CHAPTER NOTES:

Just a heads up- because I want to have a few chapters as buffer, I will probably post every 4-6 days now instead. Sorry about that, but I want to make sure I have enough time to edit. I fell behind last week as I got sick and couldn't write, so that ate up a lot of my writing time. The next two chapters are written already, but I just like to make sure my plot is solid before I put it out there. If I catch up faster then I'll go back to posting every 3 days.

Hope you are all well!

CHAPTER 45

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Harry sighed, sitting down heavily after that bizarre conversation.

He'd just met with the Muggle Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, who had only been in office for a few months. Brown had taken a while to believe that magic was real, and even longer to accept that there was a murderous criminal who had escaped from custody and may attack his citizens.

Thank god Voldemort still had no magic.

Or, so Harry assumed.

The truth was, he had no idea what Voldemort had been up to. Harry had left the hospital yesterday and had been at work since then. That meant it had been two days since he'd seen the Dark Lord.

A lot could happen in two days.

Voldemort could have found a servant to give him back his magic. Right now, he could be readying to wage war on the wizarding world again. They'd never talked about plans for the future, which had been obscenely short-sighted of Harry.

He should have known better.

He had known better.

But the truth was that he really wanted Voldemort whole and happy, and that had blinded him to the man's danger.

And he must be busy because he hasn't come by to check on me.

Harry had done okay at the hospital with all the people watching, but since his return to work, it had been easy for him to skip meals. Although he had a lunch break, there was so much to do that no one questioned him when he worked right through it.

Was it childish? Sure. Was he worried it would end him right back up in St Mungo's? Maybe.

But every time he'd thought about eating, he remembered Voldemort's pledge to manage that for him and a pathetic, needy, petty part of him wanted to call the Dark Lord's bluff.

You said I was your responsibility, so where are you? You gonna let me hurt myself again?

Harry leaned back in his chair, blowing out a frustrated sigh.

Where was he?

Had Harry deeply offended him by not wanting to take their relationship public? Was the man upset that Harry had used magic against him?

And then, a sudden thought occurred to him—

Had Voldemort been caught?

Harry sat up.

Maybe someone not from the Ministry had found Voldemort flying on his broom, coming to see Harry, and attacked him. Was Voldemort right now in some sicko's home, getting tortured?

Some sicko like you. You'd stolen him and exacted your pitiful vengeance as well.

Harry stood.

Resentment had been building within him as each hour passed without Voldemort coming to him, like he'd promised. But now, it was possible that the man wasn't actually able to.

He might even have been killed and forced to return to wraithhood.

No.

Tendrils of ice crept up his spine at the thought.

If that had happened, Harry wasn't sure he'd be able to help him. There had been almost nothing of his father's bone dust left when Harry had raided the grave months ago.

Voldemort could be lost forever.

No way.

I'll figure something out. Maybe he can live on the back of my head like he did with Quirrell.

Harry blew out a shaky laugh.

Stop sulking and go find him.

Harry exited his humongous new office and strode to his secretary's desk.

"Ah, I'll be out for a few hours, Soogrim," Harry told the woman awkwardly, because he knew from the past few days what her response was going to be.

"But Minister," she argued with alarm, looking down at his schedule, "your afternoon is fully booked!"

Harry nodded.

"I know, but I'm sure I can shift a few things til later, so that I can—"

"You have a debrief for the Auror Department at two, a meeting with the Committee for the Emancipation from Gringotts at four, a group of concerned centaurs at five—" She cocked her head with a frown. "Should I be calling them a herd, or is that offensive?"

Harry shook his head, clueless.

"Can I move the Aurors to maybe after dinner? Say, eight?"

Soogrim was already shaking her head.

"Sorry, Minister." She perused his schedule again. "I can maybe give you an hour next week, Tuesday? Three to four pm."

Harry tapped his fingers on her desk, giving her a tight smile.

"Sure. Okay, thanks."

Soogrim returned his smile.

"Shall I send in Mr Foncé for your one o'clock?"

Fucking hell.

This was his life now. He still wasn't used to his time being so carefully managed by someone else. While with the Aurors, he had largely organised his own days and no one had really cared what he'd done. But now, as the Minister, his every second was accounted for.

"Minister?" Soogrim prompted, and Harry startled, plastering a politely interested look onto his face.

"Of course. Sorry, yes. Send him in."

As Harry walked back into his office, he felt his chest constrict with misery at the thought of leaving Voldemort when he potentially needed help.

But that was probably not the case, anyway. The Dark Lord was likely just diligently working on getting his magic back.

.

.

"Please, have a seat," Harry offered servilely, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

Voldemort studied him with displeasure.

The boy still seemed fragile; his complexion was grey-tinged, his eyes glassy and not bright like he remembered. Harry walked behind his desk and sat himself down, fixing a pandering grin onto his tired face.

Voldemort did not like this.

You have no idea why I am here, yet you make yourself available to me, for whatever my purposes may be.

Voldemort had not needed to explain his intentions to the boy's secretary to book this meeting. Anyone had access to Minister Harry Potter because he was so desperately eager to please everyone.

It had been two days since he had seen Harry last and the boy looked worse now than he had in the hospital.

"How can I help you?" Harry interrupted him obsequiously.

Help.

As if that was the Minister's job.

"You are not eating," Voldemort accused, disliking the sound of this wizard's voice.

Harry paused, but that vapid smile stayed pasted onto his face.

"Excuse me?" Harry replied, irrationally amicable.

Voldemort took a step closer.

"You look weak."

That made the boy's smile vanish. Harry pressed his lips together— those same lips that had been wrapped around Voldemort's cock two days prior.

During which time the boy had agreed to never again starve himself for Lord Voldemort's attention.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, standing, and finally dropping his genuflecting. "What's your name again?"

Voldemort tilted his head.

"I have acquired many monikers. Lately, you have called me Master."

Harry's face went slack.

"What—?"

The boy kept their gazes locked, but gestured to the door, securing it and adding a privacy ward.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, but it was more of a demand now. It would seem that he saved his pandering for the public.

That would not do.

I told you— be strong for them and weak for me, Harry, not the opposite.

Harry moved from behind his desk, taking a step towards him.

"Who are you," Harry reiterated, his tone now commanding and firm.

Better.

He decided to reward the boy.

"I am Lord Voldemort," he replied.

Harry seemed amazed, but that did not last. The boy frowned.

"But, you look…"

He gestured to Voldemort's body.

"Polyjuice," Voldemort explained.

"You can take Polyjuice even if you have no—"

The insolent way the boy constantly threw in his face his own lack of magic was unacceptable.

"Obviously, Potter," he snapped, "as I have done so."

Harry considered him, still seeming unconvinced.

"Okay," the boy said slowly, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "If you're him, then you'll be able to answer a question."

Harry glared at him, clearly trying to be intimidating. It was amusing. He found himself mildly impressed by this insistence on verification.

"Do you have any… marks on you?" the boy asked.

Voldemort felt his lips curl in derision.

Amateur.

"It is possible— though not at all likely, I grant you— that my body could have been searched. Do better."

Harry nodded, his face still pinched with concentration.

"What's your mother's name?"

"Again, too easy. That is public record now. You made it so."

Another infraction that you shall suffer for.

Harry growled, looking petulant.

"Well then, what the fuck—"

"Something only your Master would know, Harry. Do this right, if you are determined to confirm my identity."

Harry looked charmingly annoyed. Voldemort waited patiently while the boy ruminated.

A sudden dark, satisfied look crossed Harry's face. Which instantly had Voldemort's full attention.

"Polyjuice," Harry said, staring at him brazenly. "Months ago, I took Polyjuice from my own stores and used it for personal reasons. What did I do with it that upset you so much?"

Deadly fury blazed within him.

That the boy would dare bring that betrayal up so casually—

Moving fast, he took Harry by the throat and shoved him hard against the expensive panelling on the wall. Harry gasped, but his smile did not falter.

I will strip you of your arrogance, child.

"You let an imitation fuck you," Voldemort hissed, hating to be reminded of that incident.

Harry's mouth was open, struggling for breath, but the boy did not fight him, did not use his magic to liberate himself.

"You were too cowardly to take what you desired, Potter, so you shamelessly paid a nobody to transform into Lord Voldemort and fuck you."

Voldemort reached down with his other hand to plunder Harry's trousers and grip his unsurprisingly hard cock.

The boy made a pathetic, strangled sound and closed his eyes.

"You have hair," Harry muttered, his hands retreating from where they had almost made contact with Voldemort's head. "It's too weird, this isn't you."

"It is simply a mask, Harry. One that allowed me easy access to you. Something my true face would be denied. Unless you concede to revealing to others—"

"Not that again," Harry complained.

Voldemort looked down at the boy, disliking his closed eyes.

"Open," he commanded, but Harry shook his head.

"You look too bizarre," the boy groused, but tilted his hips in tandem with Voldemort's strokes anyway. "Why'd you have to use Polyjuice? Why not use my cloak?"

"This is easier," he replied— supremely, relentlessly irritated that he had no magic to complete simple tasks.

Like conjuring lubrication.

"Where did you get the Polyjuice?" Harry asked breathlessly, his hands hovering over Voldemort's shoulders, as if he was too afraid to touch the strange body.

Voldemort scoffed.

"I stole it. A far better use of your infernal safety blanket than using it to sneak in here."

Harry's eyes were suddenly open and staring at him.

"Have you heard of the Deathly Hallows?" the boy asked nonsensically, his motions stilling.

"Have you heard of self-respect?" Voldemort countered, twisting his hand viciously over the boy's sensitive glans. He watched with satisfaction as the boy succumbed once more to his control. "Why are you allowing these peons to dictate your time? I should not have gotten access to you this easily."

Harry made a choking sound, a disrespectful laugh, and then met his gaze.

"Stop being paranoid," the boy insolently rasped, even as Voldemort worked his erection expertly. "It's fine— oh fuck, yes. No one wants to kill me. They all love me— well, except for Malfoy."

Lucius.

Voldemort felt murder burn through his veins.

He pulled his hand free from Harry's trousers, rage immediately dispelling his own arousal. The boy whined with displeasure, but Voldemort paid him no mind.

He had read all about the imperilled man's efforts to slander Harry. Fortunately, Voldemort's plans were already advancing towards the traitor no longer being a problem for the boy.

"Tell me what he has done," Voldemort commanded.

"C'mon, forget that," Harry begged, grabbing Voldemort's hand and dragging it back to his straining cock. "Touch me again, please. I haven't had time to wank since you left. I need—"

"Come back with me."

The lust cleared a bit from those green eyes.

"Huh? Where?"

"The manor."

Harry looked helplessly towards the door.

"I can't. My whole day is accounted—"

"You are their superior, Harry. Not the other way around. Come with me."

The boy hesitated, needless anxiety clouding his expression.

"I have to—"

"Set boundaries. Yes, you do. Do you believe that your predecessors allowed their secretaries to dictate their time? Even the useless Fudge worked only a handful of hours a week, yet stayed Minister for six bumbling years."

The boy's face shifted into something resembling irritation. Interesting. He did not like being compared to Fudge and then found wanting.

"Fine," Harry relented, sighing. "But my secretary—"

"Let me handle her, Harry."

"What? No! I don't want you killing her just because she overbooks me!"

Voldemort tsked.

"I can control my better judgement, Harry, for your delicate sensibilities."

Voldemort began to walk to the door, Harry just behind him. The boy snorted.

"Can you? I've never seen that."

Voldemort placed his hand on the doorknob.

"I chose to make an appointment to see you, did I not? I assure you, there were easier ways."

Exiting Harry's office, he strode to the woman sitting at a desk in the corridor. She looked up at him, smiling benignly and then turned to address Harry.

"Your two o'clock is here, Minister. I put them in the—"

"Mr Potter will be accompanying me on urgent business for the remainder of the day."

"But sir!" she cried, panicking and fixing Harry with a worried stare. "I've already confirmed—"

"Harry," Voldemort prompted, turning expectantly to the boy. "Tell her."

Harry cleared his throat, obviously marshalling his resolve.

"Yes, Soogrim. Sorry."

Voldemort made a quiet sound of disapproval and Harry looked up at him.

Strength, Harry. You are the Minister.

The boy likely did not retrieve those words from his mind, but he seemed to have gained some confidence from his reprimand at the very least.

Harry nodded.

"I'm off for the day. Please reschedule my appointments. I'll—"

"Your two o'clock is waiting!" the worthless labourer dared to argue further.

Voldemort held himself back from reacting and turned instead to the boy to see how he would handle this unacceptable insubordination.

Harry risked a quick glance at him and then straightened his posture.

"You'll have to make my apologies, then, and reschedule. That's your job, after all."

The boy walked past her, managing to ignore her spluttering and Voldemort dined on Harry's indifference. His arrogance.

When the lift doors closed in front of them, he pulled Harry into a fierce embrace, fisting his hair and biting and sucking those mouthy lips.

When he pulled away, he stared down hungrily at the boy, enjoying the way Harry's eyes took a few seconds to open.

When they did, he was gifted with a small, impish smile.

"Good boy," Voldemort breathed, and watched as a gleam of deserving pride entered that verdant gaze.

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.

They landed solidly onto the sprawling grasses just outside the gated area of his new manor.

"Is this it?" Harry asked, pointing to the building, his hair windswept.

Voldemort nodded, watching Harry's excitement grow.

"Holy shit— that's awesome!" Harry proclaimed exuberantly. "I can't believe that's even possible!"

Voldemort shook his head in amusement at the boy's enthusiasm. Apparently, he had never led an Apparition without knowing his targeted location.

There was so much Voldemort yearned to teach him, so much knowledge that he could gift the boy.

"I couldn't see it, like you'd said," Harry explained, as they walked towards the gate. "But I could feel it, you know? Like, I knew where to go without knowing where to go."

Voldemort inclined his head, allowing the boy to marvel at the simplicity of their success. A riled and triumphant Harry was an enticing sight.

When they got to the barrier, Voldemort pushed it open easily and kept walking.

"Wait— where is this place?"

Harry had suddenly stopped and was examining the manor with a suspicious eye. Now that his elation had calmed, he seemed to be catching up with events.

Voldemort turned to face him.

"Ferness. It is a quiet, forested area in Strathdearn, Scotland. Is there a problem?"

Harry frowned.

"I didn't know you had it, that's all. I knew about the Gaunt shack, the cave, Riddle Manor… I even tracked down the flat you'd lived in when you were working at Borgin and Burkes." He looked back up at the building behind Voldemort. "I didn't know about this place."

Ah.

The boy wanted reassurances that Voldemort had come to own this manor legally.

Pushing aside his discomfort that Harry had such an extensive list of locations associated with him, he allowed himself to ponder his options.

Harry would not be pleased that he had killed the wizard who had lived here prior. He would vociferate at length about the wickedness of murder and likely foolishly attempt to wring remorse from him.

As if Lord Voldemort could care about some inferior magical being that had lived in the middle of a forest, nameless and worthless.

"How did you get this place?" Harry persisted.

Alternately, he could lie.

Say that it was his mother's or that a former servant had gifted it to him years ago.

Harry was studying him with trepidation, clearly hoping to be offered a comforting reply, yet not expecting it.

Strangely, he found that he wanted the boy's approval. Yet in this case, he knew he would not receive it.

Perhaps it was time that Harry understood who he had fallen in love with.

"I killed him," Voldemort stated simply, watching as Harry's eyes inexplicably widened.

He had to have known that. It cannot be shocking.

"Why?" Harry asked weakly. "Did he attack you? Were you—"

"There is no heroic narrative, Harry. He had something that I wanted."

"So you killed him? Couldn't you have just kicked him out or— or—" The boy let out a dry laugh. "Jesus fuck."

"I am unsure why this disturbs you. You know who I am."

"Sure, but— don't you care how I feel? Don't you… I don't know. Don't you want to be with me?"

Be with him.

"I do not understand. You dislike my methods, but I have not hidden them from you. I have not lied."

Harry stared at him with what seemed like misery and then stormed off towards the manor. Perplexed, Voldemort followed at a slower pace.

When he entered the building, Harry was nowhere to be found.

"Harry?" he tried, pausing to listen for a distant reply.

"Up here," the boy said, from somewhere above.

He wants to pretend that he can run from Lord Voldemort.

Eagerly, he took the sprawling stairs to the second floor. There were twelve rooms on this level and Harry was in none of them.

His patience was evaporating fast.

"Potter. I am disappointed by your cowardice. Show yourself so that we can end this nonsense."

He waited, straining to hear the boy's voice, but there was only silence.

"When I find you—"

"Oh, you'll find me," Harry called out from above somewhere, sounding shockingly haughty. "But only because I'm letting you. You forget that I have magic and if I wanted to really hide, you'd never see me again."

Oh, child, how wrong you are…

Voldemort followed the sound, the lure of a challenge drawing him closer.

When he finally selected the correct room, it was to find Harry standing alone, arms crossed, in the middle of one of the bedrooms. Voldemort stepped inside, taking in the boy's confident posture, slight smirk, and hard eyes.

Dangerous.

He looks dangerous.

Voldemort had always been drawn to danger.

Before he could speak, Harry sent a potion bottle towards him with magic. Voldemort caught it by instinct and saw the orange concoction that reversed a Polyjuice transformation.

"Drink that first," Harry demanded, and Voldemort shot him a warning look. The boy rolled his eyes. "I refuse to have this discussion with you looking like that."

Harry gestured contemptuously to Voldemort's body.

A quick examination revealed that the potion was correct and so he deigned to imbibe it. His bones shifted at once, lengthening and growing into his formidable figure.

Harry's eyes travelled over his true physique helplessly and then darted away fast, as if irritated to have been distracted.

That pleased Voldemort.

"You murdered the man who had lived here," Harry abruptly stated with disapproval.

"I did," Voldemort immediately confirmed, unafraid.

Harry stared at him and the sight of that powerful creature standing tall against Lord Voldemort was incredibly compelling.

He took a step towards the boy.

"I killed him, Harry Potter." He advanced another pace, watching Harry's gaze note his progress. "Him, and the wizard I used today for Polyjuice."

Harry's eyes widened with shock, which caused excitement to tingle across Voldemort's skin at the peril he faced admitting to that. He wanted to test how upset the boy could be with him and yet still remain powerless to Lord Voldemort due to his love.

How much would the boy take for him?

"Do you care how that affects me?" Harry asked.

He did not sound emotional, but rather just curious. Voldemort considered his response.

"Yes," he admitted, mildly surprised to realise that, and came closer still to the boy. "I do not wish to hurt you."

Harry nodded.

"So this is not your way of getting my attention."

Voldemort felt his lips curl at that unbelievable statement.

"I have been killing people for seventy years, Harry. It has nothing to do with you."

Harry bowed his head slightly with acknowledgment, but there was something in his eyes…

"See, I think that's bullshit," the boy remarked harshly, and Voldemort stopped advancing, startled.

Harry lifted his gaze, smiling curiously, but the look somehow tightened Voldemort's stomach.

"Months ago," the boy divulged, "back at Grimmauld, you'd told me that to get you to do what I wanted, I'd have to set rules and follow through with punishments."

Voldemort took in those menacing eyes and his own rapacious machinations paused.

Intrigued, he simply watched.

Harry moved forward a step.

"And I struggled with that," Harry said, his gaze rapt as he almost closed the distance between them. "I'd thought that you had just been trying to encourage me to be more confident at work. But I finally think that I get what you were really doing."

Harry reached him at last. His gaze was no longer locked with Voldemort's, but was now focused on his lips.

"You were actually telling me what you wanted from me," the boy whispered.

Insanity.

"You believe that I—" Voldemort began, but Harry's hand shot out and smacked Lord Voldemort hard across the mouth.

Shock halted him, his skin tingling from the impact.

They stared at each other.

"Quiet, now," Harry advised softly. "I'm talking."

Voldemort felt his pulse accelerate.

The boy walked past him and Voldemort followed him with his eyes.

"You'd explained that I had to convince you to obey me," Harry said, striding back towards the bed in the centre of the room. Voldemort felt arousal burn through him as he watched the boy sit on the edge of the mattress. "And that your preferred method was through violence."

Harry pointed to the floor in front of him.

Voldemort could not help it— he laughed.

Those green eyes narrowed, but a smile also curved the boy's lips.

"You think I'm joking?" Harry whispered.

Voldemort leaned back against the wall.

"Certainly. It can be nothing else. Lord Voldemort kneels for no one."

Harry shrugged, but continued to point, unconcerned with his refusal.

"Maybe. But I'm not just anyone," the boy argued softly. "I'm your equal. And besides, I'm not interested in Lord Voldemort right now. I'm talking to Tom."

Fury ripped through him.

"You dare to—"

Wordlessly, Harry Silenced him.

Apoplectic, Voldemort advanced, ready to throw the boy under him and make him pay for his audacity, but his movements were abruptly halted and he fell backwards onto the ground.

Although he could tell that Harry had slowed his descent, his molars still jolted with the impact.

"You know," Harry mused, and Voldemort would have killed him had he his magic, "I'm thinking that that lesson was pretty transparent of you. You told me explicitly what you wanted from me— and I didn't do it. I didn't fucking listen."

Harry was suddenly at his side, looking down at him. Their reversed positions fed the indignant anger churning through him, but also fanned an uncomfortable curiosity that was unfurling within him.

Something was shifting.

"You gave me what I needed," the boy remarked. "I wanted to kneel and be nothing, and you did that for me. But I haven't returned the favour, have I? I've been letting you get away with… Well. With murder."

Harry crouched down, his expression fond, but mildly condescending— a look one might employ towards a favourite House-elf.

"And all you asked of me," Harry said quietly, touching the tender area at the back of Voldemort's head where it had impacted the ground, "was to set boundaries for you and make you obey."

Rebuttals swelled within him, vicious denials, but they could not be voiced. He was forced instead to swallow them and just listen.

Harry's gaze had dropped again to his lips.

"Pain alone won't motivate you, either," the boy breathed— and he was right. Lord Voldemort did not fear bodily harm. "We're alike in that."

Harry traced Voldemort's lips with one warm finger and then sunk it inside Voldemort's mouth. The taste was salty, the skin was rough, and the humiliation of being forced to take this treatment set fire to his blood.

"But I won't need much pain," the boy asserted confidently, pulling his finger free. "You want to know if I can make you obey, don't you? It's curiosity that will bend your spine. The intellectual pursuit of knowledge."

Harry leaned forward and pressed their mouths together. Voldemort did not move, could not, but Harry did not require him to. He simply kissed Voldemort's frozen lips, gently massaging them with his tongue.

After a dozen rapid beats of his heart, the boy straightened up, lazily opening his eyes.

"You want to know if I'm worthy," Harry insisted. "You want to know if there is anyone that can get you to submit."

Impossible.

Harry smiled as if he had plucked the word from his mind.

"And only you can answer that. I'm not going to force you. I'll just tell you what I want and you can choose to obey or get up and leave."

Voldemort stared into those solemn eyes, scanning them for subterfuge.

"If you submit to me, I can promise you a feeling like none other. You can see what it's like to briefly surrender control. To truly trust someone."

Trust.

It was a worthless pursuit— needless, when he could control others. Trust opened him up to betrayal. It made him vulnerable.

"If you refuse to submit," Harry went on, "you'll never know."

And that concise threat haunted him. The possibility that there was worthy knowledge that he had not obtained due to... not fear. Never fear. But apprehension, perhaps— was galling.

Harry's still-damp finger traced down Voldemort's throat, over his chest, and then settled on top of the rune he had carved into Voldemort's skin.

"Your Obliviated self had some good advice that didn't fit at all for me, but I think it's exactly what you need to hear. He'd said that it was brave to give the gift of submission. Strong. And that it was a choice, not a designation."

A choice.

Distantly— too soon— he saw the boy stand.

"Those were your words, Tom. If you won't listen to me, at least listen to yourself."

Harry walked back in the direction of the bed, but Voldemort was no longer following him with his gaze. His awareness was inwards.

He was torn.

Surrendering control was abhorrent to him. Who could possibly rule the Dark Lord?

Inconceivable.

And yet...

And yet, if there was a being capable of such a profound feat...

"Come to me," Harry commanded, releasing him from the Immobility charm and giving him back his voice.

Voldemort looked up at the boy seated again on the mattress.

Waiting to see what he would do.

"I'll even let you start on your feet," Harry offered, while he scrutinised him. "Stand, Tom, and walk to me."

His cognisance was in tatters, thus he did not move.

Lord Voldemort does not obey commands.

Lord Voldemort is above such puerile manipulations.

He closed his eyes and tried to quiet everything but what he wanted.

Perhaps Lord Voldemort did not show weakness. But it was not he who stood and walked to Harry, waiting on the bed for him.

It was Tom, and when Harry pointed again at the floor, it was he who slowly bent his knees.