Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Last Chance	By : DragonOfVenus Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Voldemort Views: 26994 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and all related characters, settings, and other copy-righted entities. I do not, nor do I make any profit from this piece of writing.

Chapter List
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Harry woke up no fewer than five times that night from rolling onto his cut side. In the morning, his pillow was bloody and his neck stung terribly. He felt only slightly better after a shower. Thankfully, the first of December was rather cold, so Harry had an excuse to put on one of the thicker turtleneck robes he'd inherited from Rabastan. It was long enough to hide most of the cut, lest Rodolphus see it and remember how angry he'd been with Harry the night before and why, and it provided a very small amount of cushion between the delicate wound and the rest of the world, without irritating the cut too much in its own right. It was also of a maroon color that Harry hoped blood wouldn't be as noticeable on or difficult to wash out of. He'd given Twoey enough trouble as it was, after all.

He wasn't locked in his room. That was an incredible relief. Still, his heart sped up a bit and he was glad to get to the bottom of the stairs without seeing Rodolphus. He walked into the dining room at nine in the morning, the usual time to eat breakfast, and sat down in his usual seat, as far away from all of the Lestranges as he could get without leaving the table.

"Will you pass the—"

A bowl of Brussels sprouts appeared in front of him.

"Eat all of them," Rodolphus said firmly. "You don't want to know what you're getting for lunch if you don't."

Harry bit down his moan and picked up his fork. There must have been a dozen or so in the bowl, at least, and Harry could taste their bitterness just thinking about it. Still, he was hungry, he didn't want to anger Rodolphus any more than he already had, and he really didn't want to see what they'd try to make him eat if he refused. He would have to eat some time, and it might as well be now, when the hole he'd dug himself into wasn't terribly deep. He tried to look nonchalant as he chewed, but he had always despised Brussels sprouts, and by the time he was on the third one his resolve to keep that from showing on his face was gone.

Bellatrix laughed, taking a very showy bite of her own eggs to taunt Harry. Once she'd chewed, she smiled. "Aw, does little baby Potter not want to eat his vegetables?"

Harry ate another sprout without responding. Bellatrix's insults were almost a broken record after enough time. It wasn't that difficult to ignore them.

"What? Doesn't your mommy ever make you eat your vegetables? Oh, wait. I'm so sorry..."

Harry swallowed his brief flash of rage along with his sprout. Somehow, he made it through breakfast without hexing Bellatrix, though her insults continued sporadically through the meal. Her 'sense of humor' was very close to Draco's, and though Harry would have knocked Draco across the Quidditch Pitch for that five years ago, that would have been under entirely different circumstances, before the war, when Harry thought that little things like Slytherins being bullies actually mattered. Now Harry mostly just wished that bullying orphans was all Bellatrix Lestrange had ever done.

Rodolphus and Rabastan were quiet until Harry left. Harry noticed Rodolphus' eyes on his neck a few times, but Rodolphus obviously couldn't see anything beneath Harry's robes. He looked at Harry and opened his mouth to speak several times, but every time he changed his mind.

When Harry returned to his room, he found his soiled clothes gone and his entire bed-set changed. The new sheets and blankets smelled freshly washed and were various shades of brown that Harry liked far more than the cream-colored set he'd traded for them. Harry collapsed onto the bed and instantly regretted it when his cut was again harshly ripped open. He held his robes to it until the stinging subsided, then walked into the bathroom to look. Although there was a clear line of slightly darker red on the clothes, Harry didn't think it would be terribly noticeable to anyone not looking for it. When he flipped the collar down, he found that the cut was a rather angry red color and there was smeared blood around most of it, but it wasn't in terrible shape. Harry flipped his collar back up and returned to his bed, this time sitting down a bit more carefully.

Terribly clear memories from last night circled Harry's thoughts. He had very mixed feeling about what had happened. Why hadn't he told Voldemort to stop? In fact, not only had he not told Voldemort to stop, he'd shook his head. He'd actually told Voldemort not to stop. Was hethat desperate for a quick hand-job? It wasn’t even as though Voldemort had done anything that Harry wouldn't have been able to do himself.

Shit. How was he even going to look at Voldemort ever again? Voldemort had told Rodolphus that he and Harry would be seeing each other again soon. What had Voldemort made of that? Would he mock Harry brutally the next time they saw each other? Probably. Would he take it as some kind of surrender? Harry wouldn't blame him. He had betrayed so many of his principles last night. Would he... try something more?

Harry didn't know. Harry wasn't even sure how he'd react if Voldemort did try something more. On one hand, Harry had enjoyed himself last night. And maybe, especially if Voldemort took Harry's willingness to sleep for him for willingness to submit in general, Harry could gain a bit more freedom and a ticket out of Lestrange Manor by offering Voldemort some pleasure of his own. It was a relatively small price to pay for not having to put up with Bellatrix Lestrange any more. On the other hand, Voldemort had killed Harry's parents. That was a pretty big mood killer, and one that was fairly difficult to forget about. Harry's pride was rebelling against the idea of using sex to get into Voldemort's good graces, as well. Surely the moral implications of fucking the Dark Lord were just more important than whether or not Harry would have to spend any more time listening to Bellatrix mock him.

Harry couldn't do it. It had been wrong to do it last night, and if Voldemort mocked Harry for it, it would be the least Harry deserved. He certainly couldn't do any more than that. He doubted even Neville would stoop that low just to get out of the Lestrange's house, and Neville would have far more reason than Harry to want out.

...Poor Neville. It was still utterly surreal to think that he was a Death Eater now. And Hermione...

There was a soft knock at the door.

Harry stood up and moved toward the door slowly, not quite sure if he should expect more of Bellatrix's jeers or Rodolphus' sorry glances, or something else entirely. Rabastan had hardly said five words to him the entire time he'd been staying with the Lestranges.

It was Rabastan.

"The Dark Lord wants to see you at the Ministry," he said. He grabbed Harry and side-apparated him into Voldemort's office without another word. He left just as quickly.

Well, that’s fifteen words...

Harry looked around the Minister's office. It was a large room filled with comfortable chairs. The carpet was thick and dark green, to match the chairs. The large oak desk seemed so imposing that Harry was actually a bit relieved to find that Voldemort wasn't sitting behind the desk. He was settled into one of the chairs not far from where Harry stood, sipping coffee and smirking at Harry.

"Sit," Voldemort said, nodding to the chair across from him. Harry obeyed, but he found it rather disconcerting that Voldemort's eyes wouldn't quite meet his. They were fixed quite sternly on Harry's neck, and the line of blood on his collar that seemed much more noticeable now than it had a few minutes ago.

"What happened?" Voldemort said, his jaw set and his eyebrow arched dangerously.

"What?" Harry said, desperately hoping that Voldemort would just let it go.

With a single wave of Voldemort's wandless hand, Harry's collar was being tugged down brutally and fresh stingers were clawing their way up the cut on Harry's neck.

"What happened?"

"Rodolphus Lestrange!" Harry said.

The stinging didn't stop.

"Keep talking," Voldemort said. His glare didn't soften. "I want a verb, a direct object, and a subordinating clause beginning with 'because.'"

Harry wasn't entirely certain was a direct object was, but he didn't think it would be in his own best interest to ask. He said "...cast a slicing hex on me because I kicked him and swore at him when he tried to physically drag me to dinner last night," and hoped it was enough.

The stinging stopped. "Who won that fight?" Harry was actually surprised that he couldn't find any trace of a laugh in the question. Still, there wasn't concern there either. It was idle curiosity, if anything, that seemed to have prompted Voldemort to ask the question.

Harry shrugged. "How are we defining 'won'? I was in pain for a lot longer than he was."

"Did you eat dinner last night?"

The look on Voldemort's face changed suddenly, and Harry became very concerned that he'd offered a bit too much information earlier.

Harry swallowed hard. "No."

Voldemort raised his wand. Harry flinched, and half a second later a strange tingling spread though Harry's cut. Harry slapped his hand to it, expecting a rush of pain at any moment, but none came. Instead, the gash healed beneath Harry's fingers.

"The Lestranges are not allowed to hurt you," Voldemort said.

Harry sighed and lowered his hand. He fixed his collar quickly.

"Crucio."

Harry instinctively curled into the fetal position in his chair, bucking and screaming in a frantic attempt to shake off the pain, but it was useless. It wasn't a long punishment, by Voldemort's standards, but it was certainly long enough. When the curse ended Harry remained where he was for a few seconds, panting and terrified that if he sat up to look at Voldemort, he'd be cursed again.

"Get up here, Harry," Voldemort said with a sigh. "We're done now. I won't curse you again unless behave badly again."

Harry sat up, if no other reason than because he knew that staying where he was would be 'behaving badly' according to Voldemort, and wouldguarantee that he was cursed again.

"You are not allowed to miss meals."

"You know, that seemed pretty clear to me after Rodolphus slit my throat yesterday and decided to send me to bed without desert today."

"Rodolphus had no right to make that clear. His orders were to come to me if you gave him trouble. I'll be having a discussion with him as well later."

Harry flinched. Even if Rodolphus left his 'discussion' with Voldemort too afraid to physically hurt Harry, Harry was sure that his foreseeable future with the Lestranges was not going to be pleasant. If he'd known refusing was going to create this many problems, he'd have just eaten the damn duck.

"Do you understand me, Harry?"

Harry sighed. "If I didn't have to eat with them, maybe—"

"Cru—"

"No!" Harry said, jumping in his seat slightly. He was relieved, but not entirely surprised, when Voldemort lowered his wand. He'd said the curse noticeably more slowly than he usually did, and Harry could only assume that had been so that Harry would have time to repent before it was cast. "No, please, I..." He took a deep breath and held up his hands in surrender. "I'll eat with them."

"And you will not challenge my orders. Do you understand?"

Harry gasped as a stinging hex hit his arm. He bit his tongue to hold in a few swear words, then let out a grudging "Yes." The stinging hex had been gentle even for a stinging hex, though. Harry's arm didn't swell, and the pain stopped completely within seconds.

"Good," Voldemort said. "Now, onto more important matters. I summoned you because we need to do something about that scar of yours..."

"You can't," Harry said.

Voldemort's eyebrows arched. He leaned forward slightly and for the first time that day Voldemort's evil red eyes met Harry's soft green eyes.

Harry shrunk back in his seat. "Let me reword that..."

Voldemort nodded. "I think that would be wise."

"I... er... What I meant was... It's not possible...?"

Voldemort looked unimpressed.

"It is impossible," Harry said again, trying to make it sound less like a hopeful suggestion and more like the statement of fact that he knew it was.

Voldemort's eyebrows lowered. "Who told you that?"

"Dumbledore," Harry said. When Voldemort didn't answer him right away, he became half afraid that even speaking Dumbledore's name was now considered horrible blasphemy and he was going to be hexed for it.

Voldemort actually chuckled slightly. "Ah," he said, rising and walking over to Harry. "Dumbledore lied." Voldemort traced Harry's scar with his wand. The pain was tolerable, though not pleasant, and Harry managed to remind himself just in time that it would go very badly for him if he pulled away. "The trouble is that you haven't been properly solidified. It hasn't accepted you as its host, so it wants to break out of you whenever I'm near."

"It's welcome to get out of me whenever it wants. I hope it doesn't think I'm stopping it."

Voldemort ignored him.

Solidified. It was a harmless enough word, but the mere fact that it ivolved the horcrux had Harry bracing himself for incredible pain. Still, something in the back of Harry's mind clung to a small bit of hope. It bothered Voldemort that Harry's scar hurt. Theoretically, if 'solidifying' Harry worked, it would mean considerably less pain for Harry in the long run.

"How do I do it?"

"Hm?" Voldemort said. Then he seemed to realize what Harry meant. "You don't do anything but hold very still. I solidify you."

That made Harry considerably more nervous. It did not seem like a good idea to trust his mind to the most mental man he knew.

Harry looked over at Voldemort. He didn't have much choice.

"Alright then..." Harry said, flinching to hear his voice crack slightly. "How will you do it?"

"Oh," Voldemort said, "It's really quite simple. I'm just going to formally cast the spell on you. How badly does this hurt?" He reached toward Harry's face, but something more pressing occurred to Harry and he pulled back before Voldemort reached him.

"Wait!"

Voldemort's hand stilled, but he glared at Harry.

"This won't—It won't possess me once we're, er, solidified, will it? Like the diary tried to possess Ginny?"

"It doesn't matter," Voldemort said. He took another step toward Harry and raised his wand.

Harry jumped out of his chair. "It matters a great deal to me." He let his hand inch toward his wand, but he didn't grab it. It would be rather useless, here and now, in any case.

Voldemort sighed. "It shouldn't. Sit down."

"Why not?"

"Sit down, Harry. I will not ask you again."

Harry watched a dark glint cross Voldemort's eyes and was keenly aware that there was nothing stopping Voldemort from stunning Harry and casting the spell anyway, then torturing Harry when he woke. Harry sat back down.

"Nothing like that has ever happened to Nagini," Voldemort said.

"Nagini isn't human."

"Neither is the diary. It was designed to be able to possess people. I had to put very specific spells with very specific parameters on it to enable it to do that, and there are reasons why I never did so again. I will be very surprised if the horcrux in you can do even half of what I designed the diary to do. That's a lot of spells for my body to have been casting, without my consent, as I was dying, Harry. Now, how badly does this hurt?" The tip of his finger wasn't even completely touching Harry when a sharp pain flared through Harry's head. By the time the wand actually made contact with Harry's face, it was unbearable. He pulled away from Voldemort and ducked his head into his arms, screaming every swearword he knew.

When his swears started to slow down, he heard Voldemort sigh. "Stupify."

His eyes opened slowly. He was lying on his side in Voldemort's office, on the floor by the window. There was warm sunlight on his back and cool fingers that were connected to a body behind Harry, out of his view, caressed his skin and ran through his hair.

"Come on..." a soft voice said.

Harry shifted to a more comfortable position and stretched his legs. The hand left his hair so that it wouldn't get tangled up in it when Harry moved, then returned to it. "So far, so good... How are you feeling, Harry?"

Harry's heart dropped. Voldemort had stunned him. He'd just spent god-knows-how-long lying unconscious on Voldemort's office floor, and he'd woken up with Voldemort touching him.

And he was okay. He was alive, he was himself, and for the first time in his life Voldemort was touching him and he was not in pain. He glanced down at himself and found all his limbs completely in place and not even bloody. He was overcome by a sense of relief so strong that he actually audibly sighed and physically relaxed.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow.

"A little dizzy," Harry said. "Stiff."

"That's quite understandable." The fingers left his hair, and a single finger began to trace Harry's scar. "I take it this doesn't hurt very much...?"

"Hm?" Harry rolled over.

Voldemort paused for a moment, then touched a long, pale finger to Harry's scar for the second time. He was sitting on the floor rather ungracefully, cross-legged, looking pensively at Harry.

"No," Harry said. "Not at all."

"Good," Voldemort said, rising to his feet. "You ought to be properly solidified now."

"I'm still me, too..." Harry said, standing. "That's a relief..."

"Yes, I don't know what I would do if my reckless horcrux was replaced by someone more responsible—"

"And infinitely more likely to try to usurp you," Harry said.

Voldemort stopped speaking immediately. He looked at Harry oddly for a moment, and Harry braced himself for yet another curse, or at least another hex, but none came. Instead, Voldemort laughed. "You're right, actually, though I still can't pretend you were a first choice."

"That's alright," Harry said. "You weren't either."

Voldemort looked at Harry with a face that was blank other than his raised eyebrow. He knew what Harry was referring to, of course, but he didn't see any reason why they should discuss that. It was what it was. It wouldn't happen again. Let it be.

Harry did. He flinched when Voldemort grabbed him, and again was overcome with a huge rush of relief when he was painlessly side-apparated back to the Lestranges. He felt mostly glad to be done with Voldemort, hopefully for the foreseeable future. Voldemort left Harry in the Lestrange's sitting room and immediately set out to find Rodolphus. Harry collapsed into the nearest chair without the slightest idea of what to do with himself for the rest of his life. The Lestranges had a full Quidditch Pitch, which Harry had been allowed to use several times, but he didn't think this was the best day to ask, particularly since Bellatrix and Rabastan would presumably know it was a bad sign that their master had suddenly requested to see Rodolphus.

Maybe he'll remember that he brought it on himself... Harry thought hopefully. Unlikely. When had Bellatrix Lestrange ever been well regarded for her reasoning skills? Still, Harry hadn't made Rodolphus hurt him, and at the very least Voldemort would want to see to it that Rodolphus didn't hurt him again so the worst the Lestranges would be able to do was make him uncomfortable and feed him dog food for the next few days.

He wished he had something to work on.

He wished he could go horcrux hunting.

It occurred to him suddenly that he'd have to test his boundaries at some point, because until he knew exactly what his vow to Voldemort would do to him if he disobeyed, he was seriously disadvantaged in his attempts to find ways around it. There was probably no better time to begin to test his limits than when his captors were keeping each other occupied.

What had the vow been? He was not allowed to endanger his own life. Contrary to popular belief, Harry had absolutely no desire to endanger his own life. That was perhaps not the best one to begin with. He would never seriously entertain thoughts of killing Voldemort. That Harry wanted to do a great deal. He tried for a moment to imagine any manner of ways in which he could kill Voldemort, from casting the killing curse on him to simply knifing the bastard in his sleep—It'd be the very least he deserved—but none of them seemed to do anything that Harry was aware of. The third point of the vow had been that Harry was not allowed to leave without Rodolphus' permission. There was nothing Harry wanted more at that moment than to get away from Lestrange Manor, and if he was going to suffer horribly for breaking the vow, it seemed only practical to do so around friends.

Harry glanced at the fireplace and listened closely for a long while for the sound of Bellatrix or Rabastan coming down the stairs. He heard nothing. He swallowed hard, grabbed a pinch of floo powder, and threw it into the fireplace. "The Burrow!" he said as he stepped into the flames.

He was screaming by the time he spilled out of the fireplace onto the Weasley's living room floor. An intense pressure was surrounding his body. It felt as though his skull had collapsed, his ribs had all been snapped, and most of his bones turned to dust, and still the intense pressure didn't relent. Harry's body throbbed. His chest stung. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. He could breathe, but his throat burned with every breath. Mrs. Weasley rushed into the room and was on the floor holding him and casting counter-curses on him in a moment, but Harry was only very vaguely aware of her.

It wasn't until most of the pain stopped that Harry really took notice of anything outside of his own body, beginning with the cold white hand on his shoulder. Harry took in a few more painful breaths and looked up at the furious red eyes above him. Some small part of his brain that still had a sense of what was best for him told him that he should probably apologize, and he managed to pathetically mouth, "I'm sorry," before Voldemort's hand dug harshly into his shirt collar and he was disapparated away.

When they reached their destination, Voldemort as much as threw Harry toward the floor, but Harry managed to keep his footing. He looked around quickly and noticed that they were not back in Voldemort's office, but rather in what Harry could only assume was Voldemort's bedroom. It was a very plain room with mostly unadorned wood furnishing. The floor was hard-wood and there wasn't a rug in sight. The bed set and the blanket were a solid charcoal color. There was only one door, and it was open and seemed to lead to a bathroom. Three large windows looked out over splendid gardens that were unseasonably vibrant and colorful. The room was clean, at the very least, and that was a considerable step up from being held in Macnair's bathroom.

"Back sssso ssssooon, massster?" Nagini said. Harry turned to find her sunbathing in the window.

"I won't be ssstaying for long." Voldemort said.

"You brought lunch."

Harry looked at Voldemort. His hands were empty.

"Not lunch," Voldemort said firmly. "A new friend. The elf will bring you lunch later."

Nagini moved toward Harry and Harry backed clear to the wall and tried to make it look casual. He wasn't any more frightened of Nagini than he was of Voldemort or any of Voldemort's other 'friends,' but he certainly did not want to be her 'friend.'

Nagini just kept slithering toward him until she had him cornered. Harry watched as her tongue darted out a few times, coming within centimeters of touching him but never actually touching him.

"I don't want to be hisss friend," Nagini said. "He sssmells like fear and mudblood."

"I don't particularly want to be yours either," Harry said. "Where does a snake learn a word like 'mud-blood'?"

The snake raised her long neck until she was almost as tall as Harry. Her tongue darted out again, this time coming closer than Harry would care to have it to his face rather than his ankles. Harry suppressed a shiver that he told himself was from the chill in the room.

"Your acccccccent isss terrible," she said.

Harry laughed.

She bared her fangs.

"Calm down, Nagini," Voldemort hissed quickly. He switched back to English when he turned to Harry. "She doesn't particularly like that noise, Harry," Voldemort said. "You probably shouldn't make it very often."

Harry rolled his eyes. "What am I doing here?"

"You're staying here for the next twenty-four hours or so." His eyes sharpened as Harry's mouth opened. "Don't argue. Luckily for you, I'm in a very lenient mood right now, so we'll pretend that the effects of the spell were punishment enough for you little trip, but I am not giving you a chance to run from me so soon after I had to fetch you. Stay here, be good, and maybe I'll let you go back to Rodolphus tomorrow night." He gave Harry a final sharp look, then turned back to Nagini. "Lunch will be here for both of you in a little while." Then he disapparated.

Lunch was not Brussels sprouts, and after the day Harry had had that alone was almost enough to make him happy, so he'd climbed up onto Voldemort's bed and been almost happy as he ate his turkey sandwich. Voldemort's bed, facing the headboard, would not have been his first choice of places to have lunch, but Nagini's lunch was a live rabbit, and she'd advised that Harry stay out of her way. Harry had gladly obliged.

He'd resisted the urge to turn when the rabbit screamed ('squealed' was much too soft a word for it) for thirty seconds straight. He hadn't been able to bring himself to eat until the a little while after the screaming stopped, however.

"Ssstop judging," Nagini said. "Your food wasss alive onccce too."

"I guess," Harry said. He was suddenly very disinterested in the turkey, and instead contented himself to eat his vegetables and his apple. Nagini ate quietly. When he was finished eating, he continued to stare at the headboard for a few minutes before he worked up the courage to turn around. The rabbit's legs were still outside of Nagini's mouth, and Harry couldn't help the disgusted look that he gave her as he sat his plate, still with around a forth of a sandwich, on the dresser.

She finished her meal and looked at him. "If you have a problem with it at dinner, you can offer to be dinner inssstead."

"I don't think Voldemort would allow that," Harry said. He wasn't really sure he liked rabbits that much.

The rest of the day went by painfully slowly. Harry couldn't find so much as a deck of cards anywhere in the room. At his most desperate, Harry had even checked Voldemort's bookcases, only to find them full of Dark Arts and Genealogy books and very little else. Harry spent the better part of an hour trying to remember the lyrics to every Weird Sisters song ever written, just to keep him occupied. There was a bathroom attached to the room that Harry made liberal use of, if only for the excuse to get away from Nagini for a few minutes every hour or so. It was almost a reliefto see Voldemort apparate into the room.

"Hello," Voldemort said, taking off his traveler's robe and tossing it carelessly over the back of a chair. "How wasss your day? Did you two play well together?"

"The mud-blood couldn't ssstomach the sssight of me eating lunch," Nagini said. "He faccced away from me. He wasss quite rude."

"I'm not a mud-blood!" Harry said.

"What do you care?" Voldemort said. "You love mud-bloodsss."

"I'm just not one! ...and that word is a slur."

"You usssed it."

"I shouldn't have."

Voldemort chuckled. Nagini hissed slightly, but Voldemort said nothing to her. "I'm sure you shouldn't have. So, Harry, you didn't enjoy Nagini's company?"

Harry shrugged. "Is it always so loud when she kills things?"

"Have you ever been poisoned to death?"

"I can't say I have. Or that it's something I would care to try."

"Good. Neither have I, but I'm told it's quite painful. I don't begrudge Nagini's meals a few seconds of crying." Voldemort walked over to his dresser and threw down a sheet of parchment covered in arithmancy. "Your friend did better with her first task than I expected she would," Voldemort said. "Of course, I haven't thoroughly looked her work over yet, but everything was looking wonderful when I glanced at it earlier."

"That's Hermione for you," Harry said, nodding slightly. He didn't like hearing Voldemort talk about her. Something about that was just completelywrong.

"I'll be advancing her to spell creation very soon."

"And then will she and I be allowed to see each other?"

Voldemort smiled. Harry had to consciously remind himself that, in this situation, that smile probably did not mean that he was about to die. "We'll see." He looked over at Harry's plate and frowned. "You didn't finish your lunch."

"But I ate it!" Harry said, backing away from Voldemort slightly. "Most of it, anyway. You said I wasn't allowed to miss meals, not that I was required to eat every bite of them. I didn't miss lunch, even though I spent half of it listening to a rabbit die and—"

"You are not in trouble, Harry."

Harry let out a breath and relaxed. He felt himself blush, and he wasn't entirely certain why.

Voldemort shook his head and chuckled.

For hours, Harry let a battle wage within him about whether or not to go to bed. On one hand, going to bed meant falling asleep and, with luck, being unconscious for the entire remainder of the night and at least most of the morning. Harry supposed he'd be woken up for meals, but maybe he'd be allowed to take them and go back to bed. There was no reason for Voldemort to object to Harry sleeping too much. It wasn't like sleeping put Harry's life in danger.

On the other hand, sleeping meant being unconscious near Voldemort.

Still, Harry came to a point where his eyes were so heavy he couldn't resist going to bed anymore.

"Where am I sleeping?" he asked.

Voldemort didn't even look up from his pile of papers and books. "I would recommend the bed, but if you'd like to join Nagini on the floor by the fire, I won't stop you."

"Your bed?!"

"There aren't any others in the room."

"But—"

Voldemort sighed. "Oh, Harry. If I wanted a scrawny teenage lover, I'd write to Lucius about it and have Draco Malfoy chained to my bed in less than an hour, quite calm and willing... Well, calm enough, anyway... I would not waste time and energy wooing my least favorite little boy in the world."

"My concern is more that you wouldn't waste the time and energy wooing me."

Voldemort's snake-like eyes widened for a moment, but returned to normal so quickly that Harry almost doubted he'd really seen them widen. "That would be rather unsatisfying in light of the many other, far more public, ways that I can strip you of power and humiliate you, wouldn't it?"

"I think it would be rather unsatisfying even without those. I want to know what you think."

"I have no intention of raping you, Harry," Voldemort said. Harry believed him. He could sense nothing but exhaustion and vague irritation through their link. "Undress, shower, and sleep. I won't bother you."

The command triggered a dark, almost pleasant tingle. Harry brushed it off, undressed quickly, and stood there for a moment, fully exposed before the Dark Lord. Voldemort's eyes were back on Hermione's parchment, and he didn't even glance over at Harry to make sure he was doing anything. Harry sighed, left his clothes in a pile on the floor, and headed for the bathroom.

His sense of relief was very short lived. As he was adjusting the water in Voldemort's shower, it occurred to him that Voldemort may have just wanted to finish reading over Hermione's work before raping him, or that Voldemort may have been serious about not raping Harry when he said it, but would begin to think about Harry's naked body and change his mind in a minute.

Harry adjusted the water to as cold as he could stand it. If he was lucky, Voldemort was cold-blooded by now.

But Voldemort was true to his word. He didn't bother Harry at all during Harry's freezing and miserable shower, and when Harry stepped back into the bedroom, Voldemort was carefully eyeing a vial of clear liquid. He took a long sip, looked thoughtful for a moment, and then swallowed. He didn't even glance at Harry.

Harry climbed into bed with his heart racing, again feeling that odd, dark tingling. As he pulled the covers down, he realized that in a twisted way he wanted Voldemort's attention. He was again feeling safe in a way that he knew he shouldn't as the reality slowly set in that Voldemort now had a vested interest in protecting him and really did have no apparent desire to rape him, but still on some emotional level Voldemort was registering as dangerous. Harry was flirting with that danger and it was giving him a surreal high. He was naked in Voldemort's bed, and he wassafe. He wanted to know if he could go father, deeper, and still be safe and incomplete control, completely able to stop things a second before he drowned.

He fingered his prick. Voldemort didn't appear to notice at first, so he made a point of moaning. It was fake but audible, and it got Voldemort's attention. Harry felt Voldemort's irritation through the link and had to bite down a whimper that wasn't at all fake. He waited to see if Voldemort would reach for his want, but Voldemort didn't.

"Is wanking part of your nightly routine, or does being held prisoner just get you hard?"

Harry smiled sheepishly. "Not always." He wanked slowly, feeling Voldemort's irritation grow with every small movement of his hand around his prick. His head was spinning. He wanted more. He wanted Voldemort to come over to him.

He had fucking lost it.

"Harry," Voldemort said, "You could, at the absolute least go back to the bathroom and do that."

Harry sighed. Voldemort wasn't going to come over here unless he—He was not going to ask.

He was going to go to Voldemort.

He didn't give himself time to question the decision, once he'd made it. He climbed off the bed and walked over to Voldemort, stark naked and with his right hand soiled with his own pre-cum. When he finally got to Voldemort, he stood there awkwardly for a second. He wasn't quite sure how to express to Voldemort what he wanted, in part because he wasn't exactly sure what he wanted.

Voldemort looked at him with a blank face. "Are you feeling alright, Potter?"

"No," Harry said, laughing slightly. He brought his clean hand up to the top button of Voldemort's robes, undid it, then paused and looked at Voldemort with wide eyes.

Voldemort laughed. "Now who isn't wasting time or energy on wooing?"

Harry opened his mouth, but then realized that a snarky answer would be counter-productive. He closed his mouth quickly and kneeled before Voldemort and continued to stare up at him.

Voldemort smirked. "What do you want?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. Was that not painfully obvious?

"You're not getting it unless you say it."

Something in the tone of Voldemort's voice made Harry suddenly very sure that Voldemort had done this before. Maybe not recently, but certainly at some point. And Harry never had. And he wasn't really sure exactly how far he wanted to go, or how different his limits might be from those of whichever Death Eater Voldemort had learned to do this with. This was probably a bad idea.

After several seconds of waiting, Voldemort returned to his notes.

Harry sighed. "Fuck me. Hurt me. Don't hurt me. I don't know. Do something. Please."

Voldemort looked very unimpressed, but when his eyes met Harry's, they softened. He sighed. "From you, that's good enough, this time. Stand."

Harry obeyed as quickly as he could on trembling legs and arms.

Voldemort looked him over carefully once, then smiled. "Back onto the bed, Harry."

Harry swallowed. He felt like a child who'd gone to dip his toes into the pool and found himself suddenly pushed into the deep end. By the lifeguard. And Harry still didn't know how to swim.

He climbed onto the bed and immediately turned around to face Voldemort. Voldemort finished disrobing just as Harry turned and immediately set off toward the bed. His movements were fast, purposeful, and confident, which was a great contrast to Harry uncertain trembling, and Harry found himself holding his breath, curious what Voldemort was going to do.

Voldemort wasted no time pushing Harry onto his back and restraining Harry's arms.

"If you want me to stop, say 'Hufflepuff,'" Voldemort said before nudging Harry's head to the side and sinking his teeth hard into Harry's neck.

Harry let out a very soft cry, and Voldemort's fist tightened in his hair to keep him from moving away. Voldemort bit Harry a second time, quite closely to where he'd bitten him the first time, and then moved down Harry's neck, leaving a trail of teeth marks and burns clear to Harry's collarbone. Harry struggled all the while, not quite certain if he really wanted to get away or not, until Voldemort paused and rose above Harry. Voldemort looked down Harry's body hungrily once, then brought his mouth dangerously close to Harry's nipple.

"Wait!" Harry said. "Hufflepuff!"

Voldemort paused, but was clearly extremely annoyed when he looked up at Harry. "Do you really want me to stop, Harry?"

Harry nearly whimpered. "No," he said, not meeting Voldemort's eyes. "I just wanted to know that you really would stop."

"Yes, Harry, I really will stop." Then he started again. His teeth sank into Harry's nipple before Harry had time to prepare himself. Harry screamed in pain and bucked on instinct, but that only worsened the pain as the sensitive skin was tugged around and scraped against Voldemort's teeth. When Voldemort finally let go, Harry looked down and found spots of blood around his throbbing nipple.

Voldemort leaned forward and Harry couldn't hold in his whine of fear, but Voldemort didn't bite him again. Instead, he licked Harry's abused nipple almost gently, lapping up the blood. It still stung slightly, but it wasn't nearly so bad as the bite and was quite a relief comparatively.

Harry let out a few shaking breaths and tried to relax. His head was spinning. Safe. He was safe. His heart was pounding and he had this strange urge to whine in pain and disgust and defeat all at once and then hold Voldemort closer to him and let himself be hurt again and again. It wasn't control itself that he'd given up, but rather the shallow and unsustainable illusion of it that he'd been holding onto his whole life, and for once it felt wonderful to be completely at another's mercy, completely in the moment.

And he was safe.

Safe enough.

Voldemort moved to the other side of Harry's chest and bit him hard several inches above his breast. Harry bucked again and when Voldemort pulled away Harry glanced down at the red marks and wondered what his neck must have looked like. Voldemort, as though reading Harry's mind, turned and waved a hand at the ceiling. The tiles instantly transfigured into mirrors, and Harry saw himself pinned beneath the Dark Lord who'd murdered his parents, bloody, sweating, and begging for more with huge green eyes. He hadn't realized how very much his face was betraying him.

Voldemort summoned his wand, and Harry looked away from the mirror and right into the tip of it. Voldemort waved it and Harry was instantly collared and shackled to the bed. Harry glanced from the mirror to Voldemort several times, listening to his own heart beat and wondering if Voldemort's dark smile meant that now would be a good time to say 'Hufflepuff,' but ultimately decided he wasn't at that point yet.

Voldemort rested his wand at Harry's navel. "Sectumsempra."

Harry's skin ripped in a hundred places at once, and Harry let out his loudest scream of the night just as Voldemort shoved into him using the least amount of lubrication possible. When Voldemort began to move in and out of Harry brutally, Harry was so out of breath that all he could manage were weak whimpers as his eyes remained on the ceiling, on the image of his bleeding body being fucked by the Dark Lord. Voldemort quickly tired of the whimpering and, with another wave of his wand, had Harry gagged. Voldemort leaned forward several times and bit Harry hard again, widening the gashes.

Harry was incoherent. He was hurt, watching himself be used fast and hard by his mortal enemy, and somehow loving every moment of it; the adrenaline rush, the feeling of finally being punished for the unforgivable failure of not destroying all of the horcruxes, and the completely, relaxing surrender.

When Voldemort came inside of Harry, Harry was too far gone to notice or even particularly care that Voldemort's hands went straight to Harry's balls, offering not pain but pleasure now. He finished Harry off in minutes and vanished the chains and the mirrors.

"I hope you're happy now, you insatiable slut," Voldemort said, pulling the gag out of Harry's mouth with his hands rather than with magic. "I've got work to do."

Harry nodded, rolled onto his side, snuggled down into his pillow, and slept more soundly than he had in years.
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