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Shattered	By : Diamonddancer229 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 44840 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, I am not making any money from this fiction, or do I intend to try. All rights belong to J.K.Rowlings.

Chapter List
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Shattered, Chapter 3
By: Diamonddancer229
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, and I’m not making money from this fic.
Chapter warnings: Graphic Violence, Adult Language, Sexual Behavior, Cross-dressing
Chapter 3: Games

Harry smiled when the first initiate began screaming. He found it fitting, because he hated Voldemort’s many faceless followers, in their nondescript plain white mask. Except the Malfoys, Lucius’s mask was made from finely wrought mythril, Narcissa’s of fine pearl and Draco’s was made from silver metal. Lucius’s was ornately made, and befitted the man. It was leafed with gold, a scene depicting an ancient hunt.
There were of course, a few others fit enough to have a mask bestowed upon them by Voldemort. Bellatrix had a mask that looked as if had been stitched together with an odd assortment of skins. Some patches were pale, some tan, and a little black around specific areas like the eyes. Severus had a mask made from something that looked incredibly like bloodstone, though Harry had felt it, it was as lite as a feather and never grew warm and uncomfortable against the skin. The Lestrange brothers both had mask made from human skulls. The bone had been carefully spelled to fit their faces. They were a fright to see coming in a fight.
They had all been gifted these mask for their exemplary services to the Dark Lord, in one way or the other. Harry wondered if he’d get a special mask or if he’d have to start from the bottom, and wear one of those despicable, boring masks. Another scream tore him from his musing, and he realized it was the boy in front of him.
The lad looked to be fresh from school, no more than nineteen at the most. He had collapsed the second the Dark Lord had pressed the tip of his wand sharply into his bared forearm, and he was screaming still as the Dark Lord swept past him moments later and moved to stand in front of Harry with a sharp, serpentine smile.
“My little Horcrux, we must do things differently with you I am afraid. I have plans in store for you, further into the year, and we need those arms bare. Alas, I will be branding you!” Voldemort spun him around by the collar of his robes and ripped them free of his body as he whirled around. He was stopped by Lucius, of whom he hadn’t even notice step up behind him.
Lucius smiled cruelly and gathered the fine shirt Harry had been provided. He ripped this from Harry, and Harry registered it as the silent challenge it was, he growled at Lucius. The sound reverberated around the room. Lucius was showing him, in the manner that Lucius did best, that he wasn’t afraid of the thing Harry was or deterred from his pleasure in tormenting Harry in the most sensual of ways. Lucius leaned forward and growled right back, the sound soft and deadly against his ear. The vibrations washed through him in an entirely new way, a more profound way. He became incredibly aroused as Lucius smiled at him knowingly.
Had he known how hard Lucius was trying to distract him from the pain that would come next, he might have encourage the man further, but he could sense the slight prickle of green jealous leeching from the Dark Lord. He shoved Lucius away, and looked over his shoulder meeting crimson eyes. “Do it!” He demanded.
Voldemort tilted his head slightly, an odd look passing only briefly before the tip of his wand touched the back of Harry’s neck, right at the base. Harry’s head snapped forward straight and his body locked up in shock at the first lance of pain. It was slick and cold and stinging, like Voldemort had stabbed him with a frozen stiletto there, sliding it between vertebra and into his spinal column to paralyze him. Harry couldn’t move, even as every creature he owned reared angrily in his head, his body was trapped in the onslaught of excruciating pain.
The pain trickled downward, it felt like blood slicking down his back in a hot fresh wave. The wand never moved but Harry was sure he could feel the Mark being etched into his back, the entirety of his back. Much larger than the others Death Eater’s brands. Harry clenched his jaws and refused to scream. His fangs pierced his bottom lips as they lengthened, Harry fell forward, and that bloody wand never broke contact with his neck. It seemed like hours Harry had to endure the agony of invisible blades of magic cutting Voldemort’s calling card into him, but eventually it stopped.
Harry was allowed only a moment, the space of a few breathes at most, before Lucius was pulling him up. Harry was briefly comforted by the scent of his expensive cologne, and let his head lull against the man’s neck as he leaned against him. He had the deep urge to bite the man.
Voldemort was raising something that Harry could only vaguely recognized as being red and sparkling because the pain had blurred his vision and he had yet to recover. It was placed against his face, and it was cool against his feverish skin. It was light and had a charm that activated when it was pressed to the flesh of the face, and Harry realized it was his mask.
Voldemort smiled and held a large handheld mirror up. Harry noticed the crowd was dispersing into the waiting ballroom. They would be feasting, drinking, and celebrating for the rest of the night. His eyes finally settled on his face and a small gasp manage to escape him. His mask was formed from a thin, brilliantly-red layer of rubies. He could tell Voldemort had spent an incredible amount of magic and time in it, as well as a good deal of thought. A thin band of dark, burnished gold was worked into the image of the snake swallowing its tail, an Ouroboros. It wound around the outer edge of the mask accenting it perfectly. There was also a small golden lightning bolt, laying directly over Harry’s, and though it was an incredibly foolish and bold embellishment, Harry thought it was beautiful.
Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror. He hardly recognized the wild green eyes that popped against the color of the masked. He hardly recognized the boy that stood there at all. He was at once both a terribly beautiful creature and a hideous monster. He licked his bleeding lips and watched his reflection do the same.
Voldemort was incredibly patient with him during this more private moment of recovery. He summoned Snape with a salve and a pain potion, though they were not sure Harry wouldn’t metabolize them too fast for them to do any good. He was still thankful nonetheless so he said as much. Voldemort inclined his head a bit, and Harry was sure the man wasn’t used to freely given thanks, not the kind that wasn’t coerce out of someone by threats and fear.
Harry waved his wand and his magic meshed smoothly with Voldemort’s magic that had transfigured a plate to the mirror still in the man’s hands. It transformed smoothly into three much larger mirrors that formed a semicircle him and he turned to admire Voldemort’s brand on his back. He gawked as soon as he saw the design. It wasn’t your average Dark Mark. It wasn’t really a Dark Mark so much as the portrait of Tom Riddle’s life.
It was an entire scene, a collage of Voldemort, though it was more fitting to call this a piece of Tom Riddle shining through. The centerpiece was a skull swallowing not a snake but a timepiece. The time piece seemed to be counting years instead of hours. It rested in the center of a globe around which the figure of young Tom was traversing through what seemed to be particularly momentous accomplishments, and discoveries.
In the outer empty spaces the centerpiece of the tattoo was not taking up, the likeness of a restlessly coiling Nagini slide around his back, circling the image of Tom protectively. Harry could have stared for hours, watched this abbreviated version of Tom’s life pass by, showing him exactly what had made Voldemort the man he was. Perhaps that had been Voldemort’s intention. Harry wanted to think of this not just as a branding but as maybe something far more significant. A small concession for the feelings Voldemort may have been developing. Harry smiled.
“It’s beautiful. It’s a work of art,” he praised Voldemort.
Voldemort sneered, but Harry could see the pleasure flash in crimson eyes briefly. “Is it?” He smiled meanly. “One would think you would chafe at the sight of my mark of ownership.”
Harry shivered at his tone, but didn’t rise to the bait. Voldemort was embarrassed Harry had picked up on the meaning of this gift. He hadn’t given Harry the same ugly, generic mark as everyone else. He had set Harry apart as being someone noteworthy. Someone a bit above the rest. Harry had never had someone show him such favor. Except maybe Dumbledore when the man had been leading him to an untimely death. Voldemort had made him immortal, and set him apart from the commoners.
“I like it all the same,” he whispered a little reverently. “No matter what you may call it.”
“Pardon me, Master,” an elf name Skipsy bowed low. “Mistress Narcissy say dinner is served at sevens sharpish, and that there should be no excuses for latenesses, Sirs!”
Lucius chuckled and shared a humorous glance with the Dark Lord. “Very well, we shall be there a seven sharp, Skipsy. Do tell Narcissa that is in bad form to rush the Master of the house and his honored guests, the Dark Lord and his Consort.”
Harry’s eyes widened even as he was led from the room by a gentle but firm hand at his back. Lucius. “Consort?” He looked back at Voldemort. “What does he mean your Consort?”
Voldemort grinned nastily. “Never fear, Love, warm whose bed you will, but know that here in my Kingdom all know you as mine. It’s for you protection, of course. The knowledge was issued with a secrecy vow. All who have heard it can never tell of it or else they die. Simple really. I’m not ready for Dumbledore and his precious Order to know that you are mine though. We will discuss that when the plans have progressed a little further.”
Harry was insulted and a little amused. “I am rather hungry,” he blurted when they came upon the banquet hall. He could see largest table he’d ever seen in his life and it was laden with more food than Hogwarts on the Welcoming Day Feast.
Lucius chuckled and leaned over to nip Harry’s ear, Harry gasped as Voldemort gave the blonde a stern glance, but complained no more. The Dark Lord walked to the empty head of the table and sat, he beckoned Harry to sit at his left, and Harry thought that was a place of honor so he smiled, pleased.
Lucius sat to the empty seat on his left, and Narcissa was there on his right. Draco was smiling across the table, directly in front of Harry. He was swirling his half empty wine glass around lazily, and it was obvious he was a few in already. He didn’t often hang on Harry when he hadn’t been gifted Harry’s time by the Dark Lord himself, and he normally respected the Dark Lord’s presence by not touching or flirting in front of Voldemort when he was there. Tonight it seemed he was too drunk to care.
Harry smiled charmingly his way, then slide a look to Astoria who was too young to have the same composure Narcissa did yet. Sometimes her jealousy showed through, whether because Malfoy had a school boy love for Potter or because Malfoy had a teenage boy’s perpetual everlasting erection, but only for Harry. Harry had no intention of taking the useless little twit into his bed voluntarily now. The youngest Malfoy just did nothing for him.
He turned to Draco’s Father instead, glad that he could slight the boy that had tormented him in school, the boy partially responsible for his capture to begin with. He leaned towards the man as Voldemort discussed something or other with Snape who sat to his direct right. “Lucius,” he purred, not that he needed to distract Lucius’s attention from his wife or the talk circulating around the room.
Lucius leaned back into him, his attention had been glued to Harry since his change. He was always watching, Harry noticed in his peripheral. Lucius loved beautiful and dangerous things. Harry surmised he was triply attractive now that he was the Dark Lord’s consort, and a beautiful, dangerous thing. Harry liked that Lucius didn’t have that delicious hint of terror to his smell though. Maybe with Lucius he could still play like the scared, trembling human boy.
“Yes, Harry?”
Harry smiled coyly, and lower his thick black lashes. “Perhaps after dinner, we could play a game?”
“Ah, a game? What kind of game would you like to play?”
“The kind where you tell me what kind of game we are going to play,” Harry left little question what he meant, but a whole world of unspoken suggestions in his voice.
Lucius, a Master at games, these games especially, barely lifted the corner of his lips in a smile which was a small concession to Harry in his pleasure at being asked. “Meet me in my private study tonight after Pettigrew is dealt with. I am sure the Dark Lord expects you to win his little contest.” Lucius pressed a finger against Harry’s plump lower lip briefly, his eyes lingered there, before he pulled away and situated himself with all the poise a Malfoy could muster.
Harry chuckled wanting to follow him but he resisted. Odd, that this man that and his Master had spent months torturing, raping, and humiliating Harry and here he was free and all too ready to jump straight back into bed with them. Well, just these particular two he thought. He looked down the table at the others wondering if there were any others he would choose now that he was free to do so. It did no good at the moment though, his lust was strong enough he was sure it was one of his hungers beginning to gnaw and he. That lust found itself solely focused on the blonde beside him.
Harry leaned forward and snatched the goblet of blood before him up without thought, but found it summoned from his fingers. Voldemort was vanishing the contents and Harry found it hard to hold the snarl he wanted to release, until he noticed the sharp tip of Voldemort’s fingernail poised to prick the beating pulse point in his wrist. Blood spurted into the cup, and Harry was suddenly much focused on the man, and the delicious smell wafting off of him.
He leaned forward and eagerly snatched his cup back when it was presented to him and he tried to sip it politely so he could also savor it. The taste of it was etched to vividly in his mind, with startling clarity. So he gulped it down rather quickly, and he even slid his fingers around the stained inside of his cup as his questing fingers sought out the very last drop. He was still staring at Voldemort avidly when he finally settled down, Lucius promptly forgotten, if only for the moment. He smiled. “Thank you, my Lord. You are too kind.” He paid little attention to the slightly murmurs of excitement that spanned the length of the table.

The initiates were gathering around the now brightly lit room they had come from earlier. Wormtail was roped to a large iron eyelet that Voldemort had transfigured from the ordinary stone there. He was shaking badly and his nose twitched oddly every now and then. Harry hissed at him in the spirit of meanness. “I’m going to hurt you,” he whispered loudly enough the rat could hear. “I’m going to hurt you for every year Sirius spent miserable and alone in that hellhole.” Harry smiled when he was finished with his threat.
Voldemort chuckled as he moved to take a seat in the center of the dais. “We shall go in the same order you were initiated. You have one turn each, cast the curse as strongly, and for as long a duration that the caster can possible carry. I do hope you have all have been practicing your curses, I have a rather fine prize for the winner.”
A buzz of slightly drunk excitement flared as the DeathEaters gathered around the few participating. Harry hadn’t noticed the first initiate until now. It was hard to miss Blaise Zabini anywhere. He was much taller than Harry remembered from school, and he had filled out magnificently. His dark chocolate, nearly black hair was styled up off the front of his face, the top magnificently rumpled. Almost like he’d just gotten out of bed, but artful. The bottom was combed back naturally behind his ears, like he might have casually brushed it back with his fingers. He had a deliciously sinful line of dark stubble down the length of his strong jaw and over his thin upper lip. His bottom lip was lush and a dark coral pink. His smile was sinful, his body was top quality, displayed well in a Muggle designer suit made by someone called Armandi, Arminki, maybe Armondo? Harry knew nothing about Muggle or Wizard fashions.
Harry purred and watched the tall slender boy step forward his wand held loosely in his partially raised right hand. He felt the surge of magic even before he saw the hateful disdain spark behind cruel black eyes, the juice, and the lifeblood of the curse. “Crucio!” Blaise shouted suddenly, flourishing his wand like a knife. The spell flared and erupted from the tip of the boy’s wand and to Harry it looked like a malevolent arc of red lightning reaching across the room to slam into Peter Pettigrew. He wonder why he’d never seen it like this before.
Blaise smiled sadistically when Pettigrew screamed and fell to the floor, convulsing. Harry was impressed, especially when the first minute flew by, and then another and another, until Blaise finally cast a non-verbal finite incantem with a wave of his arm. Pettigrew, lay wheezing on the floor as the Blaise bowed gracefully to the crowd as they applauded them. Even, Voldemort inclined his head in recognition of his well-cast and controlled spell.
Harry waited until Blaise moved off from the main crowd and followed him. “Blaise Zabini, my you certainly changed since I last saw you.”
Harry could see the edge of Blaise’s brilliant white smile as he turned to face him. “Harry Potter, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”
Harry laughed. “I suppose it could be.”
“I can’t believe I’m standing here with you and you’re the Consort of the Dark Lord. Dumbledore would flip his lid. You know, they all think you’re dead. Severus is set to become the officially recognized Headmaster of Hogwarts, with Voldemort slowly taking over the Ministry it will be no time before he is. It certainly was a rather bizarre year without everything that normally happens around you.”
“Are your saying you missed me?” Harry narrowed his eyes when Blaise licked his lips suddenly.
Blaise had a voice like melted honey, and a laugh warm and sweet like butterscotch. “I suppose I could be,” he whispered, though every now and then he sent nervous glances at Voldemort.
Harry laughed throatily, and the tone of it did indeed attract the man’s attention. Both Voldemort and Lucius were watching the two of them avidly now. Harry brushed a curl that had worked its way lose from Blaise’s forehead. The boy’s hair was thick with a coarseness to it, but it still managed to be soft. Harry like the texture of it. “Don’t worry,” he said to Blaise, as he gave the men a saucy wink and turned his attention back to the Italian.
“It would be quite reckless not to worry a bit, Harry. I am a Slytherin after all.” Blaise seemed to gather his composure and focus fully on Harry too. “I’ve heard so much about you though. Draco is all but obsessed. I’m so glad we’ve finally graduated and I don’t have to listen to him bemoan not having you anymore. He nearly drove us all mad after your capture, and don’t get me started on the first time he actually had you.”
Harry shuddered making Blaise laugh. “God, I figured Malfoy would be a badass, but he’s really pretty vanilla. I hated those visits.”
“I can imagine. I hear you seemed to like Malfoy Senior’s wicked charms though?” Blaise had the faraway look like he was deep in a memory. Harry realized Zabini spoke from experience and he grinned.
“Lucius can be quite charming. Tell me Blaise, did he dress you up like a strumpet and make you play the sophisticated whore, or did you enjoy some of the more sadistic treats he has to offer.”
Blaise sighed dreamily and glanced at the blonde man. He grinned and to Harry said, “He was my first. First man anyway, and I’m a flaming homosexual, so I am really not counting Fleur Delacour, my actual first. Right proud I seduce her though, out of all those other guys at Hogwarts.”
“Fleur?” Harry had thought he hadn’t been attracted to Fleur because he was desperately crushing on Cho Chang, but the truth was he was sure he had been barking up the wrong tree too. Unfortunately, he was being chased by a lunatic and led along like a helpless pup by Dumbledore, at that time. He never really got to go through all the normal experimenting. Before his capture his past romantic escapades was a pathetic attempt to kiss a crying girl.
Blaise touched his cheek gently before dropping his hand. “I hear you have chosen to warm Lucius bed tonight?”
Harry liked that Blaise was just direct enough to ask such a bold question. He also liked that the Slytherin was smart enough to add that Harry had chosen to the beginning of the statement. “Yes, that’s true. Though, I’m not sure about the bed. I’ll probably be warming the top of his desk. We’ve never made too much use of a bed.”
“There are so many other far more creative options aren’t there?” Blaise chuckled watching Harry with the intentness of a hawk. Harry could smell the lust washing off of him quite suddenly.
“Yes, especially with use of such a magnificent manor.” Harry was very nearly kissing Blaise’s perfectly luscious mouth when his name was suddenly called and pain flared in his back.
“Voldemort has called you twice Harry,” Severus muttered coming out of the slightly confused crowd.
“My apologies, it was nice seeing you Blaise.”
“As it was nice seeing you Harry. Pity you already have a previous engagement. Perhaps you’ll get in touch again? Send me an owl sometimes.” Blaise gave him a rather heated look as Harry walked away and up to the quivering lump of Pettigrew.
“Ah, Peter,” Harry whispered, and the temperature around him plummeted sharply, Blaise and his hormones pushed aside for the moment. “The Betrayer, my devious little Secret Keeper, I have been looking forward to this for so, so long.” As Harry spoke his breath puffed out in front of him and his wild hair tossed from the rather chilly breeze that was beginning to gust around the room. It was his magic but slightly different, a little something extra and Harry recognized the power of the Dementor. He would have to stay calm or this would end far too quickly.
Harry circled Pettigrew as the man struggled upright from the ground, scrambling to find his feet but too weakened from prolonged exposure to multiple Crucios. Harry came to a stopped in front of the man. He didn’t draw his wand because he wasn’t going to need it, but he raised his hands, palms facing outwards over Pettigrew’s temples. He watched the man’s eyes rolling desperately in his head, and felt Peter’s magic trying to shift him to his Animagus form but Harry held him still wordlessly. Slowly, he let the memories pour out from him and into Pettigrew, pushing them from his core and down his arms and sizzling out from his fingertips. “Crucio,” he whispered, just for show, and oh, how Peter screamed then.
The memories, the ones he had kept hidden back, locked away in his mind for so long, poured from him like molten lava. Memories of being a baby and being filthy and neglected for hours on end, in a rickety bassinet in the cupboard under the stairs. Memories of being ruthlessly disciplined for being too loud as a toddler. Memories of hunger pains so sharp running through him, gnawing on his belly, as he stood on a stepping stool and cooked dinner for the family that hated him from the time he was five. Being sunburned so badly he had to be taken to hospital because he had used his strange powers, powers even he didn’t understand, on an accident to escape Dudley’s meaty fists. Vernon had made him tend the yard from sunup to sundown without pause, and with only a water hose for refreshment.
There were far worse memories, but Harry adamantly refused to rifle through them and just shoved them away instead, Pettigrew screamed again and scrambled across the floor. Harry’s magic seized him, flipping him up and slamming him into the ground as Pettigrew suddenly seized violent mouth opened in a silent o of surprise. Harry’s memories eventually gave way to his utter hatred for this man. It was far beyond what he felt for the Dursleys. He had been abused by them for so long his anger and hated for them had come from somewhere muted and lessened from time.
Peter had stolen something sacred from him. He had stolen his parents, his love, and his entire life. Peter had stolen every hope of anything good ever happening to Harry ever again, and for that his rage was pure, unadulterated, undiluted. Then, Peter had stolen his blood, and stolen Sirius’s right to be free. Peter twitched magnificently underneath his hands. The man was so contorted and pained he couldn’t even breathe to scream. He was spread out obscenely, his fat little body tightened beyond his control, his muscles rippling and cramping with the curse. Harry hated the man that he was comfortable enough in life to have been so well plumped, it made him remember it was this man’s fault he missed so many meals growing up.
Pettigrew gave a defeated grunt and his body drew so taut that his spread limbs lifted him from the floor until something in his back gave a deafening crack and his body gave way and twisted grotesquely. Bones shattered from the force of Harry’s hate and they protruded from the man’s broken skin, making him bleed, and it was a glorious thing to Harry, to get to watch the terror as it heightened and hit that crescendo before the man drew his last gurgling breathe and shrieked once before dying. Harry stood over him and watched Peter as his eyes grew dim. He watched him until the blood threatened to stain the tips of the fine shoes that he had been loaned, and he was forced to step back.
It was quite for a while and Harry floated in a haze caused by the satiation of his bloodlusts. The magic had made him feel mad with power, and he was still reeling drunkenly in the aftermath. Suddenly Harry smelled the deep, bone deep fear spiraling around the room from several of the weaker members. He could smell curiosity like the smell of some sharp spice from some. From others, like Voldemort, Lucius, and Harry met Blaise’s appraising stare too, these men craved power, and were drawn to it. For those that could feel the depth of his spell, for the unique twist he put on a curse unchanged for centuries, it was like an aphrodisiac.
Voldemort stepped forward, and Harry raised his head to smile at him. Voldemort raised him hands and began to clap. When the DeathEaters saw Voldemort’s salute they began clapping themselves.
“I suppose this means I win?” Harry asked in good humor.
Voldemort was surprised into laughing, and it was a sibilant, snake-like sound that Harry enjoyed. “My boy, had I had any doubt that you would not win, I would not have chosen the gift I did.” He motioned Lucius forward with a good-sized wooden chest. Lucius opened it and Voldemort pulled a swathe of black material that appear slick and scaled.
“What is it?” Harry asked taking it in his arms. It was some set of hooded robes, made from the skin of what looked remarkably like Basilisk. It was very finely sewn, and Harry could feel a variety of concealing charms, untraceable spells, and many more spells and charms Harry could sense if not understand. He looked at Voldemort, who was studying his reaction.
“Basilisk skin is practically impervious to magic. When a spell hits it skin it merely disintegrates. It’s the ultimate protection. These are robes fit for an assassin. There are several spells to aide in subterfuge I am sure you have realized already. There are also incantation, which you will find in the small journal in the trunk, that will allow you to glamour yourself to appear as other people. Yet another useful tool you will need.”
It had to be very expensive, and Basilisk was so rare. Harry could hardly believe that Voldemort would kill such a rare reptile for its skin. “Is this the basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets?”
“Yes, the one you slew. I had Severus collect it. It’s magic that much more powerful being that you are the one that slew the creature.” Voldemort didn’t look particularly please. He had, in fact punished Harry on two different occasion for the offense.
Harry shrugged sheepishly and ran his hands over the skin. “It’s incredible. I can feel the labor and magic that was put into it. I can feel and smell how the wizard that made it worked until his fingers bled, to make something worthy of his Lord. Not just an ordinary wizard though. It feels like a half-breed of some sort.”
“His mother was a rather roguish Dark Faery. She supervised in the crafting of the book.” Voldemort answered, as if he remembered the Faery lady fondly. Harry squashed the remote tingle of jealously. He was hardly one to talk.
“I am honored to accept this,” Harry murmured, oddly embarrassed. He felt his cheeks heat a bit and wondered if he was still capable of blushing.
“It will be my honor to give it to you, if you serve me well.” Voldemort turned to the rest of the DeathEaters, many who still looked a little sick or shell-shocked over Peter’s nasty end. “Go and continue your celebrations, celebrate into the night. The Ministry is nearly ours now, Harry Potter is for us, and not a weapon for the side of Light to wound us with. We own the educational institutions of England, and magic will be taught as it once was, not as Light or Dark but as magic. I go to make plans, enjoy the rest of the night.”
Voldemort swirled and was gone. Harry packed his new robes back into the chest and shrunk the thing to fit into his pocket. He looked at Lucius. “Shall we dance for old times’ sake?” He asked rather cheekily.

They did dance, though it was much later after the last guest had been sent away to bed, or successfully apparated home. Harry had beaten Lucius to his office, and was perched artfully on top of it now waiting. He had left the party an hour earlier, had taken a thorough bath, because Malfoy was a perfectionist and would notice if Harry hadn’t been attentive.
Harry spent the next hour readying himself, banishing the hair from his body with a shaving spell, curling his wild hair into a pretty coif of curls that bobbed with his every move. He summoned an elf to quickly paint his face. Sultry black eyeliner, ruby lipstick, a little smoky white shimmer around his eyes. He stood still and stiff as the elf laced his corset tightly, just like Lucius like it. Then, he pulled on the thin red lace panties that had two tiny rows of black pearls, one on either side, that vee’d down toward his crotch, his penis bulging and straining against the lace.
He leaned over then, and wished Lucius were here to do this part, had this not been a surprise for the blonde. He pulled the thin black lace of one stocking carefully over his toes, mindful not to snag them on his painted red toenails. His breathing become stuttered and ragged as the material slipped sensually further up his leg. He couldn’t help but think of how utterly perverted he had become, but he could not deny liking this. He finished lacing the stocking up his thigh and quickly slipped the other one on. He stepped into the delicate crystal shoes that he had to walk so cautiously in, so softly. Finally the elf helped him slip into his icy white dress that was accented with sharp, crisp, black and red accents.
He watched as Lucius let out the last guest as he made the way to the man’s private office. Lucius always opened the door calmly, like this wasn’t something he was anticipating that badly, but Harry was fooled. He waited calmly, and only looked up, shyly, when the door clicked shut.
Lucius wasn’t often someone whose jaw could be made to drop but Harry was proud when he accomplished just that. He smiled sweetly and lower his eyes demurely. Not that Lucius expected him to be shy once the game began in truth. Lucius sighed softly, pleased, and came to stand before him at the desk.
He ran slender, perfect fingers over the expensive bauble at Harry’s throat, ran it down the slight cleft where Harry’s corset pushed the muscle and flesh over his breastbone together, like tiny breasts. He knew a spell to give him real female breast, but Lucius liked it better like this. He was a dirty pervert, and like to know it was a boy under all that female trappings. “My, my. This is a very special treat. Look how beautiful my pretty boy has made himself. Such attention to detail.”
Harry’s breath faltered when Lucius picked up the edge of his calf length skirt and began scrunching the voluminous layers of cloth up Harry’s stocking thighs. His hands ran over the lace making Harry shiver and lean closer to the man’s heat. His bum slid forward a bit, his leg moved into Lucius’s touch with more force, and Harry reached forward and grabbed the outline of Lucius cock beneath his perfect trousers. They both gasped. Harry had to admit, he missed this man. He was too used to waking up to Lucius and falling asleep to him as well. He was a teenager despite what he had been through, after all, he mused. He wanted sex all the time.
“What a naughty little lady,” Lucius smiled and pressed him to the desk, with dark promise in his eyes.

Sorry to tease with that last scene, ha-ha. Omg! I hadn’t realized how many people have been reading and leaving kudos on AoOO! Thank you guys sooo much, and everyone that left a comment too! I’m glad everyone seems to be enjoying it, and after taking the time to write such a nice long chapter, it’s nice to know it’s appreciated and enjoyed.
I do apologize for any grammatical errors or typos. I don’t have anyone around to proof read my stuff.
I have finals coming up, which bring the total of test I have to take in the next two week up to like 7 or 8, and I have a report to write ( research, Yuck!) so it might be a bit longer before the next update.
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