened his grip on his wand before another muttered spell was shot through the air. A similar situation occurred as the spell was dismissed before it got more than a foot through the air.

The Dark Lord's gaze was one of anger and excitement, viciousness and anticipation, hostility and elation. The man's gaze was seemingly an utter contradiction yet his form still radiated decisiveness. Harry had no idea how to react. His spells were useless. His rebellion was futile. Yet it seemed that the man before him was as unpredictable as an uncaged tiger; attack or simply move on. There was no guarantee of safety.

The Dark Lord strutted forward, thrusting Harry harshly against the wall. Harry raised his wand in preparation for the attack, ready to fire off the spell. Yet the wand was rapidly knocked from his hand; the clatter of the wood on the floor an audible reminder of the vulnerable situation that Harry was now in. Harry flinched.

"Stop" the word was harsh in Harry's ear. The breath was hot on his neck. Harry went rigid at the sound that was little more than a hiss. A pale finger trailed along his face as the other tightened on his shoulder. A hand gripped his chin, drawing their eyes together.

Harry didn't know what came over him. Maybe it was the wine still left in his system or maybe it was the Black insanity that had finally found the optimum monument to take over. Whatever it was Harry gave a look that he had never given anyone before; defiance. Harry glared at the man before him, his killer green eyes daring his husband to do something, anything. Harry brought a hand up, and without thinking he slapped the pale fingers away from his chin, a snarl curling on his lips. Harry pushed himself out of the other man's grasp; making his way from the unfamiliar room.

The hand still grasped upon his shoulder, however, wouldn't let him go so easily. The fingers dug into the skin under the robes. The Dark Lord bared his teeth and pulled the slim figure back toward him.

"You do not walk away from me" the voice growled out in little above a whisper. It was a voice that promised pain. However it seemed that Harry's fear of pain was no longer an issue. In fact Harry's mind was blank; nothing seemed to be scary anymore.

"What are you going to do?" Harry tilted his head to the side, as thought the question were a real one. "Kill me?" he laughed emptily. Tears were in the corner of his eyes even as the sound from his mouth. "No" the young man choked out, more to himself than the stunned man before him. "That would be a waste of a perfectly good slave, now, wouldn't it."

Harry spat the words out bitterly, feeling sick even as they left his mouth. Harry pushed past the man that seemed frozen to the spot, Voldemort's eyes lost in thought at his husband's words. Hercules no longer seemed to care for his own wellbeing as he pushed past the Dark Lord to pick up his wand before storming from the room.

The Dark Lord only watched him go. As the door slammed shut with a bang a frustrated huff left his lips. He didn't know what to do. This was not a situation that the Dark Lord usually found himself in. He was trying to make an effort with his young husband. Yet as he had held the boy and felt his magic sparking against his skin, fighting with his; he had lost control. The spark of magic in the air had raised feelings in him that he thought he did not possess. As he had held the boys eyes he felt a possessiveness for the raven haired man clutched to him. He had felt a wave of lust burn through his body. He had wanted nothing more than to fuck the boy until he could no longer remember his own name.

It seemed that his loss in control had cost him the patience of his husband. That was, problematic. The prophesy required for the boy to love him. Victory was everything to the Dark Lord. He wanted to rule the wizarding world; to hold dominion over all. He knew that he would do whatever it took to realised his dream. If that meant causing the boy to fall in love with him, then he would do that.

The Dark Lord could do charming; he could make the boy fall for him if he needed to. Voldemort took a deep breath, regulating his thoughts. Voldemort was over fifty; he had not attempted to woo someone since his school days. He found himself realising that he was, for lack of a better word, rusty. He needed to be more, well, romantic was a word he was reluctant to use.

His threats were seemingly useless against Hercules. If the young man's comments were anything to go by it seemed that fear was no longer a powerful motivator for him. Instead he needed the young man to feel something that he had never felt before; appreciated. Voldemort was not stupid, it was apparent to him that the young man had no respect from or for his family. Their wedding day had made it clear that the young man seemingly also had little to no friends. Voldemort needed to make the man feel that he was valued and wanted for who he was. It was the only way that the young man would ever come to love him.

The Dark Lord took a breath, straightened his robes and ran a hand through the perfectly neat hair. He opened the previously slammed door and made his way back down to the party. His presence would otherwise be missed.

Harry's heart hammered as he continued his way down the corridor, heading toward any possible exit. He needed to get out, he needed to escape. His head was swimming in panic as he attempted to come up with a plan that would avoid his own death or serious injury. His breath was coming rapidly, his heart beating far faster than was healthy.

He somehow managed to find an exit, the cool breeze on his skin doing nothing to calm him down. His feet hit violently against the floor as he ran, faster than he ever thought possible. He found a set of gates and attempted to push his way through them. He could not. His arms jolted harshly against the harsh metal. Harry looked up. It seemed there was only one way out.

His mind was clouded as he pulled his way up the vine covered gate. If he had had any common sense remaining under the increased heart rate he would have realised that intruder wards were not just meant for those trying to enter a property, but for those attempting to escape it as well.

However this realisation hit him, literally, as he moved a leg across the top of the spiked gate. A wave of magic attacked Harry as he leaned over, getting closer to freedom. He was flung backwards, harshly falling the eight feet to the floor. Harry's whole body sang in pain as it thudded to the floor. His head cracked audibly on the stone path. Blood blossomed from the wound and Harry was no longer able to keep his eyes open.

An indefinite amount of time passed with Harry unable to see anything; his head spinning. He barely managed to cling onto consciousness. However as he felt the blackness taking over and awareness abandoning him Harry thinks he feels a pair of arms surrounding him and a sooting voice telling him that everything will be okay.

A gentle hand stroking through his hair is how Harry is awoken. Confused and hazy green eyes flickeed, straining to see. However what they do see does not make them any less confused. Harry finds his head resting in a lap. The owner of said lap was the one running their hand through his messy hair. Harry attempted to sit, his position being an uncomfortable one. However he was halted in his movements. A gentle hand pushing him back into his position and a voice he recognised speaking to him. However it was a tone that he did not recognise.

"Don't move." It was said gently, not a tone of anger that Harry had come to expect from the Dark Lord. "Your injuries are still healing."

Harry's eyes widened in shock and trepidation as he hears the voice. A small shuddered breath is released without his consent as the hand continues to stroke gently through his hair. Time ticked by, the seconds stretching into minutes as Harry dared not say a word. He was vulnerable. His whole body was stiff with nervous energy that refused to leave him, no matter how much he regulated his breathing.

Voldemort gave an almost imperceptible frown that went unseen by Hercules as the young man remained in his forced position. It seemed that he would have to take this far more slowly than he had expected. A kind voice and a soothing hand, it seemed, did little to reassure Hercules. As he sat there, Voldemort had failed to take into account the impact that reputation had on any individual. His past actions would also have a significant impact.

Voldemort stood, removing the head from his lap and placing it on the back.

"Sleep" he said. Then internally flinched as he realised that his voice had been harsher than e intended. "You need to sleep to heal" he said more gently this time. He then turned; not looking back as he slowly left the room. He retreated to his office where he sat at his desk. He thought of Hercules.

The Dark Lord knew that he had not treated the boy well so far. He was not so arrogant that he could not admit when he was at fault. He also knew that in some cases the best way to get what one wanted was not through threat but through seduction. However for this path to be a viable one he would need to put in a lot of work. He would need to break through the preconceived perception that Hercules had of him. Due to the stories that his parents and schoolmates had told him and through his own actions. However the Dark Lord would do it. Lord Voldemort always got what he wanted; in the end.