CHAPTER 48

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"Ah, it's good to see that your security is here," Robards said quietly to him as they mounted the dais.

Harry turned to see Robards pointing subtly into the crowd. He glanced at where the man was indicating and saw the ever-vigilant form of Mr Foncé positioned at the back. Those eyes were on him, and Voldemort inclined his head discreetly in acknowledgment of his stare.

What's he doing down there?

"My security?" Harry repeated vaguely, his gaze locked onto Voldemort's, trying to draw calm and confidence from him.

"Oh, sorry. I just assumed he was. He's always hanging around your office." Robards laughed softly. "Creeps out the staff. And the way he looks at you..."

Like he wants to fucking have me over any available surface.

Harry forced his attention back onto the man at his side.

"Yeah. He's... one of my staff. A new hire."

Robards nodded then patted him on the back.

Fuck! He worked to control his wince as those careless touches reminded him of the fresh scratches that Voldemort had only just gouged into his skin.

"Well anyway," Robards went on, "I look forward to hearing what you have to say about You-Know-Who. Maybe you can see if your mysterious new employee will join us on the case, too. Seems the type to know his way around the Darker parts of society. Good to have someone like that on our side."

The man smiled and then left to find his seat on the dais.

Oh, that is too hilarious. Robards wants Lord Voldemort to work for the Aurors. I've gotta tell him that later, it'll go straight to his head.

Smiling, he walked past four people on the platform that he didn't recognise.

Must be the Aurors that Voldemort assigned. How did he even do that?

Harry nodded to one of them, a woman. She stared right past him, her gaze rapt onto the crowd. Harry nodded to her, knowing that he was in her peripheral at the very least.

"Thanks for helping out today. What's your name, by the way?"

She didn't reply— didn't even acknowledge him. It was like she was...

"You're up now," Thompson whispered to him, and Harry looked over to see the man gesturing to the podium.

"Oh— right. Thanks."

He walked over and stood before the crowd, giving his warmest, brightest Harry Potter smile. A tumult of applause broke out and he tried not to shrink from it.

Strong for them.

"Thank you for coming today," he said when the noise eventually died down. "I'm here to update you all on the Ministry's comprehensive measures to recapture and eliminate Lord Voldemort."

He watched the majority of the people in the crowd wince. His eyes swept over the press and civilians, noting some familiar faces. Old colleagues. Ron and Hermione. Neville, Luna. McGonagall.

Lucius Malfoy.

He was near the back, just as Draco had said he would be. He looked smug. Almost... gloating.

"We are at a significant advantage because the former Dark Lord does not have his magic nor his memories," he continued, forcing his gaze to keep moving. "So he is free, yes, but not capable of his former destruction."

There was a murmur at that and Harry could swear he heard Malfoy's fucking arrogant scoff, but he ignored it. Whatever. He wasn't afraid of the man. And besides, Lord Voldemort was in that crowd, too. No one would be able to lay a hand on Harry with the Dark Lord as his personal security.

"Firstly, we have an entirely new department set up that deals exclusively with Lord Voldemort. We have Masters from a variety of fields employed to offer their experience and insights. We have Aurors deployed to all areas of Scotland and England to search for him and we will widen our scope every week to ensure that he will never get farther than we can track him."

Which was of course, bullshit.

Yes, the Ministry had all those things, but they meant nothing. As if Lord Voldemort could be caught. Well, by anyone other than Harry.

"We are working on magical traps and spells to bring him back. Specific wards and charms that will alert us to his activity. To his location."

Some of these had sounded concerning when he'd heard them. He'd told Voldemort right away, but the man had simply smiled in that condescending, superior way of his that made Harry want to either punch him or fuck him.

He'd done neither at the time, though.

He hadn't had a chance to fuck the Dark Lord again since the manor, despite how badly he wanted to. He knew it was a delicate thing and he'd get nowhere by pushing. It would have to happen naturally.

Stop thinking about that! Merlin, you're gonna get a boner.

"Suffice it to say that we have everything under control and anticipate having the Dark Lord back soon. I will now take questions if—"

The first thing he heard was a scream.

It was male and Harry's gaze went right to the person who'd made it. He was able to get a split-second visual of the man— alone, clutching his chest, looking terrified— before more screams broke out and his shield began to glow blue.

He pulled his wand out, stepping down to help, when someone suddenly jumped in front of him, then hit the floor hard.

Holy shit— they just took a curse for me!

Harry began to kneel to see if they were alright, but another person grabbed his arm and pulled him back, taking his place in front of the crowd.

"Hey!" Harry protested, trying to break the man's hold, but it was impossible.

He could hear more screaming and he looked around to see that the crowd was almost gone. The Floos were flashing green like fireworks, whisking people to safety.

There had been an attack. Just like Draco had said there would be.

And Voldemort was in that crowd with no magic.

"Get off me!" Harry shouted, shoving the person away and propelling them off the dais by accident.

But that didn't matter. He ignored them— ignored everyone in his desperation to find Voldemort.

He jumped off the dais, noticing the three bodies on the floor. The blood.

"Harry!" someone called. "Are you alright?"

But he kept walking. He didn't matter, he was fine. But where was Voldemort?

A hand gripped his upper arm and halted him.

"We have to get you to safety, Minister."

"Let me go."

"You have to come with me."

"Go with her, Harry," Robards said, suddenly at his side. "No need to make this worse. You're not an Auror anymore. This isn't your job. We need to keep you safe so that you can deal with this."

That hand became two and then he was pulled towards the back where the elevator was.

Voldemort could be out there. He could be hurt. He could be dead.

He yanked his arm free and raised his wand. Everyone backed up, apprehension in their eyes.

"Don't touch me," he warned, his nerves numb and cold as he pointed his wand at each person in turn. "I am the Minister for Magic. I'm Harry fucking Potter. You can't stop me."

No one said a word. Harry spun to go back into the heart of the Atrium and no one stopped him.

The room was almost empty now. All that remained were some Aurors, some civilians crying, and the dead.

If he'd been killed, he'd be here on the floor. He's the Dark Lord, he had to have escaped.

But the man had no magic. Would he be—

"Sir, we have this covered," one of the Aurors said, coming over and standing beside him. "You should really be—"

Harry slowly turned to look at the man. He had no idea how his own face was arranged, but Jacobs pulled back and shut up immediately.

"What happened here," Harry demanded in a quiet voice.

"I don't have all the information yet, Minister. I can contact my superior to—"

"What have you learned so far. Don't make me ask again."

Jacobs nodded, his eyes widening.

"Forgive me, Minister. It seems multiple people shot at you at the same time. My guess is that it was organised."

"The dead?"

He didn't need to hear about who attacked him, he knew that already.

"Two Aurors I haven't met before. They died protecting you. The other five were stabbed by a civilian, though I have heard rumours that he is known to you? I don't know his name."

Seven people.

They died protecting you.

"The stabbed victims have been reported to be some of the individuals that tried to attack you." Jacobs glanced over at one of the bodies by the Floos. "That's all I know, sir."

Harry couldn't speak. He nodded and then walked away towards the dais where the two bodies of Voldemort's Aurors were lying.

He thought about what Draco had said regarding the curse that Lucius had instructed his new followers to use. Draco had said that it was hard to detect and did all of its damage internally so that the victims just looked unconscious.

His eyes scanned the woman's body hopefully.

Could it be that all these seemingly-dead people were still alive?

Harry fell to his knees, pulling up a vitals charm to see if there was a heartbeat. Or any sign of life. But the spell showed no activity. She was dead.

Dead for you.

Your fault. They jumped in front of you and took what you deserved.

But... why? If Lucius's plan had been to injure him and not kill him immediately, why were these two dead?

And why wouldn't Lucius want to kill him right away? Why delay if he planned to take his job?

Harry stared down at the vacant eyes of the woman who had given her life for him. He forced himself to carefully memorise every detail of her lifeless face. It chilled him, but he deserved the discomfort.

As his gaze passed over the slight part to those bluish lips, he thought about Draco. How the man was in love with him. Maybe Lucius had simply fed his son false information to placate him. To give him hope that Harry wasn't about to die.

Movement to his right caught his eye. He glanced up to see Ron's terrier Patronus bounding towards him.

"We're looking for you," the dog spoke in Ron's voice. "Meet us at your house. Please."

The animal vanished in a puff of smoke.

A nagging irritation rose up in him. He'd almost been killed, he had no idea if Voldemort was alive— he was the bloody Minister for Magic! And they believed that he'd drop everything to come reassure them?

Not anymore, Weasleys.

He had his own family to prioritise now.

Without another thought for his old friends, he raced to the Floos at the back and left the Ministry.

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It should not have taken the boy this long to follow.

He had not ordered Harry to reconvene here, yet that had to have been implied. Lord Voldemort had dispatched those he could reach, and then come back to his manor to wait for Harry.

Already, almost twenty minutes had passed. His patience was obliterated and he would not sit idle much longer.

He had needed to depart after his actions because the Ministry would surely wish to detain him and perhaps even attempt to arrest him.

And he had no intention of being held again.

Yet he would rip the Ministry apart brick by brick if Harry did not appear soon. He would slaughter every person who dared to hide the—

His door crashed open downstairs.

"Voldemort!" Harry called, and then Voldemort found himself at the banister, staring down at the boy.

Harry put his hand to his chest, releasing a choking laugh, his body sagging. Voldemort descended the stairs rapidly, the stifled panic that he had been denying evaporating into desperate relief.

He is safe.

He is here.

"I thought—" Harry rasped when Voldemort reached him and took him into his arms. "Oh gods, Voldemort. I thought they'd killed you."

Voldemort buried his head in that warm mass of hair, breathing in the comforting scent.

"Never," he replied, tightening his hold.

Harry made a strangled sound of protest, pushing back against him minutely.

"But they can! They can kill your body! And then— and then— I don't think I'll be able to bring you back. We have to talk about that. Is there another way? What can I—"

"Shh, Harry," he whispered, feeling the boy shaking. "Later. Right now, I need you on the floor."

Harry pulled back slightly to look up at him with his devastating gaze.

"On your knees," Voldemort breathed, letting the boy go and stepping back.

Harry dropped his gaze and folded immediately into a ball. He released a quiet sob and then pressed his face to the floor.

At last.

The calm. The grounding sense of equilibrium.

Voldemort studied the boy's back, noting vaguely that he should have ordered Harry to conjure him a chair first, but this was fine. Harry at his feet was enough. Seeing that proud, powerful boy tucked up beneath him, righted the world. The Chosen One— completely inert. Deactivated.

His to command.

"You did well," Voldemort praised the boy, sliding his foot until it could cover one of those smaller hands.

He pressed down upon the digits until he knew that it would hurt. Harry did not move nor protest.

"You were strong, just as I had expected of you."

Harry shifted his weight in silent disagreement. Voldemort put more pressure on those delicate bones.

"But now, you may be weak, Harry. You will take my violence in order to pay for the lives it cost to protect you today."

Harry made a whimpering sound that Voldemort ignored.

"How many died for you? I killed seven. Were there others?"

Harry ground his face into the wooden floor.

"Please," he breathed, pitifully.

That voice...

He would never tire of hearing Harry Potter beg.

"Five bled to death," Voldemort informed him cruelly, avidly watching Harry's other fist clench. "I acquired a blade that creates wounds which cannot be healed. Your last two victims leapt into the path of curses meant for you. At my command. Lord Voldemort can be very persuasive."

"No," Harry moaned, his body twisting at his feet.

"Yes, Harry. They were worthless, but you... You are irreplaceable. And I will not let anyone touch you."

Harry made an intoxicating sound of feeble dissent.

"Now," he went on, disregarding the boy's discomfort, "you require your Master to remind you that your failings belong to him. I will take your guilt from your flesh and you will accept that the responsibility of your actions belongs to me. It is arrogant and erroneous to believe that you have authority over your behaviour. You do not."

Voldemort yearned for his magic so that he could effortlessly strip the boy to his skin at his merest thought.

Soon.

But first—

"Remove your robes and shirt, Harry."

Voldemort's hungry gaze roved that masculine torso and arms as they were bared. Harry diligently worked to obey, his face sorrowful yet accepting.

"Good boy," Voldemort praised when the task was complete.

Reaching down, he ran two fingers over the exposed skin of the boy's back, feeling a rush of possessive pleasure when he saw the deep scratches that he had placed there that day.

I will have him always bearing my marks. So that any that see him will know that he is owned. That he is mine.

"Seven lives were lost today," Voldemort said heavily, though his disapproving tone was for Harry's benefit alone.

Lord Voldemort placed no significance on the loss of life. The whole world could burn, every being smouldering down to dust, and it would be of no concern. The masses were dispensable. Unnecessary.

But not to Harry.

The boy placed great significance on the lives of others, and thus, it was a weak spot that Lord Voldemort would eradicate.

Harry would sacrifice much to protect absolutely anyone, therefore Voldemort would dedicate time to reducing that scope until it contained only themselves. Until Harry would stand beside him as the world burned and care only to protect their own eyes from the fetid smoke.

He straightened up and walked to his dresser. There, he collected a tall candle and matches and brought them back to where Harry was waiting for him.

"Sit up," he commanded.

When the boy obeyed, he thought about where he would like to see his marks this time. As he considered, he lit the wick and watched the flame flicker.

"Hold out your arm, Harry," Voldemort said softly, and watched the boy's left limb extend straight out. "You will endure seven burns for the seven lives you took today. I will hold the fire to your skin for the count of seven seconds each time. You will not move. Do you understand?"

Harry's body relaxed, his eyes closing.

He likes this. It is comforting to him.

It was still such an unexpected surprise that Harry craved this kind of demonstration as well. Lord Voldemort's instincts had always compelled him to own Harry Potter. To prove his mastery. And now, the discovery that the boy sought that confirmation, as well? It was exhilarating.

"Conjure your Master a chair."

Harry reached out with his right hand and non-verbally Summoned his wand. Then he flicked it and Voldemort glanced over to see the regal, throne-like seat that Harry had selected for him.

Without commenting, he sat, crossing his legs and leaning back comfortably.

"Come closer. I do not wish to stretch."

Harry placed his wand on the floor and then slid forward until he was kneeling directly at his feet. Voldemort met that trusting gaze, allowing it to bolster him.

"Remember Harry, do not pull away. I intend for this to hurt."

He brought the candle underneath the boy's arm, about one inch from his skin and began counting slowly. Immediately, the hair singed and disappeared, leaving a strong, burning scent behind.

Voldemort rapaciously watched Harry's reaction. The boy was stoic for the first four seconds and then his mouth opened with a wet gasp, his gaze locking onto Voldemort's.

He looked helpless and scared and Voldemort had never seen anything so beautiful.

"Six," he whispered, cataloging every bead of sweat, every unanswered plea for mercy. "Seven."

He pulled the flame away. Harry groaned, bowing his head and touching the red burn already formed on his triceps.

"That was for the first death you caused," Voldemort said, reaching out and indelicately inspecting the blistering tissue. "Hold out your arm. You have six more people to answer for."

At once, Harry's obeyed, closing his eyes and releasing a long breath. Voldemort brought the candle back to his skin and began to count.

He watched those lean muscles tremble involuntarily with betrayal at Harry's refusal to move. This was doing damage, it would hurt incredibly, especially the waiting. That had to be agonising.

"Six."

Harry had stopped breathing, holding his breath in desperate anticipation.

"Seven."

The boy yanked his arm away, falling back onto his arse and cradling his wounds carefully.

"That hurts," Harry moaned, and Voldemort hummed.

"I know. Arm up, Harry."

The boy got shakily to his knees once more and extended his limb. When Voldemort brought the candle back, Harry turned his head to the side, closing his eyes.

Voldemort began to count. He marvelled at the self-control that Harry possessed. His stubborn willpower. The bottomless pit of self-loathing that Harry obviously carried which compelled him to endure this pain.

It would take years to undo the damage that the world had done to the boy. To teach him that he was precious. Blameless. To see himself as Lord Voldemort saw him.

Fortunately, they had years. They had all the time they could desire and eventually the boy would take his marks simply to please him and not because he felt that he deserved them. The process would be long and Harry would fight it, yet that did not dissuade Voldemort.

Harry was worth the time it would take.

He was worth everything.

"Your arm, Harry."

Immediately, the boy offered himself up to Voldemort's care.

For now, Voldemort would humour these insecurities. After all, he enjoyed hurting Harry and Lord Voldemort possessed enough confidence in the boy to make up for Harry's imagined deficit.

The boy winced and shook, but ultimately held himself strong for this arbitrary demand, as he did for every arbitrary demand that was placed upon him.

It amazed him that Harry could believe himself weak. Every action he took displayed nothing but resolute tenacity and power. Harry was a dazzling force of nature. He—

The sound of a Patronus appearing instantly diverted him. It was an otter, and it made its way to Harry who was still on his knees. The boy's mouth parted with shock.

"The Ministry is chaos," the otter spoke with the voice of Hermione Weasley. "We need you. A search party is imminent. Anyone with you will be found, Harry. Come back."

When the otter's mouth closed, the beast vanished into silence.

Harry held his stare, his expression lost.

"I have to go," the boy whispered, and Voldemort felt a fist of fury, of greed grip his chest.

"You do not. They cannot call you to heel like an errant dog."

Harry shook his head, looking pained.

"You know I have to go."

Voldemort stood.

"Stay where you are."

Harry smiled miserably up at him and then got to his feet.

"You know I can't."

"You can. You will."

"No, Voldemort. Listen to me—"

"You are not to move one—"

"They're going to find you!" Harry shouted, his anger suddenly exploding in the room. "Didn't you hear that? They're going to come looking for me and if they find you, they'll take you back to Azkaban!"

That fury was distracting. Harry was almost irresistible when enraged. Those flashing eyes, that heaving chest... It would be so simple to bend him over and just take him. Make him submit.

Keep him safe.

With effort, Voldemort forced himself to focus.

"It is blackmail, then," Voldemort stated, recalling her threat. "She seeks to control you because she knows that you fear for my safety. Yet you forget that I am Lord Voldemort and he cannot be—"

"Just— stop it with all that right now, alright? Merlin. I don't have time to listen to you wax poetic about how dangerous you are."

Voldemort froze with incredulity.

Harry sighed and began to dress.

"I love you, Voldemort. I know you're powerful and scary and all of that, but the reality is that you have no magic and they will take you back to prison. Don't you remember that? Being beaten and starved and..."

Harry's face hardened, his jaw muscles flexing against the thin skin of his face.

"I won't let them touch you again, Voldemort." His voice was low and thick with resolve. With suppressed violence. Unconsciously, Voldemort took a step towards him. "Do you understand me? They will come and take you if I stay and you can't— you fucking can't expect me to allow that."

Harry heaved a deep breath and then seemed to regain his control. Voldemort watched as that impressive figure stalked towards him, closing the gap.

"I'll come back when it's safe." Those green eyes darted away guiltily and then returned. "I'm sorry for leaving in the middle of... this. I don't want to. I still need..." Harry shook his head. "But it'll have to wait. Okay?"

Harry's calloused finger traced the skin of Voldemort's cheek. He felt his eyelids close, but he forced them open once more.

"Let me come with you," he breathed, staring into the boy's eyes intently.

Harry smiled, then shook his head.

"You can't. Mr Foncé was seen killing civilians. He has to die."

"I have other samples. Other people I can—"

Harry leaned forward and captured his lips, silencing him with a claiming kiss. Voldemort buried one hand in those black locks and the other he used to pull the boy closer. Harry moaned, pressing his hips into Voldemort's thighs, and abruptly an overwhelming need to take— to claim and control surged through him, but Harry pushed him back.

Broke the kiss.

Voldemort was forced to release him.

"I have to go," Harry said breathlessly, though his expression was determined. "I'm sorry."

"Let me come."

"Trust me to handle this. You have to."

Disliking that assertion, Voldemort grabbed the boy's throat, but Harry knocked his hand aside and pushed him back until Voldemort's head banged against a wall.

"Listen to me, Tom," Harry growled, pressing his forearm into Voldemort's throat, cutting off his breath and his ability to speak. "I am going alone. You will wait here for me."

Voldemort worked to free his arms that were trapped in Harry's hold. He was aware that he could succeed if he used all of his strength. If he truly wished to liberate himself.

"When I return," Harry went on, shifting a leg forward to nudge against Voldemort's unexpected erection. The contact was staggering and he made a deplorable sound. Harry's lips curled up in cruel amusement. "I am going to make you pay for disobeying me."

Voldemort struggled, despising the boy's insolence, but Harry pressed against him harder, ceasing his movement.

"You know," the boy said slowly, tilting his head and levelling him with a considering expression, "I told you that if you killed anyone else, that you would lose me."

All the pressure and stimulation suddenly disappeared as Harry stepped back. Putting distance between them.

Voldemort straightened up, warily watching the boy.

"I told you that, and yet you did it again."

The words hit him solidly and he almost staggered under their weight.

"You did not mean it," Voldemort insisted, but his eyes roved that face in search of reassurance.

Harry held his gaze for several long moments. Critical contingency plans raced through his mind— he would kidnap him, keep him at his side until the boy saw reason; he would feed him the Draught of Living Death to allow for a pause until Voldemort could regain his magic, then he would use his powers to convince the boy to stay; he would—

Harry's defeated sigh cleared his rapid thoughts and brought his attention back.

"I don't know," Harry confessed wearily, rubbing his face. "I don't want to lose you, but you can't—"

"I did it to protect you."

Harry eyed him skeptically.

"But why? You'd already given me the shield and the charms on it. There were Aurors that weren't being controlled by you who could have done their job and protected me." Harry smiled weakly and then shrugged. "I'm also pretty good with a wand. I could have taken care of Lucius Malfoy without you killing anyone."

Voldemort would not entertain speculations. They did not matter. What mattered was keeping Harry at his side.

"You will not leave," Voldemort informed him.

Harry's face hardened.

"I am leaving. I have to go sort out this mess. But I haven't decided yet if I'm leaving you."

Voldemort strode forward, needing to take control.

"You cannot."

Harry narrowed his eyes.

"I can. And I will if you keep killing people! Don't you understand?"

An unfamiliar feeling of uncertainty, of fear began to compress his chest. He had to make Harry comprehend that he would stop at nothing to keep the boy.

"Do you believe that I will let you walk away?" Voldemort asked in a deadly whisper. "Do you think that your leaving will do anything but ignite my murderous rage? If you attempt this, I will flood the Earth with blood. I will tear apart every—"

"You have no magic."

"I do not need it, Harry," Voldemort growled. "If you leave, I will shred the skin from your Hermione's face. Rip open her children, feed their hearts to Draco Malfoy and watch him choke on—"

"Jesus— stop! What is wrong with you? Who talks like that?"

Harry strode away, running a hand through his hair. Voldemort watched him.

"Fuck! Is that what's inside your head? Messed up images of dead kids and— and— cannibalism? Christ."

Harry leaned his forehead against the window pane. The action was so dejected, so resigned that Voldemort found himself walking closer. He needed to put his hands on those slumped shoulders.

When he made contact, Harry did not shake off his touch. Instead, those warm fingers came up and gripped his, squeezing.

He wrapped one arm around Harry's chest and pulled his head off the glass. Carefully, he tucked the boy under his chin and rested his cheek against Harry's hair.

"Come back to me when you are through with your friends," he said, inhaling Harry's scent. "We can discuss our hard lines when you return home."

Harry burrowed in closer to him.

"Home," the boy repeated softly.

Voldemort closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself one more moment of peace before he released the boy.

"Go to them," he commanded, gently pushing Harry towards the door. "Then come home to me."