CHAPTER 44
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Harry was kneeling silently on the floor, completely naked, and waiting for what was to come.
"While you were gathering the necessary accoutrements for me," Voldemort said above him, "I took the opportunity to prepare your avocado."
The Dark Lord gestured to the bedside table and Harry saw that the fruit had been peeled and sliced.
"Here is what I would like to happen, Harry," Voldemort went on, touching Harry's chin to draw his gaze away from what would soon be expected of him.
I can't.
I can't eat even more.
"Pay attention," Voldemort commanded. "This is important."
His tone was suddenly serious and Harry met his eyes with bewildered trepidation.
"I want you to take me into your mouth," Voldemort said, his gaze burning as it carefully scrutinised Harry's reaction. "Here. On your knees."
Harry continued to look up at him, a little confused by the man's intensity. He tried for a small smile.
"Okay. Yeah, I'd like that."
If anything, that rapt stare grew more penetrating.
"That image, Harry," Voldemort growled nonsensically, his voice low and... distressed.
Image? What image?
"I cannot shake it. His repulsive hands on your skin, that he would dare to touch you—"
Harry tensed with understanding and was abruptly consumed by vivid memories—
"Keep your eyes open, Lily."
—that heaving stomach bumping against his forehead as Harry worked—
—sweaty hands tangling in his long, red hair—
"That's right, darling, just like that."
"Ugh!" Harry spat in disgust, shaking his head.
That motherfucker.
I'm glad he's dead.
Harry paused, feeling guilty.
No.
No one deserves to die for my fuck ups.
He took a deep breath, then looked up into those red eyes to see that they were carefully blank. The man was motionless.
What's going on?
Voldemort seemed almost nervous for some reason. Hesitant.
Then it hit him— Voldemort must think that I'm damaged now.
He must have learned somehow what Harry had done. How easily he'd accepted the humiliating terms, how he hadn't even fought when Slughorn had pushed the boundaries of what they'd agreed upon...
Voldemort must despise him now. Surely it impacted how attracted the Dark Lord was to Harry.
You're tainted.
A whore.
Harry nodded miserably, glancing away.
"Look, I get it. I understand." He bowed his head. "I'm sorry."
Voldemort was silent, and then—
"Sorry," the Dark Lord repeated, sounding confused.
Harry pressed his lips together firmly.
"Yeah. I'm sorry I let him touch me. I know... I know I shouldn't have. I know that now you won't want—"
Fingers suddenly sunk into his hair and pulled Harry's head back, exposing his face, but Harry would not make eye contact. He was too ashamed.
"You think that I blame you?" Voldemort asked with mild surprise.
And that was true.
Voldemort probably didn't blame him, but that wouldn't change the fact that he was now disgusted by Harry. Voldemort could forgive him for what had happened, but— as the man had said— it wouldn't shake the images of Harry prostituting himself from his mind.
It's over.
"It doesn't matter," Harry muttered, bringing his hand up to try to break Voldemort's hold on his hair. "I'm sorry that you found out. I... Well. You should know that I didn't enjoy it. It wasn't about that. I just needed the potion."
Those fingers tightened painfully and Harry hissed.
"You believe that I consider what he did to you an act of infidelity?" Voldemort asked with that same tone of bafflement.
Which was bizarre considering that it wasn't like they were dating. Just... mutually obsessed.
Right?
Am I dating the Dark Lord?
Harry was balancing on his knees, trying not to touch Voldemort anymore.
"I'm sorry, alright!" Harry growled with frustration. The fucking hand in his hair was brutal. "I know you expected me to make that potion myself, but I'm not as smart as you, okay? I was out of options and..."
He stopped struggling, taking the pain. He deserved it.
"I know I ruined this," Harry whispered. "I knew you wouldn't like what I had to do, and I understand that you can't unsee it. I'm... I'm used goods now, I guess."
Harry waited for Voldemort to release him so that the man could go.
"Harry," Voldemort bit out, as if he was working to control his anger. "You are an imbecile."
Shocked, Harry opened his eyes and got caught in that wild gaze.
"You have much to apologise for, but sexual assault is not your burden to bear."
Harry frowned, trying to figure out how they'd gotten here.
"But then... why are we talking about this? You said you wanted me to suck you off and then you started freaking out about Slughorn—"
"I did not freak out, Potter."
"Then what is happening?"
Voldemort finally released his hair. Harry brought a hand up to massage his scalp as he stared at Voldemort expectantly.
"Well?" Harry prompted.
Those fierce eyes flashed with danger.
"I was merely trying to gauge your... comfort regarding the act of fellacio."
Harry took a moment to process the absurdity of that.
"What? Why?"
"You were coerced into participating in sexual activities that—"
"Christ, Voldemort," Harry said, releasing a relieved laugh. "It's fine. You're more traumatised by it than—"
"Do not trivialise this, Harry," Voldemort seethed, standing up and walking away.
Harry stood too.
"Look— he's not you, Voldemort," Harry argued, but the Dark Lord paid him no mind as he paced the small hospital room. "I know that. I know the difference, okay? What he did... it can't touch this."
Harry gestured between them, but the other man wasn't even looking at him. Harry blew out a frustrated breath.
"You're being an idiot. I'm fine."
That, Voldemort did turn for.
"You are!" Harry insisted with a smile, then walked towards the man and grabbed those stupid hands. "And I really am fine. Stop overthinking this. You want me to get on my knees and suck you off?"
Voldemort didn't answer, but his gaze darted quickly between Harry's eyes.
"I want that too," Harry said earnestly. "Okay? Merlin, I love sucking your cock. It's gorgeous. And I've only ever gotten to do it once."
Voldemort's face was shuttered, his body still. Harry gently smoothed his fingers over those boney knuckles.
"C'mon. Please. Tell me what you have planned."
Voldemort seemed unconvinced. An idea struck Harry and he decided to give it a go.
"I've been kind of obsessed with this fantasy," he told the Dark Lord boldly, even though he felt his face heat, "where you let me just... keep your cock in my mouth while you read or... I don't know. Conduct a meeting. It's not even sexual— or, it doesn't have to be. I just want you in my mouth."
He saw a gleam of interest in those upturned eyes and Harry grinned.
There he is.
Releasing Voldemort's rigid hands, Harry went to stand by the bed, where he had been kneeling not long ago.
"Okay. What do you want me to do?"
Voldemort studied him intently and then slowly prowled closer.
"You want this," Voldemort confirmed, scouring his face.
"Yes," Harry replied with exasperation.
The man's hand flashed out and gripped Harry's throat tightly.
"Then get on your knees."
Harry waited until he was released, then gladly obeyed, relief sweeping over him.
Voldemort came to sit back on the bed, his legs planted on either side of Harry's head.
"I will take your... suggestion under advisement for another time," Voldemort said quietly.
Oh, fuck yes.
Will I actually get to do that one day?
"Here is what will happen tonight," the Dark Lord began, and Harry heard him shifting aside his robes. "You will consume this fruit in its entirety while I strike you."
Harry's breath caught, having forgotten about the punishment side of this.
"You will keep your mouth wrapped around me," Voldemort instructed, pulling out his erection and stroking it lightly with his fist, "until I deem your meal complete. Should I feel your teeth at any point, I will make you regret it."
Fuck.
The blow job sounded great, but his lack of appetite was concerning. The hospital had already made him eat today and, coupled with the nutritional potions he'd been required to take, he wasn't even remotely hungry.
And it didn't sound like he'd be allowed to properly suck the man off here anyway, as he was keen to do. He'd be... holding Voldemort's cock in his mouth while he worked hard not to bite as Voldemort whipped him.
Bloody hell.
Actually, that sounded fucking hot.
"Begin," Voldemort instructed.
The man's cock was pink and beautiful, waiting to be swallowed down. When Harry eagerly leaned forward, Voldemort's hand fell away, leaving Harry free to take him deep into his throat.
Fuck, he tasted divine. Musky and salty and powerful.
Harry began to bob his head, but at once, that rattan cane came down and sliced into his back.
Harry gasped around his mouthful, eyes wide with shock.
That was just the first strike.
You have a whole avocado to eat.
"Open," Voldemort said, and Harry widened his mouth, allowing Voldemort to push through a small, tender slice of fruit.
How the fuck am I supposed to chew?
Clueless, he used his tongue to press the avocado against the underside of the man's erection, squishing it. When it was soft enough to swallow, he did so, only to be rewarded by that vicious cane striking into his back twice more.
Fuck, that sodding hurt!
"You are taking this for me," Voldemort said above him, "because you lied to your Master."
The cane made a whistling sound as it sliced through the air and then thwacked down hard onto Harry's spine half a dozen times. Harry closed his eyes, panting around the heavy, choking cock in his mouth.
Another slice of avocado was pushed past his lips.
"Your job is to serve, to do as you are told—"
The cane struck him solidly on his ribs twice and Harry cried out, grabbing helplessly onto Voldemort's thighs.
"—and yet you tried to manipulate your Master," Voldemort continued, his voice harsh and low.
Harry frantically softened the food, working to swallow around the pain. Voldemort hit him again, just as he was taking a breath after managing to clear his mouth.
"Fuck," he panted in a jumble around Voldemort's merciless cock.
"You begged for the opportunity to care for him—"
The wood came down like a blade, sinking into his skin and Harry felt tears begin to sting his eyes.
"—and instead, you let him sleep outside, like a dog."
A piece of food was slipped into his mouth, but before he could squeeze it, that sodding cane slashed into him five times in rapid succession.
Harry yelled, his head pulling back instinctively to flee, but Voldemort's quick fingers fisted his hair and kept him plugged.
He swallowed the food, tears leaking from his eyes.
Another slice of fruit was forced into his mouth and Harry tensed, knowing that meant—
The wood came down, striking him brutally over and over again, and Harry sobbed, pressing the avocado against his molars with his tongue automatically and swallowing.
"You let Lord Voldemort try to kill you," Voldemort accused as he paused, his tone dropping dangerously.
That cane sliced into his back twice, and Harry shouted in pain. His whole back was searing and he couldn't tell if the drips he felt meandering down his skin were sweat or blood. He was gasping out breaths, as another piece of fucking avocado was thrust past his lips.
"You lied to me, Harry," Voldemort said softly, his tone almost sad. "You made me believe that you were a traitor, instead of trusting as you demanded of me."
Harry worked to swallow and then was struck again, hard, right over his kidneys more times than he could manage. He screamed, vibrating with adrenaline.
Everything stung and he wanted it to end, but Voldemort hadn't even started on the second or third infraction yet.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I failed you.
There was a brief pause as another piece of food was tucked into his mouth. Harry squished it and fought to get it down, his jaw aching from being held open and motionless.
"You tried to keep me as a Muggle," Voldemort said, sounding disappointed, then whipped him hard in a volley right over the mess of welts his back had to have become. "Knowing that I feared that almost as much as I fear death."
Saliva dripped freely down his chin as he shrieked. It fucking hurt, but he needed this. Needed to feel used and beaten and worthless. He needed to be able to fall apart. To be given a chance to make amends.
"And now," Voldemort said, pausing, as Harry heaved in whatever oxygen he could get, "you are the Minister for Magic."
There was mocking derision in his tone.
"You have total control of the masses. You bear the responsibility of leadership, a position you do not want and you do not deserve."
Harry bowed his head, knowing that was true. Voldemort took no pity on him, striking him relentlessly at least ten times.
Harry cried and arched away, but there was nowhere to go. The hand not wielding the cane was holding Harry's head tightly to Voldemort's groin. When the bombardment paused, Harry sobbed, gasping around that huge cock.
"Open," Voldemort commanded, and Harry puffed his cheeks as much as he could as he panted, letting a small piece of avocado inside.
"You will need to be flawless," Voldemort went on as Harry shakily smushed the fruit, "because they will all be watching. And so will I."
Merlin.
Harry's eyes were blurry from tears and his smeared glasses. The frames were jabbing into his nose and cheeks, but the pain of it was so insignificant compared to what his back was enduring, so he ignored it.
"As for your friends," the Dark Lord began menacingly, and Harry felt him drag the cane ungently up his burning back, "you will no longer pass information about Lord Voldemort to them. They do not deserve to know and your loyalty must be to your Master."
The words made him feel something, but his emotions were all over the place right now. He couldn't think clearly. He knew only that he was in pain, but that the pain was healing.
He knew that Lord Voldemort was helping him, even though he was the one hurting him.
The wood came down five times fast and Harry tensed his whole body, closing his eyes and just focusing on taking it. He wanted to earn the words, good boy, from Voldemort so badly.
The lashes stopped suddenly and Harry dragged in a stuttering breath.
"Last slice Harry," Voldemort quietly informed him, his cool fingers lightly tracing over his viciously stinging back.
Last slice.
Did that mean last strike, too?
Harry dared to look up and saw Voldemort staring down at him with hunger. He felt his own cock instantly throb, picturing what the man would do when this was all done.
Would Voldemort fuck him? Would Harry's back be too sore?
"This last barrage," Voldemort said, and Harry forced himself to pay attention and not rebel against that ominous word, barrage.
Almost done.
"—will be for forgetting that you are my equal, Harry."
A small slice of fruit was pushed past his lips.
"You will display some self-worth, even if you do not feel it. Out there, you are Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and you are useless if you show weakness to them."
His back was struck repeatedly, more times than he could count. Harry tried to beg Voldemort to stop, but his words were strangled by the cock still deeply embedded in his throat.
"They will try to manipulate you," Voldemort said, stopping for a moment and sounding a bit out of breath, "if you do not show them strength. That is all they will respect."
Harry used this brief pause to gasp in precious air.
"Then, Harry, you will bring that weakness home for me. For your Master. And I will take it from you. Your burden is mine to bear and you insult me when you attempt to carry it alone."
That cane sunk into his skin over and over, so hard that Harry was openly sobbing now, wishing that it would end, but knowing that that was not up to him.
"When you fail," Voldemort told him as discharge streamed down from Harry's nose to coat that unmoving cock, "when you falter, because you will, you will come to me to receive your punishment. You will trust your Master to guide and govern you."
Harry was shaking, taking the words and the strikes by sheer willpower alone.
"And you will never again starve yourself to gain my attention." Voldemort's tone was cold and threatening and it made Harry's stomach clench with arousal even despite his agony. "Do you understand?"
Harry gargled what he hoped sounded enough like an agreement to be accepted.
That fucking cane whipped down on him three more times.
Harry let out a keen of pain— of misery and mortification and desperate apology.
And then, there was silence.
Harry was a mess, quivering and crying, and Voldemort gently pulled him off his cock and lifted him into his lap.
It's done.
It's over.
He was dirtying the Dark Lord's robes, but the man didn't seem to care. Voldemort pet his hair and stroked him unrepentantly over his searing back.
"You did so well, my good boy," Voldemort whispered, pressing a shocking kiss to his hair. "That guilt is mine now."
Good boy.
You're a good boy, fuck yes.
Harry moaned in response. It was too much. He was overwhelmed and aching, but he needed more.
Tilting his hips, he tried to rub against the man's clothing, to get some relief for his throbbing cock. Voldemort's grip sunk into Harry's skin and the Dark Lord made a humming sound.
"You want more, Harry?" Voldemort observed with dark satisfaction, his gaze taking in how Harry fidgeted and whimpered as Voldemort clutched pitilessly at his tender back. "More of my attention? Are you certain?"
Harry nodded, and closed his eyes against the rush of obliterating need within him.
"Get on the bed," the Dark Lord ordered softly, and released him.
Harry scrambled off his lap to obey. He shuffled over to lay on the pillow, on his back, but his ravaged skin made him bolt up in shock.
"Fuck!" he cried, looking to Voldemort for help, but that red gaze held no sympathy.
"Take it for me, Harry."
Voldemort crawled over Harry's legs and then pushed him back until he was once again laying supine.
Harry winced from the discomfort, his whole back on fire, but Voldemort's unrelenting hand on his chest kept him still.
Accepting it.
Accepting everything.
When Harry finally relaxed, Voldemort made a sound of approval and leaned down to suck at the skin of Harry's throat.
That felt fucking amazing, and he groaned in pleasure, the bliss of Voldemort's tongue vaguely masking the brutal stinging of his wounded back.
Voldemort pulled away, obviously admiring the mark he must have made. Harry watched him, feeling light and free.
"I wish to take you," Voldemort said, and Harry brought his gaze up to meet Voldemort's hungry stare.
"Yes," Harry whispered, spreading his legs so that Voldemort could settle between them. "Please."
The hospital bed was small, especially for the imposing form of Lord Voldemort, but somehow they managed.
Voldemort reached over to the bedside table and collected one last slice of avocado.
"But I thought you'd said..." Harry began fearfully, pointing vaguely at the fruit.
He'd said my punishment was done— is there more? Where will he strike me now?
But before his worry could spiral too far, Voldemort interrupted him.
"This piece was never marked for consumption," he said, and then crushed it in his fist.
When he opened his palm, a handful of green mush was revealed. Those long, white fingers smoothed the avocado gently, demonstrating how slick it actually was.
"Open," Voldemort hissed, but the word wasn't in English— it was Parseltongue, and Harry fucking melted to hear it used like that.
Obediently, he opened his legs wider and Lord Voldemort bent down, pressing a long finger inside of him.
It felt perfect— solid and consuming and welcome.
Harry's mind was blissfully clear throughout the process. He lay back, just enjoying those digits working him open.
There's no obligation. No pressure here. I'm just something for Lord Voldemort to fuck.
Harry felt the man's large cock press against him and he looked down to see Voldemort leaning over him, hesitating.
"You are mine, Harry Potter," Voldemort said, but he waited for Harry's enthusiastic nod before finally pushing inside.
Harry closed his eyes.
Everything was too intense— the glorious pain of entry, the sting on his back from his wounds, the feeling of Voldemort so close, so connected—
"I love you," Harry rasped, wrapping his arms around Voldemort's shoulders and neck, urging him deeper. "I love you."
Voldemort leaned down to capture his lips, kissing him viciously as he fucked him. His pace was punishing, knocking the air from Harry's lungs with every snap of his hips.
Oh gods, the pain was just bringing the pleasure to an almost unbearable height. Voldemort released his lips to suck and bite at Harry's neck and Harry's erection was trapped between their grinding bodies.
That long form shifted and Harry felt Voldemort slide his hand between them.
Oh fuck yes, touch me, please.
But Voldemort did not go for his neglected cock. Instead, those long fingers found the rune on Harry's abdomen and pressed against it.
"You took this so well for me," Voldemort breathed, those digits kneading Harry's skin, spreading wide and then massaging deeply.
"What does it do?" Harry asked, wanting to understand, but Voldemort simply continued touching the mark as he drove into him.
Fuck, he was close. Everything felt overstimulated, his whole body tensed for his orgasm, but this nagging thought distracted him.
"What does it mean, Voldemort," he repeated breathlessly, moving his own hand down to press against the rune he'd made on Voldemort's stomach.
The Dark Lord groaned enticingly, his hips moving even faster. Harry threw his head back, his hand falling away.
It didn't matter. It was done. Whatever that scar meant, whatever it would do, he would just have to trust that Voldemort hadn't put it there to hurt him.
"It's okay," Harry rasped, reaching up and touching that heated cheek. "I don't need to know. I trust you."
Voldemort's frenzied eyes flashed. The fingers still massaging Harry's mark dug in and the pain was absolute bliss.
"Oh fuck," Harry moaned. "I'm going to—"
"It protects us," Voldemort growled, taking his hand away from the rune and instead gripping Harry's erection, pumping it. "It keeps you with me, always."
It keeps you with me.
It keeps you with me.
Always.
Harry stretched up and crushed their mouths together as his orgasm struck. Wave after wave of pleasure shook him, and he held onto those strong arms to keep himself grounded.
Voldemort tightened his grip, slamming into him for a minute longer as Harry rode out his own bliss. The Dark Lord bit into his neck and Harry arched under him as Voldemort stiffened and came with a sound so deliciously agonised that Harry knew he'd wank to it later.
Merlin, there was nothing like this.
It was exactly what he needed— sad and painful, but real. He felt like himself.
Their faces were pressed together, breathing in the same air, as they waited for their bodies to calm.
It protects us.
Protects them from what?
What does that even mean?
Voldemort shifted and then laid down heavily beside him on the narrow bed. Harry turned over so that he could properly look at the Dark Lord.
It keeps you with me. Always.
"That kinda sounds like we're married," Harry blurted out weakly, and watched that flushed face turn hard.
Harry smiled, reaching out blindly and encountering his come on Voldemort's chest.
"Ew. Here, let me."
He Vanished the fluid and then touched Voldemort's rune with the pads of his fingers. He studied the man's expression as he did so. The Dark Lord looked guarded.
Harry smoothed his fingers along the raised lines.
"When you gave it to me," Harry reminded him, "you'd said it binds us." He laughed apprehensively. "You'd even muttered, til death do us part, when it was done. Do you remember?"
Voldemort's expression was inscrutable.
"Are we married?" Harry asked softly, surprised that he didn't hate the idea.
Let me introduce you to my husband, Lord Voldemort. Perhaps you've heard of him?
Voldemort scoffed.
"I have no need to claim you that way, Harry, when my true claim is far more lasting."
Harry frowned.
"Your true claim. What does that mean?"
"I am your Master."
Harry nodded, still not understanding.
"Yeah, but we can just decide to stop doing that. Marriage—"
Voldemort was instantly on him, pressing him into the mattress.
"You will not simply stop doing that, Harry. You are mine."
The Dark Lord fisted his hair, grabbing his chin and devouring Harry's mouth in a brutal kiss. Harry could do nothing but try to keep up, try not to get his tongue bitten off.
He enjoyed being touched by Voldemort like this, without the distraction of needing to orgasm. Harry could just focus on how it felt to kiss someone who actually saw him.
He wasn't a goal or an assignment for an article.
He was just Harry.
Just boy.
When Voldemort finally pulled away and moved off of him, Harry had to catch his breath.
They looked at each other, laying on their sides an inch away, and Harry realised the bizarre situation they were in.
Lord Voldemort was in his hospital bed, sweaty and flushed from fucking the Minister for Magic, Harry Potter. Voldemort was still dressed and Harry was completely starkers, with smears of avocado all over his arse and the man's come leaking from him.
Everything around them was falling apart, but here, with just them, it was perfect.
"I'll have to heal all this," Harry muttered, and Voldemort's expression grew displeased.
"You may heal your face and neck, but you will leave your back, as that is your punishment."
Harry rubbed his eyes, shaking his head at the man's ridiculousness.
"I'm in a hospital, Voldemort. They're going to run scans on me and see that I have new wounds that are clearly from a cane. What am I supposed to say?"
Voldemort raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
"Tell them that you received a lashing from your Master."
Harry laughed, shoving Voldemort on the chest, but the man didn't smile.
"Are you serious?" Harry asked. "You just punished me for telling my friends about us! Now you want them to know that you beat me?"
Voldemort held him with a level stare.
"I am not pleased that you passed information about me to my enemies, Harry," Voldemort began, and Harry opened his mouth to interject, but Voldemort slapped a hand down over Harry's raw back to silence him.
"Fuck! Ouch, you wanker, what the—"
"Yet, now that you have," Voldemort continued, letting his hand fall away, "I find that I quite like the idea that you will have to display your submission."
Harry laughed thinly.
"Right. Yeah. That'll go over well. I'm sure they'll understand completely and it won't be at all suspicious that the Minister for fucking Magic is the Dark Lord's submissive. Great plan."
Voldemort reached out again and touched Harry's back, gently this time. Harry tensed, but stayed still. Those cool fingers found the most tender areas and traced them.
"Own who you are, Harry," Voldemort softly advised. "You are a submissive. My submissive. Tell them that the marks were consensual and if they have concerns, to bring them to me."
Harry snorted.
"Jesus, Voldemort. You're insane. The Prophet will write that I'm a deviant—"
"You are a deviant."
Harry growled with frustration.
"Fine, but that's in private! That's not for everyone to know."
Voldemort spread his fingers out possessively across Harry's aching back. Holding them there, as if to claim him.
"Harry," Voldemort said lowly, "the reality is that you will always bear my marks."
Fuck, did he mean that?
That's so fucking hot.
It's what I've always wanted.
"Okay," Harry replied sheepishly, feeling his face heat. "But the first time can't be while I'm in hospital and you're supposed to be on the run. If you want me to keep these wounds, then I'll have to say that someone else gave them to me."
Voldemort bared his teeth, his whole body tensing.
"No one would dare."
"Well, it can't be you, Voldemort. Not yet, at least."
The man's fury was palpable, but he didn't argue. Harry shifted forward so that he was pressed right up against Voldemort's chest. He tucked his head under that stiff chin, to hide.
"You're going to have to deal with me healing them," Harry told him quietly.
Voldemort was silent.
Harry Summoned his wand, feeling Voldemort's fingers dig into his back where he was holding him— but the Dark Lord wasn't interfering. Which was as close to an agreement as Harry was going to get.
Feeling guilty, he healed himself quickly. The pain instantly disappeared, but the marks had to still be there a little bit.
"I may need you to steal me a healing potion before you go, okay?" Harry admitted.
Voldemort's fingers twitched.
"Go," the man repeated tonelessly.
Harry burrowed closer, weaving his cold legs between Voldemort's clothed ones and wrapped an arm around Voldemort's hip.
"You know you can't stay here," Harry breathed, somehow feeling like that's what Voldemort wanted. "No one can know about us."
A tense silence followed. Harry held his breath, knowing that he had upset the man.
"I see," Voldemort said eventually, and then pulled away to stand.
"Wait!" Harry begged, rolling over and following him as the Dark Lord walked to the door.
Before Voldemort's hand could touch the knob, Harry grabbed his wrist and stopped him.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, panicking.
Voldemort was looking determinedly towards the door, his jaw set.
"Is it..." Harry began. "Did you want to..."
What— go public? That would be fucking mental. People would lose their shit. Lucius Malfoy would instantly become Minister and I would be immediately sentenced to death.
He studied Voldemort's face.
"You know we can't tell anyone about this," Harry said softly.
He had not anticipated the Dark Lord's disagreement. But then... Voldemort had lost all of his followers. He had no one to keep appearances up for anymore. What did it matter to him if people revolted at the idea of them together?
Voldemort had no one to lose.
Did Harry have anyone to lose? Sure, Hermione and Ron would hate him, but they already kind of did anyway.
Voldemort remained silent, staring away from him. Harry could tell he was displeased, but what did the man fucking expect? It would be insane to go public with their— what? Relationship?
Frustrated, Harry walked in front of him, grabbing the Dark Lord's chin and jerked it down so that the man was forced to look at him.
Voldemort's eyes flashed with murderous rage, but Harry reached down and fisted the man's bollocks to stave him off.
Oh, fuck.
A sharp intake of breath from those thin lips was all the warning he got before Voldemort had him pressed against the wall, one long forearm holding him off the floor.
"You dare—"
Harry kicked him in the groin.
Voldemort dropped him at once and Harry played dirty. Summoning his wand, he pointed it at Voldemort and Immobilised him.
Before that huge body could fall to the floor, Harry caught him and lowered him slowly down. He cradled the man's head in his arms, that long form draped haphazardly over Harry's legs.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, gently stroking Voldemort's face and trying not to flinch from the burning rage in those eyes. "But I need you to hear me."
Harry tilted the man's head up so that they could look at each other directly.
"Thank you for coming. It helped. I feel better."
He let his gaze lift to study that proud forehead, the smooth skin over his skull.
"We are not telling anyone that we're together right now. Eventually..."
Harry paused to think about the future— he hadn't really done that at all. He knew he wanted Voldemort in his life. More than he wanted to maintain his friendship with Ron and Hermione. More than he wanted anything, really.
If there had to be a choice, he would choose Voldemort.
Harry nodded his head, gently stroking the corner of the Dark Lord's glaring eyes.
"Eventually, we'll tell everyone, I promise. But for now, you have to leave. I have to be the Minister."
Harry watched those red eyes blaze with anger and knew that he needed to hear what Voldemort was burning to say. He released him from the Immobility charm.
Instantly, Voldemort twisted in his lap and pinned Harry to the hospital floor, his fingers tight around Harry's throat.
"You dare to silence me like a Muggle, Harry?" Voldemort seethed, bearing down on him. "You dare—"
"Enough!" Harry snapped, and Voldemort stopped talking.
They stared at each other, both frozen in their outrage.
"Get off of me," Harry demanded, and Voldemort remained for two long seconds, then sat up, releasing him.
Harry sat up, too, vaguely in awe of how easily Voldemort listened to him.
"You have to go," Harry said again, reaching out and squeezing one of those clenched hands. "C'mon. I've kept the door locked for too long."
Harry pulled a bewildered Voldemort to his feet, still holding tight to that balled fist.
"I love you," Harry told him firmly, as those red eyes looked at him, a bit lost. "Where are you staying? The cave? Riddle Manor?"
Voldemort seemed to compose himself minutely.
"No. Both were... too akin to the prisons I have been held in."
Harry winced, taking that hit solidly.
"Where, then?" he asked.
"A manor in the Scottish Highlands," Voldemort replied tonelessly. "Near Hogwarts."
Harry nodded.
"Can I come to you? I'm still at Grimmauld, but I don't think it's safe for you to visit me."
All he needed was for Voldemort to stop by one day when Ron or Hermione were over, or when he had someone come to his house for help again. The murder of that poor woman who had just sought answers about her sister's death, continued to haunt him.
"I can take you there," Voldemort said, still sounding off.
Harry shook his head.
"I can't leave the hospital yet. Hopefully soon. Do you have an address? Actually—" Harry tilted his head with bafflement. "How are you travelling without magic?"
Voldemort's face darkened, a bit of his normal self coming through.
"A broom," he replied, sounding unhappy about it.
"Really? You can use one even without—"
"Of course I can," Voldemort cut in angrily, and then pulled his hand free from Harry's grip.
The Dark Lord's gaze travelled down to take in Harry's still-naked form.
"I will take my leave, then."
He walked towards the door and Harry went with him.
"How will I find you?"
Voldemort did not turn to look at him, but pulled Harry's Invisibility Cloak from his pocket.
"I retain this rag, Harry. I will find you."
And without waiting for a reply, Voldemort threw the Cloak over himself and left.