CHAPTER 40
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Just a heads up- this chapter comes with some warnings. If you would like to find out exactly what before you read, I posted a note at the end of this chapter with details.
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Harry stretched luxuriantly in the dark. It was so lovely that he felt this rested and it was still nighttime. Rolling over, he looked for Voldemort, but he was no longer laying beside him.
Yawning, he sat up and then startled to find the man perched on the other side of the bed, fully-dressed and staring at him.
"Jesus— don't do that!"
Voldemort continued to sit silently watching him like a creep, so Harry rolled over and grabbed his glasses. When Voldemort came in to focus, his expression was eager.
"What's up with you?" Harry asked. "Why aren't you sleeping?"
Voldemort tilted his head.
"I never sleep past sunrise."
Harry frowned— then jumped out of bed.
"Fuck! What time is it?"
He glanced down at his watch and almost choked on his saliva.
"Fucking two o'clock?" he squeaked in a voice that was so embarrassing. "Why didn't you wake me?"
Harry rifled around on the floor, gathering his clothes and putting them back on. A shower would have to wait. He spelled his teeth clean and his bladder empty, then turned to Voldemort.
"I have to go back to work."
"Today," Voldemort emphasised, pinning Harry with his gaze. "You swore."
Harry growled with frustration.
"I can't skip out on work! They'll get suspicious!"
"You are making excuses," Voldemort said angrily.
"They're facts."
"You swore."
Harry groaned loudly, then fell back to sit on the bed.
"Fine. But when I come back, okay? I'll sneak down after work and try to steal the ingredients."
"You had said you would talk to the Potions master."
Harry gritted his teeth.
"Yeah, but that was when I had all day. It's two now! He might not take visitors too late."
"Then visit him when he will accept you."
"I have to—"
Voldemort swooped down and grabbed him by the throat, pushing him to lay on his back on the bed. He straddled Harry's groin, sitting heavily, still gripping his neck. It hurt, but he knew better than to show it.
"I will not accept these pitiful excuses, boy," Voldemort seethed dangerously. "You keep your word to me or I am released from my promise to control my violence. I am sure there are plenty of children here that—"
Harry reached up and broke Voldemort's hold. He grabbed those boney shoulders and twisted, heaving him off and throwing him to lay on his back this time.
Harry laughed, pinning the man's body down. Voldemort looked too shocked to struggle still, but that would not last. Luckily, Harry had magic to help him win.
"I. Will. Massacre you," Harry growled, his face pressed right up against Voldemort's. "Do you know how powerless you are? I could snap you like a twig."
Voldemort's eyes were burning with anger, but Harry wasn't stupid. He could feel the man's erection against his arse.
Voldemort fucking loved this shit.
"Don't you dare threaten me," Harry whispered. "You will wait patiently until I am ready to get to your request. You're lucky I'm helping you at all."
"Lucky," Voldemort spat, not trying to struggle, which was disappointing. He obviously knew he was outmatched. "You need me. Why else would you be helping me? It is not for my benefit, but for your own. Do not pretend otherwise."
Harry didn't like his fucking tone.
Reaching out, he slapped the man hard in the face. Voldemort took it, refusing to let his head turn with the impact. Instead, the man kept his blazing red eyes locked to his the whole time.
The lack of reaction made Harry feel insecure. Out of line.
He got up, letting go of Voldemort and backing away from the bed.
After a moment, the man sat up and continued to stare at him.
"Sorry," Harry mumbled.
He heard Voldemort stand and move towards him.
"I did not wake you because you had needed the rest," Voldemort said softly, and Harry looked up at him in shock. "It was not intended as a punishment."
Was that an apology?
"Okay," Harry acknowledged. "Thanks."
He brought his index fingers to his mouth to idly chew on the ragged skin.
"I'll do it today," Harry whispered. "You can have faith in me. When I get home, no matter the time. I'll get it."
Voldemort inclined his head and then walked off into the Chamber somewhere.
Harry blew out a long breath, all alone, feeling guilty and aroused.
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Ron was waiting in his office. As soon as Harry shut the door, Ron began speaking.
"I have a privacy ward up— do you know where he is?"
Harry pressed himself against the wall.
"You do, don't you?" Ron rasped in a hopeful tone, coming closer. Harry felt his body tense, ready for anything, but Ron didn't hit him. Didn't touch him at all. "Harry? What happened?"
Harry couldn't speak. His throat was clogged with all the words he couldn't tell Ron.
"You have to give me something," Ron begged, stepping back a few paces, likely sensing Harry's fear. "Kingsley's dead. Voldemort's gone. Everyone is suddenly saying you're the next Minister—"
"What?" Harry croaked, feeling his legs tremble.
Ron made a scoffing sound.
"Yeah. I figured that was bullshit. You'd hate that job."
Harry eyed his desk chair hopefully and Ron seemed to notice. He backed up further, giving Harry a clear path to it. Harry walked there then sat down.
"Does he have his memories?" Ron asked, sitting in the chair across from him.
Not yet. But tonight, he will.
He had no idea what to say. He had to lie, but that was something he'd never been good at.
Voldemort needs your protection right now. If you tell Ron, he'll go down to the Chamber and kill him.
"No," Harry rasped, and then cleared his throat. "He doesn't have his memories. And I lost him. He's gone."
It was easy to sound sad about that because lying to his best friend felt like the final rift in their friendship, separating them forever. There was no coming back from this.
He had chosen his side.
Ron looked worried, but relieved.
"That's okay. We'll figure something out, Harry. I have to say, I'm glad to hear you didn't help him." Ron looked at him pointedly for a moment. "You didn't, right?"
Harry shook his head.
"No."
Ron took him at his word, and his blind trust was painful to bear.
He never saw how dark you are. How broken. He wouldn't understand why you need Voldemort.
"Okay, Harry. That's all I needed to know."
Ron leaned back in his chair and popped a snack of some sort into his mouth.
"Now, what are we going to do about these mental rumours saying that you're running for Minister?"
Harry awkwardly barked out a laugh and resigned himself to tolerating this visit.
Their friendship was over. When Ron found out about Harry's duplicity, he would never forgive him, and Harry had no intention of abandoning Voldemort. So everything between Ron and himself now would be fake.
Like his interactions with everyone else.
Everyone but Voldemort.
Looks like we're all we've got in the world now.
Harry declined the sweet, but laughed at Ron's anecdote about Hugo. Thankfully, he had lots of practice at putting on the Harry Potter mask for the masses.
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When he got home that day, Voldemort was waiting.
He was sitting in one of the chairs, which he had obviously turned to face the entrance. There was a book in his lap, but it was closed and all his attention was on Harry.
Seeing that imposing form in a chair filled him with an overwhelming need to kneel before him and find the peace he had lost these long weeks.
Soon.
If you do this, you can have him back.
Harry stared at Voldemort as he thought about that.
Except that you can't.
Voldemort was going to hate him.
Harry felt tears swell his eyes, knowing that he would lose everything tonight.
Voldemort stood silently and came to him. When those cold arms wrapped around him, Harry sagged against him, crying into his shoulder.
Voldemort was moving them, and Harry went with him, then he found himself held in the man's angular lap. That just made him cry harder, knowing that this was the last embrace they would share.
Voldemort would never touch him again.
He would leave, then go find someone, anyone to offer their flesh and give him back his magic.
Harry would have no part in any future the man crafted. All of this, whether feigned or not, would be lost.
"Kiss me," Harry begged, pulling back and grabbing the man by his shirt front.
Voldemort acquiesced, leaning down and claiming his lips. Harry moaned, turning in Voldemort's lap and then straddling his hips.
"Fuck me," he pleaded, knowing this would be the last time, knowing Voldemort would never touch him again.
The man obviously sensed his desperation because he did not try to rush Harry to fulfil his promise, or nag him. He just worked Harry's shirt over his head and helped him to stand so that he could remove Harry's trousers and pants.
He was naked before the Dark Lord.
Those red eyes seared him, full of lust and greed and possessive fire. Harry folded himself back up into Voldemort's lap, sitting on the man's legs, needing to feel him.
"Now, please," Harry implored. "Don't make me wait. I need you."
Voldemort reached down and Harry saw him release his erection, which was red and thick, like nothing else on him was.
Harry moaned, lifting up and sat down onto that hardness without preparation or lube.
He needed it to hurt.
Voldemort hissed, his sharp fingers digging into Harry's hips, trying to slow him, but Harry wasn't having any of that. He gripped those shoulders tightly and set the pace, fucking himself on the Dark Lord, crying out with every burning stab.
"Promise," Harry panted, burying his face in the man's neck. "Promise me you'll still want me."
Voldemort pulled his hair back, trying to drag him out of hiding, but Harry bit into that skin to resist.
Voldemort made a startled sound, a sharp intake of breath, and then dug his fingers into Harry's neck to break his hold.
Harry let go of the man's skin and was helplessly dragged into Voldemort's line of sight. That red gaze flayed him, cracking him open as Voldemort stared into Harry's eyes.
"I will always want you," Voldemort growled, thrusting up when Harry ceased moving, continuing to fuck him brutally.
The pain was good, but it wasn't enough to drown out the fact that this would be their last time together.
"Don't hate me," Harry whispered, closing his eyes.
Voldemort grabbed both of Harry's wrists and pinned them behind his back. He was perched precariously now on Voldemort's knees, completely at his mercy.
"Why would I hate you?"
Harry shook his head. Voldemort transferred Harry's wrists to one hand and then used his other to strike Harry hard in the face.
Harry went with the impact, his face whipping to the side, tears leaking from his eyes. Voldemort grabbed his chin and brought his face back.
"Why, Harry."
Harry closed his eyes, hating himself.
"Because I promised to give you your memories back as soon as we got to the island," he confessed, knowing that this would end things much quicker, yet it was just striking mere hours off his time.
The end was inevitable.
"I... delayed," Harry continued, somehow managing to meet those intense red eyes. "I was worried that you would go back to killing everyone and I... I wanted to see if you could be happy with me. Without your memories. Or your magic."
Voldemort looked like he was processing that. The man was still inside of him, making him feel full and stretched, and Harry hoped he'd bleed for days after this.
"You delayed," Voldemort confirmed tonelessly.
Harry nodded, meeting his gaze with trepidation.
"I love you so much," he said. "I just wanted to keep you safe."
Voldemort was tense and Harry felt their parting in every silent minute that passed.
"You could have helped me sooner," Voldemort finally remarked, his hairless brows lightly furrowing. "You left me... like that. When you did not need to."
Harry lowered his eyes.
"I'm so sorry."
"You had said that you needed to find something and make something," Voldemort recited, clearly struggling to understand. "You assured me that you were actively searching."
Harry nodded sadly.
"I needed to make a potion, but I didn't have the ingredients. That's true. But you're going to know that I didn't try very hard to find them."
Voldemort released his wrists.
"And now," Harry said rapidly, afraid to reach out and touch that body that already felt like it was retreating, "I've fucked it up so badly because even if I do as I promised—"
"If?" Voldemort broke in dangerously.
"— you're still going to hate me because I waited too long! So I'm terrified that I'm going to lose you."
Voldemort shoved him off his lap.
Harry fell hard backwards, banging his elbows painfully against the stone floor.
He winced, but kept his eyes on Voldemort who glared down at him.
"You lied to me," Voldemort said quietly, but with building malice. He was tucking himself back into his trousers. "I trusted you."
"And you still can," Harry swore, reaching out, but then losing his nerve. "I'm doing it now. I'm going tonight."
"Why should I believe you?" Voldemort asked harshly.
"Because I love you!" Harry shouted.
"And is this how you demonstrate love, then?" Voldemort thundered, matching his energy. "With betrayal? With lies?"
"I always meant to restore you," Harry insisted, feeling foolish standing before Lord Voldemort fully naked while the other man was completely clothed.
His powerlessness was achingly blissful and he desired more than anything to take his place at Voldemort's feet, but that was not for him anymore.
Harry had no one.
"Please," he begged, so very done with shouting and fear and misery. "I'm sorry. I'll go to the Potions master right now and get those ingredients, okay? I'll fulfil my promise, and then you can leave."
Voldemort was silent and Harry nodded.
"I'm so sorry," Harry whispered, and then quietly gathered his clothes, preparing to dress in the entrance area, sheltered from Voldemort's penetrating, disappointed gaze.
He walked away, hoping fervently that Voldemort would call him back, but no such words were spoken. Instead, Voldemort watched him leave, and Harry felt more alone than he ever had in his life.
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He knocked on the door gently, not wanting to startle the man.
"Come in," he heard, and then Harry opened the door.
"Ah— Harry Potter!" the man cried, heaving himself to standing and coming over to greet him. "What a pleasant surprise!"
Harry smiled, hoping his recent tears had not made his face obviously puffy.
"What brings you by, lad?" Slughorn asked, patting him on the back. "Care for a drink?"
Harry let his old professor lead him into a sitting room and then place a tumbler of some kind of alcohol into his hand. They sat down, facing each other in two old, leather armchairs.
"There now," Slughorn sighed, smacking his lips after taking a sip of his spirit. "What can I do for you?"
Harry twisted the glass in his hand, marshalling his resolve.
"I was wondering, sir, if—"
"Don't call me, sir, Harry. It makes me feel old. Besides, you're not my student anymore. You can call me Horace."
Harry smiled awkwardly, but nodded.
"Okay. Thanks, Horace."
"Of course, and— incidentally— I have been following the news and I want to be the first one to offer my support for your intention to run for Minister."
Harry jolted and spilled half of his drink onto his trousers.
"Bugger— no," Harry emphasised. "I'm not running. It's a mistake. I never said anything about wanting to, it's just rumours."
The man gave him a conspiratorial wink.
"Ah, well, there's always some truth to rumours, Harry."
"Well, in this case, as it's about me, I can assure you that there's no truth to it."
Slughorn sagged with displeasure.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Yes, indeed, I had been rooting for you. No one better, after that tragedy with Kingsley and now You-Know-Who on the loose." The man took a deep swig of his drink. "Terrible news."
Harry put his untouched glass down on the coffee table nearby.
"Well, I was wondering, sir— ah. Horace. If you had some... tricky ingredients that I could buy off you."
Slughorn's bloated face grimaced.
"Now, you're not trying to get this old man into trouble, are you, Harry? You are an Auror, after all."
"No," Harry denied. "I'm not here officially. I actually... these ingredients, well. They're illegal. So I obviously don't want my work to know I'm searching for them."
Slughorn was rubbing his moustache slowly, contemplating him.
"Illegal. Well, now. I'm not sure you'll find anything illegal here, my boy."
Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"I'm not trying to catch you out," Harry assured him. "I really do just need a couple things."
"I probably shouldn't—"
"I know for a fact that Snape had cabinets full of illegal ingredients. And I know that you love to collect rare ones. I'm sure you can help me."
Slughorn was frowning.
"What do you need?"
Harry hesitated.
If the Wizengamot finds out I'm still looking for these, I'll have no hope of escaping their suspicions.
But that didn't matter.
Voldemort needed these ingredients.
All Harry had done lately was fail him. The very least he could do was keep one of his promises to the man.
"Dementor blood," Harry disclosed, pausing briefly to take a deep breath. "Occamy eggshell. Ghost ectoplasm."
Slughorn was quiet for a while and Harry could not make eye contact.
Would he understand what I'm making? Is he about to order me to Azkaban?
Asking for these put him in such a vulnerable position.
You owe him. Voldemort is counting on you.
"Look," Harry said, breaking the silence, "I can sign a Binding Magical Contract to protect my promise not to share where I got the ingredients, okay? Or whatever else you need me—"
"Can we be frank?" Slughorn cut in, placing one pudgy hand down onto his own lap neatly and crossing his ankles.
"Sure," Harry replied, nervousness building inside of him. "Yeah. Of course."
Slughorn leaned over with a groan and put his empty glass down onto the side table, then turned to regard him levelly.
"I can guess why you want this, Harry," he said, and Harry froze.
Oh, fuck.
Slughorn seemed to read something into his expression, because his lips twitched up minutely at the corners.
"It's for him," the man stated boldly, without having to name who he meant, and he did not pause for Harry's confirmation. "Now, I'm not a fool. I know he's on his way to returning, and— although I wish he wouldn't— I'm not about to get into his way. And I'd rather he know that I helped you instead of hindering you. So I'll do it."
Harry nodded with relief, shocked that it had been so easy.
The perks of knowing a Dark Lord.
"Great," Harry said. "Thank you."
Slughorn held his gaze for a moment too long. Just that touch too amused.
Harry was familiar with the signs of someone about to demand something from him that he didn't want to give.
"But there's a price," Slughorn finally informed him, dropping all pretence at benevolence.
Harry took that in stride. Of course there was. That's how these things went.
"You've grown up to be a very attractive man, Harry."
Harry looked away, a vacant smile on his face.
Fuck.
No fucking way.
"You should say thank you when someone offers you a compliment," Slughorn chastised him, "don't you think?"
Harry bowed his head, feeling himself retreat, ready for Vernon to start detailing just how useless he was, or for Dumbledore to ask for just one more sacrifice.
He pulled on the familiar mask he used when horrible things were demanded of him. When he had to allow them because there was no other way.
After all, what was this in comparison to killing himself? It wasn't that big of a deal.
And Voldemort won't want you anymore, anyway. You're no one's now.
"Sorry," Harry corrected himself softly. "Thank you."
Slughorn made a sound of approval.
"Sadly, there aren't very many prospects for old men like me, stuck at a boarding school."
Harry bit the side of his mouth silently.
He felt his face growing hot. Claustrophobia clawed at him. He was dirty.
Worthless.
"You know," Slughorn said conversationally, "your eyes are the exact shade your mother's were. It's uncanny. And I have just the potion to make the look complete."
Harry closed his eyes.
My mother.
The last time I saw her, I had gone into the Forest to die.
I don't want to see her like this.
"Speak up, now, Harry," Slughorn chided. "Do you understand what I want from you?"
Harry bobbed his head, opening his eyes, but kept them averted.
"Use your words, young man."
Harry released his cheek, tasting blood.
"Polyjuice. You want me to... to turn into my mother."
"And, why?" Slughorn prompted, sounding annoyed.
Harry dug his nails into his thigh.
"So you can fuck me."
"Oh heavens no!" the man cried, and Harry looked up hopefully, daring to meet that surprised gaze. "I don't have the energy for that anymore."
It's okay.
It's not that. You're too quick to judge. So—
"I will settle for simply your mouth," Slughorn amended.
Harry stared, uncomprehending.
My mouth.
My mother's mouth.
Harry's lips were parted in shock and he saw Slughorn smile.
"That's a good payment for helping you bring the Dark Lord back, isn't it, Harry? For my silence?"
Harry looked away.
"I was your student," he whispered, because it just really needed to be said.
The man chuckled and reached forward to touch Harry's arm. Immediately, the hair all over his body stood on end.
"Not anymore, you're not," the man joked. "And I suspect, as you're coming here for him, that you're not terribly opposed to sexual activities with older men."
Harry felt himself shaking.
I can't. I can't do this.
If you don't, Voldemort won't get his memories back.
I can find another way. Draco will help me.
So you're going to go back to Voldemort tonight and tell him that you failed? That he has to wait even longer for what you promised him?
He glanced down at his own fingers, curled tightly around each other in his lap.
No.
This is all I have to apologise with. I have to do something right for once.
He nodded, still unable to make eye contact.
"Wonderful!" Slughorn exclaimed happily, and heaved himself out of his chair.
Harry looked up, panic racing through him.
"Right now?" Harry asked stupidly.
The other man smiled mockingly, his eyebrows raised.
"I imagine that you left him waiting?"
Slughorn walked off into another part of his quarters.
And Harry had, of course. Left Voldemort impatiently waiting.
You have no choice but to do this. Just get the job done.
"No time like the present," Slughorn said when he returned, holding up a grey potion in a small phial.
"Wait," Harry said, catching up, "why do you have my mother's hair?"
The man shot him a pitying look, as if he were being obtuse.
"It was an open casket, Harry."
Revulsion churned within him.
"So you took it from her dead body?"
He was almost afraid to say those words. They were incomprehensible.
Slughorn made a tutting sound.
"She was simply potion ingredients by that point, Harry. It wasn't desecration."
Harry stood, backing up. Needing to put some distance between them.
"You know this is sick," he said shakily. "Messed up. You're forcing me to—"
"Forcing?" Slughorn sounded horrified. "Goodness, no. I am simply naming a price for my help. If you choose to accept it, that's up to you. You're an adult now, Harry, able to make adult choices."
Harry squeezed the back of the armchair he had just been sitting in.
"But you think that Voldemort and I—"
"He Who Must Not Be Named, please."
Harry stared at him.
"Okay... You think that he and I are... together. And yet you're making me do this. Don't you think that's going to piss him off?"
Slughorn placed the phial on the coffee table between the two chairs, then sat himself down once more.
"What he doesn't know can't hurt him, I'm sure," the man replied.
"You think I won't tell him?"
Slughorn shrugged.
"Well, as you say, he won't be pleased with me. But he will be even less pleased with you. After all, I am not the one being unfaithful."
Harry made a hopeless sound of frustration.
"Then don't put me in this situation! Come on, there has to be something else."
Slughorn was shaking his head.
"This is my price, Harry. No good thing comes without risk. Surely that is part of the appeal of your paramour."
Paramour.
Harry turned around, pressing himself against the chair back. Trying to find some privacy so that he could think.
Voldemort expected him to return with the ingredients. He already doubted Harry's ability and commitment to attaining them.
This is fucking sick. Am I actually considering it?
He'd promised to get this done tonight.
"I'm an old man, Harry," Slughorn said wearily. "It's cruel to keep me waiting."
Harry's tongue was bleeding from how deeply his molars were grinding down on it.
I can't. I won't.
But what choice did he really have?
"You'll make the whole potion," Harry demanded, turning to face his old professor. "Not just give me the ingredients."
Slughorn's eyes slid down from his face to caress his body. Harry refused the scream that wanted to tear from his throat.
"If you are preparing the potion that I think you are," Slughorn said slowly, "then we will have an hour after all the ingredients have been added, while it simmers. You'll stay with me for that whole time."
Stay with him.
On my knees.
"Fine," Harry hissed, looking away.
Harry heard Slughorn push the glass phial closer to him across the table.
Frowning, he looked over at the man.
"But, it will only last an hour," Harry pointed out with confusion. "Don't you want me to wait to take it til... after?"
Slughorn grinned.
"It will give me something pretty to look at while I brew. Heighten the anticipation."
Everything in him screamed for him to walk away, to not do this. He should be able to figure something else out, Voldemort wouldn't want him to do this—
But Draco had said that Voldemort would always value himself above all others.
And he wants his memories. More than anything. He'd probably want you to do whatever you have to do to get them.
Harry glanced over at the Polyjuice waiting threateningly for him.
Your mother.
He wants to get blown by your mother.
It was sick, but it was Harry's responsibility to fix this.
He stepped forward and downed the potion.
It was revolting and Harry retched, but he kept his eyes firmly closed as he transformed so he would not have to look down and see what his mother's fingers looked like. How small she would seem in her son's clothes.
Harry had always wanted to touch her. To hold her. To know how her hair smelled.
That it would be like this...
Tears meandered down his cheeks.
"Lily," Slughorn whispered with wonder and Harry felt a sob escape him. "None of that, now, Harry. You'll have to pretend to be brave, like she was. Don't let her down."
Harry felt his whole body shaking, but he forced himself to open his eyes.
The man was walking away towards another room. Likely the work area.
Harry watched him helplessly, feeling utterly lost.
"Come along, now, Lily," Slughorn said, as he disappeared from view. "Keep me company while I brew. You were always so good with potions."
Run.
He's not looking, you can run back to Voldemort and tell him what's happening. Voldemort will rip him apart.
Harry felt himself calm, picturing that. Picturing his Voldemort. How he would react. How he would defend Harry, protecting him like no one else was really able to do.
But the only way to get your Voldemort back is to do this.
Maybe one day, Voldemort would forgive him and they could be together again.
But you have to do this to achieve that.
Do it for him.
Harry took a deep breath.
Just get it done.
He stood and went to find Slughorn, trying not to pay attention to how his mother smelled. How she walked.
He could be brave like her.
I'm so sorry, Mum.
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WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER:
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The last scene has very dubious consent (but not between Harry and Voldemort). Harry is coerced into giving Slughorn fellacio, but the action takes place off scene and is not explicit. Though, there is lots of potentially triggering manipulation done by Slughorn to eventually convince Harry to "consent". Later chapters will NOT include the actual blow job, just references to it.