CHAPTER 6
.
.
When Harry arrived late at the Ministry, a new nameplate was on the outside of his office door. Jessica Mallory. He stared at it, confused.
Maybe it's because they don't employ murderers. Maybe they know what you did, how vile you are. Maybe they were just using you until you fulfilled your duty to rid the world of evil and now you're no longer necessary.
Superflous.
The remnants of a decommissioned weapon.
"Mr Potter!"
Harry turned quickly and saw Robards smiling at him.
"Sir, I'm sorry I'm late—"
"Not to worry, you had a busy day yesterday. Are you feeling better?"
Harry rubbed his head.
"Yeah, I'm grand." He pointed towards his office vaguely. "But I seem to have missed something."
Robards laughed genially and clapped him on the shoulder. Harry flinched, the muscles still sensitive, but his boss didn't seem to notice.
"I'm glad I found you. Follow me."
Harry let the older man pull him across the room to where a group of people were gathered by Robards's office.
"He's coming!" someone whispered loudly, and all heads turned towards Robards and himself.
Harry stopped.
"What's happening."
The other man beamed at him and dragged him towards the crowd of clapping people.
"Congratulations, Harry!" he heard Selina shout to him, and he found her face in the group.
"What for?" Harry mouthed, but she just smiled and gestured to Robards's office.
Harry turned and read the big banner over his boss's door: Congratulations Harry Potter, Head of the Auror Office.
Harry spun to face Robards.
"I don't understand."
His boss— former boss?— smiled at him.
"It's a promotion. We want to thank you for your service, for all you've done for the wizarding world."
The voices of the crowd had grown silent and everyone was listening to Robards speak.
"It's my pleasure to offer you the post of Head Auror as I retire."
"You're retiring?" Harry interrupted.
The other man nodded.
"I've been wanting to for years, but it just never felt right with the threat of You Know Who and his mad lot. So I hung on, but now I'm glad to pass the responsibility onto your capable shoulders. Maybe I should have done this sooner, even. You do most of the work around here anyways, I just get the credit."
Many people in the audience laughed.
"So what do you say? Fancy leading this mangy lot? It's not as glamorous as it seems, but I can't think of anyone I'd feel better leaving the fate of our world to. After all, that pressure is old hat for you, isn't it?"
More laughter.
"But seriously, you're the best Auror we've ever had. I've never seen someone work as hard as you do, or be so willing to go into dangerous situations. You have a knack for apprehending the worst criminals and you're always eager to help others. You've even managed to bring us every remaining Death Eater so that now our world is safer than it has been in almost a hundred years!"
People in the crowd cheered loudly at that and Harry tried not to flinch.
Robards paused to beam at him and then someone in the crowd said, "Aren't you going to mention He Who Must Not Be Named, sir?"
Robards laughed and then gripped Harry's shoulder painfully.
"I didn't forget! We all know that Harry defeated the insanely powerful Lord Voldemort,"— Harry saw almost every person wince— "and we are forever grateful for his bravery. No Dark wizard is a match for this man!"
Many in the crowd cheered again. Robards clapped him on the back before releasing him.
"So— can I stop talking?" Robards asked. "Will you accept so we can crack open the bottle of Ogden's at last?"
"What? Oh." Harry looked out at the expectant faces, knowing he had to reply. "Yeah. Yes, I'll... I'd be honoured."
"That's my boy!" Robards cheered and shook his hand before disappearing into the crowd.
"Harry!" Winston said, coming over and grinning at him. "Hey, congrats, that's excellent news. And, well, it's gotta be good for my career that I'm shagging the boss."
Harry's eyes widened.
"Winston— Jesus, keep it down," Harry said, wanting to flee, but not feeling confident enough to venture into the boss's— his— office yet.
Someone passed him a glass of amber liquid and he necked it back.
Another colleague, Ben put a hand on his shoulder as he clinked their glasses together.
"Good on ya, mate," Ben said, his hand lingering on Harry's sore skin. "I heard about what happened. Must've been a brutal duel. Wish I'd seen it."
"Yeah," Harry said, lifting his empty glass to his lips, hoping to disengage Ben's intrusive touch with the movement, but the man just stepped closer and gripped him tighter.
"Listen," Ben said, lowering his voice, "I was wondering if you wanted to grab a drink after work today? My treat. Let me congratulate the new boss properly."
He winked, grinning slyly, and Harry's stomach clenched uncomfortably.
"Er," Harry said, not wanting to offend his new subordinate on his first day. "I mean, maybe not today, but soon, yeah. I'd like that."
Ben groaned and was about to say something else when a familiar voice spoke from behind him.
"Mr Potter," Lucius Malfoy said, and Harry turned to see him standing there as impeccably dressed as always, a slight sneer on his face for Ben who removed his hand slowly. "Can we speak privately?"
"Of course," Harry said, giving Ben a tight smile and then walking towards his new office.
The nameplate on the door read Harry Potter, Head Auror.
You kill someone and you get promoted— that's the life of Harry Potter. Built on the bodies of the dead.
"It would seem that congratulations are in order," Malfoy said smoothly, as Harry shut the door behind him.
"Yeah, it just happened."
Harry moved awkwardly behind Robards's desk, wishing that his first time sitting in this chair was not with an audience, and specifically, not with this audience.
"A wise choice."
Harry shot him a disbelieving smirk.
"Come on, you don't have to pretend to like me. There's no one around."
Malfoy shifted uncomfortably.
"It is not pretending, Mr Potter. I owe you my freedom. My life. The lives of my wife and child."
Harry sighed.
"Look, I really don't want to do this right now. Is there a reason you're here?"
The blonde man pressed his lips together, obviously not appreciating the lack of etiquette.
"Indeed there is. Would you permit me to place a Silencing Charm around your office while we speak?"
Harry was certain he knew why, so he nodded his head. The bastard must be having trouble reconciling his memories of their last meeting.
The ward went up and Harry waited.
"I deliberated at length as to whether or not I should enlighten you with this information," Malfoy said, sounding hesitant.
The man paused and Harry gestured to a chair. Malfoy inclined his head and sat across from him.
"I decided it is more prudent to speak."
"So speak already," Harry replied, losing patience with the man who had tried to kill him on numerous occasions.
Malfoy gave him a warning look, but nodded his head.
"I found a very disturbing note written in the Dark Lord's blood tucked into my robes when I returned from your house after our last meeting."
"What?" he spat, seething at the bastard's audacity. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."
Malfoy raised his eyebrows.
"So you did not know about this. I had wondered."
"What did it say?"
Malfoy reached into his pocket and pulled out a ripped corner of what looked like the sheet in Voldemort's room. Harry took it and read the message that was far neater than it had a right to be considering it was written in the man's blood on linen.
.
.
I live.
Come to me at Grimmauld. Do not kill Potter.
Remember what I know.
.
.
"Bloody hell," he cursed, fisting the note tightly. "Of course. The fucking prat. Wait—"
He held up the material.
"How do you know that he sent this?"
Malfoy gave him a condescending look.
"Magic, Potter. It's his blood, after all."
Ah yes.
He read the note again.
"What does that last bit mean?" Harry asked. "Remember what I know?"
Malfoy grimaced delicately and tapped his fingers on the desk.
"He... could bring new charges against my family and I that would almost certainly send us back to Azkaban."
"New charges. What new charges?"
Malfoy glared at him.
"It was a war, Potter. We were acting on orders."
Harry scoffed, almost laughing.
"Right. You forget that I actually saw you acting on orders and you were right gleeful about it. You loved what he made you do, don't deny it. Don't just blame him."
"I am trying," Malfoy said with what was clearly a valiant attempt at mastering his temper, "to honour the leniency you fought to provide for us, by coming to you with this. He lives? Is this correct?"
Harry rubbed his forehead, trying to think.
"You can't tell anyone," he said, lifting his gaze to meet Malfoy's sternly. "I'm serious. I'll need a Vow. This can't get out."
"Why not merely Obliviate me again?" the man asked snidely.
Harry sighed.
"That was a waste of time anyways. I was trying to find McNair."
"And you believed that I would know something? I have not seen that man in years. My family have worked hard to seperate ourselves from filth."
Harry ignored him, rapidly going through options.
"We need to make a Vow. Actually, Malfoy, wouldn't you be happier not knowing these things? I can just Obliviate you again."
"The Dark Lord is alive and you think I would prefer to be ignorant of that? Why have you kept this a secret? Why is he not in Azkaban?"
Harry stood, dropping the note onto his desk. He needed to think.
"That doesn't matter. What about... What was it they used for the Triwizard Tournament? I forget what it was called. A... guarantee of some kind? An agreement?"
"The Tournament uses a binding magical contract."
"Great. Yes, one of those. Let's make one to keep this between us."
Malfoy pursed his lips.
"It would have to be written down with our names. If that parchment is found, I will be sent back to Azkaban with you. I want no part in this scheme, whatever it is you are foolishly attempting."
"Too late for that now," Harry dismissed with a shrug. "He brought you in. I can't just let you leave with this information and no guarantee that you'll keep it to yourself."
"I can keep a secret, Potter."
Harry snorted.
"Yeah, sorry, but your word means shit to me."
"I owe you a life debt," Malfoy said through clenched teeth. "If you ask me to keep this secret, I can fulfil that debt by keeping it."
"But you don't have to. I'd rather be sure. No offence— or, actually, yeah, take that offence."
Malfoy blew out a frustrated breath. Harry continued to pace.
This could work. Malfoy won't be able to tell anyone about Voldemort and I won't have to rely on a Memory Charm again, which could be broken.
He paused.
"We don't have someone to bind us with the Vow, so we can't do that anyway," Harry mused, considering the potential problems. "Also— do you even know how to write up one of these magical contract bollocks?"
Malfoy closed his eyes with a long-suffering sigh.
"Yes."
Harry grinned.
"Alright then. Let's do that."
The blonde sat up straighter and then regarded Harry levelly.
"You're focusing on the wrong thing, Potter. My ability to keep a secret is not the biggest issue here. I don't want to know what you are engaging in with the Dark Lord, but whatever it is, it must stop. You may think that you are in control, but you are not. He is. He always is. He will be manipulating the situation without you even knowing. He can get anyone to do anything. I am a pure-blood and I am ashamed to say that I served that lunatic half-blood for over twenty years."
Harry raised his chin.
"Maybe I'm just stronger than you."
Malfoy's expression of derisive boredom was not appreciated.
"You're not. You are simply naïve, as I once was. He makes you promises, offers you things, and then he has collected you. Once you're in his orbit, Potter, you can never leave."
Harry stared at the older man, but saw only his own interactions with Voldemort. The deals they had made, the ever increasing range the man took up in his house without permission, the way Harry kept folding for him...
"You see it," Malfoy remarked quietly, and Harry met his understanding gaze. "He's using you. This message?" Malfoy tapped the piece of blood-soaked material. "This is dangerous. Whatever he's doing with you, that is not all he is doing."
Fuck.
"Give him to the Ministry," Malfoy insisted. "Or kill him. That would, of course, be preferable."
"I can't," Harry whispered, then he looked up at Malfoy, one of Voldemort's inner circle Death Eaters, and had an idea. "Do you know of any objects he was hiding or caring for during your time with him? Did he give you or anyone else anything similar to that diary?"
Malfoy exhaled a long breath, looking tired.
"Another Horcrux," the man muttered. "I had wondered."
Harry nodded.
"Yeah, I think so, but I have no idea. He won't tell me."
"Shocking."
Harry laughed. It was strange, but Malfoy suddenly felt like a... comrade. Like an ally. It was refreshing to be with someone else who understood Voldemort. Well, as much as anyone could.
That's because you're a Death Eater now.
He pushed that thought aside, but with it, went Harry's sense of a shared purpose.
"Alright," he said wearily. "Let's make this contract so I can get back to work."
But Malfoy didn't move. His considering gaze held him for long moments.
"I hope you know what you're doing, Potter," he finally said, quietly but with steel, "because I promise you that the Dark Lord does. His obsession with you was always unnatural, always a concern, and now he is living in your home."
"I can handle—"
"Listen to me," Malfoy interrupted impatiently. "You are in danger. He spoke often about wanting to corrupt you, wanting to take his time. Some of his more... elaborate plans involving you did not focus on your death."
"What are you saying?" Harry asked uncomfortably. "His note says he wants out."
Malfoy pushed the missive back towards him.
"He commands that I not kill you. You are keeping the Dark Lord prisoner, and yet the eighth word he writes— in his own blood, where every letter is precious— in a note asking for help, is to ensure that I do not touch you. Just as before. We were forbidden to harm you."
Merlin, that makes it sound...
Harry killed that thought.
Whatever Harry's messed up libido was doing to him, there was no fucking way that the Dark bloody Lord Voldemort harboured anything other than an egotistical desire to prove his mastery over his prophesied vanquisher.
"I suspect," Malfoy went on, never knowing when to shut his damn mouth, "that the Dark Lord is not terribly upset about landing a place in your home, Mr Potter. Do not be a fool and allow him to control you. He has been waiting a long time to do so."
That's what he's doing now. He made me kill someone and then beg for his forgiveness! He got me to kneel. Call him Master. He's turning me into a Death Eater.
Harry stood.
"Tell me what you need for this contract. I'm done here."
.
.
When Harry got home, he was shaking with rage.
He found the bastard in the drawing room, sitting on his sofa and reading one of his books.
"What are you doing out of your room?" Harry demanded harshly.
Voldemort didn't even look up. Instead, he calmly turned a page.
"This is called reading, Potter."
Harry growled.
"I didn't give you permission to touch my things. Or to leave your room. Or to fucking sass me."
Voldemort continued to ignore him, so Harry strode up to him and slapped the book out of his hands.
Oh, shit.
Harry paused, waiting to see what the Dark Lord would do.
Voldemort's gaze slowly slid from the book on the floor over to Harry's body, taking him in from his work shoes all the way up, before piercing him with a dangerous intensity.
Harry felt that attention go straight into his blood, but he forced himself to concentrate.
"You are a prisoner, Tom," Harry said, trying to inject some venom into his tone. "My prisoner. You belong to me and I get to set the rules here."
"Is that so."
Harry laughed.
"Yeah. It is so. And do you know what one of the top fucking rules is? Not to deliver messages in your blood to your old lackeys behind my sodding back!"
The bastard didn't even flinch.
"So he received my message, then."
Harry released an incredulous cough.
"Yeah. He did. But you don't seem to be getting mine. So allow me to demonstrate."
Harry pulled out his wand. Ah, there's the flinch.
"Crawl to me."
Voldemort leaned back more comfortably against Harry's sofa cushions.
"You are going to have to make me, Potter."
"You don't think I will?"
"I look forward to seeing if you do."
Harry bared his teeth.
"Imperio!"
Crawl on your hands and knees to me, you bastard.
Harry watched in awe as Lord Voldemort paused only for a moment and then smoothly slid to his knees. Those long fingers hit the grimy wooden floor, a strangely appealing contrast of white on dark brown, before that huge body began to prowl towards him. Harry was ashamed to feel his cock growing hard at the sight.
Merlin, he looks damn good on his knees...
When the Dark Lord reached him, Harry backhanded him swiftly across the face.
Although he was the infamous, omnipotent Dark Lord Voldemort, he still fell sideways at the blow like the skinny old man that he was.
Harry laughed, enjoying himself tremendously.
Voldemort stayed where he fell, though he slowly brought his gaze back to him. Harry had expected to see hatred there and so he frowned at the satisfied smile he encountered instead.
"What," Harry demanded. "Not hard enough to knock some respect into you?"
Harry froze. You're beginning to sound an awful lot like Uncle Vernon.
"Quite the opposite, in fact," Voldemort replied, wiping at the corner of his mouth where Harry saw a smear of red.
The opposite? Harry snorted. I guess that old saying is true, then, that bullies respect violence.
Harry rolled his eyes.
"Whatever, Tom. I need to make something crystal clear for you. You are not getting rescued. Do you understand? Say it."
Voldemort raised an amused eyebrow, still on his arse on Harry's floor.
"Imperio!"
Say, "I am not getting rescued," say it, damn you.
"I am not getting rescued," Voldemort intoned.
Fuck, that high, cold voice obeying his commands did surprising things to his body. He was fully erect now, straining against his trousers.
You could make him suck you off.
The sudden realisation staggered him.
You could. No one would know. You could shove your cock deep down the throat of the man that has been trying to kill you since you were a baby. Who made you watch him kill Cedric. Who ruined your life.
Now it's your turn. Make him take it.
Harry stared at Voldemort, fighting with the diminishing voice that sounded like Hermione, cautioning him against that action.
"That's right," Harry said, pulling his thoughts away from that temptation with extreme effort. "No one is coming to help you. I killed every one of your followers except for Lucius Malfoy— and do you know what he advised me to do today? Kill you. He wants you dead. He told me that he and his family don't work with filth anymore."
Harry laughed cruelly.
"He also called you a lunatic half-blood."
Those freaky red eyes darkened.
"Did he."
Harry smiled.
"He sure did. So you're all alone, Tom. Stop trying to bully people into helping you."
Voldemort narrowed his eyes, but his voice remained calm.
"I did not inherit my Death Eaters, Potter. I earned them myself. I built them up. Do you truly believe I will struggle to seduce new people to my cause?"
Harry laughed again, amazed at the man's audacity.
"Well, unless you're seducing that chair," Harry pointed to one of the old, dusty armchairs, "or that bloody painting," he gestured to a nearby canvas, "then your options are pretty limited."
"Perhaps I am less interested in quantity than quality right now."
"Right. I assume you mean me?"
Voldemort continued to just stare at him.
"Well, let's get another thing straight then, while we're at it. You are my servant, not the other way around. You need to learn your place."
Harry reached down and fisted a hand in the man's robes, hauling him back onto his knees.
There. I like that view better.
"Now," Harry said, "I don't know what made you think you can walk about my home and touch my things, but you can't. So let's take you back to your room, shall we?"
Harry walked past him and made for the hallway. He didn't hear footsteps behind him. When he turned, Voldemort was still on his knees, not looking at him.
"That means you follow me, Tom."
The man was in profile and Harry saw the corner of his mouth curl upwards.
"Do I have to make you do everything?" Harry asked quietly.
Voldemort's face shifted minutely so that he could meet Harry's gaze.
"It would seem so. At least, until you give me a reason to obey you on my own."
Don't take the bait. Don't. Ignore it, he's—
"What would make you obey me yourself?" Harry asked, hating his damn curiosity.
That mouth curved to a fuller grin. One that made his heart stutter, his instincts wary.
"Lay out your rules," Voldemort said. "Then enforce them. Show me why I should listen. Otherwise, I have no motive to comply."
Harry crossed his arms, thinking. What does that mean, enforce my rules? That sounds like... like he wants me to punish him.
What the fuck?
Why would he want that?
"You would like me to follow you," Voldemort continued when Harry remained silent for too long. "To take me somewhere I do not wish to be. Why should I?"
Harry frowned.
"Because I'll just make you if you don't."
Voldemort hinted at an elegant shrug.
"So make me. But then you will prove that you have as much control of me as you do a piece of furniture."
Voldemort shifted, turning fully to face him.
"It is not power to do the work yourself, Potter."
Harry watched in awe as Voldemort placed his two hands slowly down onto the floor.
"You need to make me follow you, crawling, as you are clearly so fond of seeing me do, because if I do not, something unpleasant will occur. You could begin with humiliation, or threats, though I admit, I am more fond of the faster route."
Harry could say nothing, his heart thundering in his chest, drinking in the Dark Lord on his hands and knees, piercing him with his upturned gaze.
"Violence," Voldemort confirmed quietly, in a dark, enthralling tone.
Harry stumbled away a few steps until his back was pressed against the wall. He was panting, trying to catch his breath.
"You want... Why? Why are you telling me to... hurt you?"
Voldemort minutely raised his hairless eyebrows and straightened up, sitting on his heels once more. Still kneeling, though. Those thin lips pursed, as if to say I've explained all I can.
Harry stared at him.
He wants me to hurt him to make him obey. But... that's what he does, people like him. I don't want to hurt anyone.
But then a darker voice, an insidious, shameful one, countered that lie—
Yes you do.
Harry closed his eyes, fighting not to shake his head against that truth, that damn persistent nagging—
You've wanted to hurt him since the moment you learned he was still alive. He deserves it, he's a monster. And now he's giving you permission! He's trying to convince you to do it. Why are you fighting this?
"Your position at work commands respect, does it not?"
Harry's eyes flew open, his face snapping to the other man in alarm.
"You want me to hurt my subordinates?"
"Subordinates," Voldemort repeated, sounding thoughtful. "Then you have been promoted. That is wonderful news. Congratulations."
His tone was mocking.
"Merlin, just don't..."
"But you misunderstand me, Potter. At work, you will only be respected if you have rules. Boundaries. I have read the tabloids detailing how you interact with your colleagues. With your, then, boss. You let them walk all over you. You give them everything and do it with a sycophantic smile."
Harry swallowed past the pain in his throat.
"I... owe them. After what I did... what I failed to do..."
He remembered sleeping in classes, half-arsing assignments, focusing on Quidditch, of all the useless skills to be honing...
He remembered Cedric, dying because Harry didn't know shit about Portkeys or how to recognise one. He'd never learned how to fly like Voldemort to get the hell out of that graveyard. Or how to fight. He took those duelling lessons as a joke in second year and never followed up with requesting independent training in the area that everyone was depending on him to be a master at.
You killed them all because you're lazy and weak and stupid and—
"They do not respect you," Voldemort went on, and Harry startled. "No one does."
Harry took a deep breath, trying to stay present.
They all died, but it should have been you, you're the one who was supposed to, you let everyone else die in your place, failure, coward—
"Make them listen to you, Potter. Make me."
Harry looked over at him.
Make them. Make him.
His mind was clumsily organising.
"You want me... to make rules. And then follow through. With punishments."
Voldemort nodded.
"Start small. How are you planning to get me into my room?"
Harry gazed blankly at Voldemort's inhuman nose, those two tiny slashes in his face. Alien. Other.
"Get up and follow me," Harry began quietly, "or I'll remove your robe."
Voldemort smiled condescendingly.
"I feel no shame regarding my body, Potter. Nakedness does not scare me."
Harry felt a flicker of irritation at that. Course he doesn't, the arrogant tosser. Prolly thinks his creepy form is the ideal.
"Fine," Harry said, pushing off from the wall and glaring at his nemesis. "Get up and get back to your room, or I'll hit you with my belt."
Voldemort's eyes blazed, but not in anger or fear.
He looked excited.
"I do not believe you, Harry Potter. You will have to show me."
Harry's fists clenched. Slowly, he undid his belt, dragging it leisurely through each loop, and then held it out in one hand.
He paused, caught in the Dark Lord's taunting, red gaze.
"Last chance," Harry whispered.
Voldemort simply raised a single, hairless eyebrow.
Harry stepped forward.
Voldemort's expression changed to one of wild anticipation.
It took five steps to reach the kneeling man and in all that time, he did not lose his resolve.
The mad fucker wants me to prove it? Why the hell would I hold back? It's what I want to do anyways.
Harry had a sudden vision of Voldemort's face wide with fear and his stomach tightened in arousal.
Make him, he says. Great. I'll bloody well make him.
"Pull your robes down," Harry demanded, his voice emotionless. "I want to see your back."
Voldemort hummed.
"No."
Harry straightened his spine, his heartbeat speeding up.
"No?"
Voldemort looked him dead in the eye.
"No."
Harry felt his lips curl.
He bent down quickly and slapped the man in the face, right across his smug lips. It didn't knock him back this time, but only because a long arm swung out behind to catch himself.
Voldemort pulled his face back and Harry marvelled at the red handprint he could see blooming on the man's pale skin.
That's my handprint. I put that there.
"Pathetic," Voldemort whispered, his eyes boring into Harry's, daring him to go farther, do more—
Harry kicked the man hard in the chest, watching the bald head slam against the floor. He followed, kneeling over the supine form and punched him directly over one of his open eyes.
It felt good.
He felt powerful.
He did it again, this time over those unnatural nostrils. There wasn't far for the body under him to go with the impact, so it was a more solid hit, smarting his knuckles.
Harry saw the blood leak out from both nose slits and it fascinated him.
He stared.
The body under him moved and Harry looked up to see that one of the man's eyes was swelling rapidly, the skin split over his brow bone.
You hurt him.
You actually hurt him.
That's all you can do is hurt people, you're broken and a freak and no one is safe around you—
But then Voldemort's tongue slid out, languidly swiping at the small river of blood on his lips and chin. Harry met his gaze in shock and saw damning approval there.
"Well well, Harry Potter," Voldemort said darkly.
Harry sprang to his feet, stumbling back in horror, Lucius Malfoy's voice screaming in his head—
He will be manipulating the situation without you even knowing. He can get anyone to do anything.
He spoke often about wanting to corrupt you.
"No," Harry rasped, staring down at his bloody prisoner on his back at his feet, with deep bruises blooming on his face and a knowing smile on his dripping lips.
Harry staggered backwards and then ran, down the stairs and right out the front door.