Title: The One True King

Author: Shara Lunison

Beta: Batsutousai

Rating: M

Pairings: eventual HP/LV, JP/LE, HP/everyone, ever

Warnings: AU; OoC; character death; pseudo Lion King crossover; dark, insane, promiscuous, Slytherin Harry; pseudo incest; more as they happen

Disclaim Her: An early chapter because you're all awesome. And, you know, because this is what you've been waiting for. SLASH SEX AHEAD! I might start updating twice a week…if you ask nicely. :P

~My Heart Knows Me Better Than I Know Myself~

Harry woke slowly. He felt warm, ensconced in the most comfortable bed he'd ever lain in. His magic felt somehow full, as though it had eaten something particularly satisfying. When he opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was. It didn't seem to matter. He was in no pain, no discomfort. For perhaps the first time in his life, he felt completely at home.

And then the Dark Lord's face leaned into his vision and his eyes met a pair of concerned red orbs, and he remembered, with a rush, what had happened.

But even that didn't matter, while he was looking into those eyes. Something had changed. He couldn't quite put his finger on what, but he knew something was different.

"I'm glad you're awake," Lord Voldemort said. The mattress shifted slightly, and Harry realized that the Dark Lord was sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. "You've been asleep for more than a week."

Harry blinked slowly, then decided it might be time to move a bit. He pulled his arms from under the covers, and pushed slightly at the thick duvet that was lying over him. He felt sluggish, but still entirely comfortable. His brain kept shying away from the thought that this was the Dark Lord sitting next to him. What did that matter, anyway?

Lord Voldemort was smiling at him now. Harry experienced his first moment of discomfort when his heart decided to skip a beat. "Wha happ'n'd?" he mumbled.

The Dark Lord's lips twitched, as though he were suppressing an outright grin. "Our magic interacted in a very rare and complicated manner known as Resonance. It would seem that until we can resolve this matter, I will have to refrain from casting magic on you and vice versa."

Harry's brow furrowed, and he pushed at the covers a little harder, struggling to sit up and think properly. A thought made him look down and he realized with a start that he was sitting naked in the bed. He focused on his left arm, the source of his thoughts, and saw the perfect shape of the dark mark branded there. He touched it gently, and it sang under his fingertips. At the same time, he heard the Dark Lord suck in a sharp breath, almost a gasp.

Looking up, Harry noted that the bright red of Lord Voldemort's eyes had darkened to ruby shadows. "My mark is all right, though?" he managed to ask clearly.

The Dark Lord nodded, leaning slightly closer as Harry's hand closed over the mark and tightened. "Do you feel that?"

Harry nodded, hesitantly. "What is it?"

"The Resonance. My magic calls to you and yours calls to me. When I cast the dark mark on your arm, our magics mixed dangerously. You are not yet strong enough to withstand it as I did."

"But what causes it?" Harry asked, stroking his fingers over the mark again.

Voldemort closed his eyes and visibly shuddered. "No one really knows. But there are theories. One is that when two wizards form a Resonance, it means that sometime in their futures, a very strong magical connection will be formed between them. The Resonance is that connection echoing backward through time to reach them in the now. But that is a paradox. If you and I were to form such a connection in the future, it would be influenced by our knowing of the Resonance now. I do not believe that time works like that."

Harry nodded again, in silent agreement. His fingers stilled over the mark, and Voldemort opened his eyes once more, staring at Harry questioningly. Harry hesitated, then allowed his magic to pool in his fingers as though he were holding a wand and about to cast a spell. Then he stroked the mark again.

Voldemort moaned, and one long-fingered hand reached out and seized Harry's wrist before he could touch the mark again. "Stop," the Dark Lord commanded. His voice had deepened and developed a husky undertone.

This was it. This was what had changed. Harry lifted his left hand and laid it overtop of Voldemort's hand on his wrist. The flesh was warm and smooth. He never wanted to stop touching it. Wanted to touch every inch of that skin, up the Dark Lord's arm to the juncture of shoulder and neck, the ears, the strong chin, the lips...

"I think I've fallen in love with you, my lord," Harry whispered, his hand tightening slightly on the Dark Lord's hand. And Voldemort squeezed Harry's wrist in turn.

"I know," Voldemort whispered back.

Harry looked away from where they were touching, back up to the Dark Lord's face. It seemed...pained. "What is it?"

Lord Voldemort shook his head, and pulled his hand away. "You should rest. I have something I must attend to. Do not touch your mark while I am gone."

Harry watched the Dark Lord as he left the room, taking in the opulent chamber where he was resting and asking, desperately, "Where am I?"

Voldemort paused in the doorway, and half-turned his head back to face the bed. "You are in my home. And that is my bed."

Then he was gone.

Harry burrowed back under the covers and breathed deeply of the scent he found there. It was spice and musk, and some other note that was uniquely Voldemort. He was sleeping in the Dark Lord's bed. Harry giggled, feeling giddy. Then he pulled up his left arm until he could look at the dark mark where he lay. It was beautiful, inky black. He had slept through it healing, or perhaps Lord Voldemort had healed it to spare him. Harry smiled at the thought. He wanted to thank his lord for taking care of him, but he was already starting to feel sleepy.

A thought occurred to him, and Harry bit his lip indecisively. It wasn't technically touching, but...

It would probably be okay; Harry leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against the mark, then fell into a peaceful sleep.

Elsewhere in the house, Lord Voldemort shuddered and fell to his knees, thankfully alone. It felt as though someone had pressed a healing kiss to his very soul. The pleasure was indescribable, but it was mixed with immeasurable pain. His soul was cracked and weak, he now knew. He didn't deserve what Harry was capable of giving him.

Kneeling alone in the corridor, the Dark Lord wept.

~Open Your Wings, Evil Angel~

When next Harry woke, he was alone in the Dark Lord's room. A sense of urgency was tingling across his senses, driving him back into the waking world. He opened his eyes on a dark room, his magic rippling in the air around him and occasionally darting across the room toward the door.

Harry could take a hint. Something was calling him. And given what had happened recently, he was sure it was the Dark Lord who needed him.

He pushed off the covers and slid out of the bed, remembering again that he was naked. Normally, he wouldn't have cared about covering himself before following his magic, but he didn't know who else might be in this house other than the Dark Lord, and he didn't know how his lord would take him wandering around nude, even if there was an urgent need.

Looking around, Harry saw an ancient wardrobe and he stumbled across the room to it as quickly as he could, the sense of urgency growing every minute. Inside, the wardrobe was packed with a huge selection of robes, suits, jackets, and pants folded over hangers. He grabbed the first robe he could find that wasn't covered in delicate embroidery, threw it on, and then left the room while holding it closed in one hand.

In the corridor outside, Harry squinted against the very Muggle electric lights that hung from the ceiling. He appeared to be in a narrow hallway that was lined with doors, and a staircase at either end, one up and one down. His magic told him to go down, so he turned right from the bedroom doorway and descended the stairs at the end of the hallway. Here, he found himself in the foyer of the house, with three doors leading off of it. Harry turned to the closest one, and pushed it open without knocking. It was a den, with a seating arrangement on one side in front of the fireplace, and a desk made of dark wood on the other side surrounded by tall built-in bookcases crowded with volumes.

The Dark Lord was sitting behind the desk, his head in his hands. A small tumbler of liquor was sitting near his elbow, thick beads of condensation covering the surface. Whatever ice had been in it was long melted.

"My lord?" Harry asked softly, approaching the desk cautiously despite his magic urging him into physical contact with the Dark Lord.

"What have you done to me?" Voldemort asked him, brokenly. "What kind of magic is this?"

Harry decided his magic was right and caution was unnecessary. He rounded the desk and gently pulled his lord's hands away from his face. There were tears on those pale cheeks. The crimson eyes were red from more than the dark magic that filled them. Harry softly wiped away the tears, then leaned down slowly and pressed his lips against Lord Voldemort's. This moment reminded him painfully of the night he had comforted Severus, and he pulled back when the Dark Lord parted his lips as though to invite him entrance.

Harry ran his fingers through his lord's thick black hair, and perched on the edge of the desk so he could remain in close proximity. He forgot about holding the robe closed, though, so when the Dark Lord growled and pulled him forcibly off the desk to straddle him in the chair, his naked front was pressed against the warm, rough fabric of his lord's robes. He gasped, quickly becoming aroused.

"I have been entirely out of countenance this week you've been asleep, dear Harry," Voldemort hissed in his ear. "And now that you are awake, I am feeling things for the first time since I was a child. And then you dare to kiss me..." a rough hand grabbed a handful of Harry's hair at the back of his head, and yanked until his throat was exposed. "I think it is past time that you give me what I want. NOW!"

Sharp teeth bit into Harry's neck, and he cried out at the mix of pleasure and pain, sure that there was blood being drawn. The Dark Lord's free hand grabbed the back of the robes hanging from Harry's shoulder, and pulled until Harry was forced to twist his arms and allow the fabric to fall away entirely. When he sat naked in Voldemort's lap, the Dark Lord stopped his assault and pulled back, his hands moving down to Harry's hips as he looked over his prize.

"Do you know how your naked flesh sleeping in my bed tortured me, Harry?" Voldemort's hands caressed Harry's sides, moving up until his thumbs could stroke the pebbled brown nipples. Harry threw his head back once more, his breath catching. "Do you know how long it has been for me?"

Voldemort grew quiet then, leaning forward to tease Harry's chest with his lips and tongue. Harry's hands came up of their own will to tangle in those black locks once more, little gasps and cries of pleasure escaping his lips as the Dark Lord worked. After a few minutes of this, the Dark Lord lifted Harry onto the edge of the desk once more, and stood to lean over him, one hand going down to open the fly on his trousers while his sensual assault moved up to Harry's lips.

Harry tasted blood in Voldemort's mouth, and he clutched harder at the broad shoulders now leaning over him, drawing his legs up until his feet rested precariously on the edge of the desk. The Dark Lord's hand was between them, guiding, as he rocked his groin against Harry's bottom.

"My lord!" Harry cried, breaking the kiss. It had been more than a month since he had bottomed—his body wasn't at all prepared, but he didn't care. He wanted to feel his lord inside of him. He wanted the hot, hard passion he was sure the Dark Lord possessed.

Voldemort guided himself to Harry's entrance, and began to press in. His head lowered to Harry's shoulder and he whispered, "Tom."

"W-what?" Harry gasped, opening eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. The Dark Lord lifted his head to look at Harry, a vulnerable expression masking the lust in his eyes.

"My name is Tom."

Harry groaned as his lord breached the ring of muscle that guarded his entrance. It burned even as it sparked his arousal, and he returned the gift he had been given as they rocked together on the edge of the Dark Lord's desk. "Tom!"

They spiraled into oblivion together.

~No Good Deed Goes Unpunished~

Harry sat in the chair opposite Tom's desk in the den, watching as his lord scribbled notes on a scroll of parchment using a Muggle fountain pen. He felt a surreal sort of fascination to be sitting there and watching that. It was now three days since he had first woken up. There were only three weeks until he returned to school, and for the first time he was feeling reluctant to return. Because now there was Tom.

Tom, who had demanded that Harry spend the remainder of his time before school with him. Tom, who had sent a missive to Lucius, Severus, and the other Death Eaters telling them that sharing what had occurred during Harry's marking would result in a long and painful death. Tom, who still hadn't quite explained what sort of relationship this was, where Harry was a servant, and Voldemort the lord, and Tom a different entity all together.

Tom. Harry's Tom.

"Tom," Harry whispered, without thinking.

The Dark Lord looked up, a questioning look in his beautiful crimson eyes. Harry shook his head, and Tom returned to his scribbling.

The worst part of the entire scenario was that Harry was bound to this man as surely as iron was drawn to a lodestone. But Tom was not bound to him in turn.

Tom did not return his love. Could not. Harry hadn't thought that it would bother him-because at least he was considered precious to the Dark Lord. At least he would be kept until school started again. But there was a niggling doubt—a fear that Tom would choose someone else while Harry was away. A frown marred Harry's face, and he slouched a little bit in his chair, not realizing as he did so that the Dark Lord had stopped writing and was watching him pensively.

Who would it be? Harry wondered. Perhaps Bellatrix...she was one of his most devoted Death Eaters, apparently. Harry hadn't even known she was one until she stood beside him in that circle after the deaths of the Potters. Thinking of them lifted Harry's spirits slightly, and he smiled a little to think of the article on the front page of the Daily Prophet. James' devastated face was even now adorning the wall above Harry's own desk, upstairs and down the hall from Tom's bedroom.

Thoughts of Tom's bedroom drew him inevitably back to his relationship with the Dark Lord. Harry wanted...he didn't know what he wanted, but the current situation wasn't satisfying some need hidden in his heart. The only thing he was sure of, was that the need was not for the Dark Lord's love.

A heavy sigh made Harry look up, and he realized finally that Tom had been watching him. "Sorry," Harry whispered, flushing.

"I wish you would just tell me what the problem is so I can fix it," Tom said waspishly.

Harry shrugged, ignoring the way Tom's mouth tightened at the action. "If I knew how to explain it, I would tell you. But I don't."

Tom threw down his pen and stood, coming round the desk. He settled against the edge in front of Harry and crossed his arms over his chest. "Then let me see it in your mind."

Harry hesitated, then looked into Tom's eyes. It would be useless to try and keep secrets from Tom. He had nothing to hide.

Harry felt a flickering on the edges of his senses, like seeing something just out of the corner of your eye that disappeared as soon as you looked. He saw a slight smirk on Tom's face, and asked, "What? It's not embarrassing or silly, is it?"

Tom shook his head ever so slightly, not breaking eye-contact. "I just noticed you seem to have a natural talent for Occlumency. It's impressive that you can sense me, though you're probably aided by knowing that I'm doing it."

Harry frowned. "But if I learned Occlumency, wouldn't that block you out?"

Tom looked at him, instead of through him as he broke the connection. "Only if you wish it. I can teach you-talent in Occlumency often leads to talent in Legilimency. We would be able to speak to one another through eye contact, and you could spy on people's minds for me. It's a useful talent."

"Okay, if that's what you want. What did you find?"

The Dark Lord sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're afraid of me taking someone else as a lover while you're away at school, which you already knew. I can alleviate that one by telling you that if I have any such urges, you will be summoned through your mark, and I will have my wicked way with you whenever I like."

Harry felt a flush climbing his neck, and ducked his head as a silly grin lit his face.

"The second part is harder to explain. You want something from me. Something unnamed. It might just be related to the Resonance. And it may be that I simply need to pay more attention to you. I can't quite tell what the answer is, either." Tom moved back around the desk to retake his seat, and Harry felt an inexplicable sense of disappointment. When Tom looked up at him, he stilled and asked, "What's wrong?"

Harry stood and moved around the desk, plopping himself in Tom's lap. "I think I might just need to be closer to you," he whispered. "That weird feeling got ten times worse when you moved back over here."

Tom's arms came around him, and Harry snuggled into his chest, smiling at the warmth that was spreading through him.

"I hope this isn't because of the Resonance," Tom said softly. "If our being apart causes you to feel like this because of our magic, I can't see how we'd be able to stay apart while you're at school all year."

Harry nodded silently, closing his eyes to soak in the feeling of being loved and held. This was all he needed. It didn't feel like magic, only like something he had always wanted and never been able to have.

Tom kissed him softly on the forehead, and Harry smiled as he slowly drifted off to sleep, napping in his lover's arms.

~Sweet Sun, Send Me the Moon~

When Harry returned to school to begin his sixth year, there was a large bruise on one side of his neck that clearly contained a vicious set of teeth marks. The Dark Lord had insisted on marking Harry as his the night before...amongst other things. As he walked through the train cars searching for Severus, Harry was met with horrified gasps from many students who saw the bruises, and many of those whom he had slept with in the past gave him wildly curious or amazed looks. It was clear from the tooth marks that Harry Potter was now an owned man. The playboy of Hogwarts had been defeated, and everyone wanted to know who was responsible.

He found Severus in a compartment along with Regulus and Barty, and as soon as he came through the door, Severus grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the corridor and down the hall to the boy's loo. A complex series of spells ensured them total privacy before Severus asked, "What happened!"

Tom had coached Harry on what to say should any of the thirteen ask him this, and he had promised not to tell anyone the truth-even Severus. "There was a reaction between my magic and the Dark Lord's. He kept me for the rest of the summer so he could research it."

Severus raised an eyebrow, knowing him well enough to detect a lie. "I see." And he did. Severus would know that this was exactly what the Dark Lord had told him to do, and would ask nothing more. "And this?" a long finger poked the bruise on Harry's neck, and he winced. Tom had made sure that it couldn't be covered by any glamour or healed with any magic.

"Our lord...did that as well," Harry whispered, a blush climbing his cheeks. He looked away from Severus' dark eyes, afraid of what he might see there.

"I see," Severus said again, softly this time. "Did he...? Are you...?" He didn't seem to know how to phrase what he was trying to ask.

"I was more than willing," Harry said with a small smile, looking back up at his friend. "I'm only a little worried because I think I've fallen in love with him...and he isn't capable of returning those feelings."

Severus' eyes grew distant, and he nodded. "If I could have had Lily, even knowing that she didn't love me, I would have been happy anyway. I'm glad our lord accepted you."

"Do you...still want her?" Harry asked quietly. He didn't want to reopen new wounds, but if it was ever in his power to deliver Lily Evans into Severus' hands...he would do it in a heartbeat if that was what his friend wanted.

"Yes," Severus said simply. "And no. I don't think I could ever love her the same, now. Not after James has touched her."

"And after I've killed James?" Harry asked.

Severus paused, a gleam appearing in his eyes as he considered the thought of a very dead James Potter. "She would not come to me willingly. I am not interested in rape. And a broken Lily would not be the same. I don't see any way that it could work, even then."

Harry nodded, and dropped the subject. He could see a way to make it work. And he would, if Lily Evans survived James Potter's death.

"Do you want me to heal it?" Severus asked.

Harry shook his head. "You wouldn't be able to. It has to heal naturally. I was a little worried about what the professors were going to say or try to do about it-but then I remembered that I'm a disowned orphan, and they're lucky Father paid for all seven years of my schooling in advance. I don't think they legally can do anything, except give me detention for distracting the other students." He laughed a little, and Severus smirked in amusement.

They dismantled the spells on the loo and returned to the compartment. Regulus was giving Harry hungry looks every time he glimpsed the bite marks on his neck. Perhaps there was something about it that finally clued him in to the fact that he had lost their little fuck war the summer before. Harry did grow tired of the looks, though, and worried. So he finally snapped, "If you so much as touch me inappropriately, and he finds out about it, you will be rewarded with a slow and painful death. Consider yourself warned, Regulus Black."

Severus snorted, probably because Harry had used the exact same wording that Tom had used in his letters to the thirteen witnesses about discussing the events of that night.

Regulus paled, obviously capable of connecting the dots to who, exactly, would have the power to do something like that. After that, he barely even looked at Harry, much less leered.

On the ride up to the castle, Harry suddenly remembered something very important. "I can't believe this will be your last year," he told Severus.

Severus smiled slightly, and shrugged. "I'll be so busy studying for NEWTs that we probably won't get to spend any time together. And you'll be busy actively recruiting among the lower years anyway, won't you?"

Harry nodded. The Dark Lord had given him a bit more power over the school by singling him out before he even began his sixth year. He would personally oversee the other sixth years who would join this Easter, and would be the primary witness among each of their thirteen. Barty and Regulus, who were in the carriage with them, would be two of those.

Severus pursed his lips pensively. "Sometimes…often I wish that I had been born a year later than I was. Perhaps if I had been in your year, instead of Potter's, things would be quite different than they have been. I do not relish another year without my best friend."

That last said so softly, that Harry was sure neither Barty nor Regulus could have heard.

"You will see me more often than you think next year," Harry whispered just as softly. "Assuming he doesn't tire of me first."

Severus' lips twitched. "I never thought that I would be hoping the Dark Lord keeps a lover for an indefinite period of time."

Harry just laughed.