Challenge fic: Aurora Polaris (HP/LV)
Title: "Aurora Polaris"
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: PG-13
Summary: [HP/LV] Even Voldemort dreams sometimes. And when he does, he wishes he could forget. Please R&R!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling.
A/N: My first go at Voldemort-in-love-before-Harry… Gee, that’s scary!)))
Special Thanks: my awesome beta mizstorge
Dedication: For anzati_aurora who asked for Harry/Voldemort. Hope you like it.
AURORA POLARIS
Voldemort had never knelt before anyone. He had never bent his knee in humble appreciation of someone else’s greatness for no one could have ever been worthy of it.
Yet there he was in the dust on the floor before the black-robed figure, clutching at the front of his robes and looking up at the young man’s face with uncharacteristic tremour.
Green eyes stared back at him impassively. Where had all the light gone? Voldemort would never admit he’d miss that light…
But…
"I liked your latest speech at the Ministry," the steely voice uttered. Voldemort narrowed his eyes suspiciously. " ‘All roads lead to damnation.’ "
The youth leaned into him abruptly and covered his lips in a quick, chaste kiss. A mere brush of lips, a flick of tongue, a teasing touch - and it kept Voldemort even more on edge. He reached out, but the boy knocked his hand away. Brutal desire surged through his body.
He hated the brat. Hated, and wanted, and desired, and could do nothing about it.
"Why are you so cold?" he whispered. "Always so damn cold, my cursed little one!"
Green eyes flared fiercely, and for a second he thought he saw his old enemy in that emerald flash: the ghostly face, the dark outline of the lightning bolt beneath the fringe of untidy raven locks.
"What do you expect from me?" the same icy voice asked. The more Voldemort looked, the clearer he could see himself. And the swiftness of that change frightened him. It was as though the two of them had swapped places.
Harry brushed his fingers across Voldemort’s cheek. He slid them over the Dark Lord’s lips, parting them, and Voldemort sucked his fingers into his mouth, twirling his tongue around them in soft, sensuous strokes.
"You are a murderer," Harry said in a strained low voice. "You killed everyone I loved." His eyes darkened, becoming almost black in the dense twilight. "You blackmailed me into joining forces against the Ministry, but it didn’t save a single soul. You just saved yourself. Oh, you made sure I wouldn’t run away, didn’t you? What the fuck do you expect me to do now!?"
Voldemort rose swiftly, towering over Harry, and scowled: "I’m so sick of you always whining about that red-haired bitch of yours! She’s dead, face it!"
Darkness exploded in the youth’s eyes like a fountain of ink. He made a go for his wand, but Voldemort gripped his wrist firmly, and a hoarse laugh escaped his lips.
"For whom do you feel more sorrow? For her? Or for yourself?"
Harry lowered his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose, indicating how very tired he was of all these conversations. Infuriated, the Dark Lord tore the boy’s glasses off and flung them against the wall. The lenses shattered in a swirl of glittering fragments.
"I’ve had enough!" Harry bellowed.
He pried the Dark Lord’s fingers loose forcefully and threw his hand forward. A broomstick slid swiftly into his hand. He mounted it and took to flight, breaking the window as he passed right through it.
"Get back here!" Voldemort snarled. "Get back here, damn you!"
He chased the boy in the smoky sky, high above the mist that covered the city in thick snow-like layers. Pale stars twinkled in the pitch-black. Wind howled in his ears. It wasn’t the first time the little bastard tried to escape. And something told Voldemort it would not be the last.
He aimed a strong curse at the boy, but failed to knock him off the broomstick. The dim flash of the curse dived into the fog, and stirred the element, whipping the greyish mass into a whirlwind; it rushed after the fugitive, roaring like a starving wolf. Dark roofs of London swept past beneath them. Yellowish blurs of streetlight were smeared over the dark walls of buildings.
The breathtaking flight stopped when Voldemort spotted a figure skulking by the chimney on one of the roofs. He lowered himself beside Harry and scrutinized the boy’s ragged clothes with a cold smirk. Streaks of rain glistened on his cheeks.
"Why don’t you keep running?" Voldemort asked in a husky voice.
Harry lifted his head and smiled sadly. "I have nowhere to go. You’re all that I have left."
Voldemort held out his hand invitingly and helped the youth up on his feet. A sad, sad situation, indeed… He nuzzled Harry’s moist cheek, glided his lips over the salty skin… So it wasn’t the rain…
They were high in the air, floating between the clouds, their robes swaying freely around them, bare skin upon bare skin, the touch, the scent of the only home they both knew. Voldemort laid his hand flat upon Harry’s chest, and the boy shivered. Underneath that touch, a live human heart was beating.
The boy pressed his forehead against Voldemort, nuzzling him softly; he opened his lips against his skin, and flicked his tongue over the vein pulsing on Voldemort’s temple.
"One day I’m gonna kill you," a shaking voice came out in a long sigh. "I promise you that."
"I’ll hold you to it," Voldemort smirked.
Desire radiated from the boy like Northern lights. Desire that he loathed. Nevertheless, he catered to it. He arched back and wrapped his legs around the Dark Lord. Voldemort grazed the line of his jaw with his teeth, falling into him like into an intoxicating whirlpool. The mist still rippled beneath them like a river.
Lost in the music of the boy’s gasps and moans, Voldemort tried to savour the taste of his skin upon his lips, the feeling of the lithe body tensing and relaxing around him. That was his reality now.
Harry’s eyes bled back to grass green, but some shiny darkness still remained in the depths of his pupils. Their lips met, and the youth whispered softly:
"Some day, Tom. Remember that."
* * *
Voldemort’s eyes fluttered open. He lay in his bed in Malfoy Manor; birds chirped outside and pale silvery light poured into the room through velvet curtains.
What was that strange noise?
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
His heart. He released a slow breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. So it was only a dream…
"My Lord?" a female voice asked. Voldemort looked up to see Bellatrix’s dark, heavy-lidded eyes looking at him with deep reverence. As always. Pretentious bitch. She was the only one allowed to enter the room while he was asleep. Though it happened so infrequently…
And his heart was beating so loudly, an almost painful contraction of the useless, annoying muscle in his chest.
Voldemort sat up, and Bellatrix sank into a deep curtsy immediately. He swept past her, ignoring her as she followed him.
He wished he wasn’t human enough to dream anymore...