CHAPTER 29
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Harry flexed his limbs in their restraints. Merlin, he would not survive this.
Voldemort wanted a demonstration. He wanted to be hurt.
Fuck. Harry was dying to comply. He wanted it so much that his body was throbbing with need.
"I shouldn't do this," he argued weakly, knowing that he should listen to this fact. He was being irresponsible. "It will only scare you."
Voldemort's pitying smile was devastating.
"When you knew me," the Dark Lord asked, his fingers releasing Harry's hair and sliding down to his shoulder, "was I the type of person who scared easily?"
Harry couldn't reply, so focused on the movement of those digits, as they meandered down his chest.
"I bet," Voldemort whispered, and his taunting voice went right to Harry's aching cock, as those fingers slid lower, "you do not even need my aid to escape these bindings. I think you can do it yourself."
"It'll scare you," Harry groaned, as the man's nails scraped against his stomach, having somehow slipped under his shirt.
"I bet you want to scare me." Oh Jesus fucking bollocks. "I bet all of my murder attempts have made you eager to land your own hits. To see me bleed for once."
Harry felt indecent, knowing his erection was straining his Muggle trousers. Fuck, but he wanted to hurt the man, see those familiar eyes alight with pain.
"Make me bleed, Harry."
"Oh, fuck," Harry moaned. "You seriously have no memories? You sound just like him."
Voldemort hummed.
"I am him. And I want you to impress me."
Those fingers slowly slid inside Harry's trousers and he struggled against the bonds, needing to be free so that he could touch, could use more than his one hand that refused to do more than grip helplessly to the ropes.
"Show me something I would like. Show me—"
Voldemort stopped talking and stared at Harry's belly. Harry looked down his own body to see that his rune was fully exposed. Voldemort's fingers were touching the edge of the mark delicately.
"You have one, too," the man breathed.
"You found yours? I didn't see you find it."
That gaze snapped up to pierce him lethally.
"You have been watching me."
Harry didn't know what to say.
"There is nowhere to hide," Voldemort accused. "Where were you?"
Harry looked away, but strong fingers grabbed his chin and forced his gaze back.
"How."
Harry shook his head. It would be too much to handle. He didn't know about magic. How would he take that information?
"Show me."
"I can't. I need... something. I can show you later."
Those fingers gripped tighter.
"Now."
Harry swallowed.
"I can't."
"You will."
Voldemort wrapped his hand punishingly around Harry's hard cock, which twitched desperately at the contact.
"Do your powers allow you to regrow body parts?"
"No," Harry begged. "But I can stop you. Please don't make me."
Voldemort squeezed tighter and Harry keened.
"Please, that hurts so much."
Voldemort made a humming sound again.
"And yet, your cock is no less interested."
Harry groaned.
"You said cock— Jesus, fucking Merlin..."
"Merlin?" Voldemort repeated, and Harry opened his eyes to see the man's startled face.
Harry waited to find out what his stupid blunder had cost.
"So... it is magic?" Voldemort whispered wonderingly.
How could the man ask that so earnestly? Without embarrassment. As if it wasn't ridiculous to believe in magic as a grown adult.
"Of course not," Harry rasped.
"I do not believe you."
Voldemort began stroking Harry's cock idly. Unfortunately, that distracted him enough to forget to be worried. It felt so good to have the man touch him again.
"You are a magician, then," Voldemort stated, continuing to stimulate him. "You use magic."
"Fuck," Harry sighed, blowing out a deep breath and just surrendering to the situation.
Sure, he shouldn't have told Voldemort about magic. But the Dark Lord's hands on him felt too good to deny and he just wanted to be weak for once. To do something selfish.
"Which means that I am one also," the man confirmed quietly.
Harry closed his eyes, letting himself bask in how good this felt.
And that's when it stopped.
Voldemort pulled his hand free, abandoning Harry's cock. He stood.
"Tell me about myself."
Oh Jesus— you've got to be fucking kidding me.
Harry gritted his teeth.
"I thought you wanted a demonstration," he bit out.
Voldemort regarded him levelly.
"You will do that later. Right now, I would like to hear about myself."
Harry snorted. The wanker.
"Course you do."
He shifted in the ropes, wincing at the discomfort.
"Any chance that we can have this conversation on the sofa?"
Voldemort's eyes raked down Harry's body appreciatively.
"I prefer you like this."
Fuck, every goddamn word ignited his need to be touched. It was uncomfortable to remain contorted like this, but for Voldemort? For his pleasure?
Fuck yes.
"Alright," Harry said with a defeated exhale. "What do you want to know."
"Am I immortal?"
Harry stared into those blazing, excited eyes.
"Yes." He saw Voldemort's face shine with rapacious pride. "But before you go testing that, know that it's complicated. You can lose your body if you die and... well, I'm not sure there're any ingredients left to bring you back."
"Bring me back. How?"
Harry shrugged.
"Magic."
Voldemort's expression darkened.
"Magic."
He said it reverently.
"Are we magicians?"
"It's called being a wizard."
No derisive snort at that. Voldemort accepted the ridiculous term with ease.
"Where are my powers?"
Harry hesitated.
"Seperate. Until you complete a ritual."
Voldemort nodded.
"We will do it now."
Harry grimaced.
"We can't. Not yet."
"Why."
"I'm holding onto it for you."
"You are."
"Yes."
"Are you immortal, too?"
Harry shook his head.
"Nope."
Voldemort glanced at the knife and then back at him. Harry laughed.
"Go ahead. But if you threaten to kill me unless I give it back, which I know you're thinking about, you should know that I don't fear death. I'm also the only one who can help you."
"Do I have family?"
"You killed them."
Voldemort frowned.
"Why?"
"Long story. Your dad because he was an arsehole, and your mum... well, that was an accident. She died giving birth to you."
Voldemort stared at him for a few moments, his face blank.
"Other family?"
"You killed most of them, though one of your grandfathers died of starvation shortly after coming home from prison."
Voldemort's face tightened.
"Prison."
"Yup."
His lips curled with distaste.
"Friends."
Harry grinned cheekily.
"Just me."
Voldemort scrutinised him intensely for a moment, his gaze penetrating.
"A partner?"
Just me.
"Not that I knew of."
Unless you counted Bellatrix, but that was probably only her wishful thinking.
"Where are my memories?"
"I have those too."
Voldemort's gaze became deadly.
"So, this is your fault."
"No. Well, not the memories bit. I'm keeping them safe until I can give them back."
"Why not now?"
"I have to... brew a potion. I'm not so good at that."
"I will help."
Bloody ridiculous prat.
"You have no memories! No idea about anything to do with magic!" He laughed. "Can we table this for now? It's the middle of the night and I'd love to try getting back to sleep."
He eyed the man with mild apprehension.
"Don't try to kill me anymore, okay? It won't go the way you want it to."
Voldemort tilted his head with consideration.
"You have yet to prove these wild assertions."
Harry raised his eyebrows.
"You want a demonstration?" Voldemort's level stare was answer enough. "Fine. What do you want to see?"
Voldemort's eyes shifted away, his gaze becoming calculating.
"What are my options?"
Harry thought about that. It felt good to perform on command to please the Dark Lord.
"I mean... Anything. Well, I don't want to scare you too much."
As an Auror, he had often witnessed how badly Muggles freaked out when they saw magic.
Voldemort's eyes had narrowed in annoyance at his words.
Harry smiled fondly.
He's already seen enough to have sent most Muggles running for the hills.
Muggles.
Voldemort was a Muggle.
This was so weird.
"Alright," he said. "What about—"
"Show me pain," Voldemort interrupted. "What are your weapons?"
It was unsurprising that the Dark Lord wanted to see curses.
"Shall I do them on you?" he asked sarcastically.
"Yes," the man immediately answered, and Harry stared at him in awe. "Something you will have to heal."
This wasn't a good idea, he knew that. But it was hard to go against the man's enthusiasm.
"Okay, if you're sure. But I'm going to make you do it."
Voldemort's expression became confused.
"Hurt myself?"
Harry nodded and then used his one free hand to pull out his wand.
"Ready?"
The man stared at the weapon, surprise and excitement burning within his gaze. Then, he inclined his head, unafraid.
"Imperio!"
Harry conjured a knife, not wanting to use the same one that Voldemort had stabbed him with. Those eyes widened at the display, even through the heavy fog he would be experiencing.
Take this knife. Slice a small cut onto your left thumb. Not too deep.
He watched as Voldemort's body jerkily obeyed. He grasped the knife and hesitated only for a moment before pressing it into his shaking thumb.
Voldemort was fighting, but was unable to overcome the compulsion.
Harry lifted the curse. Voldemort staggered back, his eyes intent upon Harry's wand.
"Do I have one of those?" he rasped.
Harry nodded, almost confessing that he'd brought Voldemort's wand along, but deciding against it.
"You have no magic though, so it won't matter."
"Give it to me."
Harry rolled his eyes.
"I want to sleep. Let me free now."
Voldemort considered him, but it was taking too damn long and Harry had already broken the promises he'd made at work anyways.
"Relashio!"
His magic cut through the ropes and his body relaxed, melting against the mattress gratefully.
"Those words," Voldemort said, his gaze caught on the severed bindings. "Is it the wand or the spells that creates the magic?"
Harry groaned.
"I'm not discussing magical theory right now, okay?"
He rearranged the blankets around himself, intending to sleep, but then remembered that this man had tried to kill him twice today.
"Are you sleeping here?" he asked, and quickly realised how that sounded. "Not here. Obviously."
Though the man had been touching his cock...
"I meant in the house."
Voldemort was examining him carefully.
"Are there more of our kind?"
More bloody questions.
"Yes. No more talking."
"And," Voldemort said, ignoring him, "are you the most powerful of them all?"
Harry snorted.
"Yeah, right. Nope, that happy title would probably go to you."
Voldemort hummed.
"That is all I needed to know."
The Dark Lord's hand flashed forward and sunk the knife deeply into Harry's chest, right over his heart. Pain exploded at the site and Harry's hands slapped down onto those thin wrists. He looked up at Voldemort's calm face in horrified shock— the fucking moronic murdering bastard!— what the buggering fuck? Again?
As he reeled, the motherfucker ripped the blade free and slashed it across Harry's neck, spilling warm, wet blood all down his chest.
"You— you—" he gasped, and then fell out of the bed, trying to claw his way up the retreating man's body.
"I am going to watch you die, Harry," the man placidly informed him. "Each time you heal, I will be here to keep you bleeding until you run dry."
Harry's mouth opened and closed uselessly.
"We are enemies," the man chided softly. "I will find my own path."
No! You don't know how!
He wanted to shout at the man, but blood was pouring out of his chest, out of his neck, his lungs stuttering and failing to inflate. Agony was pulsing through his veins and it was blinding, this was too much for his magic to heal, he would not make it to the house for his potions—
If he didn't get help, he was going to die here.
But how? The island was deserted.
Hermione—
No, he couldn't implicate her, couldn't endanger her kids. He was not going to bring this onto her doorstep.
Blindly, unthinkingly, he pulled in his magic and Apparated to Malfoy Manor once more.
.
.
His eyelids were heavy, but he forced them open.
It was bright and he squinted, his vision blurry.
"Finally," a familiar voice said, and Harry startled.
Draco?
But he'd just been with Voldemort—
Voldemort!
He sat up, swinging his legs around and planting them on the floor. At once, his head swam and he felt like he would puke.
"Woah. Relax, Scar Head. Just slow down."
Harry turned to the voice.
"Where is he?"
Draco made a scoffing sound.
"He's fine. You almost weren't, though. I'm assuming he's the cause of that near fatal stab to your heart? Both literally and figuratively, I'm sure."
Events were gradually coming back to him. The man had touched his cock. Had found out about magic. And then, the psycho fucker had stabbed him again.
Third time in less than a day— second, in an hour.
Merlin. Voldemort was obsessed with killing him, no matter their circumstances. The idiot always fixated on one fatal move and then hit him with it over and over, regardless of whether it had been successful or not.
He brought a hand up to touch his neck and felt the smooth skin.
I should be dead.
He idly rubbed his throat, thinking about how many times magic had saved him. Whether he'd wanted it to, or not.
Letting his hand drop, he stood.
No rest for the wicked.
"I have to go."
He heard Draco sigh and then saw that blurry shape stand too.
"Here," the man said, and smacked his glasses against his chest.
Harry grabbed them and put them on. Draco was giving him an unimpressed look.
"Thanks for... this," Harry said awkwardly, hating that he'd had to be rescued, worthless failure that he was.
He made to leave, but Draco reached out and seized his arm.
"Wait."
The other man glanced towards the door. He seemed reluctant. Fearful.
Trepidation instantly gripped Harry.
"Is he alright?" he asked, suddenly aware that he'd left Voldemort unprotected.
"I have no idea." Draco replied. "I know that the Minister went to wherever you two were sent and hasn't been back."
"The Minister?" Harry asked, trying to catch up. Fuck, that wouldn't be good. "But— how did he know? Did you...?"
"Not me," Draco denied, his expression contrite. "My father."
Harry growled with frustration, ripping his arm away and storming to search the house.
"Harry, wait!"
But that wasn't possible, not when Lucius fucking Malfoy had intervened again. The man wouldn't learn, wouldn't mind his own fucking business—
His body abruptly froze, going rigid, and he fell to the floor. Right before impact, he was stopped and then gently laid down onto his back.
His eyes searched for who would dare—
"Merlin, Harry," Draco panted, coming to his side. "He's not home. He's at the Ministry. And anyway, he saved your life."
Harry paused and watched Draco pocket his wand.
"He found you on the hearthrug. I wasn't at the Manor last night. Not until he called me over to tend to you. It was just you and him and you were on the cusp of death, or so he said. He could easily have just left you to die."
What the fuck?
Why would Lucius save him? Especially after what Harry had done to him the last time they'd met.
His body jolted and he was released from the curse. He sat up, staring at Draco.
"Why?"
The other man held his gaze and then shrugged.
"I don't know. Maybe because it would negatively affect our popularity if the Chosen One was found dead in our home?"
Harry studied him, unsure what to do with that. But then he remembered what Draco had said about his father's actions.
"Wait, how come he'd been able to tell someone about Voldemort?"
He stood, closing his eyes briefly and swaying a bit as the vertigo took him. When he settled, he looked over to see that Draco was scrutinising him with concern.
Harry shook his head, forbidding the man to nag.
"Well," Draco said slowly, "as I wasn't there, I can't say for certain, but I assume that the promise he made you is no longer valid. Everyone knows that the Dark Lord is alive now. So Father was able to just go in and tell Kingsley that you'd been hurt."
Anger rushed through him.
Fucking Malfoy.
Again, the interfering prat had come in and messed everything up.
"Bloody bastard," he muttered, picturing the sycophantic traitor eagerly tattling to the Minister.
"It wasn't malicious," Draco said quietly. "I think he was just worried about what the Dark Lord would get up to on his own."
Harry scoffed.
"Right. And he wasn't at all trying to get vengeance on me."
He rubbed his chest idly.
Fuck.
He should have worded the binding magical contract better. Made it more vague, forbid him from telling anyone else about anything Voldemort-related. Then Malfoy would have lost his magic, instead of gallingly earning clout with the Ministry again.
"I have to go, Draco," he muttered, and then turned to leave.
"Look, I know you're upset," the blonde said, sounding anxious, "but he really was just concerned that the Dark Lord would break free without your surveillance."
Harry stopped and spun to shoot an incredulous look at him.
"That's bullshit! He could have just healed me and let me go on my way. Instead, he told the Minister that I failed, which jeopardises everyone's safety—"
"Don't give me that," Draco cut in. "You're not worried about the public. You're worried about him."
"And? He's my problem to worry about, and now I have to go find out what Kingsley plans to do about this."
"You shouldn't have made contact—"
"You shouldn't have pledged your life to the man!" Harry shouted. "Don't get pissy at me for doing the same thing!"
Draco stared at him sullenly.
"I was trying to save my family," he said.
Harry stood up straighter.
"So am I."
Before the man could argue with that, Harry strode away.
"My father saved your life, Harry," Draco shot out unfairly. Harry paused, but didn't turn. "Maybe... maybe he did that for me, but he still did it."
Harry's stomach clenched at the bald confession. He hated being reminded that Draco still bleeding fancied him.
"Please," the man said softly, and Harry looked back to see his tired, worried face. "Don't kill him. I know he's... unbearably interfering. But, please."
Harry studied him, his irritation growing with the knowledge that he was incapable of saying no to people who begged.
"Fine," he grudgingly complied. "But I can't promise that Voldemort won't. Not after all he's done."
Draco's face was grim, but he nodded.
"I know."
Harry held the man's gaze, and then returned the gesture.
"I have to go."
He walked out the door, preparing to Apparate back to Barra Head and find out how much trouble he was in. Whether Lord Voldemort would still be under his authority, or if he would have to find another way to steal him back.