(TW: Mild sexual scene.)
Post Blue, Placebo
It's in the water, baby
It's in the special way we fuck
It's in the water, baby
It's in your family tree
It's in the water, baby
It's between you and me
Bite the hand that feeds
Tap the vein that bleeds
Down on my bended knees
I'd break the back of love for you
I'd break the back of love for you
It was late, but Harry struggled against sleep.
While they'd been in the hot spring, the bed in the Dark Lord's office had been dressed. He'd got to wondering whether the house-elves gossiped about there being only one bed. Whether Narcissa or Lydia did. Cassiopeia already knew. Or knew enough to assume. Narcissa and Lydia were the only other people allowed to enter the Dark Lord's office. Messages passed through them. Narcissa had sworn a vow; he knew that. But to what extent, he wasn't sure.
Harry was wrapped around Voldemort with his nose pressed firmly in the crook of his neck. Arms and legs locked tight as though the Dark Lord was trying to get free. He wasn't. One arm stuck through the buttons of Voldemort's shirt. Bed Sheet loose around his shoulders, rumbling, partially draped over the dark Lord's legs. Bliss humming like a slow beat, a repeating crescendo. It made him sigh more than once, but he wasn't told to shut up. Harry didn't need to look at his face to know he was staring at the ceiling.
"Did my mum really say that?" He muttered, thoughts free from his mouth before he felt them in his head.
Tom tried to tense, then didn't, melting.
"I told you that the opinions of the dead hold no sway over the living." He squeezed Harry's hair, a silent 'Shut up.'
"Is that why you won't talk about what Merope said?"
Again, Tom tried to escape or stop Harry from speaking. Again, he promptly gave up.
"Go to sleep."
"You go to sleep," Harry flicked his tongue, traced the Dark Lord's quickening pulse and gasped, "When did you last sleep? You need rest."
"…I can't."
Harry was just aware enough to decide he didn't like that, but didn't know how to fix it. The curse was the only comfort he was able to offer. The warm bliss that rocked Harry to sleep and dissolved his concerns wasn't something he could give in return. The pain the darkness inflicted was many things, but restful it wasn't.
"Do you still want to watch the light leave my eyes?"
"Go to sleep, Harry." Voldemort was no longer pulling his hair; instead, he raked his fingers through it, forcing a vibrating sigh from Harry's throat. "…I am losing my mind by inches."
The Dark Lord had finished his haircut before they'd fallen into bed, and he'd said:
"Don't let that vampire cut it shorter than this."
Voldemort woke him before light—untangling himself from Harry's grip.
"...No?"
"Up," the Dark Lord said, dragging him out of bed.
A full breakfast on the desk, two lit candles, and half a dozen potion bottles. Harry assumed it was all brought by elves. Again, he wondered if they gossiped. The Dark Lord had requested food with Harry Potter wrapped around him like so much rope.
That he'd called for breakfast was a shock in itself.
Harry's Horcrux was in his head when he sat bleary-eyed at the desk.
'Good morning, Princess. Consider him very aware of his obsession. Awake all night, shocked about it. Hilarious. Say it's hilarious.'
'…It is hilarious,' Tom thought in response, no inflection.
'…Excellent, you've got a great sense of humour, Sweetheart.' Crux deadpanned. 'He got pumpkin juice because he knows you like it. Chicken scrambled eggs 'cause he knows you like it. Bacon… You get it. Those potions? They do have his blood in them. Yummy. He called for a few of those in case you need them for your punishment.'
'Their sole purpose is to soothe Harry?' Tom wondered. His inner thoughts whirring on like a jet engine.
'Yeah, in all the ways that matter, I suppose. He tells himself it's to subdue you, an attempt to get you to sleep without having to bear you deliciously, disgustingly latched onto him.' Crux thought. 'He loves having you trying to climb inside him, really. Hates how much he likes it, the usual. It keeps him awake, despising adoring it. You two sleep-whispering into his neck in Parseltongue about how much you love each other is a new favourite torture of his. He really, really liked that bath.'
Tom hung on Crux's every word while Harry pulled his boots on, blushing crimson. Voldemort poured a glass of pumpkin juice and pushed it toward him. He didn't pour himself one; he downed one of the potions.
Harry recognised the hand-written label. The potions that Lydia made to prevent the Dark Lord from starving himself to death.
"…Thank you," Harry said, taking the juice and feeling alien. Then he thought, 'My punishment?'
'Yeah—I'm hungry, make sure he feeds me—you might enjoy it.' Crux didn't elaborate; instead, he was gone.
Tom had what must have been a hundred questions. He watched the Dark Lord while Harry loaded his plate, meticulously assessing his mood, searching for micro-expressions on his face.
Voldemort was tired. That was obvious. He seemed less volatile despite the hunger that must have been welling.
"You're feeding my Horcrux today?" Harry asked, sort of a question, more of a reminder.
He nodded once and didn't seem surprised or angry to hear it. He hadn't looked away from Harry for an instant.
"Okay. Good. And you've decided on my punishment?" Harry decided to test his luck. He aimed for casual, scooping a forkful of scrambled egg into his mouth and pointing at the toast.
Voldemort picked up a piece, and his lips twitched, an almost smile that made him scowl. "Yes. I have."
"…Are you gonna fill me in, or is it a surprise?"
He did smile then, a bright flash on his face. He reigned it in once more, biting his toast to hide his lips.
"You're beautiful when you smile," Harry blushed at his own words.
The Dark Lord's eyes bulged, and he finally looked away, cheeks mottled bright red.
'So are you,' Tom thought, making him blush harder.
"…Don't," Voldemort said.
Harry raised an eyebrow, "Which is it, do you want thetruth, or do you want me to lie? It's true, you have a nice smile. Even though it looks like you never really mastered it, and it's only on your face for a second."
He winced and shook his head, "I don't need to hear what you think. Don't assume that- don't assume anything."
"Okay, sure." Harry held up both hands in surrender and smirked.
"Your plans for the day?" Tom asked.
He seemed relieved by the change of subject, "Narcissa awaits us downstairs. I aim to have her collect Percy Weasley, though I do not expect the idea to bear fruit. Your Horcrux needs feeding. Thereafter we will be branding the unmarked. Tomorrow we will meet with the Unspeakable to seek advice on sending Charlie Weasley to his family with an undetectable trace, among other things."
Tom nodded, digesting while Harry shovelled food into his face, starving after the first bite. Washed with relief to see the Dark Lord halfway through a piece of toast.
"…Go on, spit it out," Voldemort said, and Harry frowned, for a moment thinking he meant spit out his eggs.
Tom didn't need to be told twice, though, swallowing forcefully, "The Sallow twins are young, but they are powerful," Harry realised the Dark Lord meant spit out your ideas, "They are knowledgeable about Ironwood, and have outsmarted him before. Their mother will be useful in wrangling them—Ruby in particular. Avalon and Eris would stop at nothing to get Ginevra back. I believe the same is true for Cedrum. We will be retrieving Ginevra and Reed. Alive."
The Dark Lord picked up his second piece of toast and relaxed in his seat. Tom took it as agreement, sitting ramrod straight and leaning in, heart in his throat.
"…You have cared for him for quite some time," Tom said, soft, so he didn't scare him out of the room.
He flinched and laughed without humour. "No."
Amusement and frustration fighting for pole position in his head, Tom said, "Why lie?"
"What you think you perceive is not the reality," the Dark Lord didn't meet his eyes.
"I know what I see."
"Eat. Be quiet."
Tom let it slide, vowing, 'Not for long,' and allowed Harry to finish his breakfast. Obsession was one thing for the Dark Lord to admit to himself—out loud another—a third thing altogether to admit care or affection.
He was taken to the entrance hall after breakfast. Voldemort had eaten two pieces of toast and a slice of bacon, and Harry decided he would force him into eating lunch as well.
He had been given three bliss-inducing potions—to be used 'as required'. He held one of them in his pocket, tracing his thumb over the cork.
Narcissa met them, bowing low and talking before she'd made it upright, "My Lord," she gave Harry a look that Tom took to mean she had no idea how to address him. So, she didn't, "Lydia began working on Weasley through the night, and Lady Demetria has requested an audience regarding your need for a larger base of operations."
"Good. I need to you bring me Percy Weasley, Cedrum, and Eugenia. Prepare the first group for marking. I estimate we will return in four hours. You will spread word that I want any captured Order members brought here, alive. A slight change in plans."
She nodded curtly—though she looked like she wanted to say something—and Voldemort directed Harry toward the doors. "How often is your Horcrux in your head?" He asked in Parseltongue, opening the doors with a wave. Strangely relaxed about the question.
"I dunno. Feels like at least once a day."
The Dark Lord walked beside him down the stairs, taking his mask off halfway to the bottom. When they reached the landing, he side-along Apparated Harry twice.
They reappeared beside what could only be described as a massive crater. Warded, Tom decided; otherwise, Muggles would have descended to declare it the site of a significant meteor strike.
"Stay here," Voldemort said. He Disapparated and reappeared at the centre of the massive hole in the ground.
Woods surrounded the edges, ankle-deep snow. Secluded. Tom didn't think they were far from home. The sun was rising, turning the sky lavender.
He sat down cross-legged on the ground after Tom melted a circle with the curse.
Voldemort didn't waste time; he exploded instantly. A boom that shook Harry's heart and broke the sound barrier. A deep, baritone rumble that became a series of slightly less ear-bursting explosions, echoing off the nearby mountains.
Red and gold engulfed the crater, and then beyond it, making Harry stand and back away from the slowly expanding light. Voldemort held it for a little over five minutes, the bare dirt smoking when he let the light fall.
He lay at the centre, arms and legs splayed, far too far away to see his face. Harry made a split-second decision and Apparated to him.
Staring wild-eyed at the sky, his chest heaving, covered in sweat with red raw skin, "You—shouldn't—be—down—here."
"…Yeah, I know," Harry knelt down anyway, darted his hand under the Dark Lord's shirt and pressed down on his stomach, blasting him with the curse before Voldemort's angry thrashing became violent.
He stopped resisting almost immediately. He grabbed Harry's wrist with both hands and squeezed. Through gritted teeth, he hissed: "More."
The bliss incapacitated Tom in the same instant, so Harry was left to decide whether or not to start ripping into the Dark Lord's skin with the curse on his own. He was already drawing blood; had it twisted around his neck, his arms, anddown his thighs, covering almost all but his face.
Voldemort was screaming into clenched teeth and a bitten tongue. His eyes rolled until all Harry saw were the whites. He couldn't summon concern against the warmth or the curse, but he had the idea of it. Aware he should feel it. He gave the Dark Lord what he wanted, digging sharp points of the curse into every centimetre of his skin until his muffled, tensed screaming became sobbing. Limp in the darkness like a sleeping infant.
Harry didn't know why he was crying—he decided that it must have hurt too much and lowered the intensity. The Dark Lord didn't like that, thrashing and squeezing his wrist again. So, he pushed it back in until he was crying and relaxed in his grip once more.
"Are you okay?" He asked—far more serene than he'd meant it to sound. Unanswered.
He knew he was drawing a good amount of blood, and that he didn't have Replenishers on hand. He did know that once he let go, Tom would heal whatever damage he'd done. He took the Snakewood wand out ofhis pocket in preparation and waited for a sign to stop.
Though he was heaving full-chested sobs, the Dark Lord was remarkably quiet about it. Tears streaming down the sides of his face, eyes closed, arms limp, gasping nearly silently.
Harry let go when Voldemort lost consciousness. He'd tried twice more beforehand, met with violent refusal each time.
In response to the fourth attempt to let go, the Dark Lord sprang upright and fell sideways, groaning. Blood all over the hot dirt.
As he'd predicted, Tom healed Voldemort when the bliss subsided, focusing most of his magic on Voldemort's stomach and chest.
Tom's inner monologue was running instantly, 'Beautiful. Good idea. Always admired your quick thinking. Need to drag him… Somewhere now. Not taking him up the Nurmengard stairs. Hogwarts? He is keyed into the wards, but there's no way he can Apparate…'
He was right. The Dark Lord was rolling in the dirt, unintelligible. Laughing or crying. Or both. Definitely not Apparating. Tom decided on the house near Hogsmeade and pulled a heavy, resistant, muttering Voldemort to his feet and Apparated twice.
When they reappeared outside the house, Harry still couldn't tell if Voldemort was laughing or crying. One arm around Harry's shoulder and fighting to fall to the ground. Tom scooped him up and carried him up the hill bridal style, which was how Harry came to the conclusion that he was laughing and crying.
"Put—me—down," the Dark Lord growled in Harry's ear right before he bit it.
"…No," Harry told him, grimacing. He tried to shake him off before the bliss dropped them bothand opened the door with his wand.
Bed Sheet seemed to think it was funny, eldritch chuckling at his back.
Tom dropped Voldemort unceremoniously just inside and checked Harry's ear to find it was bleeding, but nothing severe. They knew there would be a stock of potions in the hut. Either in the bathroom or the Dark Lord's desk. Probably both. He checked the drawers to find them stuck, rolled his eyes, and then checked the bathroom.
He found a small stock of medical potions, including Replenishers. Harry took three of them back out to the main room.
Voldemort was still splayed on the ground, giggling and choking on near-silent sobs. "Don't."
"Don't what?" Harry asked, kneeling beside him.
"I don't—I don't want them. Leave me." The Dark Lord didn't let him leave, though; he grabbed his shirt and pulled him down so they were face to face, "Why can't you—be—despicable. I should despise… You." He laughed and reeked of blood.
"…You should take this," Harry tried to upend a potion in Voldemort's mouth, and they both succeeded in making a mess. Like giving a hyper dog medicine.
"No, no. I don't—want—it. Liquida Tenebris. Again."
Tom decided against it immediately; instead, he cast a few diagnostic charms with the Snakewood wand to confirm what they already knew: that Harry had nearly bled him out with the curse.
"You will take one Replenisher. It ought to be enough to get you walking," Tom said.
"I am walking."
"…You are on the ground. I carried you in here."
"No, you didn't," Voldemort laughed, then he scowled and let go of Harry's shirt, "Did you?"
"We have urgent matters to attend to." Tom told him, trying again with the potion, "There is marking to be done."
He gasped deeply, as though he'd seen a ghost, wide-eyed at the ceiling, "Yes. Marking. Your Horcrux told you about- about your… Punishment?"
"…Only that you have decided what it is to be," Tom muttered, moving the potion toward the Dark Lord's lips so slowly the motion was barely detectable.
"You will be my executioner." A whisper in English that Harry caught but had to replay.
The Dark Lord laughed at Harry's alarmed silence, and Tom dropped the contents of the tiny bottle into his mouth like a striking cobra. Voldemort choked slightly, but he swallowed it.
'Executioner?' He repeated mentally. It had to mean what he thought it meant.
Tom was examining Harry's reaction, and Harry examined Tom's.
Tom was worried that he might panic, that killing swathes of Order members on the Dark Lord's behalf would be the straw that broke his back. He also wanted to do it. Wanted to be the wand that cut through Voldemort's enemies, his enemies, wanted his name—Harry's name—whispered, hushed, in taverns and banks and homes and in reverence, in fear, in awe. The end of the line would be him. Would be them. That thought intoxicated Tom andoverwhelmed the rest, particularly when he realised that Harry wasn't thinking 'No'.
"Executioner?" Harry repeated, out loud.
"…Why can't you be despicable?" Voldemort asked again.
"I can if you want. Would that make it better?" Harry watched it dawn on him that no, it wouldn't make it better, then he repeated, "Executioner?"
"Yes. You will kill them. For a selected audience of my inner circle."
"And 'they' are… Order members," Harry said.
Voldemort didn't answer his non-question. He struggled to his feet instead.
"Why?" Harry tried. He followed him out the door and noted that he swayed as he walked. Better than the floppy, nonsensical Dark Lord he'd carried in, but not by a lot.
Voldemort wordlessly cleaned the blood from his clothes—it had been invisible against the black, but pungent. "Your loyalty must be made absolutely clear. They will fear your name as they fear mine." He grabbed Harry at the edge of the wards after he pulled up his hood and replaced his mask.
He didn't think Voldemort should have been Apparating, but they weren't splinched.
"Your ear is bleeding," the Dark Lord said once they'd reappeared outside Nurmengard.
"…Yeah, you bit it."
He nodded and turned toward the stairs. Harry rolled his eyes. Tom healed his ear.
Voldemort held his arm as they ascended the stairs, and though he would likely claim if pressed that it was for stability, Harry liked to think there was another reason for it. He was released at the top. The sun had risen, though it couldn't cut through the fog that seemed to perpetually cover the gloomy castle. They'd returned much sooner than expected, the rage Voldemort normally experienced cut short by nearly bleeding him to death.
They stayed in the entrance hall; the Dark Lord took the almost-throne to watch Harry pace.
"You have not disagreed?" Voldemort said. He was far too relaxed, Harry thought. One leg bouncing without rhythm, leaning haphazardly in his seat.
Harry shrugged. He hadn't disagreed for an array of reasons. None of them came out of his mouth.
"Come here. Look at me."
They weren't alone in the hall, a few masked Death Eaters stationed at the doors. Narcissa was expected, and the Dark Lord had pressed his wand to the Dark Mark. Harry assumed that he wanted to see why he hadn't refused to execute members of the Order.
Harry stepped closer and met Voldemort's eyes. He didn't search his mind for reasons. The Dark Lord ransacked his mind for further deceit, for disloyalty, for dastardly plans and nefarious plots. He didn't find anything he hadn't already discovered. Harry could tell he'd spent as much time as he could stand in his head.
Voldemort squinted at him in silence for a stretched moment after retreating. "…What I am about to do is an act of desperation. It is not to be misconstrued. Do you understand?"
"Not yet," Tom said, sounding bored on purpose—anything but bored inside their head. Every hair stood on end—he struggled not to swallow repeatedly or bug his eyes.
"You will mark those I cannot. You will control a small number besides."
Harry's mouth fell open; Voldemort's words deleted Tom's thoughts, his braindoing a hard reset. "I'm what?" in English, startling himself into glancing around the hall. He counted ten Death Eaters and a waiting Narcissa—he hadn't noticed her entering. "I'm what?" Tom asked again in Parseltongue.
"…Your mark and your core will allow you to command them if you mark them. I cannot mark or command students due to the vow. Time is of the essence now; you will mark five hundred more besides."
Tom laughed, more of a shocked squawk. "I am?" He shook his head and squawked again.
'…I think he wants us to mark them,' Harry thought.
It seemed to finally land; Tom stopped guffawing incredulously. "Put wards up." He demanded, "Privacy."
When the Dark Lord didn't move, Tom did it for him. He cast silencing wards and surrounded them with a wall of the curse—blooming from his left arm, Replacing the firelight with a pale green glow. Harry decided that while their behaviour was going well beyond obvious, he was hard enough to let Tom suck the Dark Lord's cock in the entrance hall of Nurmengard.
Tom fell to his knees before Voldemort, drunk on giddy adrenaline, grinning while he worked the buttons. "Did you find any deceit?"
"Bolder by the minute," the Dark Lord muttered, shifting to give Tom easier access.
"He is devoted to you. I am devoted to him." Tom purred, releasing Voldemort's cock, "You realise the message you will be sending, having us mark for you?"
"…You will command them under my control," he slid his fingers into Harry's hair and pulled him closer. "He is devoted to you, not to me."
His mouth was full of saliva; Tom was talking through the bliss that was bleeding through his hand from the Dark Lord's cock, "You know that's only part of the truth," he sounded tipsy, accent thick and strange from his lips.
Harry didn't want to talk anymore, darting his tongue out to shut everyone up.