CHAPTER 13
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He'd waited until it was almost two in the morning before he had braved going home.
Not because he was a coward— well, not only, at least. He'd waited because he'd been at the pub.
And so had Andrew.
And now I'm sore.
He'd met Andrew in London and the other man had been open to getting drunk and fooling around, so that's what they'd done.
Until Andrew had told him that he only topped.
Only.
And it was late. And Harry was horny. He needed to get off and he wasn't about to risk going home to Voldemort still all tingly and wanton.
And it wouldn't have been his first time bottoming. When he was younger, once, a bigger Muggle bloke had insisted and since Harry had always wondered, he'd let him. And it had been good.
Brilliant.
Which was why he'd never done it again.
He was a top, exclusively. Harry Potter couldn't afford to risk someone humiliating him like that. He had to be strong, always. And bottoms were weak.
But Andrew had only topped, so that was that. It had been too late to put the work into finding someone else, and it would just be one more time and then he'd be done with it.
The problem had been, being the bottom meant that he'd had his face smushed into the pillow. Andrew had been mostly quiet, which had left Harry's imagination free to take over.
While he had been getting pounded, his twisted mind had felt Voldemort's big, spidery hands on his hips. His imposing body leaning over him, breathing on his neck. The experience had been shattering.
And now it was all that he wanted.
Andrew hadn't taken the edge off; he had reawakened his desire to be buggered.
Which left him here, now. At two in the morning, scared to face the man that he actually fancied. After he'd bleeding snogged him and then run off.
Nothing for it.
Harry turned the handle on his front door and crept into the house. The lights were out, which was a good sign. Merlin, it felt like he was sneaking around on a roommate or something. When had it come to this? Lord Voldemort was supposed to be his prisoner.
Maybe Malfoy is right to be worried.
Making his way up the stairs, he was relieved to hear that the house was silent. No Dark Lords creaking the floorboards or sharpening knives.
At his bedroom door at last, he pushed it open, and then fell back against the wall.
Lord Voldemort was sitting on his bed, resting leisurely against the headboard.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked, meaning to sound angry, but instead his voice was strained.
Voldemort tilted his head, almost as if the question confused him. He set aside the book he'd been reading and then gave Harry his full attention.
"You left rather hastily this morning," the Dark Lord said, and wasn't that the understatement of the year?
"Get out of my bed."
Voldemort raised an eyebrow.
"After your amorous attack, I would have assumed that you would welcome my presence here."
Harry pulled in a breath. So we're jumping right into that, then. Wonderful.
He studied the man in his bed and the longer he did, the warmer he became. Lord Voldemort looked good there. It wasn't as jarring as he'd thought it would be.
Not that he'd thought about it.
Only perhaps every couple of minutes.
And then he began to consider why Lord Voldemort was waiting up for him. In his bed.
Merlin, is he in here because he wants to continue where we'd left off? Holy shit, is this actually going to happen? Fuck, I really shouldn't have drank so much...
"You should be aware," Voldemort said, drawing him back, and Harry's gaze returned to scour that long, reposed body, "that my lack of reciprocation this morning was not for lack of interest. I must admit that you caught me off guard."
Oh, I do not need to hear that right now, sodding hell. Fuck, does he feel this insane pull too?
"Your spontaneous action earlier alerted me that we were perhaps ready to discuss our next moves."
Holy shit.
Was the man seriously going to make them talk about it first? Jesus, why couldn't they just get into it without the discussion?
Harry stared at the Dark Lord, anticipation tingling his skin.
"I believe," Voldemort said, as Harry's heartbeat thundered in his ears, "that you will now be more amenable to discussing my previous offer of myself in exchange for assistance from you."
Harry blinked.
The fuck?
Oh god.
He doesn't actually want this. He's using his body as a bargaining tool.
Revulsion curdled through Harry. He knew how that felt. To have sex with someone when you didn't really want to.
What a fucking idiot.
Of course. Lord Voldemort was always just after serving himself. He had an agenda, which should have been obvious, and any hints of mutual attraction that Harry had been picking up on, were clearly feigned.
Harry had been used.
Voldemort had been pretending to be attracted to him so that he could lure Harry closer and then be in a position to barter for favours.
What a fucking fool I am.
"Are you even listening, Potter?" Harry heard Voldemort ask with irritation.
He glanced up and caught the Dark Lord looking annoyed.
It was never real.
I thought he understood me. I thought he could...
Enough.
"Potter."
"Yeah, I hear you. Stop badgering me."
He took a deep breath. At least his erection had disappeared. All the sexual tension had blown away and he was left with a depressing resignation.
What had he expected? This wasn't for him. These feelings were not ones he deserved.
"What do you say?" Voldemort asked again, and Harry looked up at him, feeling dead.
Hollow.
"No thanks," Harry replied, suddenly desperately tired.
He pushed off from the wall and began to walk to his bed. Voldemort didn't want him, not really, and so being near him wouldn't hurt anymore. He was just another person who wanted to use him.
"I do not understand," Voldemort said, watching Harry suspiciously as he came closer. "Your actions this morning—"
"I snogged you," Harry interrupted, as he reached the bed. He looked down at the other man. "That was my mistake. I won't make it again."
Voldemort tilted his head, frowning.
"You desire me," Voldemort ventured slowly, as if trying to sort out what he knew to figure out what had gone wrong.
Harry shrugged.
"So what?" He turned his back to Voldemort and sat down wearily. "I thought it was mutual. I thought that you..."
...wanted to be my Master.
Fuck, that hurt to think. But it was better this way anyways. He couldn't risk something like that.
"You know," Harry went on, realising how skilfully he'd been played, "you should be proud. I haven't felt drawn to someone like this... well, this will go straight to you head, but I never have. I thought... That doesn't matter. You got me to want you and now there's a price. It was all contrived. And I fell for it."
Harry laughed miserably.
"So. Well done."
There was silence as Harry laid down, his back turned to the Dark Lord who was still in his bed. But it didn't matter. Harry wasn't a monster. He wouldn't touch the man again.
"That was not my intention."
"It doesn't matter. Please, just get out of my bed so I can sleep."
There was no movement behind him.
"I do not have much else to offer currently," Voldemort whispered.
He still sounded confused. Harry squeezed his eyes shut.
"I get it. It was a good move." Harry swallowed thickly around the pain jamming his oesophagus. "Look, I know you want something from me, but can we talk in the morning? I just really need to sleep."
He held his breath, waiting, and eventually the Dark Lord shifted and Harry felt his weight leave the bed. He wasn't sure if he was relieved or devastated.
The man left without a word, but really, what more needed to be said? Harry had been a naïve idiot to think that the Dark Lord Voldemort could understand him. Or want him. It had been a ruse, and it would have to serve as a reminder about why he never did this.
He was Harry Potter. If someone was kind or open to him, then it was an act to manipulate him. He was just a left-over weapon from the war that should never have made it through alive.
This wasn't for him. And it was time he fully accepted that.
.
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Voldemort walked slowly back to his chamber.
Something had gone wrong, but he could not fathom what it had been. Potter had admitted that he was attracted to him. Voldemort had seen the evidence. And yet the boy had denied him.
Was it because of their past?
He closed his bedroom door and leaned against it, thinking.
That must be it.
Their mutual animosity barred the boy from engaging sexually with him. Desire alone was not enough for Potter.
Yet it would be no small task to erase memories of decades of violence between them. Potter would not be tricked into thinking that Voldemort had changed, which was comforting, because he had no intention of playing that part.
This task was becoming more challenging. He had assumed that the boy would welcome this offer. And yet he had rejected it forcefully.
He still fears me.
Potter did not trust him yet. Voldemort had been premature with his suggestion of a trade between them and now he would have to rebuild what had been broken tonight.
The boy wanted him. That was not the issue.
Voldemort needed his magic returned to him. For that, he required Potter. And for Potter he must be patient.
.
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Harry had nowhere to go.
He wanted space to get control of his feelings again, space to lick his wounds and chastise himself, but his home was no longer ideal for that.
Voldemort was always there, lurking. They didn't talk as often anymore. The man seemed less certain around him, almost like he was waiting for Harry to come to him.
No point to that anymore.
"Another?" the bartender asked, and Harry nodded without making eye contact.
Why not? Work was quiet and it wasn't like he had anyone to rush home to.
Just Lord Voldemort.
Harry was stuck. He knew he should be scrambling to discover the man's last Horcrux, but something always came up before he could begin.
He didn't want to.
Yet that wasn't enough to give the man a pass considering all he'd done. Sure, he had no magic, but the Dark Lord knew why now, and he probably already had dozens of ways to get it back. Or plenty of people that had not been active Death Eaters, who would suffice to redo the ritual with.
Then the Dark Lord would recommence his destruction and it would all be on Harry. Again.
He was the Saviour. He must put the world first and do what needed to be done. Whether or not he wanted to. Voldemort—
"Is this seat taken?"
Harry looked up to see a tall, bald man gesturing to the chair beside him.
Fuck, he looks kinda like a non-creepy Voldemort.
Harry shook his head and looked away. Jesus, you're pathetic.
"It's all yours," Harry replied.
He tried to get back to what he'd been thinking about, but the man leaned in close and diverted his attention.
"You're Harry Potter."
Harry looked up quickly. He was in a Muggle pub; he hadn't expected to be recognised.
The man smiled genially.
"Relax, I'm not going to cause a scene. Although, I am a really big fan."
Harry smiled awkwardly in return. Fuck my life, I should have just gone home.
"Hey, can I ask you something?" the man inquired, placing his hand boldly on Harry's arm.
Harry raised his eyebrow, but nodded so as not to be impolite.
"Are you circumcised?"
Harry almost choked— the fuck?
The man laughed.
"Sorry if that's too personal, I've just always wondered. I love reading about you in the gossip rags, and they certainly go into detail, but they've never explicitly said what you've got there."
The man actually leaned back and stared pointedly at Harry's crotch. It was blatant enough that Harry felt embarrassed and wanted to cover himself.
"That's really not—"
"It's just, I know you were raised by Muggles and I've read all about what they do to young boys in their culture. It's shocking, isn't it? Lopping off a chunk of a baby's cock without their consent?"
Harry had no idea how to respond. When did it become appropriate to start a conversation like this?
The man was staring at him, so Harry would have to respond. He cleared his throat.
"Look, I'm just here for a drink."
The man nodded and called for the bartender with his order. Harry almost groaned. Now he was stuck.
"Anyways," the man said, focused on Harry again, "back to my original question. Did those Muggles chop you too?"
Harry opened his mouth, but had no words. The man squeezed his arm jocularly and laughed again.
"Your face, mate!" The man pressed his forehead into Harry's shoulder while he laughed. "Oh man, I can't believe you're here." He sat up and smiled at Harry. "This is right by my place. Wanna come back with me?"
Jesus, did the bloke think he was off to a good start, here? What a sodding egotistical prick.
Harry scrambled for a way to say no.
"Maybe you can relive me of my burning curiosity," the fucker purred. "I'll relieve you, too."
He had the gall to wink and Harry almost slapped him.
That's enough. Get the fuck out of here.
He was just about to stand, when the man grabbed him by the back of his head and pulled him closer.
"We totally should," he whispered, his breath smelling rank with alcohol. "Wanna know why? People always say I look kinda like He Who Must Not Be Named."
Harry froze, staring into the man's face at close range.
Fuck.
He totally does.
Nowhere near as attractive or compelling, and the man's verbal ineptitudes were a complete turn off, but— fuck. If he could get the idiot to shut the fuck up for five minutes—
"I could be your Dark Lord of Cock tonight, Mr Potter!" the man shrieked quietly, and then put his head down on the bar, giggling.
Fucking bollocks.
No.
This was a very bad idea. The man touching him was repulsive and this would only confuse his forbidden desire for the Dark Lord.
...Though, he could always Obliviate the man afterwards.
Fuck.
If he couldn't have what he wanted...
"Alright," Harry blurted out, and the man stopped laughing at once.
He looked up.
"Really?" His shock was almost comical. "You're serious?"
Harry nodded and then stood.
"Let's go."
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Harry turned off the lights in the man's bedroom.
The stranger was quiet now, almost like he couldn't quite believe that Harry Potter was actually in his flat. He kept staring at him more openly than was socially acceptable, but Harry didn't care.
He was rather excited.
What a great idea. It was perfect. He could get the Dark Lord out of his system with some role play and then do what needed to be done to save the world.
"You have to be rough with me," Harry instructed him tonelessly, wanting to get this correct now that he'd committed.
He'd already decided to wipe the man's memory afterwards, so he could say whatever he wanted.
"Okay," the man agreed, still standing motionless by the door.
"Don't ask for permission, just make me do what you want me to."
A small smile was ghosting over the man's face.
"You sure?"
Oh, fuck yes.
He nodded.
"And he would top you, right?" the man asked.
That gave him pause.
Harry was always the top. It was comfortable. Familiar.
He looked over at the other man and tried to imagine that the stranger was Lord Voldemort instead. Staring at him hungrily.
Desiring him without an agenda. Promising to take care of him.
Making him kneel.
"Yeah," Harry breathed.
The man smirked.
"Anything else?"
Harry began to pull off his shirt, eager to begin.
"Be mean to me."
The man laughed.
"Of course. Can you imagine him being nice?"
I've seen him nice. He gives me what I need.
"Treat me like..." Harry began, as his mind cautioned him that this was too far— "like a submissive."
The man frowned.
"How's that?"
Ah well.
"Never mind. Just start."
The man walked towards him, unbuttoning his shirt. Harry forced his mind to ignore the unnatural human nose, the graceless gait. He tried to see sinister red eyes.
"Potter," the man said in a low voice, but Harry corrected him without thinking.
"Call me boy."
The man smiled darkly, reaching him and grabbing Harry by the shoulders.
"Kiss me, boy."
Harry cringed, hating everything about that.
"Don't," Harry told him. "Forget about the boy thing."
The man nodded and Harry tried to calm. To get into the headspace that Voldemort always took him to. Suddenly, lips were plastered onto his and a tongue was thrusting into his mouth, wet and insistent.
It was gross, but Harry took it. There was some pleasure to be had, enduring unpleasant things for his Master's enjoyment.
Master. Should I call him that?
No.
That term was for Voldemort alone. He wouldn't sully it. This person didn't deserve it.
The kiss ended and Harry let the man drag him to the bed. He was flung back, and he wanted to sigh disappointedly at how much he was being manhandled. That wasn't Voldemort's style. He would issue commands and Harry would obey. That was better.
This was weak.
The man pulled off Harry's trousers and pants and then gripped his semi-hard cock tightly.
"I'm He Who Must Not Be Named."
Harry bit his cheek to stop the amused snort from bursting out. Jesus, this man had no idea how Voldemort talked.
"I've won the war and now I'm going to fuck you, Potter," the man said in a deep voice, so unlike his.
His arse was grabbed and Harry closed his eyes, trying to imagine that cool skin touching him instead.
"My Death Eaters are gonna have a go with you when I'm done," the man said, and that was just ridiculous.
Like the Dark Lord would share.
But he doesn't want you at all. He wouldn't care that you're shagging someone else.
Fuck. That hurt.
"Do you think he would make you come?" the man asked, breaking character as he whispered the question to Harry.
He has before.
Harry shook his head. He didn't like coming for other people anyways. With those that knew his identity, sex for him wasn't about getting off. It was usually just about repaying a debt. It was a paltry offering to alleviate some of his guilt.
"Yeah, that's true," the man agreed. "I bet he'd— of fuck. I mean—" The man's face grew serious as he donned his Voldemort guise again. "You won't be coming tonight, Potter. After I fuck you, I'm gonna kill you. So you'd better make it good for me."
This was immensely unauthentic.
Far from sating his desire, it was actually making him miss the Dark Lord. He was realising the little things he appreciated about the man now that he was being so inexpertly portrayed.
Like how his eyes spoke so much. There was a depth to him that burned in his red gaze; a wild energy that was loosely contained in the man's controlled body.
And his voice.
It was high and alluring. So damn arrogant, so commanding. It had authority, even when the man was a prisoner. And it always affected Harry.
"I'm not gonna prepare you, Potter," the man said, pulling him away from his thoughts.
Harry felt fingers poking at his entrance and was unhappy that the man was being serious. This would hurt, and it wasn't even for him. For Voldemort, he would take it, but for this nobody, it was hard to submit.
When he felt the cock press against him, he laid still, allowing the man to breach him. It burned like hell and Harry buried his face in the pillows, wishing he hadn't undertaken this farce.
"Oh yeah," the man groaned, grabbing his hips and pulling Harry deeper. "Circe's tits, I'm fucking the Boy Who Lived!"
Shut up.
Voldemort would not say that. He would be demeaning him. Telling him how worthless he was. Saying the words that no one else dared to.
"Say I'm a failure," Harry demanded.
"You're a bleeding failure," the man repeated in his low, wrong voice.
"He wouldn't—" Harry gasped, gritting his teeth. Fuck, getting buggered hurt. "He doesn't talk like that."
"Sorry," the man said, and then grabbed a handful of Harry's hair, yanking his head back.
Better.
"Take my cock, Potter," the man said, and Harry tried to go with it— it was Voldemort fucking him, taking him, hurting him—
"Merlin, I'm gonna come soon," the man moaned, and Harry bit into his tongue in bitter frustration.
It was fucking useless.
No amount of focus or imagination was going to make Harry believe that this man was Lord Voldemort. Harry'd been an idiot to think that anyone else could play that part.
He gave up and just let the man— whose name he hadn't even bothered to ask— fuck him until he finished. He laid there, defeated, as the man caught his breath.
"Wait, you didn't come?"
Harry sat up gingerly, hating how delicate he felt after he was buggered. It was a far more intimate act. One that required trust and a relaxed body, and Harry struggled with both of those things.
"Let me—"
Harry stood quickly to avoid the hands reaching for him.
"I'm fine," he assured the man. "Really."
He tried to imbue his tone with firm resolve, but the man obviously didn't hear it. He laughed.
"Oh come on, I have the Chosen One here and I'm not going to take care of him?"
The man stood and strode forward, his hands outstretched towards Harry's flaccid cock.
For a moment, he almost just surrendered.
It wouldn't hurt him any further to let the man have a more satisfying experience. It was the least he could do considering he was going to Obliviate him anyways.
But then he heard Voldemort's forceful voice.
You allowed yourself to be used. You gave to another what belongs to me. This will not happen again.
When the man reaching for him made contact with Harry's genitals, Harry's magic lashed out.
That's not yours.
He watched the grasping fingers flinch and saw that the digits were now covered in burns.
"What the hell?" the man shrieked, looking at Harry with open shock.
He wanted to apologise, to beg forgiveness, but his back wouldn't bend. He stared at the man levelly.
"Step the fuck away from me."
Harry's voice was emotionless. He didn't recognise it.
The man stumbled back a few paces, his expression comically astounded.
"Fuck, mate, a no would have done the job."
Harry continued to watch him, every part of himself suddenly feeling ice-cold and in control.
Powerful.
He pulled out his wand and watched the other man wince, not even going for his own in defence.
"You are nothing like Voldemort," Harry told him, unable to hold in the words. "He has never had a problem making me come."
When the man's face fell in horror Harry hit him with a thorough Obliviate and then left.