CHAPTER 2
.
.
His Floo burst to green.
Harry spun to face it, his entire being still consumed by what he had done—
No! Not now! Give me this!
But his needs would have to wait.
He stumbled to the hearth and opened the connection.
"Did you find him?" Hermione asked, in lieu of a greeting.
She peered past him, igniting his terror, but then he remembered that the cauldron and the body—
Merlin, the fucking body of the Dark Lord Voldemort—
It was out of sight. And Harry had a part to play if he intended to follow through with what he had begun.
He lowered his eyes.
"No. I searched for hours."
He glanced up to see Hermione's disappointed face.
"Oh." She chewed her lip. "I... okay. I just really thought you'd be able to find him."
Harry shrugged.
"Yeah. Me too."
Hermione gave him a weak smile.
"If I asked you to, would you go back again when you have a chance? For me?"
Harry hesitated.
"I know it seems insane," she went on, "but I know that there's something there. I still think it's him, but if it's not... You're an Auror. The best one, Harry. And I know you can solve this."
Do my work for me, Harry. Save the day, like you're supposed to.
He buried those feelings. This was Hermione. She loved him and he owed her so much. And besides, this was his mess to clean up. It wasn't her fault that Harry had failed. A knot of unease formed in his stomach.
Thirty-two more lives I've cost...
"I'll do my best," he replied automatically. "But I really didn't feel anything while out there."
Shit!
His distraction was making him clumsy. There would be no more snake attacks now that he'd captured Voldemort. She would be suspicious. She may even think that he was lying to her. He had to feed her something.
"Although," he began, grasping blindly, "I did find a snake nailed to a tree. Looked like an adder."
Nailed there, like Morfin Gaunt had nailed that poor snake to his door all those years ago.
She frowned.
"You did?"
Harry nodded.
"Maybe someone from the village caught it and... left it there like that to show everyone it was safe now."
Hermione looked unconvinced.
"Okay," she said slowly. "I guess I'll go have a look. Take the body in for study."
Her face relaxed a bit, clinical curiosity glinting in her eyes.
"Actually, if it was possessed, I should be able to tell with a spell I found in Crafting and Controlling Creatures Dark."
Harry watched her excited distraction impatiently.
"Maybe that snake is the one. And I can examine it for signs of Dark Magic."
Harry nodded encouragingly, trying to hurry this along.
"Sounds good," he replied shortly.
She looked back at him. Fuck, too harsh.
"Alright, Harry. Thanks for checking. Maybe have a look again if you get a chance, just in case? I'll keep you updated."
Harry smiled, his teeth aching from clenching them together to stave off his impulse to return to his task.
Hermione touched his arm.
"Get some sleep."
"Will do."
She disappeared and his Floo went dark.
.
.
Harry stood still for long moments, eyes closed. Poised on the precipice of ruin.
If he did this, if he let himself slide down this muddy, perilous slope, there would be no crawling out from it. It felt like this choice of whether or not to go back, wand in hand, and confront Lord Voldemort again, would remake the fabric of his life.
Now that the moment was here, he could no longer lie to himself.
If he turned around, he would not be handing the Dark Lord over.
The man was his.
And he would rectify the mistake he had made in failing to kill him all those years ago.
But not until I'm done with him.
He turned.
Walked the dozen steps back towards the cauldron and looked down upon the frail, naked form of his enemy sprawled out on his kitchen floor.
Lord Voldemort.
Skeletal and pale. Sinister. Pathetic.
At my mercy.
He had watched this man die. Stood over his body, feeling... relief.
He had been glad to have finally achieved his purpose, but without it he had been lost. He still was. A child raised for sacrifice wasn't meant to grow up. He was a mistake. An oversight.
His eyes ran over the familiar landscape of the Dark Lord's alien face. It should shock him more than it did that Voldemort was still alive, but really, when had logic or fairness ever been applied to his life?
Despite his disbelief, seeing the man who had caused him so much fear and heartache laying naked on his floor was immensely satisfying. He felt the hairs on his arms raise, heat flooding his face, when he realised those inhuman red eyes were locked onto him.
"I'm going to give you back your voice, Tom," Harry whispered, and felt giddy when the man's nostrils flared with fury. "But it's a luxury I am gifting you. It can be taken away if you piss me off."
The man just continued to stare at him, yet what else could he even do? Harry controlled him totally. He pointed his wand at the supine form and gloried at the flinch that he earned in those eyes.
He flicked his wrist and granted the monster his attention.
"Your audacity astounds me," that high, cold voice whispered in dangerous tones.
Harry laughed, feeling good, feeling powerful. Merlin, it had been nine years since he had last heard the man speak.
"Your being alive astounds me!" Harry returned, with a weak chuckle.
The Dark Lord's intense glare held him.
"Release me."
Harry shifted his lips to the side.
"Mmm. No."
He slid back onto the tabletop and continued to look down upon the other man.
"No, I don't think I will. Why would I? Did you think this was a rescue?"
Voldemort's scorching gaze pierced into him.
"What else would it be. You have given me back my body."
"It wasn't—" Harry spluttered, indignant. "I didn't do it for you! I had to make sure. I didn't want to hurt an innocent snake."
Voldemort paused, studying him.
"You mean to attempt to hurt me, then, Harry Potter?"
"Yes," Harry answered at once.
Voldemort hummed.
"You will not."
Harry made a choking sound, dropping his jaw slightly in astonishment.
"Are you seriously goading me? Are you fucking insane? Do you know how much you're at my mercy right now?"
Voldemort's gaze slid indifferently away from him, scrutinising the room.
"You have chosen to converse. Brought me into your home." Voldemort returned his focus to Harry, giving him an almost pitying look. "You will not hurt me."
Harry laughed.
"Oh, you don't think so, eh?"
"Of course not. And yet, you brought me here for a reason. Why?"
"You think I would allow you to be free?"
"Permit me to rephrase. Why am I in your home and not in Azkaban?"
Harry grinned.
"I wanted you first."
Voldemort had the gall to look bored.
"Of course. To hurt me."
His tone was heavy with disdain. Harry stepped forward and leaned down into his space.
"Yes, you vile fucker. To hurt you. You deserve it."
The man tilted his head.
"You will not."
Harry pulled back in outrage. His wand was suddenly in his hand, heavy and trembling.
The former Dark Lord looked impassively back at him, a single hairless eyebrow raised in challenge.
Harry's muscles tensed.
"Crucio!"
The immobilised, skeletal body trembled and shook for a few beats of Harry's rapid heart and then stilled. No. He looked down at his wand in betrayal.
The motherfucker had the nerve to laugh raggedly.
"Pathetic." He sounded breathless, but scathing. "You are a weak, pitiable thing. Are you still in denial regarding your capabilities, Harry Potter?"
Harry slid off from the table and grabbed the fucker by both sides of his sharp jaw, yanking his inflexible torso off of the floor.
"I want you dead," he hissed, bringing his face right down, almost pressing his forehead against the smooth, white skin of his nemesis.
Voldemort's expression remained frustratingly unconcerned.
"And yet, I live."
"That's not my fucking fault! I killed you! Why are you still alive?"
Voldemort raised his eyebrows as if to shrug.
"You made another Horcrux, didn't you?" he said, releasing the man back onto the floor roughly in disgust. "Cut up your ravaged soul even more. I know you did."
Those thin, disgusting lips turned up in amusement.
"Perhaps you feel as if you can perceive my past actions, Harry Potter. As if I was your favourite subject at Hogwarts."
Voldemort paused, his eyes sliding down from Harry's face to explore his body.
"I too, have watched you. Studied you. Your adoring fans may think you are exacting and dangerous, but I know you, Harry Potter."
That intense stare returned to lock onto his eyes.
"You had an unprecedented opportunity to attempt my demise on our last meeting and yet, you balked. Against the most powerful wizard alive, you used a pitiful Disarming Spell."
"Which worked!" Harry interrupted vehemently.
"Because of chance," Voldemort countered coldly. "You could have fought me with any spell, but you chose that one. Harry Potter, you are no killer. You did not execute any of my Death Eaters that you managed to capture—"
"They're dead, I assure you."
"But not by your hand. You are weak. You are a hero. A noble servant that buckles under the weight of their adoration and expectations."
Harry bristled.
Buckles. I do not buckle, you self-important twat.
"You will not hurt me," Voldemort concluded with too much damn confidence. "But if you are willing to continue to help me, I can promise you anything you desire."
"Help you?" Harry whispered, trying to catch up. Did he seriously just say that? "Help you?"
He laughed.
"Why would I—"
"You want to find Walden."
Harry stopped laughing.
I do want that.
"Even as a wraith," the man went on, "I was able to read. And the Chosen One's life and exploits remains a popular topic in the press."
Don't I know it.
"Okay fine. We're looking for Walden. But now I have you. You're a better catch."
"Obviously. Yet you cannot tell the Ministry that you are playing host to the great Lord Voldemort or your failure will be exposed. Everyone worships you for vanquishing me... and yet here I am. Alive."
Harry clenched his teeth against the pain that lashed him at that truth.
"You failed," Voldemort's pitiless voice pronounced. "But the salivating masses need not know. I can give you Walden and your unfinished list may yet be completed. Your noble work could be laid to rest."
And then I'd be done. No more obligations or guilt or strangling, pulsating pressure to do more, do everything—
"Harry Potter," Voldemort went on, Harry's name twisting into something wrong, something... seductive on that tongue. "Supreme Victor over all that is Dark. I can give you that. Only I can."
"I don't want that," Harry muttered. "I hate that. I just want..."
"What do you want, Harry Potter?" Voldemort asked, and as Harry gazed into his rapt red eyes, suddenly the options were limitless.
It felt so indecent to consider his own needs. Dangerous. He couldn't think about himself until all his work was finally done.
"I can give it to you," that voice continued. "Anything you desire."
"Why would you?" he asked breathlessly.
"I require further assistance. Access to my library. To my wand. You do not have to free me just yet, that can wait. I will ask so little of you in exchange for all that you desire."
Harry knew exactly why the man wanted those things. It was difficult to suppress his cruel delight.
Woke to discover something vital missing, you fucker?
"All I want is to find your last Horcrux and finish you for good," Harry replied, some sense of himself returning. "There's nothing you can offer me that would distract me from that. So, unless you plan on divulging that secret, you can fuck right off with the rest of it."
Harry hit him with another immobilising spell and walked out.
.
.
It was like fighting one of George's Patented Daydream Charms.
He was in the middle of conducting a meeting. Fielding questions about possible hiding locations of McNair, but every mention of capture conjured images of Voldemort rigid on his kitchen floor; every hopeful wish of victory he heard, soured when he remembered what a failure he actually was.
Voldemort was alive.
Naked. Likely starving and liable to die of thirst.
No.
His reply to a colleague abruptly halted as he realised how careful he had to be not to kill the man just yet. It was imperative to keep him locked in that body. Which meant that he would be forced to provide the monster with nourishment.
Doesn't have to taste good.
"How soon can we expect the Lestrange's Gringotts account to be released to us?" someone asked.
He imagined feeding the Dark Lord rotten meat. Grass. The contents of one of Rose's nappies.
"Mr Potter? Can you confirm that date?"
The bastard had lived off snake venom for months. What else could he be made to exist on?
"The thirtieth," Harry absently replied. "But that won't matter until the Wizengamot agrees to change the law to allow it. Gringotts has their own rules, so we need Kingsley and the Wizengamot's approval to actually put hands on the money."
"You talk to them, then, Mr Potter. They all love you. They'll do anything you say."
Would Voldemort? What would it take to get him to find McNair for me?
Everyone had a breaking point. He just had to find out where Voldemort's was.
.
.
There was a knock on his office door. Harry looked up from his paperwork, trying not to let his irritation show.
Two hours and then I'm free.
"Hey, Harry?"
One of his least competent colleagues, Winston, peered around the doorframe with a huge grin.
"I noticed you didn't take a lunch break today, so I bought you a sandwich."
He held it up hopefully. Harry jumped to his feet, rounding his desk awkwardly.
"Winston, wow, that's really thoughtful of you."
He took the plate and smiled, though his empty stomach tightened at the thought of food.
He's going to want to watch you eat it. You'll have to just do it, you've managed it before. It's rude to refuse food—
"Thanks," he said. "You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to," Winston interrupted him brightly, crossing his arms. "But I admit that I have a bit of an ulterior motive."
Course you do.
"I'm still working on the Jacobs case. You know, the one I asked you about a few weeks ago?"
Where you convinced me to corner his lunatic father and then claimed all the credit for yourself? Yeah, sure.
"You were a big help," the other man continued. "Robards was really happy. I was wondering if you were free for me to pick your brain again this evening? You're much better than I am at planning things."
Harry kept his smile in place while he figured out how to respond.
Voldemort was in his home.
Although the wards he had placed around his house were extensive, and the Dark Lord was hardly in any position to break them, Harry wasn't an idiot. Voldemort was not to be underestimated.
He drew his mind away from picturing that long, lean frame exposed and vulnerable, and forced it back to the man before him.
Winston was a Muggleborn and his mother and younger sister had both been injured by a bridge explosion in the summer of Harry's sixth year. The year that he had pissed around worrying about Ginny and Quidditch and any damn thing but learning how to fight.
"My treat," the other man offered with a smile, and Harry hitched his own up higher to cover the twist he felt whenever he was obliged to be in debt to someone.
"Yeah," Harry replied, lamenting not being quick enough with an acceptable reason to decline. "Yeah, that sounds great."
"Perfect," Winston enthused. "Come by my place around eight."
Harry felt a stab of trepidation.
"Oh. I thought you meant the Leaky."
Winston winked.
"I had a lot of fun last time. We'll go over the case, but who says we can't mix work with a little bit of pleasure?"
The other man tapped the doorframe and began to retreat.
"See you at eight, Harry! You bring the wine."
The door closed and Harry took a few frozen moments to figure out what the hell he had just agreed to. He exhaled a long breath, then quietly tipped the sandwich into his rubbish bin.
.
.
It felt good, of course it did.
He clenched his fingers around the man's ample waist, muffling Winston's irritating moans in the man's grey pillows. Sex could be alright, so long as he remembered to be gentle.
Always gentle.
Harry Potter was chivalrous and respectful. Though he might be bisexual, he was not a deviant. He certainly didn't toss off to imagining putting fucking poncing Draco Malfoy onto his knees and fucking his ferret face until the man was gurgling and gasping, tears and discharge spilling out of him, while Harry made him pay for all the shit he'd put Harry through at Hogwarts, for sinking so low as to follow a deranged murderer and get his bloody tattoo—
Oh, no.
Not Harry Potter.
He slid his hand around Winston's thick middle and grabbed hold of his rigid cock. Might as well finish this up as quickly as possible.
Voldemort was waiting.
Fuck.
Harry's mind was immediately seized by images of another laid out under him instead, his long spine curving reluctantly as Harry drove into his dry body. The man would scream and try to push him off, maybe he would curse Harry ineffectually— tears may even gather on his sparse lashes— and Harry would lick them off, fucking into him undaunted, watching as the Dark Lord fell apart underneath him—
"Harry!" a strange voice cried, startling him abruptly out of his thoughts.
He blinked and realised that Winston was panting, looking pained.
"Oh shit," Harry swore, and pulled out carefully. "Are you alright?"
Winston smiled, his red face sweaty. Harry looked down and saw the wet patch the man's come had made on the grey sheets.
"You got a little... inspired there, eh?" the other man teased with a chuckle, and then he suddenly reached out to touch Harry's lingering erection. "Let me—"
"Woah," Harry said, accidentally slapping the man's hand away.
Winston looked confused and offended.
"Sorry," Harry hurried to say. "I just... I'm okay. I don't need anything."
"But I want you to have it," the other man replied, reaching out again and casting a quick Scourgify on Harry's bits. "Imagine what people'll say when they find out I was so selfish."
Merlin, will this end up in the Prophet, too?
"Don't be daft, it's no big deal," Harry said, trying to act at ease.
He stood, looking around for his trousers, but a hand on his shoulder pulled him back onto the bed. He sat down hard and turned to see Winston slide off the mattress and kneel before him.
"Let me take care of the Chosen One."
Harry winced and shook his head.
"I'm fine. I just want to go home."
Winston smirked.
"Yeah, right. Lay back, Harry. I'll make you feel so good."
Harry contemplated shoving him off, standing up and just Apparating away. But he was probably making too big a deal out of this. It would be rude to make a scene. Ridiculous. Who said no to a blow job?
So he tried to relax back onto his elbows and ignore how intrusive and alarming Winston's tongue felt. He hated how long it always took him to come when someone was forcing him to.
He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift back onto Voldemort and what he would like to be doing to the demon.
When he finally managed to come, it was to the startling image of himself on his back, legs pressed to his chest, and a high, cold voice hissing, Harry Potter.