( TW: Sexual scene.)
State of Seduction, Digital Daggers
Creating chaos just to prove we're alive
Demolition of a delicate kind
Midnight confessions keep on blurring the lines
Say you're here on my side
Want you here on my side
You keep my heart under the cover of night
Could be the devil in a clever disguise
Temptation leads us, it's too late for goodbyes
Diving into destruction
Come undone with me
In the state of seduction
Come undone with me
Twisting and turning all according to plan
Your secret's safe until there's blood on my hands
Push me away but we're still victims of chance
And we're here in the light Now we're here in the light
We waged a war against the ghosts of our past
No one noticed they were under attack
We wanted freedom, now there's no turning back
'Cause we're here in the light
And I'm here on your side
Thursday afternoon ended the short period in which Death Eaters could be autonomous. Harry had been told to get dressed and was then Disapperated from the Room of Requirement to reappear outside Malfoy Manor.
The Dark Lord still hadn't fed his Horcrux, and he'd wince intermittently, looking nauseous. Harry had mentioned under his breath a few times that he knew how to stop the hunger, but he played deaf.
Harry wasn't overly concerned; he knew the fear would win, and his Horcrux would be calmed. He had his suspicions that he wouldn't be left alone when Voldemort did soothe him. Not that he knew where to find the eggs.
In the meantime, Harry's Horcrux was feral, his rage levels very near to where they had been when they'd first discovered he existed. He insisted that they force the Dark Lord to feed him and give up the basilisks, as though there was anything they could do or say to get that result.
Tom had given up on the eggs themselves—unless an opportunity presented itself, he'd said—and was refocused on Voldemort. Getting the message through to Crux that they didn't have the time to focus on the eggs with no leads was proving frustrating.
Harry didn't think it was possible to convince the Dark Lord to change his mind. If there was one thing he'd steadfastly refused, it was fusion. Crystal clear that he wouldn't do it for any reason, least of all to save the world. It felt like drifting down a river, knowing there was a waterfall ahead. All too busy trying to drown each other, nobody swimming for shore.
They were in the Dark Lord's makeshift office, and Narcissa had ducked in and out three times. The first time, she spoke rapidly, talking about a murder-kidnapping within the ranks. Voldemort didn't ask who had been murdered or kidnapped, only that she flag it at the meeting. She told him Lucius would—the second time, she brought a stack of letters and the third time, she brought Nagini.
Scowling with her arms crossed. "Nice to see you," she said, though she hissed it sarcastically.
"Forgive me, dearest." Was all he said, and Harry rolled his eyes so hard he nearly sprained the left one.
'In the absence of eggs, we work on something else,' Tom thought, watching Nagini perch on the desk and swipe a stack of letters to the floor with her knee, petulant.
'On him, I know,' Harry thought.
'In part, you know.'
His back straightened, and it wasn't Harry who'd done it, drawing his attention inwards immediately, 'What? What's wrong?'
'Nothing is wrong… Apart from the obvious. We will be putting all of our effort into…'
'What? Stop ominously pausing?'
'Into seducing him.'
Harry squawked a laugh that drew Nagini and the Dark Lord's raised eyebrows, so he shrugged. ' I'm already doing that? Really? And how are we… How does that help? 'My hand is down your pants; give us the eggs?''
Tom laughed, again drawing strange looks. He didn't shrug. ' Or else.' He laughed again, then shook his head, 'In reality, I do not think we will find the eggs.' Then he glared at the desk and the student profiles Harry had abandoned.
' …So, the goal is to seduce him into not using them?' He glanced at Voldemort.
He'd returned to writing and reading, though Harry felt him look each time he did as though his eyes held physical weight.
"The competition will come to pass, and you will still be a third of the way through the profiles," Voldemort muttered.
Harry shrugged one shoulder and picked one up just to hold it. ' I don't understand the point, then? Are we going to flirt him into not using the eggs? I mean, I'll do it, I don't get it.'
'There is no reason to hold back now. To be clear, there is cause to be relentless.'
His stomach jumped, and he fought the urge to smirk at the Dark Lord. Instead, he turned a page. ' Relentless? Does Crux know?'
'…Yes. In essence, his idea. I suspect he will be less preoccupied with the eggs once he is sated.' Tom watched Voldemort from the corner of his eye, and the Dark Lord winced with hunger as though on cue.
'His idea?' Harry thought.
'I agree with his assessment. Our options are narrow.'
'I still don't get how this will help at all?'
'…We believe it will. If we have enough time.'
'Vague.'
Tom didn't respond and Harry tossed the folder on the desk. He hadn't read a word.
"Are you feeding my Horcrux tonight?" A bold question in Parseltongue that made Nagini cough into her charcoal-blackened hand.
Voldemort blinked at him, lips twitching.
"I only ask because," he waved a hand in what he hoped looked like nonchalance, "You're so preoccupied being in starved agony," He turned slightly in his seat to face him and paused dramatically, "I'd rather be 'occupied' with something else. I don't want to read profiles, and you can't really want to be reading letters nearly sliding out of your chair…"
Voldemort's expression went from annoyed confusion, to plain confusion, then back to irritation, and then he choked on thin air.
" …What?"
Nagini cleared her throat, slid off the wide desk, and shot a knowing look between them as she took an armchair closer to the door.
"I said you can't really want to be reading letters nearly sli-"
"No, I heard you," he held up a hand and frowned, the other frozen on a letter. "What are you saying?"
Harry scoffed and raised one eyebrow, "I'm saying you should feed him because you're spending too much time staring at walls and not enough time with your hand on my cock."
Nagini made an 'Ahhh,' noise and slipped out of the room, blackening the door with fingerprints.
The Dark Lord slowly placed the parchment down, face schooled—to Harry's annoyance, he'd wanted a stronger reaction—and said, " Is that so?" He pushed his chair back from the desk, and Harry's stomach jumped into his throat, crushing his heart as it went.
"Get on your knees," Voldemort said.
When he didn't move, momentarily stunned, he was yanked from his chair by the scruff of his shirt—knelt between Voldemort's legs with a bright red face and a realisation.
If he had considered, beforehand, the idea of the Dark Lord's cock in his mouth, he might have been terrified by the abstract. In reality, his mouth filled with saliva, and he flicked his hand under Bed Sheet, the Lethifold letting go of his neck and floating free.
He supposed, by the look on Voldemort's face, that he'd expected to call Harry's bluff. Instead, his hands were working on the Dark Lord's buttons. Adrenaline spiked when Voldemort gasped, a sound that made him move faster.
Harry met his eyes when he freed his cock, swallowing repeatedly and committing the starved look on the Dark Lord's face to memory. Then he looked down, eye-level with his erection, and he committed that, too. Tentative to grasp him, knowing he had roughly ten seconds before the bliss reduced his mind to soup.
The Dark Lord's hand startled him—tunnel-visioned as he was, nearly frozen as he licked his lips—snaking around the back of his neck and pulling him closer. He mentally began counting to ten. Then lost count after five.
Tom was rolling the tip of Harry's cock through the fabric, and he took the Dark Lord's in his free hand, another course of adrenaline making him squeeze too hard as he leaned in. Sweating despite the ever-present chill of Malfoy Manor.
When he flicked his tongue out, he whimpered and went involuntarily limp at the same time, melting into Voldemort's lap with his tongue out, rocked by the bliss blooming at the back of his head. So, he started at the bottom, running his tongue from the base to the tip, manoeuvring his hand out of the way but not letting go of his cock; twitching continuously under his tongue.
He couldn't keep his eyes open, rolling closed when he felt the curse on his cock, gasping loud enough to hope there were silencing wards in place. The hand on his neck twisted into his hair, reducing the amount of bliss—which, he decided, wouldn't do at all. He sucked the tip of the Dark Lord's cock into his mouth and forced his right hand up and under his shirt to increase contact. He spread his fingers and dug his nails in, grazed the mark he'd never seen—a raised scar that he couldn't make out in his mind's eye.
Not a lightning bolt, he decided, as the Dark Lord squeezed his hand hard enough to break a finger and bucked his hips up simultaneously, deleting any thoughts Harry was experiencing. He moaned around his cock, almost to the hilt in his throat, too much saliva and bliss in his mouth. He summoned the curse from his tongue—sweet sharpness that coated his mouth and earned shocked gasps—Tom ripped the buttons from his pants and wound the darkness around his freed cock and thighs, squeezing.
He was swearing but none of it passed his lips, hopeless noise. Voldemort rocked his hips at an increasing pace, hand locked in Harry's hair to keep him still, not that he was going anywhere. Too relaxed to gag, forgetting to breathe. His right hand crushed against the Dark Lord's chest, warm bliss entwined with the bright pain that pulsed from his middle finger, through his forearm, into his mouth.
Each time he swallowed, Voldemort would gasp, not enough for him; he wanted him breathlessly moaning. With that desire in mind, he began bobbing his head, matching the Dark Lord's pace and then overtaking it.
Harry got what he wanted, Voldemort rendered motionless and breathless under his mouth, moaning between each hard-won, gasping inhale—his grip tight in Harry's hair and on his hand. The sound and Tom's steady hand on his cock deftly unravelled him, paralysed by the heavy, gradual pleasure.
The Dark Lord thrust upward twice more, his cock rock hard and pulsing in Harry's mouth. The heat of his cum at the back of his throat and the noise he made—a shocked yelp that melted into an ecstasy-induced ' Fuck,' that Harry would replay in his head, he was certain—froze him at the top of his orgasm. He sucked and swallowed until he was forcefully removed by his hair, eyes finally rolling open.
Voldemort's face was red, stark against the pale. Mouth slightly open, panting. He didn't let go of his hair as he tucked his cock away, one-handed, eyebrows twitching. Harry did the same with his unbroken hand and didn't resist smirking.
"I don't suppose you've got your own bathroom here somewhere, too?" He asked.
The Dark Lord blinked at him rapidly before he stood, shaking his head.
Tom drew the Snakewood wand and vanished the mess he'd left on the floor. An action that finally sent Harry's cheeks bright red, coughing and then choking on his slightly sore throat, blushing harder when he noticed the ache in his jaw.
'… That just happened,' he thought, his brain flicking on with the lack of contact.
'Yes, it did,' Tom agreed.
He couldn't stop swallowing as he followed Voldemort—his mask replaced—out into the hall.
Bed Sheet returned to his shoulders, probably traumatised.
He wished he had his mask back to hide how red his face was, running his hands rapidly through his hair in an attempt to fix the damage. While he did, he searched for any evidence he'd hurt Tom in the process. When he found nothing, mercurial and aloof as he always was, Harry asked.
'Are you… Okay with-'
'Harry, that was fucking beautiful. You are fucking beautiful. God, I…' His thought trailed off. 'If it were me…' He stopped again, 'You are a divine punishment. Divine.'
'Oh. Okay? Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I don't want to be a punishment.'
He was sucker-punched in the stomach with a rush of desire so intense he nearly stumbled into the wall.
'A good thing.'
Harry blushed harder and couldn't stop his next thought, 'Thank you? 'Cause I really liked that.'
Once more, his face heated, and he was sure he was as subtle as a fire engine. They crossed paths with Nagini and Narcissa, one after the other. The Dark Lord's familiar followed them, and the Malfoy Matriarch nodded as she passed.
"That office is… Silenced, right?" As soon as the Parseltongue left his mouth, he knew it had to be. There was no way Voldemort would have made the sounds he had if the room hadn't been protected.
He went red all over again, and his question was ignored. Instead, the Dark Lord stopped, turned, and picked up his right hand, examining the purpling bruise. He pressed on it to make Harry wince, then healed it wandlessly, walking away without the thanks that Tom withheld.
He was taken to a guest bathroom, showered fast, eyes wide in the mirror as he brushed his teeth with a toothbrush labelled spare.
The unreal bizarreness of his reality hit him in multiple waves. First, his appearance—starkly different to the picture of himself that he held in his mind's eye. Dark green eyes sharper than he remembered. His cheekbones, too. Hair under control. Wide shoulders in black robes embellished with yawning gold snake heads. How it seemed as if a man was staring back at him. A Lethifold rippling around him and cooing. Dramatic even at rest, iridescent like an oil spill.
And the taste of the Dark Lord's cock lingering on his tongue, the realisation that he was still hard. The noises he'd inspired were easy to replay, fresh in his head. His insides jumped each time he thought about it, mouth filling involuntarily with spit. He tore his eyes from the mirror and resumed brushing, face beet red.
Nagini didn't follow them to the meeting room; instead, she waved them off in the dark hallway. Smirking with wiggling eyebrows as she left.
"… Where's she going?" Harry asked.
"The Chamber."
He nearly asked why, then remembered it was Thursday. That the prospective champions would be duelling. "Are we not going?"
"Not tonight."
Harry followed without asking his next question. He figured the 'Why' had something to do with the meeting or his failed attempt on the eggs. Possibly both. Possibly both and an unknown third reason.
Narcissa didn't join them either, and he was relieved not to hear a gold-related numbers speech.
Greyback, Lucius, the Moreau sister who had taken over the Dark Arts position, a dark-skinned woman with severe cheekbones and ample silver jewellery—bangles and bracelets up to her elbows, her earrings weighing her earlobes down—Corban Yaxley, and finally Snape joined them in the large, dim dining room.
Once seated, the Dark Lord wasted no time waving a hand at Lucius. Only his eyes were visible. Harry found his gaze glued there.
"On Tuesday night, the Goyle household was attacked," The blonde said, "Fergus was murdered. Found by Lady Demetria." He gestured at the woman with the bangles. "His wife and son are missing."
"I liked that," Harry said in Parseltongue, realising instantly that he'd said it out loud. Instead of dying from embarrassment, he doubled down, "I wanna do it again."
"Mm, did you?" His eyes hooded, locked on him. "Good. Because you will."
Lucius 'Ehem-ed' in the silence that built, and Harry fought to keep his expression clear, an effort in the face of his aching erection.
"…Believed to be the work of the Order or Ironwood's goons, though there was no sign of forced entry or a struggle. This might indicate-"
"Stop," Tom interrupted Lucius, "Goyle?" Suddenly interested and nearly startling Harry out of his seat when he'd barked at the Malfoy.
"…Yes?" Lucius looked at the Dark Lord with a question on his face.
Voldemort waved a hand for Tom to continue.
"Do you remember what Pollux said at Skulmadras?" Tom asked in Parseltongue.
"No? What? So?" Harry said in English.
"I believe Goyle Senior was killed by his son. They have not been kidnapped; they have deserted."
Lucius rapidly flicked his eyes between Harry and the Dark Lord, then scoffed a laugh that must have been irresistible, clapping his well-manicured hand over his mouth and then removing it as though that action was also a shock.
"Why in Merlin's name would this whelp have any idea-" Fenrir's head hit the tabletop with a resounding thud before he finished his sentence, silenced by unconsciousness.
"…Continue," Voldemort said.
"Pollux took Goyle's blood at Skulmadras and told him that he would not be free so long as 'He' is alive. That there is no sign of forced entry… How was the body found? The wards?" Tom directed his question at the woman in silver.
"…No blood, intact wards. The Killing Curse," her hazel eyes flicked to Harry's forehead. "One would assume. I did not remain to be certain."
"Who is that?" Harry asked in Parseltongue.
"I would imagine the only capacity in which you may know her is as Blaise Zabini's mother," the Dark Lord told him.
"Why would she be the one to discover the body?" Tom asked.
"Affair," Voldemort said in English, and Harry laughed.
"…With a guy called Fergus Goyle?"
"He was as attractive as his name implies."
"Money, then?" Tom assumed.
The Dark Lord nodded once, and an awkward shift travelled around the room.
Harry could feel Snape's eyes boring a hole in the side of his head, and he steadfastly ignored him. He felt far too passionate to look at the man, sure he could convert the energy into rage in a heartbeat.
'Do you think he'd let me kill Snape?' He wondered.
'After what you just did, I'd imagine he'd let you kill everyone in this room.'
"Would you let me kill everyone in this room?" Harry asked in Parseltongue, and Tom snorted softly.
"Why would you want to do that?" The Dark Lord asked, amused.
"Just a hypothetical," he returned to English with him; the rapid back and forth was doubtlessly wildly confusing for Voldemort's followers, but the man himself seemed to be having fun with it.
The Dark Lord made a show of looking at each of his Death Eaters individually, "Not Lucius."
"Oh, playing favourites?"
"By order of usefulness."
"Would you let me kill Lucius if I ducked under the table right now?" In the serpent tongue not purely for privacy—it also made Voldemort swallow, Adam's apple bobbing.
"… Maybe."
Yaxley cleared his throat like he'd inhaled a fly, and Harry rolled his eyes, shooting a glare at the end of the table.
"What?" He snapped at Corban. Tom then smirked at the Dark Lord while Harry remembered he was sitting in a Death Eater meeting.
"I'm not sorry; I'm bored here. I solved your murder mystery," he said when Voldemort stared at him.
"You, was it?" His eyes were hooded, blinking slow. Enough to pick Harry's heart rate up.
Greyback awoke with a gasp, flinging himself upright so fast he nearly rocked back onto the floor.
"…Yaxley," the Dark Lord said, holding his eyes closed for a beat too long before he gestured at the future Minister.
Harry didn't listen to him talk. He tucked his hands under the table and summoned the curse, watching Corban speak only in the loosest sense as he snaked the darkness around Voldemort's thighs, pushing sharp points through threads to find skin and his cock—as hard as Harry's was, flushing him with heat and adrenaline.
Tom took over his breathing and his muscles. The Dark Lord wasn't listening to Yaxley either, the vein in his throat visibly pounding.
"Everyone out."
Corban didn't stop talking immediately, gradually reducing pace and volume until he was muttering in confusion.
"I said out," Voldemort repeated.
( AN: I keep trying to get to the weekend, and these fuckers keep fucking instead. Unreal smh. They're getting NOTHING done so slowly. The next chapter is long. I don't know how long it will be; just that it do be. Delay-ish.)