1-The Irresistible Call 2-The Basilisk 3-The Spy 4-The Hellish Summer 5-The Maker of Dark Lords 6-The Sacrifice 7-The Nesting Urge 8-The Snake-like Ferret 9-The Unexpected Birth 10-The Cursed Day 11-The Crooked Leg Of The Tripod 12-The Wizarding Brutus And His Caesar 13-The Sick Ones And Their Maladies 14-The One That Got Away 15-The Taste Of Sin 16-The Prodigal Son 17-The Sweet Temptation 18-The Seed Of Vengeance 19-The Mating Ball 20-The Secrets We Keep And The Lies We Tell 21-The Slytherin Mark 22-The Ones Who Fell 23-The News 24-The First Taste of Revenge 25-Sharing is Caring and the Top Food Chain 26-The Plumed Serpent 27-The Holidays 28-The Birthday Present 29-The Realization
Because We Are Snakes – 1: The Irresistible Call
“Wormtail, robes!” He demanded, and the insipid creature of a man moved toward his naked body with bundles of black clothes clutched in his trembling hand.
The Dark Lord walked out of his smoking broken cauldron in all his snake-like glory. He moved with purpose and the certainty of successful achievement, every step taking him closer to the boy pinned in place by the stony arms of the cemetery’s Grim Ripper statue. In the background, Wormtail held his bleeding stump and gazed upon his master with reverence and cowardice expected of a rat such as him.
The clawed naked feet of the Dark Lord stopped inches before the struggling beaten boy as he taunted him. His clawed finger pushed onto the lightning bolt scar as he gave proof to the boy that the protection left to him by his mother’s so called love and self-sacrifice was no longer in place. How he loved the screams of pain the boy uttered when their skins first touched.
Suddenly, the strangest of reactions occurred. Between them, the connection of the blood protections the Dark Lord had stolen from the boy hummed and glowed an eerie angry red. The screams of agony uttered from the boy’s mouth turned into the most pleasure-filled sounds he had ever heard. Something inside his own body, something somewhere in the pit of his stomach heated at alarming speed and the Dark Lord knew arousal the likes he had not even experienced during his teenage years before he had mastered his body and risen above such mundane bodily reactions.
The boy’s body was calling to him, in a way which caused his own body great need, and he wanted to press himself fully onto it.
He pulled his hand back as if it had burned him and the separation of his finger from the boy’s forehead somewhat tamed the need, not enough, but at least boy had stopped moaning so lewdly and loudly and just hung limply from the arms of the Grim Reaper as he gasped and struggled to catch his breath with a faraway look upon his glassy eyes. Voldemort himself was holding in the need to breath heavily and keeping his eyes and mind from falling into the same hazed state the boy’s had sunk into.
He wanted to know what this reaction was, it would be bad if it was yet another weapon against him the boy possessed.
“Wormtail,” He hissed between clenched teeth. “Sleep.”
Behind him, a confused and frightened Wormtail only managed as an answer a squeaked “M-my Lord?”
The Dark Lord turned with the speed of a striking cobra and pointed his wand at his servant, in less of a second Wormtail was under the effects of a sleeping charm. He knew he was losing control of his reactions and didn’t want his servant to witness him having such a –human- moment, regardless of whether it would demean his enemy to be touched by his hands, before he got a hold of his impulse and proceeded to kill the annoying pest after getting rid of whatever reaction he was having to the power of the stolen blood. Lord Voldemort was far better than the filthy muggles, far greater than all wizards currently alive, he was almost a god he thought, and it simply would not do to have one of his lesser servants -or anyone for that matter- seeing him indulge in carnal explorations.
With his only witness taken care of, the Dark Lord set to get whatever it was the stolen blood had corrupted him with out of his system.
He allowed himself to act upon his urges and pressed his body to the still glassy-eyed boy and the graveyard filled with a symphony of moans once more, though less loud than before.
His need was somewhat relieved by having his body pressed fully to the boys but at the same time he could still feel that it was not enough. His clothes felt heavy to him and he would dare say that at this very moment he considered being on the way of what he craved.
‘Perhaps it is something about the skin to skin contact?’ He wondered and his curious mind wanted nothing more than to find out.
The boy struggled within the stony arms, his muddled mind trying to overcome the sensations invading him, to fight and end his shame as he moaned wantonly while the Dark Lord’s spidery fingers relieved of clothing. Every time the scaly fingers touched his bare skin, Harry Potter moaned louder and gasped as if small shocks of electricity were running through him. Inside his mind the boy screamed in anger, it killed him to want the touch and detest it at the same time. He felt himself going crazy at the dichotomy of his feelings and he hated himself for wanting, he hated his body in that moment more than he had ever hated anyone in his life. He desperately screamed both in pleasure and in hateful anger, because he simply did not know what to do nor could he command his body to react to Voldemort’s touch as was expected of him. He should hate it, and it killed him that he didn’t. Most of all, it killed him that he didn’t know why.
The Dark Lord felt them too, those electric shocks running through his body… and he wanted more.
He opened the front of his robes and they hung around his scaly frame like a black waterfall of inky darkness.
His leathery skin, pressed against the young man’s youthful body, and it felt marvelous as they both screamed while a stronger bolt of energy ran through them. The boy was hot, much warmer than the average human body he was sure, but somehow it felt natural and not feverish at all. Idly, in the back of his mind, he briefly wondered why it was.
As sadistic as he was, he had never meant to do what he was very much considering doing. He had never, not even during his youthful days of sexual exploration before mastering the urges of his own body, even considered engaging in such activities with another male. But he sure as hell was considering it now. The pleasure of skin to skin touch was just so exquisite, so consuming, and he wanted to know how it would feel. After all, he could -he would- kill the boy after.
He would hear the boy scream in pleasure, would see his horror filled face afterward when his mind caught up with what had happened, would demean and defeat him before his loyal followers and in the end, would see him fall dead before him. Yes, he would take the boy, he would explore this pleasure and he would rise above the reaction as he has risen above all his human urges before and then proceed to take the Wizarding World for himself. He was a Dark Lord, he was the Dark Lord Voldemort, and as such he would take what he wanted when he wanted it without remorse and prove himself superior.
So he took the boy’s naked thighs with his cold scaled hands, his claw-like nails sinking slightly onto the sun kissed flesh while the Champion’s clothes hung limply from one of the boy’s legs and his right shoulder, and he parted them to reveal his target.
Not one to cause himself unnecessary discomfort, Voldemort hung the boys left leg over his shoulder making use of the convenient height difference as the boy still clung desperately to the arms of the Ripper in a useless attempt to pry them open. With his free hand he scooped up some of the still flowing blood from the cut Wormtail had made upon the boys flesh for the resurrection ritual and in a bout of pure sadistic irony, used it to prepare the boys entrance for himself.
The boy was tight, much too tight; he knew if he did not prepare the boy it would be uncomfortable for himself as well. It was a service the boy should appreciate, he thought, though it was not out of sympathy he did it but a completely self serving act. He was many things but an animal he was not, unlike some of his less cultured followers he did not enjoy shoving himself forcefully into too tight and unwilling spaces, regardless of whether or not his victim of the moment was unwilling.
One finger worked itself in and without much care pumped and circled in order to loosen the puckered entrance.
Pumping violently in and out with the slick aid of crimson red blood and the boy screamed and moaned even louder than before at the same time he begged for it all to stop. For him not to do what he was very much intending to do. And the Dark Lord in his haze filled mind knew not another thing he would rather be doing at this moment as he groaned and breathed heavily with his fingers inside the boy and a current of energy traversing his body.
With reluctance he pulled his fingers out, the contact no longer felt like enough, and guided his hardness to the boy’s entrance.
He didn’t know why the boy spoke to him in parseltongue, though he was momentarily surprised by it, but he recognized it as not being English even as he understood it all the same.
Those lust-glazed green eyes focused on him as the boy pleaded.
“Please no. Don’t do this to me.”
And though the boy’s ability to speak the snake language was decidedly a curious thing, at the moment Lord Voldemort was more concerned with driving this lust from his body by taking him.
He plunged into the hot flesh and white hot energy filled him completely. The graveyard filled with twin screams of utter brilliant mind numbing pleasure and the Dark Lord began that age old back and forward dance as he trusted himself into the boy. Tears fell freely from emerald eyes as the Savior of the Wizarding World both pulled and pushed the Dark Lord’s shoulders, his body not knowing if he should be closer of far away from the other’s body while at the same time his mind screamed at him to do something and stopped this blatant violation of his will and person.
His body’s reactions both confused and angered him and in those green eyes the red eyes of the Dark Lord saw the fight raging within, and it gave him pleasure knowing that the boy did not understand himself and was suffering for his body’s obvious betrayal.
Voldemort let go of the thigh he was still holding and to his surprise it circled his waist and pulled him closer, he doubted the boy was even aware. His clawed hands held on tightly to the boy’s back and dug mirrored trails at both sides, which bled small trails of vibrant red, as the boy’s muscles tightened and spasm around him, strangling his hardness in the most delightful of ways. He felt the slick wetness covering his chest and abdomen and laughed out loud at the boy’s soon to appear mortification of having cum while being violated by his mortal enemy.
Frantically he slammed faster and harder into the tight pulsing heat, going in as far as he could he, much too soon he reached his climax and held himself still while he emptied into Dumbledore’s Golden Lion. It was like fire and it was like lightning, it was like emptying his soul and every fluid in his body into that gloriously wonderful place. How long it went on, he didn’t know, but he savored every moment all the same.
In a rush of warm liquid something else left him, something bigger and more solid, he didn’t know what it was nor did he care. But as it left him to deposit itself into the boy the pleasure was three times more wonderful than the initial orgasm.
He almost considered keeping the boy, just so he could feel it again, but the boy was a danger to his plans and keeping him alive even as a pet would be extremely foolish.
The rush left him slowly as his body’s need receded now that it was duly satisfied. The Dark Lord considered that now that his regrettably desperate human need was tended to he could take the time to master his new body and block it from assaulting him, he would train this new body just like he had done with his previous one. A Dark Lord has no need of these… reactions.
With his flair for the dramatic now demanding attention, it was time to gather an audience to his defeat of the enemy’s weapon and savior. A wave of his wand saw them both cleaned and clothed. A swift Enervate and Obliviate saw Wormtail awake and unaware.
The servant came forth upon his calling.
The call of the Dark Mark issued.
Rewards and punishments given.
Some well placed Crusios upon the boy.
And through his fingers an emerald eyed boy and his dead friend slipped.
He would kill the boy later he supposed.
At the very least he had the pleasure of having taken the boy against his will –regardless of enjoyment or compliance of the other- and it would likely be a moment which would haunt the Light’s beacon’s protégé until the moment he struck him down.
If Dumbledore only knew how Potter had screamed for him with his scaly cock inside, be bet the old goat would go into conniptions.
‘They might even drive him to an early grave’ He thought with amusement. ‘Then it would be easier for me to take over our world and clean up the mess his prejudiced ways have turned the Wizarding World and I could finally bring back valance to magic.’