CHAPTER 12

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Harry closed the door behind Selena and then leaned against it with a sigh.

Fuck.

That had not gone as he'd planned.

He'd meant to put on a show, demonstrating how much he didn't need Voldemort and to maybe make the man a bit jealous, if that was even possible. Instead, he'd just proven how inadequate he was. How pathetic. Voldemort wouldn't understand.

But he didn't have the luxury of time to sulk. It was late and he was exhausted.

Better get it over with.

He climbed the stairs with heavy feet.

When he entered his room, he released the man from the immobility curse and made him visible once more.

Lord Voldemort stood from the chair and scrutinised him with obvious disappointment. Before he could dive into his lecture, though, Harry cut him off.

"Bet you thought that was fucking hilarious."

Voldemort's face tightened with anger.

"She sexually assaulted you."

Harry flinched, and then laughed uncomfortably.

"Wow. That's a bit much."

He looked away, walking to the window. The sun had set and the courtyard outside was peaceful and still.

"Anyways," Harry said, "I'm going to head to bed—"

"Why did you allow her to do that to you?"

Harry glanced over to see that Voldemort's rage had only grown.

"Jeez. Calm down. She didn't do anything."

"She sexually assaulted you."

Harry pushed off from the wall and walked towards the door, so very done with this conversation. He had no idea where he was headed, he just needed to get away from the man's judgement.

"Stop saying that," he grumbled. "Just let it—"

"Harry," Voldemort said, and grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop and forcing him to face the Dark Lord. "Do not run from this. She assaulted you. You said no and she ignored you. Why did you let her force you?"

Harry tried to rip his arm free, but those sharp fingers just dug into his skin.

"Answer me."

"I am," Harrys spat. "You're overreacting. I could have stopped her if I really didn't want it."

Voldemort let go of his arm and grabbed him by the face, pulling hm closer.

"You said no."

Harry stared into those red eyes at close range. Fuck, but the man was intense.

"If you could have stopped her," Voldemort asked, unrelenting, "why did you not?"

Harry tried to think, hoping the man's Legilemency didn't work without magic.

"Because I wanted it."

The pressure of those big hands grew, squeezing his face.

"Lies. Tell me why."

Harry began to feel his mind slowly receding, making room for a kind of blissful emptiness.

"She wanted it," he said instead.

That was true, he could say that.

"But you did not," the other man pressed.

Harry closed his eyes.

"No. Not that last bit."

Voldemort released his face and Harry almost cried out at the feeling of loss, of panic, but before he could, those hands were pushing him down to the floor, making him kneel. Once he was in position, the hands left him and he looked up to see Lord Voldemort looming over him.

"You allowed yourself to be used. You gave to another what belongs to me. This will not happen again. Do you understand?"

Harry stared up at him, willing to promise anything to ensure that Voldemort didn't stop. Because here it was again, this blissful obedience. It was almost like being drugged, except that there was no panic. Just calm. A contented, fulfilled relief.

"Yes," Harry whispered, and Voldemort's eyes grew sharp again.

"Yes, what?" the man queried, and Harry was pleased that he knew the answer to that.

"Yes, Master."

Voldemort's face softened and a swell of pride rushed up in Harry. The Dark Lord reached down and touched his face. Harry closed his eyes, pressing against the soft caress.

"Good boy," Voldemort praised.

That word jarred him, bringing with it a twinge of unease at what he was doing, but he pushed it aside.

This felt right. Harry felt buoyant and grateful. It was satisfying to kneel here, but he knew that it could be better. Without giving it any thought, he bowed forwards and pressed his face against Lord Voldemort's feet.

A soft hum came from above him and Harry smiled.

Voldemort likes that.

Hoping to hear more, Harry shifted so that he could lay a presumptuous kiss on the man's cool toes.

Voldemort made another enticing sound and Harry moaned in response.

He needed to see what the man's face looked like.

Pushing off with his palms on the floor, he sat up, but before he could glance at the man's expression, his gaze got caught on a significant bulge that was almost level with Harry's face.

Sweet fucking Merlin.

He stared at it, his mind wiped clean of everything except for the overwhelming need to put his mouth over that impossibility.

He could smell the man, dusky and warm, and his saliva gathered in anticipation. Oh gods, he needed to feel that cock against his tongue, huge and powerful, resting heavily on his palate. Harry moaned again, his body burning with hunger, his own cock tingling and uncomfortable in his trousers.

There was nothing else to do but reach up and touch it and so he did, his palms making contact with the fevered, solid shape.

Voldemort hissed in pleasure and that was too damn much to handle. Harry groaned, his eyes closing as he leaned forwards and pressed his forehead against that warm hardness. Unable to help himself, he tilted his face and pressed his nose deeply into the straining material and breathed the man in.

Oh fucking sodding fuck.

He opened his lips, ready to mouth the damp robes—

—but hands suddenly pulled him off. They took him away from his spoils and he made a despairing sound as he opened his eyes.

Lord Voldemort's gaze burned into him, fierce and possessive. Harry almost choked, the violent need welling up in him to get that cock into his mouth was overpowering. He reached forward again, trying to push aside the material and grasp that delicious cock, but then long fingers locked onto his neck and shoved his face back onto the ground.

Harry was panting, his eyes tearing up as he lay boneless on the floor.

He doesn't want you.

That thought was staggering, incredible, but what else could it be? Voldemort didn't want him. He's turning you down.

Harry closed his eyes.

"You asked me to take control, Harry," Voldemort said, and Harry stopped breathing so that he could hear him. "Part of being your Master, is the responsibility of blocking you from making unwise choices."

Unwise?

The Dark Lord thought that Harry sucking his cock was unwise?

It's because you're worthless. You don't even deserve this, to make Lord Voldemort happy. You're made for ruin, for destruction and—

"I will fuck that pretty mouth of yours, Harry Potter."

Harry inhaled deeply, getting diverted at once, imagining it. Yes, please, let me get it in my mouth, I want—

"But not like this," Voldemort insisted, and Harry groaned. "Not as an afterthought, following your assault."

That word was ridiculous.

It was wrong and attention-seeking. And anyways, he was a grown man. He didn't—

"Say, I was sexually assaulted," Voldemort commanded.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, but— it was an order.

"I was sexually assaulted."

Bloody whinger. Like you have it so hard, being the Chosen One. Poor Harry Potter, has to have an orgasm with attractive people sometimes when he doesn't want to. What a tragic life.

Voldemort hummed.

"Tell me that it will not happen again."

Harry swallowed.

"It won't happen again."

Not at home, anyways.

Voldemort bent and ran a hand through Harry's hair, petting him. It felt nice.

"Good boy."

Harry clenched his teeth, hunching his shoulders, waiting for Uncle Vernon to hit him with the pan that Harry had cooked bacon in, splattering the sizzling grease all over his arm.

"Now, go to your room and sleep," Voldemort directed, stepping back. "And I would appreciate it if you remember this evening's sequence of events when you awaken."

Harry frowned, but nodded and then went to his room obediently.

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As expected, Potter burst into his chamber just as he was rising from his bed the next day.

"You fucking bastard," the boy growled, stomping closer. "You did it again— stop doing that!"

Voldemort sighed, hoping to ignore the interruption and crossed the room to use the lavatory. Potter stormed in front of him and slammed the door closed, blocking him.

"Answer me!" the child shouted, and Voldemort looked down at him in contempt.

"Cease blaming me for what you want, Potter."

"What I— what I want?" The boy was struggling to articulate the truth. "You're the one that keeps making me!"

"You are a submissive, Harry Potter," Voldemort reminded him. "That is not my doing."

"Then— then you're manipulating the situation! I can't help it, and you're taking advantage of me!"

Voldemort's fury suddenly seized him.

"I am giving you what you need, fool," he hissed, shoving the boy's shoulders against the wall. "I am demonstrably not taking advantage of you. In case you have forgotten, you offered your pretty mouth to me last night and I refused. That was not for my benefit, I assure you."

Potter's face flamed with colour, but he would not back down.

"I only did that because you made me kneel," the boy lied, still vibrating with anger. "You made me call you Master again!"

Voldemort hummed.

"I did. As I said, I gave you what you wanted."

"I don't want you, you bastard!" Harry shouted, pushing his face forward so that they were inches apart.

Voldemort's gaze idly dropped to the boy's parted lips. He imagined taking them between his teeth, silencing him, tasting the boy at last and—

Potter reached up and grabbed hold of his shoulders. Before he could comprehend the action, the boy had gripped his face and crashed their mouths together.

Shock hit him and he reared back, but Potter followed, holding him tighter and deepening the kiss. Voldemort's hands were splayed wide, not touching the boy, unknowing what to do.

He had not been kissed since his adolescence.

Not since he had become Lord Voldemort.

Harry Potter was devouring him, uncaring that he was still motionless. Reeling. Somehow, his back hit a wall and Harry took the chance to trap him there, using his fingers to caress Voldemort's chest and shoulders.

Warmth spread through him, along with a paralysing confusion. He knew he should act, seize the opportunity, but he was overcome with the new sensations.

Harry's hands slid down his back, fisting the material at his hips and pulling him closer. He could feel the boy's erection hot against his thigh and his own was pressed firmly into the boy's abdomen.

He could say nothing— do nothing, but try and catch up with what was happening.

Harry Potter was kissing him.

His awareness returned when the searing lips gradually slowed and then pulled back abruptly. Harry's expression was wary.

"Oh shit," he whispered, stepping back and releasing Voldemort completely. "I... I shouldn't have done that."

The boy put a hand against his own mouth, as if hiding the evidence.

"Oh fuck, what have I— I'm so sorry," he rasped through his fingers. "Merlin, what have I done?"

Before Voldemort could decide how to respond, Potter had backed out of the room and fled from the house.

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Harry was staring at his sandwich, willing himself to take another bite. He was beginning to feel spacey and weak, which was his usual cue to eat something. But he just couldn't manage it today.

C'mon, a few little bites and then you can bin it.

Grimacing, he lifted the bread to his lips, but a sharp knock on his office door startled him and he put the heavy weight down.

"Come in," he called.

Lucius Malfoy gave him a cursory smile and entered, without being invited to. Arrogant twat. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Forgive me for interrupting your lunch," the man said, glancing down at Harry's plate.

Harry tensed. People looking at his food always made him uncomfortable. He felt guilty, like he was getting caught because growing up, he had needed to steal food and consume it in secret. Eating now felt like breaking a rule. He struggled not to be ready to flee from Uncle Vernon every time he brought food to his lips.

He cleared his throat.

"Right. Yeah, you are. Can I help you with something?"

Malfoy nodded and drew his wand to add further privacy wards to the room.

"You know," Harry chided the man with irritation, "it's customary to ask the Head Auror before casting spells in his office."

Malfoy had finished and pocketed his wand.

"Your recent prolonged absence from work had me concerned," the man said, completely ignoring Harry's reprimand.

Merlin, not more of this.

"It wasn't anything to do with him, he's fine," Harry reassured the man. "I had dragon pox."

Malfoy gripped the head of his weird snake cane.

"My father died of dragon pox, Potter." The man's face had become hard and intense. "You exhibit none of the expected symptoms. No greenish hue nor deep pockmarks from the lesions."

Oh fuck, yeah, that's right. I forgot.

Harry leaned back and tried to seem relaxed.

"I'm younger than he was. I just fought it well, I guess."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes further.

"Or, you never had it."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest.

"Malfoy, I—"

"Have you discovered his last Horcrux yet?"

Harry set his jaw, irritated by Malfoy's persistence.

"Look," Harry said, setting his hands down on his desk decisively. "We're not doing this. You and I are not partners or workmates or friends. I'm handling it. That should be enough."

The older man's lip curled in derision.

"I don't believe that you're capable of handling it."

Pushy fucker. I should ask Voldemort what he's keeping secret for the git. That way I have something to hold over him in case he tries to interfere.

"I don't care what you think, Malfoy," Harry said, standing so that they could be on a more equal footing. "I am the Head Auror. This is none of your business."

"My family is in danger," Malfoy said with surprising venom. "It is my business."

Harry opened his mouth to interject, but before he could, the other man pressed on, taking a step closer.

"I am relying on you to do what must be done, and what I am seeing instead is you growing haggard and suffering suspicious time at home under his terminal influence. You cannot handle the Dark Lord on your own, Potter."

"Funny, that's kind of what I've been doing since I was eleven."

Malfoy sneered, but Harry held up a hand to forestall him.

"This is my priority, I assure you." Harry spoke calmly and tried to keep the annoyance off of his face. "I am going to figure out what his last anchor is and then I will do what needs to be done."

The uneasy reluctance at that thought now, was disconcerting.

"He needs to be at the Ministry," Malfoy insisted firmly.

Harry sighed.

"Maybe. But I don't think they'll be able to work out his Horcrux."

"So you do that, while they keep him secure. Why does he have to be at your home?"

Harry looked away, no excuses coming to him in time.

"I'm not finished with him yet," he confessed in a small voice.

He has to pay for what he's done. Just like me. It's personal. Why should the Ministry get to punish him when it was me that he hurt?

He looked up and Malfoy was scrutinising him closely.

"While I understand the appeal of taking vengeance with your own wand," the older man said with surprising gentleness, "he has been with you too long. He has already begun to manipulate you, I'm sure of it. It will not be long until he has convinced you to free him, or worse."

"Worse?" Harry asked doubtfully. "What could be worse than freeing him?"

Malfoy shot him a mocking smile.

"You are the great Boy Who Lived. If the Dark Lord could gain you as a follower, the scale of his destruction would decimate our world."

Harry bristled at that.

"I'm not his follower."

I'm his submissive.

Fuck.

No.

"Not yet," Malfoy warned. "But it will not be long."

Harry pulled out his wand and cancelled the wards on his office.

"Thank you for your concern," he said, infusing that word with disdain. He walked to the door and gestured to it. "But that'll be all."

Malfoy didn't move.

"I won't wait forever," the man threatened lowly, "nor will I put my faith in your resiliency. If you refuse to take action soon, I will intervene, even if it costs me my magic."

Harry doubted that very much. The git was a coward, always had been.

"You would lose your magic for this?" he asked skeptically.

"For my family's safety?" Malfoy replied with a confused expression. "In an instant."

Harry scoffed.

"Bit of an about-face from what you did to your son in school, isn't it?"

Malfoy's glare made his eyes almost slits. He stepped right up into Harry's face.

"Get your priorities straight, Potter," he whispered roughly. "Fix this, or I will take you down with him."

And without waiting for a reply, he strode from the office, his blonde hair fanning out behind him.

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He needed a drink.

Merlin, this day couldn't get any worse. But instead of the comfort of Ogden's Old, he'd already agreed to go to Ron and Hermione's place to meet Hugo.

He liked kids, of course he did. Who didn't? Well, other than Voldemort, the murdering bastard. But just because he liked them, didn't mean he was looking forward to an evening of sore cheek muscles from smiling, or hearing all about Hermione's blocked ducts and trouble getting a latch, like last time.

"Uncle Harry!" Rose said excitedly when the door was opened, and she rushed forwards and hugged his legs.

She was clingy the whole night, which made sense, considering all the attention that was directed at the new baby. Harry made sure to cuddle her, listening to all the books she had memorised and sitting next to her at dinner.

When it was her bedtime, Harry got to read her two stories and then Ron took over, putting her down for sleep.

Hermione smiled at him as Hugo nursed quietly.

"You're so good with kids," she whispered, and Harry tried not to flinch.

Everyone said that and it always made him uneasy. Sure, he could fake it well enough. He just did everything the opposite of what he'd gotten as a kid. He tried to listen and play with them, make them feel seen. He supposed kids were fine, but that didn't mean that he wanted his own.

Fuck no.

Not with his penchant for getting people killed. Or what about if some nutter had a vendetta against Harry and decided to kill his kid? Or if Harry died while on duty as an Auror and left his child parentless— and then that poor kid was shipped off to the Dursleys as his only living relatives?

No way.

It was safer if he remained alone. If he never got close to anyone, then no one would be in danger.

"Want me to head?" Harry asked, watching Hermione's relaxed posture.

Giving birth must be exhausting, what with all the feedings and nappy changes and other rubbish that came with babies. He ought to let them rest while the kids were.

And I've gotta get home to my Dark Lord.

"Of course not," Hermione answered him, and he looked up, hoping that he'd kept the grimace off his face. "We haven't had a chance to talk for ages. You still haven't told us how you caught dragon pox. I don't know if you're aware, but we tried to come by every day."

"I know," Harry replied, trying to navigate this mess. "I could hear you, but I was... pretty out of it."

Hermione nodded.

"Yeah, I've read all about dragon pox." She smiled wryly. "Ron thought he'd caught it last year, the idiot. Would you believe it was jam?"

Harry laughed, and then quieted at Hermione's stern look.

"Yes," she whispered. "Jam. The idiot." Hermione's gaze swept his body. "You look well. No lasting scars? Did you breathe smoke and everything?"

Harry regretted, again, letting Voldemort convince him of that lie.

"Uh huh. But it really wasn't that interesting. How is Hugo doing?"

Hermione looked down at the feeding baby, a small, tired smile on her face.

"He's wonderful. It's only been a few days, but he's already sleeping for four hours at a time. And Ron is taking great care of me."

"Like I have a choice," Ron said, suddenly leaning down to kiss Hermione's hair and then coming around the sofa to sit next to Harry. "You'd have told all my brothers about that jam thing— which, in my defence, looked exactly like the marks from dragon pox and they were itchy!"

"Of course they were itchy, Ron, it was sticky jam drying on your skin!" Hermione said quietly, shooting Ron a fond grin, which he returned.

It made Harry's chest tighten. They loved each other. Like, really loved each other, til death do us part, and all that.

Harry had never known that kind of love.

"Harry was just saying that his symptoms of actual dragon pox weren't that bad."

Ron gave him a relieved smile.

"That's lucky, mate. When I had it, I was—"

"You're such a berk," Hermione laughed quietly, her leg coming out to lightly kick at Ron.

Harry smiled, his cheeks beginning to ache.

"So what's it like now with two kids?" he asked, hoping to change the subject, but Ron made a groaning sound and Harry stopped talking.

"No. No kid talk. We need to hear about life on the outside. How's work going? How's your dating life?"

Here we go.

It would be so nice to actually have a reply to that question that wouldn't force him to endure, Aww, you'll find someone, or you're still young, or how is the Harry Potter still single?

"Work's fine. I've only just come back."

"And your love life? Anyone new?"

Harry laughed awkwardly, looking away.

"Leave him alone, Ron," Hermione chastised in a low voice. "Harry, you're looking a little thin. Is everything okay?"

"Geez, guys, I just got over dragon pox! How was I supposed to marry a bird and get fit in two days?"

Ron snorted.

"I'd patent that potion." Hermione shot him a glare and Ron quickly amended, "The second one! Not the first. You're the best."

Harry ratcheted up his smile, hoping that he could duck out soon.