Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The one true motive	By : indivisible_soup Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 4477 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own HP. I don't make money from this fic.

Chapter List
- 1-First Chapter
- 2-Second chapter
- 1
- 2
Voldemort didn't have a type, be it a man or a woman, and he rarely wanted to get into somebody's pants because of their appearance, but he still was a human, or at least many of his animalistic desires were human, so from time to time he stumbled upon somebody who he found quite attractive. And if situation was right, he sometimes could not resist even a conventionally plain-looking muggle.
Voldemort, in the form of a lank man in his mid twenties, stopped, panting a little, as he noticed that the shopkeeper finally stopped chasing after him and now, on the other end of the street, was leaning forward, with his hands on his knees, his whole upper body heaving from deep breaths. Voldemort glanced down at his hand to see what exactly he got this time; he never even looked at what he stole and always grabbed the first thing that caught his eye. He yelled, "Thanks for the coffee! Til next time!"
The red-faced man looked up at him, his countenance contorted with anger, and shook his fist. To which Voldemort only grinned and waved with his free hand tauntingly, angering the man further.
For the past several weeks Voldemort had been shoplifting small items from a small store every few days. And with each time the owner ran after him farther and farther, but, of course, never catching up with Voldemort. He did not plan to be caught in the middle of a busy street.
After turning and going out of sight from the shopkeeper, Voldemort put the jar of instant coffee on the nearest windowsill and leisurely strolled away, thinking that the next time would be the one.

***

Voldemort let himself get caught right by the shop after making a circle around the block and pretending to stumble. And, after putting his best performance while listening to the shopkeeper's threat of police and begging him not to do that, he ended up in the back room of the shop on his knees. Just as he had planned. Though it took more convincing than he had expected.
"Do you know how much you cost me?!" said the shopkeeper, trying to sound as if he wasn't radiating excitement and still was angry.
Voldemort only hummed, unable to answer and not wanting to take the juicy cock out of his mouth. A cock for which he worked for. If stealing groceries and running away with them could be called working. He wanted to savour it first. Mid-blowjob smalltalk might come later, if the man lasts long enough.
When Voldemort had wandered the streets in the form of a waitress after Dumbledore had taken Potter to the Burrow, he as usual peered into minds of random people. That's when he had seen the shopkeeper eye a man longingly and imagine almost the exact situation they were in momentarily.
A closeted bisexual man in his early forties who had zero experience with men outside of his fantasies. What could be more exciting? A man that was quite attractive to boot!
This was different from Voldemort's usual M.O., but such small things were always fun now and then. If fulfilling a muggle's fantasy was fun, why not do it? Voldemort liked to fulfil deep-seated wishes of unsuspecting muggles if they were small and had something to do with sex. The shopkeeper had a wife and kids, and for years and years wanted to do something with a man. Daily tending to the shop and fantasizing. Day in day out. Year in year out... Never daring to follow through. Not until Voldemort presented him with the most perfect opportunity, in which he did not have to do anything but say Yes.
Voldemort expected for the shopkeeper to take charge, as he had seen him imaging in the glimpses of his thoughts, but the man showed no such inclinations in any way, which was a little disappointing. Voldemort had been a nuisance by so brazenly stealing from the shop, so why the man did not try to let out his frustration on him? Even if that was his first time with a man, it sure as hell was not his first time getting a blowjob. He, of course, was able to peer into the shopkeeper's mind at any moment and see everything that he wanted, but he seldom violated private thoughts after zeroing in on his potential sexual partners. That would've been no fun. And doing it while having a cock in his mouth would've been outright rude.
The man clearly had difficulties standing upright, but Voldemort didn't even think of lessening the tempo. Slobbering over the shaft messily without a care about how it might look. He himself did not like getting sloppy blowjobs, but giving them like this was an entirely different matter.
But then, after a courteous warning, it ended. Way too soon for Voldemort's liking. And a surpassing amount of semen flooded his mouth. Usually muggles, and wizards who did not use one of several available semen-enhancing charms, came less. Voldemort did not even think of complaining. He kept stroking the cock, squeezing every last bit out of it, to make sure that he wouldn't miss even on a drop of that gooey, bitter goodness. Which he, of course, swallowed. He felt getting even harder from that; making somebody new cum for the first time and swallowing a mouthful of it was always exhilarating.
After he was done down there, Voldemort stood up so fast that the soles of his feet left the ground for a split-second, and kissed the shopkeeper. The man froze at first, clearly not expecting it, but after a second-long hesitation returned the kiss softly.
The shopkeeper was the one who broke the kiss. This was the first thing that was in any way assertive coming from him. He looked at Voldemort, his eyes were wide and his jaw trembled a little as if he was trying to say something, but his body did not cooperate. Finally he took a deep breath, collecting his bearings, and said tentatively, "Should I... Ehm... May I do the same?"
Despite the only source of light was a dim lightbulb above them, Voldemort noticed the deep blush on the man's face, whose eyes darted downwards each time he broke the eye-contact, where Voldemort's hard cock was tenting his trousers. Voldemort smiled. He didn't have to read the shopkeeper's mind to see that at that moment the man would sell his soul for a positive answer.

***

Voldemort was in disbelief, listening to cheerful cackling of prancing Bellatrix, who was repeating over and over that Dumbledore was dead. First he decided to wait for Snape's arrival, to make sure it was true and not the product of Bellatrix's deranged mind. And minutes later, when he got his confirmation, he felt the full force of the blow hit him. With Dumbledore gone Voldemort had no more plausible justifications not to take over the magical Britain. It wouldn't have been impossible with Dumbledore being alive and well, naturally, but he at least provided a semblance of an active resistance.
How in the world did Snape manage to do that?! Ten Snapes maybe would've had a fifty-fifty chance against Dumbledore! What the hell?! Him alone?! A single Avada?! Even without a wand Dumbledore was more than capable of defending himself! Hell, even a witless child would've had enough sense to at least duck from the spell's path! The simplest explanation was that Dumbledore faked his death. But to which end? It didn't seem logical whatsoever. Dumbledore was a symbol to lots of people, even to the ones that did not particularly like his soft methods. It didn't make any sense for him to do such thing. And it wasn't Dumbledore's style. Was it exactly the reason to fake it? Did Dumbledore know that it would look ridiculous? Maybe he aimed to sow confusion?
Voldemort was baffled. It was a while since he had looked into Snape's mind. He avoided it in order to not spoil the fun. But after such a puzzle he had to do it out of sheer curiosity.
He ordered everybody but Snape to leave. And the moment the two of them were left alone Voldemort delved into his mind without as much as saying a word. It took him just a few seconds to go through the elaborate layers and get the relevant parts. He pulled back right away, lest he see something more and spoil some future fun for himself.
After letting Snape go Voldemort let out a long tired sigh, realizing the finality of Dumbledore's death, and cursed himself for neglecting the course of things so much. Dumbledore was the oldest person he personally knew. Having met him for the first time long before Tom Riddle was born. Dumbledore had been there for so long that Voldemort felt weird to have a world without him. He just didn't feel like accepting that he would never have one of those glorious duels with the man; it was difficult to find somebody who fought on such a level.
Dumbledore essentially offing himself at least answered the main question. Of course Snape didn't kill the man. What a sad death - suicide through hand of another... Although considering that one wasn't able to cast Avada on oneself, it was the best death possible. Discounting the ones which came without warning, of course.
If Voldemort had known that Dumbledore was affected by that curse, he sure would've slipped the known to be long-lost book containing counter-curse to Snape or through some other channel. Which surely would've bought Dumbledore at least another 15 to 20 years to keep leading the resistance, if not more.
But now what? Potter was and would remain a symbol for resistance. The symbol now. But who would take Dumbledore's place in actually leading it? Mad-Eye?
If only Voldemort had paid any attention towards Dumbledore at that metro station almost a year ago instead of gawking at Potter, then he might've noticed the darkened hand. Snape had never mentioning the curse in his reports was logical - it must've been Dumbledore's plan from the day after he was sure that the curse was supposedly incurable.
Voldemort wasn't able to comprehend how Dumbledore was able to lead a seemingly normal life for the whole year knowing that his doom was closing in on him without franticly searching for a way to prolong his days. Despite Dumbledore's age and inexperience, Voldemort still felt that the man somehow managed to become so much more capable in some areas.
Voldemort chuckled.
Out of all the Horcruxes Dumbledore had to succumb to one of the least protected. If that nosy cunt wasn't as perceptive, he wouldn't have died for naught. He likely recognized the embedded in the ring gemstone as the Resurrection Stone and lost his concentration. Died because of one inconsequential mythical trinket that did nothing but made projections from one's own mind. What a shame.
And what a great fuck Dumbledore had been back in his prime...
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The one true motive