CHAPTER 38

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As the two, emerald-eyed snakes parted at his command, a long, pillar-lined chamber revealed itself.

This is mine.

Marvelling, he walked forward, Harry still holding his hand. Nothing was familiar and yet everything was. There was something that hummed within him here.

He felt welcomed.

It felt like home.

"The snake's gone," Harry muttered, and Voldemort looked down to see the man scrutinising the damp stone floor.

"What snake," he said absently, as his eyes returned to study the great chamber and all the serpent-embellished designs.

"Welcome, heir," a voice said, and he realised that it was from the snake he was observing, wrapped around one of the pillars.

He inclined his head in acknowledgment and kept walking.

Fascinating.

"There used to be a Basilisk skeleton down here," Harry said.

Voldemort stopped and turned to him.

"The fabled half snake, half chicken?"

Harry shook his head.

"No. Just a really big snake. Killed with her eyes."

The legends he had read in London had described them differently, yet it was clear that, in this world at least, everything he thought he knew, was wrong.

"What happened to her?" he asked.

Harry looked away, squeezing his fingers.

"I killed her."

An unfamiliar sense of regret tightened his chest. He let go of the man's hand.

"To be fair," Harry said defensively, "you attacked me with her. I didn't have a choice. It was self-defence."

I did?

"I need those memories, Harry."

The man nodded.

"I know. Let's get to it, then." He strode off deeper into the chamber. "I'll set you up here and then head to the Ministry."

Harry pulled out his wand and began making things pop into existence and land on the floor around him.

A bed. A desk. A chair. Bread and cheese, pitchers of water, all gently arranged themselves on the furniture as Voldemort watched in amazement.

He walked closer, drawn to the display. He found that the chamber opened up into a huge main area with a towering statue of a man in robes with a long, thin beard.

"Can you think of anything else you'll need?" Harry asked, but Voldemort could not tear his eyes from the giant stone figure. "Oh."

He turned to see Harry point his wand far back into the large main area and make a toilet appear.

"There. That should do it, I think."

A gentle hand was placed on his arm. Voldemort looked down to see Harry studying him with concern.

"How are you doing? This is a lot, isn't it?"

Voldemort did not deign to reply to that.

The man reached out and caressed his cheek.

"You'll be safe here," Harry assured him earnestly. "I'm going to set some wards so that you can't wander around outside this chamber."

Wards.

A magical locking spell?

"I shouldn't be too long at the Ministry, but I really don't know what I'll be walking into, so if I take longer than a day..."

He trailed off, clearly giving that outcome some thought.

"I will accompany you," Voldemort said, knowing this venture would not go well without him.

Harry smiled.

"Thanks. But that would be a bloody disaster."

The man sighed and then backed up, falling into the chair.

"I think I can get Kreacher to come if I can't," Harry murmured to himself, rubbing his forehead. "Though..."

The man looked up at him sternly.

"You have to promise not to kill him. He's bound to do as I command, but you haven't been very nice to him in the past and he's going to be terrified when he sees you."

A servant?

"He's working in the kitchens right now," Harry went on. "I'll tell him to check on you in twenty-four hours and to bring you food if you need it. He can't take you out of here, though, so don't even try."

Voldemort succeeded in masking his satisfaction. Harry grossly underestimated his persuasive skills if he thought that he could not tempt someone to change their allegiance.

Harry abruptly stood and Voldemort shifted his attention back to him.

He disliked that he could not stop the man from leaving.

"I shouldn't be too long," Harry said soothingly, coming to stand before him. A cheeky grin bloomed on his face. "You know how you're infamous in this world? A murderous criminal?"

Harry's words from earlier today leapt into his head.

It was my father's. You killed him, you bastard.

But Harry had forgiven him for that. Had to have, based on their interactions. Such was the power he had over the man. Harry would forgive him anything.

"Well," the man went on, "I'm their adored hero. They won't want to believe whatever Kingsley's told them."

Voldemort absently nodded his head, taking confusing comfort from that.

Harry smiled, then fell silent, scrutinising him.

They both knew that Harry had to go, yet there was a strange tension in the air.

Voldemort found himself distracted by a contemplation of those firm lips. Harry was biting them, as if with nervousness, though that was Voldemort's job— to bite them. They would yield to him, as would the man, when he—

Harry suddenly grabbed the material at Voldemort's collar and yanked him forward. Startled, he reared back, but the man just pulled himself up to capture his lips.

The kiss was burning and he became swept up in Harry's enthusiasm.

Wrapping his arms around that smaller body, he lifted him off his feet, holding him tightly. Harry made a startled sound and looped his legs around Voldemort's waist.

He liked this feeling of control.

Placing one hand securely under the man's backside, he plunged the other into that soft mane of hair, fisting it and deepening the kiss.

Harry moaned, his own fingers caressing Voldemort's scalp and upper back fervently.

The sounds that Harry made were intoxicating.

Addictive.

There was something about him that made Voldemort always want more.

Without intending to, his shins met the edge of the bed frame and he threw Harry down onto his back.

The man gasped, his eyes flashing open and Voldemort could not pause, could not stop— he followed, recapturing those swollen lips.

Everything felt urgent, imperative.

His fingers slid down to yank off the man's trousers, but Harry's head pulled back.

"Oh, fuck— I have to leave!"

Voldemort growled and seized that mouth once more, silencing him.

Harry groaned under him, acquiescing.

Perfect.

He shoved down the man's clothes until he could touch that straining erection. He liked the feel of Harry's cock in his fist. He liked the power it gave him.

Harry pulled away again, but this time it was just to curse eloquently as Voldemort stroked him.

"I am going to send you into work dripping with my come, Harry," he whispered into his ear, taking one warm lobe into his mouth and biting down.

"Oh, fuck, yes— please!" Harry cried.

He needed more.

Releasing that hard cock, he drew back enough to divest the man of his trousers and pants and then looked down at him.

Harry was flushed enticingly, his eyes soft, his chest rising and falling deeply.

Waiting for him.

"This could be the last time I take you as a stranger," he mused quietly, staring down at the man.

Whatever they were to each other, whatever their past, he would soon know it.

Harry looked miserable as he nodded.

He knew the man was scared of what he would do. Of his potential. His powers.

That fear invigorated him.

Leaning down, he sucked a bite mark into his neck, burning as he envisioned Harry marching into the government covered in his brands.

"You can't—" Harry began, his hand coming up to push Voldemort's head away, but Voldemort caught those fingers and pinned them to the mattress.

"I am."

He slid his tongue under the point of the man's jaw and then bit down. Harry cried out, his hips thrusting up against him.

"You will wear my marks with pride, Harry," he chastised.

The man groaned, his legs tightening around Voldemort's waist. That bare skin rubbed against his clothed erection and it was maddening.

Reaching down, he worked himself free from his trousers and ground their cocks together roughly. It was bliss, and he closed his eyes against it.

What was it about this man? He had never desired to possess a person like this, at least not that he could remember. He wanted to touch him everywhere, mark him, taste him and it was a need almost as strong as his need for freedom.

How was it that Harry could affect him thus? He was—

"Don't stop, Voldemort," Harry begged, pulling him closer.

He looked down to see the young man splayed out underneath him.

Harry Potter.

Expelling saliva onto his fingers, he brought his digits to Harry's entrance and pushed them inside. The man moaned enticingly, writhing on the sheets. He worked him open until neither of them could take the anticipation any longer.

Lining himself up, he pushed inside.

Was it always like this? Tight and perfect with Harry moaning encouragements?

He leaned down, sucking more bites into that trembling skin, because he could. Because that was his right.

Was this what would await him when his memories were returned?

What if it was not?

He slowed down his thrusts, getting caught in that dark possibility.

Perhaps all of this was a lie and his true self would not desire Harry like this. They were enemies, after all. What if this was simply a ploy to manipulate him?

Pulling back, he halted completely and looked down at Harry. That ardent gaze grew concerned.

"Hey," Harry said, cupping his jaw. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Voldemort could not give voice to his thoughts. If this was a ruse, then Harry would pay. He would—

"Are you worried?" Harry asked, trying to sit up. "Is this about me leaving?"

Voldemort forced himself to take in the man's sincere expression. His eager erection. The twin mark on his stomach.

"No, Harry," he replied, pushing the man back down beneath him. "I am not worried."

He watched that face soften and he had to taste him. Capturing those lips once more, he drove into him, needing to feel the man fall apart, spurred on by that earlier visual of sending Harry back to the government, dripping with his come.

Harry's hands came up to grip his shoulders and he leaned down, bracing one arm beside Harry's head.

His other arm slid down that sweaty, hairy body and gripped the man's cock roughly.

Harry cried out, then bit his own lip.

"Fuck," he groaned. "Hurt me, please. Pinch or scratch or—"

Voldemort slapped the man hard, right in his face.

Harry's head swung to the side, his mouth opening wide with shock.

Voldemort grabbed his chin, forcing it back to face him and then struck him again on the same cheek.

Harry's hands fell from his shoulders and curled into loose fists above his own head.

That was a submissive position.

The sight sped up his movements, sending jolts of pleasure to his embedded cock.

Reaching down, he twisted the man's nipple harshly until Harry screamed. His fingers paused, but did not let go.

"Take it," he commanded, pinching harder.

Harry's jaw dropped open, his eyes wide and fearful— but his cock was straining against his stomach.

He could feel Harry tensing up and knew the man was close.

But the Master comes first.

He released Harry's nipple and then fisted the man's testicles cruelly.

"Merlin!" Harry cried, sounding pained, which almost took Voldemort over the edge. "Please, oh fuck— oh fuck!"

"Do not come until after I do, boy," he warned roughly, his own orgasm looming threateningly.

But he was not yet done torturing the man.

"Touch your cock," he rasped, and watched Harry's brow furrow lightly with confusion.

Voldemort released those tender bollocks and scraped his nails down the man's erection. Harry gasped.

"Take yourself in hand," Voldemort breathed, needing to see it. "Stroke yourself."

Harry moaned, bringing his hands down and wrapping them around his cock, but he did not move them.

"I'll come," Harry whined, throwing his head to the side and closing his eyes. "Please. I can't."

"Now, boy."

Harry made a sobbing sound and began pumping his cock, those legs trembling with the obvious effort of staving off his release.

"Good boy," he praised, staring at the delicious red glans disappearing and reappearing in the man's fist.

It was almost impossible not to come from this, but he kept going, addicted to torturing this man.

"Faster," he commanded, and Harry made a distressed sound, shaking his head.

No?

How dare he.

Furious, Voldemort pulled out, leaning down and took the man into his mouth.

Harry screamed, his hips thrusting off the bed and his hands latching onto Voldemort's scalp painfully.

It was bliss, the sounds and the taste, knowing that Harry was desperate to come, yet denying himself simply because Voldemort preferred to come first.

He stopped moving his lips and tongue. Instead, he merely held the man's heavy cock in his mouth as he breathed, knowing even that minute stimulation would be torture for the man.

Harry was babbling nonsense and Voldemort looked up to see tears streaming down his face.

The sight was too much.

His orgasm struck suddenly, and he quickly fisted his own erection to catch the pleasure. As he rode the waves of ecstasy, he was vaguely disappointed that he had not come inside the man, as he had intended.

He heard Harry begging, clearly realising that Voldemort had finished and desperate for permission to do so as well.

Voldemort waited until his own body was satisfied and then took pity on him.

"You did well, Harry," he observed, stroking over the mark on the man's abdomen. "You may come for me."

Wrapping his mouth tightly around Harry's cock, he sucked hard once, his tongue swirling around that silky head, and then Harry was shooting ejaculate into his mouth, sobbing and shaking in his arms.

He kept stroking the man with his tongue, languidly cleaning him, enjoying the way Harry's erection began to soften.

Pleased, he released him and shifted to look down at what had become of Harry Potter.

The man looked sated and used. His face was flushed from crying, he had bite marks all over his chest and throat, and his eyes were still closed.

Voldemort reached out and flicked the man's reddened nipple.

Harry's eyes flew open in shock and he sat up.

"Christ, give me a minute!" he complained. "Be gentle."

Voldemort smirked.

"You do not want me gentle, Harry."

The man smiled slowly an then sighed. He looked away.

"I have to go," Harry whispered, and then glanced back at him. He gestured to his chest. "And I have to Vanish these marks."

Voldemort felt his face harden with disapproval.

Harry shot him an unimpressed look.

"You can give me new ones later. Relax. I can't go to the Ministry to convince them that you and I are not working together if I look like a sodding half-eaten meal of yours."

Voldemort felt a smile tug at his lips. He liked that description.

Reaching forward, he idly traced one of the bruises on Harry's neck. The man's eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

"Come back to me," Voldemort said quietly. "I forbid you to let them put you in prison."

Harry opened his eyes, his expression amusingly defiant.

"Yeah? Well then, you stay put. Don't leave this chamber, even if you find a way. I want to trust you, Voldemort."

Trust.

Why did the man have to ask for the one thing he could not give?

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When Harry got to the Ministry it was after two in the morning and only a few members of the Wizengamot were still waiting in Kingsley's office.

Griselda Marchbanks stood quickly, coming towards him.

"Where is the Minister, Mr Potter?"

The other members stood too, facing Harry with concern.

"I have some terrible news," Harry said, knowing he had to get right to it. "Kingsley is dead."

Their horrified exclamations struck him solidly—

Your fault, you killed the Minister—

"What?" Gunther Schulz demanded, sounding furious. "How can that be?"

"What happened?" Marchbanks asked.

Harry cleared his throat, forcing his self-loathing aside for now.

"Voldemort."

A chorus of gasps met that name.

"He broke free," Harry said heavily. "He's gone."

"But, you were supposed to keep us safe!" Schulz accused.

"What were you doing while this happened?" Amelia Bones asked harshly.

"Free?" Elphias Doge weakly repeated, then sat back down. "Sweet Merlin, save us all."

"I'll find him," Harry assured them, speaking louder so that he could be heard. "I can fix this."

"The Minister is dead!" Schulz spat. "How can you fix that?"

Harry bit into the skin of his cheek.

"I can't," he said softly, aching. "I'm sorry. I know it's my fault, but there's still plenty we can do to handle Voldemort."

"My god," Bones whispered, sitting as well. "He's free again."

"You're working with him," Schulz stated boldly. "Kingsley—" The man took a shuddering breath, tears still in his eyes. "He had said you were working with He Who Must Not Be Named. He showed us memories of what you have been searching for."

Harry nodded, ready for these charges.

"Yes. I have been looking for strange things. I... had a plan that did not go as I'd hoped."

"What plan?" Marchbanks asked. "You were supposed to just be monitoring him and keeping us safe."

"So you made contact with him again," Doge muttered, rubbing his face tiredly.

Harry nodded.

"Yes. I did. I'll admit that I found the assignment a bit boring, so I thought of a way to use him for information instead of just uselessly watching him."

"So you returned his memories?" Bones asked incredulously.

"No," Harry firmly denied. "He has no memories. No magic."

"Then what was this plan?" Schulz asked.

Here goes nothing.

"I found a potion," Harry began, "that sounded promising, but I was ignorant to the fact that there is no antidote to Obliviation."

"Why, Mr Potter?" Bones inquired. "Why did you want to reverse his sentence? You lied to us."

Harry nodded again, letting some of his remorse for Kingsley show.

"I did. But I believed that if I could get his memories back briefly— just briefly, then I could... convince him that I was on his side. Make him trust me. Get him to lower his guard and finally find out where his last Horcrux was. Then, once I got it, I could kill him."

His body tightened in reaction to that statement. Voldemort was not going to die.

"This was your plan!" Schulz reminded him angrily. "Why did you change it? You wanted him isolated and to be his guard. You said you wanted to torture him."

Harry shook his head.

"Torture didn't work. And watching him walk about his prison wasn't going to get me that Horcrux. I was tired of doing nothing. I hadn't realised what a bad plan just watching him was until I was doing it. The only way to end this was to reason with him. Make him think I had turned."

"Why would he believe that?" Bones asked, sounding skeptical. "He's spent his life trying to murder you."

Harry nodded.

"You're right, he did. But even after trying to kill me as a baby, the first time I met him at eleven years old, he asked me to join him. I can show you a memory. He wants powerful people on his side." Harry shrugged. "And he's obsessed with me. Always has been. That's what puts me in this unique position to negotiate with him."

"If you had changed the plan," Bones said with emphasis, "you should have notified us, Mr Potter. This is inexcusable. You should have brought him back to Azkaban to do your questioning."

"He would have killed another guard," Harry reminded her.

"He killed Kingsley!" Schulz shouted.

Harry inclined his head to the man.

"Forgive me, but I could have told you that this would happen. I was not informed that Kingsley would be coming by. I could have secured Voldemort for his visit."

"He wanted to surprise you so he could catch you at whatever you're doing," Schulz said.

Harry snorted out a quiet breath.

"Well, while I understand the logic of that, it is never wise to surprise a Dark Lord." Harry stood up taller. "This is what I've been saying. He's not safe around others. I was doing fine with him at our location. This didn't need to happen."

Doge sighed loudly in the silence that followed.

"Poor Kingsley," he lamented. "He was a good man."

"That he was," Marchbanks said sadly, then sat down heavily in her chair.

Schulz was the only one still standing.

"Why would You-Know-Who have given you any information, Mr Potter?" Bones asked.

Harry turned to her.

"He's a smart man. Without magic, he would have had no way to save himself. If I could've offered a trade of his magic for the Horcrux, I believed that I could have gotten it. He would have just made another one when free, though obviously, he would not have gotten free if I had been left in charge."

Marchbanks made a sound of agreement.

"But we don't know why he has no magic," Bones pointed out. "How could you have offered to return it?"

"We're the Ministry," Harry said simply, with feigned arrogant confidence. "I was planning on spinning a lie, which hinted that we knew how to do it. He wants his magic back. He would have worked with me."

"Kingsley..." Schulz began, his tone awkward, but his gaze sharp. "He had a theory about you and He Who Must Not Be Named that he believed very strongly."

Merlin, here we go.

"I don't think," Bones muttered, "that Mr Potter needs to hear that nonsense, Gunther."

Harry tried for a sardonic laugh.

"Oh, I've heard that theory, too. Something about me and Lord Voldemort being romantically involved?"

He made sure to imbue his tone with amused disbelief.

"That was his belief, yes," Marchbanks said, her face averted with embarrassment.

Harry gathered his resolve.

"And? Do you all believe it? Me, with Lord Voldemort. The man who killed my parents."

Schulz crossed his arms.

"Kingsley showed me memories, Mr Potter. Of the way you looked at him. I've spoken to some of the guards that were outside his cell while he was imprisoned and they say a similar thing. You looked infatuated."

"Gunther, enough," Bones reprimanded, but Schulz held his ground.

"Kingsley said that Lucius Malfoy told him—"

"We interviewed Malfoy as soon as we heard that, Gunther," Bones cut in, "and he denied ever having said that."

"He was afraid!" Schulz cried, pointing at Harry. "He knew Mr Potter would come after him if he revealed anything."

"The same Mr Potter that fought so hard to keep Malfoy out of prison? Come, now," Bones chided, then rubbed her temples slowly. "I don't believe that nonsense for a moment. I think Kingsley was just frustrated that he could not kill You-Know-Who and he was taking it out on Mr Potter."

It was amazing how hard these people— judges!— worked to ignore the truth.

Must be how Sirius was thrown into jail while innocent. Or how evil people like Umbridge were able to gain power.

"So," Doge sighed, and Harry looked back over at the old man resting in his armchair. "Is he out there in our world, or is he in the Muggle one?"

He's safe and snug at Hogwarts, actually.

"He left our... location," Harry said instead. "So he's in the Muggle world."

"Thank Merlin for that, at least."

"But what if he gets his memories back?" Marchbanks asked.

"He can't," Harry told her. "That was my mistake. Memory Charms are irreversible."

Harry tried not to think about the fact that, unless he could convince the Dark Lord Voldemort to suddenly decide he wanted to go into hiding on a tropical beach somewhere, these people would soon find out that Harry had been lying. That he was a traitor.

"Legilimency can break them," Bones warned. "There have been a few cases."

Harry met her gaze levelly.

"Maybe on someone untrained in the mind arts or someone less powerful. But there is no hope in hell of that working on him."

He tried to imbue his tone with conviction.

"Lord Voldemort is not coming back." That lie was getting easier and easier to say. "But I do have to find Tom Riddle."

"And you'll be fulfilling that goal, will you?" Marchbanks asked, her eyebrows raised expectantly. "The public will want to know that Harry Potter is on the job."

Harry nodded his head.

"Of course."

"Good. Then we'll say no more of it."

She groaned loudly and then stood.

"Get some sleep, now," she advised, coming towards Harry and the exit. "You look like you could use it."

Harry smiled, a cautious hope blooming inside of him.

"You'll return to your location tomorrow with a Wardsmaster," she added, stopping when she reached him. "They can remove the wards. Then we'll recover Kingsley's body. His family will want that."

Bones stood too.

"We must focus on finding a new Minister," she said, turning to Schulz. "Is the Deputy reachable? It's Catherine, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said grudgingly, coming to join her. "But the public won't want her with You-Know-Who on the loose."

They all made sounds of agreement.

"Alright, then," Marchbanks said, placing her hand gently on Harry's arm and smiling at him. "I never doubted you."

Harry felt a lurch of revulsion.

I just got the Minister for Magic killed and they're treating it like a minor fuck up. How am I getting away with this?

He forced himself to return her smile and even put his hand over hers. She gently patted his cheek and then let him go, walking out the door.

Bones followed, giving him a nod as she passed. Doge stopped and gripped his fingers tightly with his trembling, old hands.

"You're a good person, Harry," he said earnestly, and Harry felt his whole body tense in denial. "No one blames you for this unfortunate business."

Harry almost gasped at the pain of that.

Good person.

Sure, you're a wonderful person. Unless you look at how many people you've killed, or how selfish you are, or how you're lying to everyone to protect Lord Voldemort.

Doge released him and left the room.

He wanted to crumble, but there was nowhere safe to do so. Not until he could bring back his Voldemort.

It was just Schulz and himself now. He met those cold, blue eyes steadily, no matter how much it hurt.

The man looked disappointed.

"You didn't manage to save Kingsley or catch He Who Must Not Be Named," he accused. "What were you doing when all this happened?"

Nothing. I failed you. I failed everyone.

"I was injured. I tried to help Kingsley, but I wasn't strong enough."

Schulz gave him an up-down glance.

"You look to be in perfect health."

Harry nodded.

"Healing Potions."

Schulz tilted his head.

"You know, Lucius Malfoy had a lot to say about you and the Dark Lord."

Harry pressed his teeth together lest he scream with fury.

That fucking deadman.

Fuck his promise to Draco. He would burn him.

"Well," Harry said, trying for nonchalance, "you'll remember that Malfoy was an Inner Circle Death Eater—"

"Who you cleared," the man cut in, eyebrows raised.

Harry nodded slowly.

"Yup. But I bet he doesn't like all the one-on-one time I'm getting with his Master."

That word had come out rougher than he'd intended.

He's my fucking Master, Malfoy.

Schulz's eyes narrowed.

"I don't think that's it. He said that you and He Who Must Not Be Named loved each other. That you're... intimate."

Harry snorted, fighting the urge to react to that.

Did that mean that Malfoy thinks that Voldemort loves me back? Why? The Dark Lord couldn't have said that.

Could he?

"I think you should know better than to listen to Malfoy," Harry replied.

Turning, he strode towards the exit.

"Anyone You-Know-Who kills, is on you, Harry Potter," Schulz pointed out, and Harry stopped walking to listen. "You let this happen."

That punched the air from his lungs.

He wanted to crumble, to kneel, to beg, but there was no one to let him.

No one to take his guilt.

Your fault.

Whatever comes of this is on you.

"I know," Harry whispered, and then dragged himself out the door.