A/N: Thank you all for your patience 3 I've had a wonderful time with this fic and I hope you all like the ending!

The dying light brought Harry back to himself when all he wanted was to slip away. To sleep so deeply that no one could wake him. But how could he?

His mind—which had fled to some dark corner of his skull at the feel of Tom's soft cock slipping free from his shaking body—couldn't let him, not as long as he remained trapped beneath Tom, his physical form protesting its discomfort with every breath. Couldn't, knowing the inevitable change was coming. No. No, he couldn't escape his nightmarish reality so easily.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry unclenched his stiff, cold fingers and rolled his wrists experimentally. To his surprise, he found himself able to lift his hands from the bed, though his arms were still tangled in his nightgown. He could move his feet, too; at some point, it seemed, the magic pinning him had been released.

Tom seemed to sense this realization, shifting just enough to press Harry still more firmly onto the wrinkled sheets beneath them.

"Get off of me," Harry choked out as he tensed beneath Tom. The hot breath at Harry's neck hitched, but otherwise, Tom did nothing to show he'd heard Harry's quiet words. "Tom."

"Mm?" The hum was muffled and unbothered.

Anger sparked in Harry's chest as he spat through gritted teeth. "Get. Off of me."

"Mm, no. Don't think I will."

Incensed, Harry squirmed beneath him, twisting his head away from the man who'd begun mouthing at his neck until—The sky. The fury within Harry dampened, the fight draining away, as he caught sight of the sky through the window once more. His stomach sank. It was so close to sundown. The sun had fallen fully behind the trees. He needed to focus, to get Tom away from him before he… changed. His mind began to race.

"I thought—" Shame closed his throat. He coughed and swallowed it down. He made his voice smaller, weaker. "I thought you were going to protect me, Tom."

He received no response.

Then, more genuinely: "Tom… I'm cold."

This seemed to do it. With a heavy, long-suffering sigh, Tom pushed himself up and maneuvered until he was straddling Harry's thighs. At first, the man just sat there, running his hand distractedly through his dark wavy hair as he stared down at Harry. After a moment, though, he frowned and reached beside Harry's neck to pick up the locket Voldemort had put on him that first night. Tom fiddled with it before laying it on the center of Harry's chest, adorning him. He smiled.

"Hm. Look at you," he said, tutting as his eyes raked down his body, lingering smugly on the dried cum on his stomach. The condescension in his gaze rankled. "Poor thing."

Harry's jaw tightened, sparking amusement in Tom's expression, but he didn't speak. It took everything within him not to.

Tom tsked at him once again. "Hey now, don't give me that look. It's not as if you didn't enjoy yourself." Harry flushed deeply, embarrassed and ashamed in equal measure. Before he could say anything, Tom continued. "Now, let me help."

With a gentleness that itched, Tom began to untangle Harry's arms from his nightgown before vanishing the cum and pulling it back down over his head. He directed Harry to lift his hips, drawing the fabric down until it finally covered his chilled form. Despite his shame and anger, Harry felt immediately better. Though the nightgown actually did little to fend against the cold, the privacy it gifted him gave Harry a flimsy sense of security.

He'd once felt security with Tom.

"There," Tom said with satisfaction once he'd finished. "Better?"

Harry nodded jerkily, but Tom's eyes narrowed. He wanted more. Harry cleared his throat. "Yes," he whispered. "Thank you."

"Oh darling," Tom crooned, smiling wide. "You're welcome."

And with that, Tom climbed gracefully off of him, crossed the room to the door, and left. The door closed behind him with a resounding click, leaving Harry lying there in numb shock.

Tom barely made it to his room in the east wing of the manor before the change began. It started as it always did, with prickling pain everywhere as scales forced their way through his skin. Then came the horrible sensation of being stretched, the burning ache as his limbs and spine elongated, forcing his mind to retreat as the feral hunger of Lord Voldemort clawed its way to the forefront of their being. This time, as had become routine since Harry Potter's arrival, there was more than hunger as Lord Voldemort emerged. There was rage.

"What," Lord Voldemort hissed, "have you done."

It wasn't a question.

"Harry Potter is mine," Tom spat through Voldemort's fanged teeth. "I have claimed him, my lord." The honorific dripped with disdain.

"You had no right!" Lord Voldemort roared, lashing out with his claws to tear at the walls, at the dark cloth draped over the windows. Behind the glass, the twilight gradient of light was dying slowly. With it would go Tom.

"Where is your control?" Tom sneered. "Where is your rationality? You would kill him, my lord. Fuck him to death." The darkest part of them purred in tandem at the thought. But no. "Then where would we be?"

Some of the senseless rage ebbed away. "I will know the tassste of him," Lord Voldemort vowed. "You cannot hold me back forever."

"No," Tom agreed. "I would not dare to presume I could. But I can remind you of the consequences should you fail to control yourself."

An inhuman scream split the room as Tom drowned them in isolation.

Harry's mind was gone as he cleansed himself of the evening before. That morning, he had woken with a gasp, plunged into ice-like fear before the reality of the sunlight had sunken in. He still couldn't remember falling asleep. He remembered hearing a scream and crying, waiting for Voldemort's return. Waiting to be defiled by that monster. Again. Instead, he had been… ignored. Left alone. Sometime during that tense suspension, he must've just… fallen asleep.

Harry couldn't wrap his mind around it as he scrubbed remotely at his skin, keeping an ear out for any sign of Tom. He was fine. Relatively speaking. Sore in every meaning of the word, and numb, yes. But fine.

Why?

"Tom," he murmured. The man had kept his word, somehow and held the beast at bay.

All in return for… What had he called it? His companionship.

Harry shuddered. It was horrible what Tom had done to him. Wrong and violating and terrible. He hadn't wanted any of it.

And yet… Tom was right. He had enjoyed himself. It had felt incredible.

Harry's eyes squeezed shut. Gods, there was something wrong with him. There was something twisted and dark and wrong inside of him. The memory of that intense, burning pleasure he'd felt as Tom fucked into him overtook his mind, curling his toes, and—Gods, he felt so dirty.

He wanted to feel that again. He never wanted to feel that again. He wanted—He wanted…

No. He would simply avoid Tom.

But Voldemort… Would Tom continue to hold the monster back if he did?

Shaking himself out of it, Harry bent over to grab his towel and quickly dried himself. He could figure this all out later. Right now, he needed more information. He needed to escape. This whole line of thought was just a distraction from his true goal.

Getting this damn necklace off.

During Harry's first week, he had explored every room of Lord Voldemort's manor available to him. At the time, the rules the monster had laid out had been fresh in his mind. You cannot leave. You will treat myself and my groundskeeper with respect. The east wing of the manor is out of bounds.

These rules still stood out with vivid clarity in Harry's mind, but he would not let them stop him. Not when there was information to be learned—information that could lead to his escape.

For he knew there was a library in the east wing of the manor. There had to be. He'd seen Tom with mysterious books before and had assumed they were from the man's private collection. He supposed they still were. Tom and Voldemort were two sides of the same coin, after all.

Now, all he had to do was find it. Surely, there would be information that could help him there. Answers and spells. Voldemort would not have barred him from there without reason.

As Harry crept along, silent and hugging the walls, he felt grateful for his magical training. The wood floors here were warped and uneven in a way the rest of the manor was not and would've surely creaked horribly had he not cast his magic out like this. Though tense and anxious, Harry still kept a firm control of his breathing as he moved along. Now that he knew Tom and Voldemort were the same, he had no fear of that snake-like monster finding him during daylight hours, but Tom… He was scared of Tom.

Harry sensed a growing darkness as he traveled further into the east wing, but was it simply his paranoia? The growing signs of violence said otherwise: walls littered with gashes and claw marks, window after window covered in dark, torn cloth. Every sconce and fireplace was dark and unlit. Soon, there was no natural light at all.

Unnerved, Harry slowed to a stop in the darkness and debated with himself before calling upon his magic. Better to be caught by his light than stumble around in the dark of this place.

"Lumos," he whispered.

The small ball of light illuminated the passage before him.

The passage, and Tom.

Harry opened his mouth to scream, Tom lunged, and the light winked out of existence. Instinct propelled Harry to the side, and he twisted to avoid Tom's reaching arms, body straining to bolt in the opposite direction, but—a hand latched onto his wrist and yanked him against a firm chest.

A fierce struggle ensued. Grunting, they grappled in the dark, clawing at each other until pain slammed into Harry's gut, stunning him. Without pause, Tom took advantage. He grabbed him by the hair and hissed out a spell. Harry's body immediately went rigid, tipping over to land hard against the wall. Staring into the darkness, Harry blinked back tears. It had all happened so quickly. Gods, how did he ever think he stood a chance?

"Harry," Tom chided, summoning up his own ball of light. "What is this? What are you doing?" The man sounded disappointed.

To Harry's surprise, he found he could still talk as Tom manhandled him, levitating his rigid body and marching them back toward the rest of the manor. He shoved his despair aside, honing in on his anger. "Nothing you need to know," he spat.

"Is that so?" Tom asked lightly. "Well then. Whatever it is, it must be important for you to have risked breaking Lord Voldemort's third rule. Why? Did you think you would find something to help with your escape here?"

He paused for a reply, but Harry stayed stubbornly silent as Tom floated him along.

"A library with a mountain of information for you to chip away at, perhaps?" Tom mocked. "Or else a way to rid yourself of my locket? Surely, you must know that any such information was destroyed the moment it was gifted to you."

Again, no answer.

"Or perhaps I am wrong. Maybe you've come to forbidden places searching for other answers. For ways to protect yourself. In this, you may always come to me if you have questions." Tom paused and leaned over to whisper in his ear, "I would love to help you again."

The words were suggestive, filthy on Tom's tongue. Harry flushed, swallowing heavily before steeling himself. "Oh yeah?" he ground out. "I find that hard to believe, somehow."

"I can understand why you'd find that difficult," Tom acknowledged, starting up again, moving back toward the rest of the manor. "Our perception of each other has changed."

A bitter laugh escaped Harry's teeth. "I'm no longer blinded by you, Tom. I see you for what you are."

"Do you?" the man asked. Harry wished he could turn to see his face, but he was still frozen, stuck staring forward as they left the eastern wing and approached the grand staircase. "And how is it you see me now?"

"You lied to me. For years," Harry cried, voice rough with pain. "You're a monster."

"I'm a cursed man," Tom countered.

"A monster," Harry hissed.

Tom sighed deeply as they reached the top of the staircase. "You conflate me with my counterpart." He sounded disappointed, resigned. "It's only natural, I suppose, though I would advise against simplifying us in this way."

"Oh, yes, of course. I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Harry said, tone scathing.

Tom began maneuvering them up the stairs. "You would be wise to heed my advice, Harry."

"'Know thine enemy,'" Harry quoted bitterly.

The man laughed, sounding inordinately pleased at his words as he levitated Harry toward his room. "Oh, Harry, must our relationship be so adversarial as that?"

"Seeing as you're holding me here against my will—Hey, I know!" Tom opened the door to his room. "Why don't you take this necklace off and let me go, and then we can see how our 'relationship' fares, hm?"

"Let you go? Fine." Tom's voice was no longer amused as he dispelled his levitation and pushed Harry past the door frame, releasing the paralyzing spell as he did so. Harry landed sprawling on the floor with a yelp. "Whoops."

From the floor, Harry seethed up at the man. "That was not what I meant, and you know it!"

"Enough." The word was not said particularly loudly but Harry froze at the steely bite behind it and the sudden, cold fury twisting Tom's expression. "I will never let you leave. Never." Harry could only stare, heart pounding in his chest. "Lord Voldemort will never let you leave. We will never let you go, Harry Potter, and the sooner you understand that, the sooner you accept your position here—" At this, Tom's eyes raked down Harry's prostrate body at his feet, lips curling, "—the longer you will survive." He let the word resonate throughout the small room before his eyes narrowed. "Understood?"

Harry nodded weakly.

"I wouldn't go exploring the east wing again today if I were you," Tom warned, acting as if nothing had happened. "I will see you for dinner."

And with that, the door was clicked shut once more.

Once the panic had subsided, Harry did not stay in his room for long, choosing instead to escape to the relative freedom of the outdoors. It was getting colder now, winter drawing near, so he shivered as he walked along the worn loop at the edge of the wards. He wanted to stay out here forever and never return to that horrible manor, never mind the cold. He would much prefer the cold touch of Mother Nature to that of Tom Marvolo Riddle. He would.

But what about the touch of Lord Voldemort?

Harry's body shuddered with a chill that went beyond the cold as he recalled Voldemort's cock rutting against him. The fear he had felt in that moment had been all-encompassing, only broken by red eyes turning grey. Voldemort's eyes becoming… Tom's.

"Fuck," Harry whispered, eyes squeezing shut. Tom was right; he had to acknowledge it. He had to if he wanted to survive.

Tom had held Voldemort back.

Tom had held Voldemort back twice, and he would do it again—supposedly. For a price…

"Fuck!" Harry exploded in a flurry, kicking at the ground over and over and over as everything crashed down over him. The physical pain he still felt, the betrayal, the shame, the utter injustice of it all. What had he ever done to deserve this?!

The one good thing in his life, the one person he cared about, was the very creature he'd been warned about for his entire life. Was the very monster his parents had sacrificed their lives to trap away, and now here he was, trapped with him.

Harry kicked and kicked until his toes hurt too, and the hot tracks of tears on his cheeks—when had he cried?—cooled and dried. He kicked until he couldn't anymore. Uncaring of the dirt, Harry collapsed onto the ground, head in his hands.

Tom was a monster. No matter what he said, he was. If not for whatever curse afflicted him, then for what he had done. For the lies.

And yet… He had held the other monster back. The version of him that reflected Tom's inner darkness.

Harry needed him to do that again. He needed…

"Fuck," he whispered. Cold hands to his lips, he blew out a sigh. He had no choice.

Time slipped as he sat there, mind numb, the sun passing overhead until his body's complaints grew too loud. He was getting undeniably hungry. What was he going to do? By skipping meals, he'd avoided Tom, but he had woken up feeling weak; refusing to eat wouldn't help anything. And the sun… The sun was already beginning to sag. He had to eat.

Harry did not want to feel weak going into this night.

Tom ate his meal alone at the grand dining table, ignoring the seething monster gnawing at the back of his brain.

Ungrateful, Lord Voldemort snarled. Thankless!

Scared, Tom reminded himself even as he agreed. Naive. He was supposed to be the reasonable one. He was calm. Restrained.

He picked up his wine glass.

Calm and restrained.

Crack.

The blood and wine would stain the white tablecloth—a pity.

Sat on an old crate in the kitchen, Harry ate furtively, all too aware of Tom's gently clinking silverware in the other room. The man had come in to grab a meal about ten minutes before. He'd politely asked Harry if he would be joining him, only inclining his head in acknowledgment when Harry had automatically shaken his refusal. Even now, he wasn't sure if that had been the right choice; the logical part of him had been screaming at him to join Tom, to comply. Instead, he'd refused and Tom had left, leaving Harry to eat his scrounged-up meal of cheese and bread at the prep table.

Now, as Harry ate, the air felt charged and thick. Something to be broken as easily as a twig beneath a boot. Something to be broken with a—Crack.

Harry froze at the sudden noise, flinching at the sound of liquid splashing onto the floor and a sharp hiss of pain. What had happened? His curiosity burned to find out, but his panic warned him to flee. He compromised by staying put, waiting and listening.

"How unfortunate."

Tom's voice was loud in the quiet of the manor, and Harry heard the scraping noise of his chair on the wooden floor.

Oh Gods, he was coming, wasn't he?

Harry didn't want to wait to find out, but to slip out of the kitchen would be to slip past the dining room where Tom was. If he really were coming, leaving now would only draw them closer. He could retreat further into the attached pantry and pretend to have already left, but if Tom found out, how would he react to the sight of Harry so obviously hiding from him?

In the end, indecision kept him stalled just long enough to destroy any chance of slipping out before Tom's return. Harry cursed himself silently as the man walked back into the room, heading toward the sink.

It became apparent what had happened just looking at him. The long sleeves and front of Tom's white shirt were stained red, and he held the pieces of a broken wine glass. Beyond that, the man's hand had obviously been bleeding, though Harry could see no sign of any cut.

"Are you okay?"

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Tom looked over sharply from the sink. "What did you say?" he asked.

Harry swallowed heavily under the weight of the man's stare. You need him. "...Are you okay?" he repeated quietly.

Tom turned, cocking his head. "I am fine," he said. Then, as if he'd only just thought of it—no, as if he'd never thought to ask before, "Are you okay?"

Harry blinked back at him, unsure of how to answer. Would he be offended by the truth? "I'm… fine," he said tentatively. Then, more bitterly, "Relatively speaking."

An eyebrow was raised at that, but Tom didn't prod further. "You're talking to me."

"Yes."

Calculating eyes examined him from a carefully blank face; Harry was sure the man could all but taste his desperation. "Why?"

Tom wanted him to say it, the bastard. Steeling himself, Harry stood. He would not stay seated for this.

"I need you to hold him back."

A smile began to crawl across Tom's face. He slowly placed the cracked wine glass into the sink.

"And my price?" Companionship.

Harry's eyes fluttered shut, pained. "I'm willing to pay it."

"'Willing,'" Tom repeated. "Unfortunate."

Body stiffening, Harry's eyes flew open. "Unfortunate?"

"Oh yes," the man said, "I would have you eager, Harry."

Horrifyingly, Harry felt his face begin to burn. "You will not," he snapped.

Tom waved him off, dismissive. "One day. We have time." As Harry bristled, he continued. "For now, I will take you willing."

Shoving his anger down, Harry asked warily, "And in return, you will hold Voldemort back?"

"You have my word," Tom promised. "Lord Voldemort will not harm you tonight."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "And you? Will you harm me, Riddle?"

"I will not. I swear it."

The man looked sincere, which, of course, meant nothing really. But it would have to be enough.

"Okay then," Harry said. "Okay."

"We have a deal, then?" Tom extended his free hand, palm up. When Harry just stared at it, he added dryly, "Come. I will not bite."

"I doubt that," Harry muttered, but the comment worked, breaking through his fear, and he moved, crossing the space between them.

Harry reached out and covered Tom's cold palm with his own. Once hand in hand, they moved forward in sync, dragging and twisting their hands until they grasped the other's wrist. They squeezed then, binding the agreement in ceremony. A shiver ran down Harry's spine.

"It is done," Tom murmured.

"Yes," Harry agreed, and the hand around Harry's wrist pulled.

Shocked, he stumbled with a noise of surprise into Tom's chest. The man let go of his wrist, dragging his claiming hands up Harry's sides and over his shoulders, tracing him like he had the night before until he cradled Harry's face in his palms. Harry's heart thudded in his chest. It felt deeply intimate to be held like this, as if he was precious, but Harry didn't have time to dwell upon it before Tom kissed him.

Before he'd known the truth of him, Harry had pictured kissing Tom. He'd pictured something sweet and careful. Attentive.

This was far from sweet. Tom kissed him with fervor, with an open mouth and a searching tongue that cared nothing for the way he flinched back, his instinct to bite fighting with self-preservation. Harry could only stand there, rigid in Tom's hands, as the kiss went on and on until the sensuality of it began to eat at his resolve.

The man's soft, wet lips worked his own open; the erotic drag of tongue against tongue only served to confuse him. He felt his body reacting to it, growing relaxed and aroused all at once, and felt his lips begin to move against Tom's, kissing back. A small noise of what should've been protest escaped the back of his throat. It sounded more like lust.

The sound spurred Tom on, and one of the hands cupping Harry's face slid back to tangle in his hair. His head was pulled back then, not gently but not cruelly, allowing Tom to deepen the kiss. The man groaned as he did, pressing his body closer. Harry could feel the physicality of Tom's arousal against his hip and the sensation overwhelmed him. Harry gasped, his head turning away from Tom's as he struggled to draw air. Tom could not be deterred and instead pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to Harry's jaw.

All too soon, Tom tore himself away.

"Where shall I have you, Harry?" he asked, voice rough. "Here?" Blinking, rattled, Harry could only shake his head. "No? A bed, then," Tom decided. "But not yours."

"O-Okay."

Tom's hand wrapped around Harry's wrist, and then they were off, Tom dragging him behind. Together, they walked at a fast clip through the halls, turning twice and avoiding the stairs until Tom finally pulled them into a smaller bedroom Harry had only been in once or twice. He hadn't liked it at the time—still didn't—as the decor was rather frilly and the room had no window. Wait. No window…

The door was closed before he could say anything, and Harry had been backed up against the bed.

"Tom—"

The man shoved him none too gently. Harry landed on his back with a small "Oof!" that Tom swallowed down an instant later as he followed, covering Harry's body with his.

Harry turned his head to the side, trying to speak. "Tom, wait—" Tom simply gripped his chin and smothered his words with his lips again. "To-mph!"

When Harry's hands came up to push at Tom's chest, the man finally pulled away, though his grip on his face did not waver.

"There's no window," Harry gasped. "How will we know—?"

"Don't be dull," Tom interrupted impatiently. "I will know."

"But—"

The fingers on his jaw clenched bruisingly tight as Tom's expression hardened. "I've lived with this curse longer than you've been breathing, boy. You may need the sun to gauge when the change will occur, but I? I do not. Understood?"

Harry swallowed, forcing himself to nod.

"Good. Now…" Tom's grip softened, and his eyes grew dark and salacious. "Strip."

Oh gods.

Harry felt his heart skip as the man released his hold of Harry's face and pushed himself upright, pulling his stained shirt off in one fluid motion, revealing his sculpted chest. Shaken, Harry could only watch as the man rose on his knees above him and began working at his belt. "Are you shy?" Tom asked when Harry just continued to stare. "Or would you rather that I be the one to strip you?"

That did it. Sitting up, Harry said, "No. No, I'll do it."

Doing his best to avoid touching the man hovering above him, Harry removed his clothes with trembling hands, letting them drop to the floor by the bed. They joined Tom's clothes one by one until they were bare to the other. By the time the last article fell with a muffled thump, Harry's heart was in his throat. He couldn't look at the man before him; his eyes fluttered shut.

A moment later, hot breath sent a shudder down his spine. "Very good," Tom whispered in his ear. "Lay back for me now, darling."

Harry hesitated.

The bed beneath them shifting was the only warning Harry got before Tom's cold hand shoved him down. He fell, eyes tearing open, breath escaping in a rush that sounded an awful lot like a gasping moan. Harry blinked up rapidly at the ceiling.

"Look at me, Harry," Tom said softly.

He did. The man kneeled towering over him in all his naked splendor, body lithe and sensuous, his cock hard and flushed between muscular thighs. As Harry's gaze lingered there, Tom wrapped a hand around his impressive length and pulled, drawing a bead of liquid from his ruddy head. "This is what you do to me."

Harry's breath quivered. He felt his own cock begin to stir in turn, blood rushing traitorously south.

"Do you appreciate this power you hold over me, Harry Potter?" Tom asked, still working his hand languidly, unrushed. "I imagine you don't."

Harry shook his head, hands fisting the sheets beneath him, unable to understand his meaning as his body warred with his mind. His face was burning, surely as red as Tom's angry cock was. Horrid arousal churned in his gut at the thought, released in a little whine that he was helpless to contain.

"Oh-ho," Tom marveled, eyebrows lifting with surprised pleasure at the sound. "What is this? Perhaps I am mistaken." He bent forward then, his unoccupied hand landing beside Harry's ear. "Do you want me to touch you, Harry?"

Another whine hissed between his teeth. The urge to squeeze his eyes shut rose again, but Harry shoved it down. He needed to be able to see what Tom was going to do. He needed…

Tom moved swiftly, lowering to his forearm and angling his body to cover Harry's fully, lining up pelvis to pelvis to—

"Agh!" A cry was wrenched out of Harry as Tom wrapped his hand around both of their lengths and began to move. "Oh! Ohh gods—" Harry's hands flew up to clutch at Tom's shoulders. Surprisingly, Tom let him.

"So—vocal," Tom grunted. "Desperate thing."

Anger spiked. "Sh-Shut up," Harry spat, biting his nails into the man's back.

Tom just laughed and hissed out that same spell from the night previous. It felt just as weird, that warm and wet looseness, but it was made more palatable by the distraction of Tom's thrusting and tight fist. Harry could feel his body shaking now, and he clawed at Tom's back, his stomach tightening even as Tom let go of Harry's cock and pried his legs apart with hand and knee. Harry's legs fell open despite himself, exposing him fully to Tom.

The hand beside his face came up to grip Harry's hair again, pulling back until his neck was taut. "W-Wait," Harry cried, suddenly scared.

"I'm going to fuck you now."

In one fluid motion, a fist in Harry's hair, Tom lined himself up and pushed. He fucked into him with an unyielding purpose. Mouth open in a silent scream, eyes rolling back, Harry shoved at Tom weakly. His toes curled as the man continued to push and push until, finally, their bodies were flush. Oh gods, Harry was so, so full.

"Tom," he whined. "St—"

He wasn't given any time to recover before Tom was moving, fucking far faster than he had the night before. Every thrust sent ungodly pleasure rolling through his body. All Harry could do was hold on as, over and over, Tom fucked into him with vigor, punching cries out of his throat, until—

The man stopped. Stopped and hissed in pain.

"T-Tom?" Harry asked. He could barely think, strung tight.

The man didn't respond.

"Tom?" What was going on, why was he stopping… "Hey—Ow!" The fingers clutching his hair tightened, pulling painfully as Tom moved above him. "What are you—?"

Oh. Oh no.

Tom wasn't moving above him. Tom was spasming.

Tom was changing.

Blind panic. In an instant, Harry was twisting, thrashing, trying his hardest to escape from under the man fucking him. Bones cracked, and smooth, soft skin grew stiff scales as Harry clawed, shoved, and kicked. It proved futile. Despite Tom's—Voldemort's—obvious pain, the creature's strength was robust and unyielding, and his mind clear enough to snatch Harry's wrists and pin them as he smothered him with his body. Throughout it all, Voldemort snarled and hissed in agony and rage, eyes a burning red glow.

Harry's panicked cries joined the cacophony as he felt the cock buried within him twitch and—and begin to expand.

"Nononono," Harry pled. Oh gods, he was going to be torn apart, he was going to die. It needed to stop. When would it stop?! Voldemort's cock was going to rip him to shreds, Voldemort's cock was going to—going to…

Oh gods. It felt so—Oh, it hurt alright, but where was the agony?

"Harry Potter," Voldemort rasped, but Harry couldn't see; he was blind to everything but this overwhelming stretch, this devastating pleasure-pain that left him shaking and needy and—

Voldemort's hips snapped forward.

The noise Harry made as he came was debauched. A drawn-out, high-pitched, breathy thing that dripped with desperation as his cum splattered across his chest. His hands were numb, and his body was shaking. Shockwaves rocked him in time with Voldemort's relentless thrusts. He registered vaguely that the monster was speaking—growling, grunting—but Harry couldn't understand it. He was too busy drooling, his mind too foggy. He had never cum so hard in his life. All he could do was take it as Voldemort continued to fuck him past pleasure and into something more intense that went beyond physicality. A clawed hand wrapped around his dick.

No. Harry was going to lose his mind. Harry was going to—

He came again. His eyes rolled back, his shaking body going limp. But still, the monster rutted into him. Nonono. He needed Voldemort to stop, please, just for a bit.

His vision seemed to shatter into moments. A slow, undulating grind one second. Frantic thrusts the next. A clawed hand pressed down on the bulge in his stomach. A long, hot tongue lapped at the cum on his chest. And throughout it all, red eyes. It went until he couldn't take it anymore.

Harry needed Voldemort to cum. Never before had he needed anything more.

It took him eons to draw enough breath to moan. "V-Vold—Ah!"

The creature hissed, but Harry was too far gone to derive much meaning from it. Instead, he weakly attempted to clench around Voldemort, straining to get him off as quickly as possible. His hips bucked pathetically.

"Please," he begged.

"You're mine," Voldemort panted, his thrusts growing erratic. "Mine."

"Yes," Harry cried, arching his back. He gasped for air before choking out, "Yours. I'm—ah!—I'm yours." The monster growled at his throat. He just needed— "Come in me," Harry slurred, and Voldemort tensed. "Please. Voldemort, I need it, I need—"

A deep, guttural moan cut through Harry's begging as Voldemort broke, shuddering and coming deep inside Harry. "Fill you," he murmured, sounding drunk as he continued to grind his cum into Harry. "Mine."

Harry could only hum weakly in response; Voldemort's erection didn't seem to be calming down, and his small circular motions were sending sparks behind Harry's eyes. Eventually, though, Voldemort's motions slowed and he collapsed, sated, trapping Harry beneath him.

Harry could finally breathe. He was shaking and shivering, his body absolutely spent, but he could breathe again. All he wanted to do now was sleep.

Voldemort shifted, face turning to trail down and rest in the crook of his neck. Harry immediately tensed. Sleep? He couldn't sleep. Not with Voldemort's mouth at his neck.

And yet, as nothing else happened, he found he couldn't help himself. He slipped away to unconsciousness.

Harry woke sore and tired but clean, tucked under the sheets and dressed in fine nightclothes. Beside him stood Tom. His expression was inscrutable. They stared at each other for a long time.

"Voldemort didn't kill me."

"No."

"You didn't stop him," Harry accused, heart twinging painfully in his chest, hands clenching the bed sheets. Betrayal once more. When would the feeling finally die?

"No," Tom said simply. "I was in no position to hold him back."

A single bitter bark of laughter escaped Harry's chest as he recalled their position. "Oh, were you not? You planned that! And—" he sat up, gesturing wildly at the windowless walls, "And you chose this room on purpose, too, to keep me blind to the time!" Tom nodded his confirmation, sinfully unashamed. "Why?" he cried.

"It was easier for you this way," Tom said. "Cleaner. Lord Voldemort's aching hunger for you only grew with every night he spent watching you, Harry. Last night was the tipping point. Once I'd claimed you, there was no holding him back. Not for any significant amount of time. It was for the best."

"'For the best,'" Harry whispered, numb.

"Yes. He showed… restraint." Harry got the impression this reality still surprised Tom. "As you said, he didn't kill you."

"...Why?"

"He didn't want to. He—" Tom's head cocked to the side as if he was listening to something or, more likely, someone. "He doesn't want to."

A pause. "And you?"

"When have I ever wanted that?" Tom asked. "You know what I want."

"And—and what about what I want?" Harry croaked, throat closing. His eyes burned with unshed tears.

A hand slipped into his hair. "We'll work on that," Tom promised. "No one's going anywhere. We have all the time we need."