Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Yay! I'm so happy you all liked the slash scene! It was the first time I ever wrote anything like that, so it's a relief to see I'm doing it right!

Thank you so much to my reviewers, favouriters (?) and followers for giving such great support! :D

To the guests:

Alia: Thank you! I'm glad you liked the chapter :)

Ghost77401: Thank you for writing such an enthusiastic review! I particularly liked you "shut the front door" comment :P

autumngold: Ouf! I'll try to live up to that scene in the future, I wouldn't want you to skip it ;) And...what makes you think that Voldemort is the one who will change? Perhaps it is Harry who will...you'll see! ;)

FanFictionLover: I'm glad you liked the banana peel! I was laughing myself silly when I wrote it. And I knew you'd like the slash and ask for more. All in due time, don't worry. This is supposed to be a Romance, after all. There should be some of it at some point in the story :P

boblove321: Haha! I tried the imagine the scene when you spat your orange juice in response to Voldemort's comment about his harem. It would be hot, right? ;)

Enjoy!

Warning: A bit of crude language at the end.

Chapter 22: 12th of August 1997: Potions and Reflections

I felt a bit conflicted about the kiss I had shared with the Dark Lord. That night, I had left the study floating on cloud nine, dismissing the small worry that was nagging at the back of my mind.

Progressively, as time passed and I only saw glimpses of the Dark Lord at Malfoy Manor, I had begun to question whether he and I had the same idea of what had happened. For instance, when he said it was my birthday gift, did that mean that he was only granting me a favour that I obviously wanted when he kissed me? And that, in normal circumstances, he wouldn't have bothered to do it? He did make a few allusions to me joining up his hypothetical harem...so, maybe...it meant that he desired me. Or at least, that he found me attractive enough to be potentially interesting. Which wasn't a small thing. This was the Dark Lord, by the gods, not just anybody! He's got to have the highest standards in the country, at least!

So, despite that our kiss could mean nothing more than the Dark Lord being vaguely interested (or at least not repulsed) in me, it wasn't an insignificant discovery.

Now, on the question of whether I was interested in him, or how that affected my mission to kill him, well, let's just say that it wasn't as easily settled in my mind. I was undoubtedly attracted to the man; I had always been. I also desired him, yearned for his magic...and his body. And well...I had interacted a bit with him, and had discussed a lot more with the Malfoys, and the impression I now had of the Dark Lord was... positive. I got the feeling that he was a very powerful man who had always lived in relative isolation from the rest of his kind because he had always been more intelligent, more mature or jaded than them. Of course, I didn't forget that he also had the biggest ego in the country, was self-centered, short-tempered and controlling, cruel and manipulative. He wasn't big on individual rights and liberties, on conciliating different opinions and points of views; he just imposed his as rules.

So...where did that leave me? I supposed...exactly where I was before. I didn't want to be the jury, judge and executioner in this story, just barging in and justifying my actions by some vague prophecy that might or might not designate me as his future killer.

But I didn't want to surrender the Duel either. The Dark Lord would crush me to the ground; he would make me pay for that challenge. The minute I was out of the Non-Aggression clause after my forfeit, I'd probably be dead. One kiss didn't make me change my opinion about that, despite what he tried to say about me being 'entertaining enough to keep alive' or 'making him laugh', those sort of things were directly aimed at making me trust him. Yeah, maybe he was lonely at the top of the world; I could believe that. But dammit, since when did you need a seventeen years old kid to distract you? I mean, if he were just aiming for me to be in his bed, as sad and desperate as it makes me sound, by this time, I'd probably already be in it! It's the Dark Lord, come on, who wouldn't? Especially when he temporarily couldn't hurt you and when you knew you were probably going to die soon... No time to regret bad decisions, right?

Anyway. The next time I saw him was about a week later when I passed him in a corridor while heading for an evening training. He was walking with Lucius to the study, absorbed in his conversation with his Minister. From what I heard of it, it sounded about a new policy for wand-quality control. When I talked about it with Lucius afterwards, he explained to me that they wanted to quash the black market for low quality wands because they had a tendency to blow up at the face of their users. Their plan sounded reasonable, but that wasn't the point. I was standing there, pausing slightly to look at Voldemort passing by, and he just shot me a glance and quirked one side of his mouth slightly and then he returned to his conversation. That's it. No earth-shattering reunion where he shoved me against the wall in the corridor and kissed me passionately again. Not that I expected that in front of Lucius, but this easy dismissal seemed quite cold to me. Hadn't we shared something important? Probably not. After all, this was the Dark Lord we were talking about. The man probably had tons of lovers. I had to be realistic. What was a little kiss compared to that? Nothing, really...

Therefore, I had concluded that it had been nothing more than a mutually beneficial arrangement. I wanted him, he wanted me (perhaps less than me, but still), and we kissed. We could probably do more if I let him, or if he decided that he wanted more...I wasn't against that, as long as he gave me some time to adjust to the situation. Which I supposed was what he was doing at the moment.

It had taken me quite a while to reach that conclusion. In the meantime, Remus had come for few session of tutoring. It had been good to see him again and to ask him what he had been doing for the past seven or so years. It turned out that he was living with Tonks. And not just living with her...Apparently, they had recently gotten together, at Tonks' insistence (or persistence?). Well...to say that I was surprised was to put it mildly, but who was I to judge when I 'got the hots' for someone who was old enough to be my grandfather?

So, according to Remus, they had settled well in their new life as upstanding citizens of the Dark Lord's regime. Sometimes, they didn't agree with some policies, but well...wasn't that always the case? It seemed like he had adopted the same attitude as I currently had on the topic: the 'But which regime is perfect?' rhetorical question.

He didn't ask me what I was doing in Malfoy Manor and in direct contact with the Dark Lord. He didn't ask if I had given up my 'Task' or was still in the process of fulfilling it. I was grateful for his silence on the subject. I wouldn't know how to answer it at the moment. We talked about Sirius. Remus had heard of his death, but didn't know much about how it had happened. I told him the little I knew of it. I still didn't understand what had happened with the cursed magical artefact. Neville hadn't been very clear on the subject. I could probably ask the Dark Lord for more details, but, judging by the fact that he reacted so furiously to the Rebels' attempt to steal the object, I didn't think he'd be open to discuss it openly with me.

Anyway, Remus tested me on my subjects, and only briefly checked my theoretical knowledge in Defense and Charms before he pronounced me ready for my NEWTs in these two subjects. He passed more time on testing my Transfiguration and Astrology, but really, Sirius had always been quite good at them, so I had plenty of experience with them as well, I just needed more theory. My exotic plants required a bit of work, since we didn't have any at the village, but I had learnt how to take care of the rest well enough from when I had hung out with Neville. My Potions were horrendous, as expected. It was a difficult discipline to learn, very precise and detailed, and nobody at the Rebel camp had been good enough to teach it well to me. We had always bought or traded the potions we needed there.

Remus had nearly pronounced me a lost cause in Potions. Well, he hadn't, but judging from his desperate sighing, I knew that it wasn't going as swiftly as he wished. 'When the foundations aren't solid, you can't build anything good on it,' he said. I was a bit (a lot) mortified when he said he had to talk about it with the Dark Lord because there was not much he could do at this point.

One morning, when I had steeled myself for another horrendous session with Remus in the Potions lab of Malfoy Manor, I found somebody else waiting for me. The man was tall, had dark, greasy hair and a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken a few times. When he turned his eyes on me, I nearly froze on the spot. He was intimidating in a whole different sense than the Dark Lord. I didn't feel welcomed by his magic; I didn't see a spark of humour or challenge in his eyes. There was only contempt and disgust in there. I had never been confronted to such animosity. Even the looks Moody had thrown me sometimes weren't as hate-filled as this.

He sneered slightly at me and said:

"I always thought that James Potter was the worst Potions student ever to sully the ground of a Potions lab. It seems like I was wrong, and that his son has surpassed him in yet another field of incompetence. That they chose this pitiful wolf that barely managed to pass his Potions NEWTs by the skin of his very sharp teeth is a disgrace, but I can understand why no one wanted to take on such an impossible task. The burden, sadly, has fallen upon my shoulders today and I was instructed by the Dark Lord to try to penetrate this thick fog that you call your mind and teach you the basics of my precise and delicate art. You shall attempt to not make me loose too much of my precious time, but I do not have high hopes for you, Potter."

My eyes had widened in disbelief when I listened to the man. Just who was this man and how dare he just stroll in my life with his preconceived notions of me? I had never even met him! Or, at least, I thought not, even if his face seemed vaguely familiar. If this was to be my Potions tutor, however, I didn't want to start on an even worst standing than the low point where I apparently was at the moment. I resolved to be unfailingly polite, like with the Goblins. To appease him like an unknown, dangerous creature. There's got to be a reason why this insulting man was chosen for this task, after all. I cleared my throat.

"I am sorry to hear that you have such a negative view of me. You seem to have known my father better than me. May I ask your name, sir?

-You say that you do not recognise me? You are an ignorant child."

Okay, politeness was difficult to maintain in the face of such a hostile behaviour.

"I apologise for my lack of culture, sir, I grew up in a very isolated place. Perhaps if you told me your name, I would recognise it?" There, that was polite. Try to find something to reproach to that.

He snorted, but answered:

"Severus Snape is my name, boy. No doubt you will have heard of me from your idiotic mutt of a godfather."

I had to strengthen my Occlumency shields to keep myself from shouting at this horrible man. A stab of pain shot through me at the allusion to Sirius. I couldn't let his memory be tainted by this greasy git. I clung to what I still had of calm to answer.

"Sir, kindly refrain from insulting my godfather in front of me, please. He was very dear to me and he passed away recently. I do recognise your name and can understand a part of your worries. I am quite surprised that the esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts would spare some of his precious time to tutor me and I thank you in advance for your help. I admit that I am in dire need of it.

-How dare you presume knowing what I think? You are presumptuous and arrogant like your father!"

I closed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose. Really, what was Voldemort thinking when he sent me this man as a tutor? He might be a brilliant Potion Master but, from what I had heard of it, everybody had been quite relieved when he stopped teaching, including the man himself. I tried to think of a way to make him instruct me.

This was the type of man who could and would make you beg for help and then laugh in your face when you kneeled on the ground to plead for it. I had my pride; I wasn't going to beg to the Headmaster of Hogwarts when I was only here on the Dark Lord's whim. I wouldn't need Potions where I was going. In a few months, I would most likely be dead anyway. I was just humouring Voldemort and getting my NEWTs. I liked to learn and it wasn't such a hassle for me. It did also give me more time to live. But I wasn't about to suffer through this any longer.

.

In the background, Headmaster Snape had continued to hurl abuse at everybody I ever cared for in my life. He slandered their names, burnt them at the stake and figuratively spit on their graves. I had enough. My control burst. My magic broke out of my body like a dam and it smashed the man into the wall, holding him there and silencing him. I swiftly went up to his face, looked him in the eye and said:

"That's enough. I didn't ask for any of this. If you won't tutor me, then don't. I certainly don't understand why the Headmaster of Hogwarts would teach me, but I don't care. I don't need a Potions NEWTs when I'm going to be dead in a few months at most. And whatever my family ever did to you in the past, I don't care either. They could have tied you to a tree, stripped you naked and urinated on you one after the other and I still wouldn't care. That's them. I'm me: A separate, distinct person who doesn't want to know your opinion about anything else than Potions at the moment. If you don't think you can teach me Potions in an efficient, respectful way, then get out. Or better yet, I'll just leave. I don't have any reason to bear with this. You will respect me; I will respect you; that's how it will work in this lab. Understood?" I said to him, categorically, my magic snapping and swirling around me, giving weight to my words. I wasn't about to let myself be crushed by this man. Enough was enough. Politeness didn't work,so I was trying a display of force.

Snape's beady black eyes were narrowed on my face, considering. After a while, he gave a sharp nod, and I released him from my magic's hold.

"Good. Let's start again. My name is Harry Potter, and it's an honour to have such a prestigious Potions Master as my tutor. I will do my best to learn as much as I can from your teaching."

He examined me again and then replied in a low voice:

"You better not make me regret this, Potter."

And such was the beginning of a weird and delicate balance between hate and grudging respect.

.

o0o0o

The Dark Lord was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Beside him was a man. The latter had passed out in exhaustion after Voldemort's...merciless attentions. Normally, he did try not to damage his lovers that much, but he couldn't muster the interest to care for such trivial things at the moment. The man wasn't even worth the title of 'lover'. The only thing he was good for was to get on his knees, perk up his ass and take everything the Dark Lord deigned to give him at that moment. It wasn't his first time with the other, but it would certainly be the last.

The Dark Lord's lips curled in a sneer when he dispassionately glanced at the straw-coloured hair of the exhausted man. He wished the other had black hair, at least... Maybe it would have made him keep him longer.

He couldn't even remember the man's name. He had never cared to learn it. In the past month, ever since he had met Harry, he silently admitted to himself, he had discarded his lovers one after the other. All he sought for was a certain satisfaction of his sexual appetite, but those meek and obedient little servants were not enough anymore. He found himself inexplicably looking for a spark of defiance in their eyes if he hurt or degraded them, but all he saw was adoration or fear. He had stopped looking at them altogether. This had to stop. These weak creatures disgusted him; they gave him the impression that he was a medieval King fucking his chambermaids.

He turned to the slumbering man lying next to him and pushed him out of the bed with a small disdainful wave of his hand. The other fell on the ground with a muted thud and sprung back to life, looking around frantically before he saw the Dark Lord on the bed and the sneer he still had on his lips. The blond man climbed up to his knees immediately.

"I'm sorry, my Lord! Whatever I did to displease you, it was not intended! Please, my Lord, give me another chance!" he cried out.

It was a disgusting display. His muddy brown eyes were glassy with tears, his hands were joined in a prayer and his back was slouched by despair. Why the Dark Lord had even granted him a second time, let alone a third, was a mystery.

"Get out," ordered Voldemort, turning his eyes away from the pathetic sight.

"B-but..." tried to articulate the other before stopping himself, spotting his clothes on the floor next to him and putting them on as fast as he could.

The Dark Lord took his wand from the bedside table and aimed it at him.

"Don't expect me to ever call you again. Remember that if you ever intend to talk about what happened here, you will find yourself in a world of pain and will die before you even uttered the first syllable. Consider yourself lucky I kept you for that long. Now, leave." he ordered again, shooting a Stinging hex at the other who wasn't moving fast enough for his taste.

He had wanted it to be a Cruciatus, but the younger soul part in him had stirred in protest. Perhaps such a response was indeed a bit exaggerated in this situation, but the other's presence in his bedchambers was irritating him. He nearly sighed in relief when the idiot left. He returned to his contemplation of the plain ceiling. With the amount of time he dedicated to it those days, he really ought to make it more interesting to look at.

He thought of how eager Harry had looked when he saw him again and of how disappointed he had seemed when the Dark Lord had barely acknowledged him in the corridor. His interest was obvious, really. Voldemort wondered why he hadn't called Harry to him in the past month instead of these fools. The answer came to him easily; Harry was his Horcrux. He had to thread carefully with him because he couldn't just discard him like he had just done with the other. He'd be stuck with the result for years afterwards. Not to mention that Harry probably wouldn't have let himself be treated like that.

But I want him, Salazar! He thought, his fists clenching in frustration. Harry had felt good pressed against that door. Pliant and yet with a touch of defiance and strength of character through it all. It had been delicious. Tauntingly enticing and not enough. Not nearly enough. He had forced himself to stop before he went further. As eager as the other had looked, he also was clearly not ready to deal with the consequences of such things. Harry had looked horribly conflicted when he saw him days later. And that was after just a kiss.

The young man was still under the impression that the Dark Lord was his enemy. This had to change. He needed a plan to make Harry accept that they wouldn't be fighting and to make him forfeit the annoying Duel.

What I want, I get. He resolved in a familiar mantra.

He would need a plan and put it to execution soon. He couldn't wait to have the younger man pinned under him again...

...

Hmmm, so Voldemort is scheming. Keep that in mind for the next couple of chapters. I will be important to understand his OCC moments. ;)

Next Chapter: a time skip and a...sticky situation :P

Thank you in advance to everybody who will review. I really liked the comments I got for the last chapter. Keep it up, people! :)