New Divide 14/16 - LV/HP

[k155_me]

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This chapter is for Identity at FFNet, for calling Voldemort a “jerkity jerk of an emotionally constipated humanoid snake-dude” in a review to chapter 13. Love!

I know it’s been a terribly long time and I’m sorry! But RL is hell right now. Also, I’m very, very ill and the doctors don’t know why but I can’t get the hospital appointment I need until November apparently! Wtf. I left the A/N up because some people reviewed that instead of chapter 13, and if they want to review chapter 14 they wouldn’t have been able to, so yeah.

Thanks to Star_Faerie for beta’ing this!

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Words: 7,723
Chapter 14

June 3rd 1998.

The street was deserted. Hermione, Ron and Ginny clustered together, hidden in shadows, on the other side of the road. As Hermione whispered the Secret softly to herself, numbers 11 and 13 began to slowly slide away from each other, creating a space in between the two houses where Number 12, Grimmauld Place would spring into existence. The three teenagers watched with bated breath, hoping that the Secret hadn’t been passed on to a new secret keeper. But the house appeared, and Ron took a hesitant step out into the street, into view.

“Wait, Ron!” Ginny hissed, reaching forward to pull him back into the shadowed alley.

“There’s no one here,” Ron whispered. “Come on, quickly, before someone does turn up!”

Hermione looked between them, biting down on her bottom lip in thought. She looked between her friends: Ginny, worried yet determined, and Ron, brave and rash, desperate to rescue his friend. She took a deep breath, because after all this was her idea, and she had to be the calm, logical one, the leader now that Harry was gone, the one that took the risks. “Ok,” she told them softly, “I’ll go first. I’ll wave to you once the door is open, and then follow one at a time. We don’t want to risk a trap and all of us getting caught in one go. It’s safer if we split up. Ginny,” Hermione sighed and stopped speaking. Ginny had narrowed her eyes, scowling as if she knew what Hermione was going to say. “Harry wouldn’t want you getting hurt, so you’re going last. Keep an eye out for Death Eaters. Wait in the threshold; don’t come inside, just in case they’re waiting for us.”

“That isn’t fair, Hermione!” Ginny hissed, placing her hands on her hips angrily.

Hermione noticed how much Ginny resembled her mother, and wondered momentarily, whether Lily Potter would have done that as well; scowled and placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes when she couldn’t have her way. How could Harry love someone so like his mother, if that were the case, she wondered, when Tom Riddle had been the antithesis of everything the Potters stood for, the opposite of Sirius’s family in his treatment of Anathema; so different to Ginny. But Harry did love her, right? So it was Hermione’s duty to her friend to keep his girlfriend safe.

“How do you think Harry would feel, or your parents, or your brothers, if I let you get hurt while rescuing him? How would I explain that to them!” Hermione ran a hand over her face, sighing unhappily. “Please, just do as I asked you to.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Ron nodded at her, a small thankful smile on his face; he didn’t want Ginny involved in any of this, he didn’t want to risk her being captured by Death Eaters or getting hurt, and that Hermione had been the one to say so and not him was a huge relief. “Good luck,” he mouthed at his girlfriend as she hesitantly made her way across the road.

The street was still deserted, and the curtains and doors of the other houses all remained closed as Hermione made her way to Number 12. She pushed open the door, and it creaked eerily as it swung inwards. Her wand was in one hand, ready and willing to defend its owner, but the traps the Order had set for Snape never went off, and no one came running through the hallways, and even Walburga’s portrait stayed silent. If someone had already been here, then they weren’t making themselves known.

Hermione waved over her shoulder, and Ron came jogging towards her. This was probably a bad idea, Hermione thought, but it was her only idea. Harry was their friend, and if the situations had been reversed he would have tried to save them. They least they could do for him was try. Ron nodded at her, pushing the door open wider; he stepped inside. Hermione followed him.

Ginny watched them disappear into the house, looking mutinous. But then she thought about Harry; about his kisses; about his arms around her waist; about his fingers in her hair; about how it might feel to make love with him; and she sobbed lightly. She had thought he was dead, and for just a moment she had mourned him. But he wasn’t dead: Hermione was sure of that. Ginny knew Hermione was trying to protect her, and she agreed that she needed to live long enough to at least rescue Harry, so she made her way across the road, and waited in the threshold of Harry’s home. She didn’t go inside, but she did peer over her shoulder as a door closed behind her brother.

Walburga Black was watching her from her portrait on the wall.

“You’re his girlfriend?” The portrait asked voice uncommonly quiet. “He won’t be happy with that you know, the Dark Lord.”

“What are you talking about?” Ginny hissed, her hands once more on her hips. She glared at the portrait, trying to make sense of what had been said. Voldemort wouldn’t like her as Harry’s girlfriend? “Am I not good enough for the Boy-Who-Lived? Why does You-Know-Who care anyway?” She spat with her eyes narrowed and a horrible rolling feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Of course you’re not. You could never compare to the Dark Lord, foolish girl!” Walburga laughed a loud hollow sound that echoed through the house. Hermione and Ron appeared from the kitchen, with Kreacher trailing behind them; Ginny looked up at them, confusion across her face.

“Harry loves Ginny!” Ron shouted at the portrait. “You-Know-Who has no say in it!”

Walburga smirked cruel and delighted, teeth bared and lips curling. Hermione rushed to push Ginny out of the house before the portrait could speak. Whatever she had to say, the trio didn’t need to hear it.

“Harry,” she said with emphasis, and Hermione just knew that she had wanted to say ‘Anathema’. “Harry loves the Dark Lord. He just doesn’t know it yet.” Kreacher tugged the curtains closed over the portrait, and Walburga’s laugh trailed off as her face disappeared.

Ginny, half out of the house and half in the street, froze where she was mouth open. Ron looked sick; clutching at his stomach with wide eyes and a pale face.

Hermione sighed again, which was becoming something of a habit she noted mildly, and turned to face her friends. “Don’t mind that hag. Who knows what He is doing to Harry, he could be being brainwashed or anything!” But she didn’t believe her own words. Why else would Harry not hate the man who had murdered his parents, his child, himself, if not because of love? And Dumbledore had always said that Harry had a huge capacity to love others. “That’s why we have to hurry, and Kreacher has agreed to help us.”

“But?” Ginny whispered, hands trembling as she brought them up to rub away the tears on her cheeks.

“We all knew You-Know-Who was obsessed with Harry, and she’s one of His followers, of course she was gonna say rubbish like that!” Ron insisted after another short silence. “Right, Mione?” He looked at her, waiting for her to confirm his statement, to reassure him, because he didn’t believe his own words either. Hermione just nodded and held out her hand.

The other two grabbed on, and after a deep breath Hermione apparated them all away.

XXX

June 8th 1998.

They had buried those who had died during the Battle of Hogwarts. The funerals had been held over the past week, but that night Voldemort had decided to host a joint-wake; where everyone, no matter what side they had been fighting on, could come to mourn their loved ones. It had nothing to do with him being sympathetic, Harry knew. Mostly, Voldemort just wanted to show off that he had won and likely parade Harry around like he was a trophy.

Which was why it was very surprising when Voldemort had said he wasn’t invited.

“But, my friends died.” Harry looked up with wide eyes, tears gathering at the corners. “My godfather died. I don’t understand…”

“You’re not going,” Voldemort had said simply, and turned to leave the room.

The moment Harry was alone he didn’t get much time to think on Voldemort’s decision, because a house elf appeared. Kreacher bowed low, nose brushing off of the floor, and Harry dived forward to pull the elf into a hug. After Dobby’s death, Harry hadn’t seen Kreacher or Winky, and he had been worried about both of the other elves, but Kreacher was here, safe and alive and-

“Kreacher comes with message from master’s friends!” Harry gaped, sitting back on his heels on the floor. The elf paced in front of him. “They be wanting Kreacher to bring them to Malfoy Manor, but I be telling them no! No! The Dark Lord be here, and he hurt Master’s friends, and so I tell them no, Master. But Master’s friends be insisting I bring a message, and Kreacher is a good elf, so Kreacher does as he is being told. Master’s friends is looking for him, they is planning to rescue him. Master needs to not die till then!”

“Oh,” Harry breathed. There was warmth in his chest at the thought of his friends coming to save him. That they loved him and missed him and were thinking of him, but especially because they knew without needing to be told that he was alive. Harry had always thought he’d know instinctively if Ron or Hermione died, because they were a part of him; a piece of his soul he supposed, and shouldn’t they have known if he were dead as well? Harry grinned; they were coming to rescue him.

Though in all honestly did he need saving? Voldemort hadn’t hurt him at all except for when he had burnt Harry’s hands, and honestly that was because Harry shoved his hands into a fire, not because Voldemort had tried to set him on fire. Apart from being a lecherous old man, the Dark Lord hadn’t really proved much of a threat to Harry in the month he had been there. “Tell Ron and Hermione not to do anything stupid. I don’t want them getting hurt!”

“Weasley and Mudblood and master’s girlfriend is being rebellious, Master. They is not following the Dark Lord, they is planning to attack, to rescue Master. Master in need of rescuing? Kreacher will rescue Master!” The elf stood up straighter, hands held out in front of him, fisted, like a boxer and Harry gave a soft chuckle at the sight the elf made.

Voldemort watched from the doorway, eyes narrowed. He waited impatiently on Harry’s response.

“No I don’t need rescuing. He hasn’t hurt me, and you need to tell them - he hasn’t hurt me, so they don’t do anything stupid! Tell Ginny I’m sorry please?” Kreacher gave a slow nod. “You can leave now, Kreacher. Thank you.”

“Master be saying thanks,” Kreacher breathed to himself, popping out of the room.

Harry sighed, throwing himself forward so that he was lying flat on the ground. He rolled over with another sigh, arms stretched above his head and legs straight and then he flew up into a sitting position as his eyes landed on Voldemort.

“I’ll find them first,” the Dark Lord hissed menacingly. “You tell your elf that if he comes back. I’ll find them first, child. They won’t take you from me!”

“Is that why you won’t let me go to the wake? In case someone tried to take me?” Harry asked calm and curious, despite Voldemort’s apparent anger. He pushed himself to his feet wobbling as he tripped on an untied shoelace, but Voldemort caught him; hands on his hips and arms around his waist. “Or someone tries to kill me?”

“I do not want you there,” Voldemort said.

Harry bit his lip, his eyes fluttering closed as he tried to think. Deals, their relationship revolved around deals. Surely there was something other than sex that Voldemort could want from him? “I want to go,” Harry breathed, before nibbling on his bottom lip, hoping to look seductive. He ran his hands slowly down the length of Voldemort’s chest, and the dark haired man raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Surely there’s something you want too? Let me go with you, let me say goodbye to my friends, and I’ll give you something back.”

Voldemort smirked leaning down over Harry; teasing him, taunting him. If he hoped to cow Harry, he was surprisingly unsuccessful. Instead of backing down with a blush, Harry surged upwards; pressing his lips roughly against Voldemort’s, and the Dark Lord jerked back, shocked. He hadn’t expected Harry to kiss him without prompting, not that it had been a real kiss; just a brief crush of lips upon lips, but it was contact initiated by Harry. Voldemort smirked: Harry obviously wanted to go to the wake very much, and he could work with that. He had learnt his lesson about pressuring Harry into sex. Sex would wait until it was time:. He already had an idea in mind; something different, something Harry wouldn’t say no to this time. But there were other things Harry could do for him in the meantime, things that Anathema had done, things he had missed doing.

Voldemort took hold of one of Harry’s hands. The other remained pressed over the Dark Lord’s stomach, fingers twitching slightly, as Voldemort brought the other hand lower and lower, until it was pressed over his crotch. “What do you think I want?”

Harry’s fingers twitched again, that one hand closing around the bulge that had already formed, and Voldemort let go. He watched Harry, waiting for his refusal, but said nothing. Harry didn’t look at him; he was staring at Voldemort’s groin, at his own hand pressed over it, fingers still moving lightly across the bulge.

“I want to go to the wake.” Harry whispered, peering up at Voldemort through his fringe. The Dark Lord just nodded, still waiting, still hoping, and then Harry slid down to his knees, his other hand pulling at Voldemort’s robes and his trousers, and the Dark Lord let his head fall back as cold air met his erection and Harry’s tongue peeked out to lick his lips.

“You can go to the wake,” he breathed, his own hands tangling in Harry’s hair, pulling his head forward, his mouth closer, until his cock was nudging at Harry’s lips. Harry hesitated, unsure, nervous and inexperienced. He closed his eyes, remembering his dreams; recalling how Anathema had done this to Tom, and how Tom had done it back: mouth open and cheeks hollow, with spit and come on their chins as they kissed afterwards, trembling in each other’s arms.

“Deal!” Harry said, taking a deep breath. One hand closed around the base of Voldemort’s cock, and his mouth opened wide, swallowing him inch by inch; Voldemort groaned at the feeling of wet and heat and Harry that surrounded him. Harry sucked with more enthusiasm than skill, and when he tried to deep throat he gagged. He had to keep pulling away from Voldemort’s grip because the man seemed intent on choking him. But when Voldemort finally came it was with a cry of his name. Not Anathema’s.

XXX

The wake was being held in the atrium of the Ministry. The ‘Magic is Might’ statue was still there, but it appeared dwarfed behind the banners and portraits that hung from the ceiling or lined the walls. The dead were grouped by families. All of the Weasleys who had died were to one side their photos clustered around each other’s, and grimly there were empty frames surrounding Fred, just waiting for someone to rebel against this new order. Tonks and Remus were stuck to a wall close by, side by side, along with Ted Tonks. Andromeda stood before that wall, hugging Teddy to her chest, as she cried quietly.

Death Eaters milled around the room, nodding at Ministry workers and avoiding the Hogwarts staff while sneering at known Order members. The Weasleys, bar Ron and Ginny were sobbing in front of Fred’s portrait, and Harry smiled at the pictures of Molly’s brothers that were hanging there as well.

It seemed Voldemort had included anyone who had died for this war, and not just those who had died during the final battle. And yet, and yet… he spun around, looking everywhere his eyes could reach, trying to see if he was wrong. “There’s no picture of Dumbledore.”

Voldemort reached over to squeeze his shoulder harshly, silently telling him to shut up. Lucius kept talking as if Harry hadn’t interrupted them. With a roll of his eyes, Harry pulled out of Voldemort’s grip and made his way over to Andromeda. The two-month-old baby whined softly, as his grandmother whirled around, startled by Harry’s presence.

“You’re alive,” she whispered, looking cautiously over to the Dark Lord.

“Yeah,” Harry said with a shrug. “I’ve noticed.” He grinned then, rising up onto his tiptoes to peek at the baby. “Can I?” He looked so hopeful, and he was the child’s godfather, and Dark Lord or otherwise Andromeda couldn’t say no to the poor child who was obviously being held prisoner, if the behaviour of the Death Eaters were anything to go by that is. The moment Harry left Voldemort’s side, one of them had appeared behind him, and if that one moved on, another appeared. They were like a shadow, clinging to the boy, and Andromeda was thankful that Harry at least hadn’t noticed.

She handed the child carefully over to Harry. “Teddy Lupin,” she said in a soft voice with a soft smile on her face. The child yawned in response and his hair turned from black to dark brown, to look like Harry’s, and bright green eyes looked up in curiosity. “Meet your godfather, Harry Potter.”

“I forgot he could do that.” Andromeda looked at him in confusion. “I mean,” Harry corrected, “I’d sort of forgotten that he was a Metamorphmagus.”

“Like Nymphandora,” the elder woman sighed.

“She hated that name. If she was here, she’d probably punch you, you know.” That elicited a small laugh from the dead woman’s mother, and they both turned to stare at the portraits of Tonks and Remus and Ted, all of whom were watching Harry and Andromeda with sad smiles.

“Your parents are over there.” Andromeda whispered, glancing worriedly at Voldemort. “Why don’t you take Teddy to say hello.” Harry nodded, walking in the direction she had sent him, completely unaware that Voldemort and Lucius had been heading towards him.

Harry stopped before the Potters, who smiled warmly at their son. It took him a moment to realize that their portraits were hanging near the Black family’s pictures, and he gazed past Narcissa and Draco (who were watching him warily) to seek out Sirius’ picture. And there he was, glaring hatefully at the portrait of Bellatrix which hung beside him, and Harry stifled a chuckle as Sirius stuck out his tongue.

“That’s my godfather,” Harry told Teddy. “He never grew up.” And so Sirius stuck his tongue out at him this time.

Narcissa opened her mouth to say something, but stopped, turning her face away. Then she appeared to steel herself, and turned back to him, head high and back straight. “This wouldn’t have been possible if not for you. He’s been different since he realized who you were, dear. He did this all for you, you know.”

“Shocking. I find it hard to believe, you know, since I was banned from coming.” Harry rolled his eyes and looked back at his parents.

Narcissa reached out to press her hand to Harry’s cheek. “The resistance hasn’t been as faint as you have been led to believe. He fears that they may target you. Any of them could be here right now, Harry… I- I don’t think he could survive losing you again.”

“He didn’t lose me,” the boy spat. “He murdered Anathema.” He stormed away from the Malfoys, and the Blacks and the Potters, and stomped across the room towards Andromeda.

Voldemort turned his head towards Harry as the boy came back towards them.

“Silence,” he hissed at Lucius, who was still ranting about what an abomination Teddy was; Voldemort didn’t think Harry would appreciate hearing it any more than Andromeda had.

Harry was too much of a coward to face the Weasleys, especially without Ron there to have his back, and so he frowned in the direction of Fred’s picture. “I’m ready to go home,” he told Voldemort, moving to hand Teddy back to his grandmother. Andromeda made no move to take the baby. “Andy?” Harry questioned, holding the child out again.

“Oh Harry, I didn’t know you had a baby!” The woman gushed, reaching forward to pull Harry and Teddy into a hug. “Congratulations!”

Harry looked around confused. Remus’ portrait was practically foaming at the mouth and Tonks’ was crying pitifully, but Voldemort merely looked back at him calmly, with one eyebrow raised. Lucius’ lips curled in distaste as he glanced at the baby, and Harry scowled up at him, tucking the child closer to his chest protectively. And to think he had pitied that horrible man all year, felt sorry for him each time Voldemort punished him!

“What’s going on?” He asked sharply.

“Our Lord has decided that you should keep the mongrel-” Voldemort raised a hand, and Lucius shut up with a gasp. Harry had never seen someone stop speaking so fast before, well expect for Vernon that time Harry pointed a wand in his face and cried ‘Sectumsempra’.

“What he means to say, child, is that I owed you an apology. Consider this one.” He waved negligently at Teddy and Harry took two steps backwards, confused and afraid and overcome with this horrible feeling of guilt. “I took a child from you, if you recall. I took your parents from you.” ‘And their photo’, remained unsaid between them, but Harry knew that that was really what this was about. “You wish to have a family, and I am providing one for you. I don’t care who you claim as the father, but this is your child now.”

“You can’t just take a baby from someone else! This is Andromeda’s grandchild! You can’t expect me to take him from her!” Harry snarled angrily, stepping forward ready to attack the elder man; then remembered he was holding a baby and stopped, standing awkwardly with his words still ringing around him.

“She will not miss what she cannot remember. I could have killed her, and taken the child, yet I didn’t. Be grateful, Harry.” People were staring at them now, at Harry Potter who was continuing to defy the Dark Lord and live; at the confused old woman, who stood beside them, watching the baby with longing; and Lucius who glared in disgust, and Voldemort whose rage was practically tangible. “What will you call him?”

“His name is Theodore Lupin!” Harry hissed, grinding his teeth together.

“So be it.” Voldemort looked around, noticing the attention that seemed to have gathered. “It is time to leave.” Harry tried once more to hand the baby back, but Andromeda wouldn’t take him.

Voldemort snarled hand clamping down on Harry’s shoulder, and he roughly tugged his lover towards the fireplaces that lined one side of the atrium. Teddy wailed, terrified by the rough treatment; Harry shoved Voldemort away from him but continued to trail behind him, bouncing Teddy softly to calm him down. “You’re good at that,” Voldemort whispered as Teddy fell silent.

Harry ignored him. He stepped into the fireplace, clutching Teddy to his chest, and shifted over allowing Voldemort to stand beside him. Ron and Ginny appeared in the fireplace beside him, stepping out just as his turned green and whisked him away. He heard them crying his name, screaming after him, and then he was falling out of a fireplace in Malfoy Manor, into Voldemort’s waiting arms, and Teddy was crying again.

The Dark Lord looked down at the baby, who had changed its features once more and now looked like a mix between them both. He could have been the child that Voldemort had murdered, and the Dark Lord scowled as he thought that. He turned away, ignoring the wails and Harry’s frantic shushing.

“He is your responsibility now. I will send a house elf to buy the necessary… things, but you will take care of him.” Then he left them both there, standing and crying beside the fireplace.

It wasn’t fair, Harry thought, making his way back to his room. A house elf trailed behind him, babbling about the things that babies needed. Harry didn’t listen to him, he could only think about Teddy and Anathema’s dead child, and what they would have called it had it survived. Should he have renamed Teddy, he wondered? He hadn’t asked for this, he didn’t want to raise children with Voldemort, he didn’t want to live with Voldemort, but… he sighed. There were no changing things. He was stuck here unless Voldemort dropped dead, and as much as he wanted his friends to save him, it was pointless. They couldn’t beat Voldemort, and Nagini was hidden somewhere; Harry hardly saw her and he certainly wouldn’t be able to destroy her without Voldemort knowing. The war was over. They had lost. He was lost: it was time his friends came to terms with that.

“Well, Teddy,” he said pushing open his bedroom door. There was a small crib set up beside his own bed, and Harry smiled widely at the sight of it. He hadn’t asked for this, and he was upset that Andromeda had been deprived of her grandson, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t happy to be the one taking care of his godson. He was going to be the best godfather- father, he corrected himself -there ever was. “Welcome home.”

XXX

June 13th 1998.

It had been a fairly simple plan, but a clever one too. It should have been a quick and easy rescue, but something had gone wrong. Their Portkeys should have left them in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, and Kreacher (as a Black family elf, as Narcissa Malfoy’s family elf) was supposed to apparate them from the dungeons to Harry and then out of Malfoy Manor. Something had gone wrong. Everything was chaos now. There were no more calm solutions, or simple plans, or easy to follow rules and procedures and just in case measures. Just panic.

And panic they did.

Ron whirled around, firing spells in all directions, and surprised Ministry workers dived to the ground, throwing themselves behind other people and statues. There were people screaming, people crying; Ginny was sobbing hysterically as Death Eaters spilled from the fireplaces and ran towards them. Hermione raised her wand, half tempted to raise it to her forehead and save herself, point it at her friends, one by one and then herself, to take the coward’s way out and avoid the torture she knew was coming. Instead, she pointed it Avery who was grinning widely behind his mask.

“Reducto!” She cried, but he ducked out of the way and shot a spell back at her.

Ginny was still crying hysterically, and Ron was trying his best to defend them both, but it didn’t take long before he was stunned and bound on the floor; lying helpless at the Death Eaters’ feet. Ginny threw herself at one of them, hands curled into claws, but Mulciber knocked her back, slapping her hard across the face. His friends chuckled, as Ginny hit the ground, clutching her red cheek.

“Oh no! I hurt Potter’s girlfriend! Oh no!” They mocked and jeered, and Ginny curled in on herself, still crying.

Hermione was captured moments later, distracted by Ginny’s cry of pain. She was bound and dragged towards her friends. She met Ron’s eyes and turned her face away, upset and ashamed that her plan hadn’t worked. Why? Why hadn’t she considered that their illegal Portkeys would be unable to breach the Manor’s wards? Well, she had, but she had expected to be sent back to their starting point if that had happened. She had never considered their Portkeys rerouting them to the Ministry of Magic, straight into Voldemort’s grasp!

“Bring them to the holding cells,” one Death Eater hissed. “You, there, inform the Dark Lord. You may as well tell Potter too, if you see him.”

The man snorted, “He won’t be far from our Lord.”

A handful of the others chuckled, and Ginny looked over her shoulder at them as she was pulled away. That horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach was back; jealousy and anger and something like terror. Harry wouldn’t… right? He couldn’t, not with Voldemort; anyone but Voldemort, she prayed desperately.

She tried to catch Hermione’s eyes, to silently ask what the elder girl knew because she did know something, Ginny had finally realised. But Hermione purposely looked in every direction but Ginny’s.

XXX

As it turned out, Harry was in his room with Teddy when Jugson came to give Voldemort the news, so it fell upon the Dark Lord to inform Harry of the whereabouts of his friends. The Dark Lord had known it would only be a matter of time, but he hadn’t expected them to be caught so quickly, but it didn’t matter. Whether it happened now, or later, it would have happened, and Voldemort would have gotten what he wanted in the end. He always did.

“Harry,” Voldemort called softly, entering the room without knocking.

“Shush!” Harry whispered nodding his head at the crib, at the child he had only just gotten to sleep. “What is it?”

“I have another deal for you.”

It was so blunt, said calmly, yet there was this sense of excitement surrounding the Dark Lord, and it set Harry’s hair on end. Something that had excited the man so much could only mean bad things, really bad things.

“Can we take it somewhere else?” Again, Harry indicated Teddy. With a click of Voldemort’s fingers, the child’s appointed house elf appeared, prepared to look after Teddy in Harry’s absence.

Voldemort led him through the hallway until they reached a room that Harry had never been in before. Harry had expected to be led to Voldemort’s office, but he was actually shoved through the threshold of a bedroom. It was sparsely decorated, and dominated by the insanely large bed in the centre of the room, and from the colour scheme alone Harry knew it to be Voldemort’s room.

“Um?” Harry asked, looking around slowly. He wasn’t sure why Voldemort had brought him here, he had never been brought here before, but it was definitely better than having whatever argument they were about to have in front of Teddy. “What’s going on?”

“I did tell you, child,” Voldemort breathed, reaching out to cup Harry’s cheeks with both his hands. “I said I would get them before they could take you away.”

Harry jerked away, a cry of denial already passing his lips before he had completely registered Voldemort’s words. “What have you done to them? What did you do?” He surged forward, smacking one hand against Voldemort’s chest before the Dark Lord reacted, catching both wrists and squeezing them until Harry went limp, sliding to his knees, as Voldemort released him. He looked up at the elder Wizard eyes red, welling with tears, and he took a deep, shaky breath and looked away again. He didn’t want Voldemort to see him cry.

“They are not dead. I was considering it, but at the moment they are merely in a holding cell at the Ministry. I still haven’t decided what to do with them. Perhaps,” he reached down, carefully taking hold of Harry’s arms and pulling the boy to his feet. He nudged Harry back, guiding his movements, until he fell onto the bed, sprawled with his legs spread and his mouth open in surprise. “You may help me decide.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, wondering what Voldemort meant. The unasked question was answered, as Voldemort climbed onto the bed to kneel between Harry’s spread legs, bending down over the boy to press their mouths together.

“You can’t deny you want this, Harry. Give in to me. Just give in, and save your friends in the process. It is not much to ask. It will be pleasurable for you; I promise I won’t hurt you. You could save their lives; what are three or four years in Azkaban for breaking and entering in comparison to death? What is that compared to sex?” He paused, leaning down to press soft kisses across Harry’s jaw and throat. The boy trembled beneath him; deep, rasping breaths leaving him as his fingers slid across the sheets searching for something to ground him.

“It won’t hurt?” Harry whispered, tilting his head back to allow Voldemort more access to his neck. Hesitant fingers wrapped around black strands of hair, and Voldemort smiled against his lover’s neck.

“I won’t hurt you again,” the Dark Lord said. Whether or not he would be able to keep his word was another matter entirely, but Harry knew that at that precise moment, Voldemort had meant what he said.

“And you won’t hurt them, or kill them?” Voldemort nodded, agreeing to Harry’s terms, his fingers moving ahead of their words and already unbuttoning Harry’s shirt. “Ok then.”

The moment Harry gave his consent, Voldemort concentrated and without the use of his wand or words he vanished both of their clothing. Manually undressing would have taken too long, he had waited more than fifty years for this moment after all.

His mouth was on Harry’s skin, his fingers were pressing against every inch of him they could reach; their legs tangled together. Harry lay beneath the Dark Lord, panting and moaning; fingers reaching out to grab hair or shoulders or arms, nails biting into skin as his back arched with pleasure. Voldemort’s fingers moved inside of him, slick with lubricant. Harry cried out as they brushed against his prostate; stars shooting inside of his mind, colours exploding and swirling; and then there was a mouth on his cock, wet and warm, and Harry screamed, completely overcome. He had never done anything like this: just kissing and some light petting. All he had to compare this too were Anathema’s memories, but this, this was real and so much more intense, bright and loud and wonderful, and Harry arched his back again, willing Voldemort to touch him some more.

Harry hadn’t pegged Voldemort as a compassionate lover. To Anathema he had been, yes, but the man had changed so much since then, in so many ways, that Voldemort and Tom really could be considered two completely separate entities. Harry had had no way of knowing if it would have been the same between them; it had been one of the reasons he had resisted so strongly, the refusal to submit, to whore himself to the Dark Lord: his fear of being nothing more than a willing body, used and discarded and forgotten. He didn’t want the Dark Lord to love him like he had loved Anathema, but he didn’t want to give himself up, his virginity up, to someone who couldn’t care less about him. If Voldemort had just wanted sex, there were others who would be willing, so there was no reason for Harry to give in.

But this: the attention and touches and kisses; the affection, the desire; Voldemort’s whispers of his name; the slick of their skin against skin; of lube and saliva and sweat against him; hands interlaced as Voldemort arched into him, pushing, pushing as Harry gasped with pain, as Voldemort soothed him with kisses. It was all so unexpected, like nothing Harry could have imagined when he thought of giving in to the Dark Lord’s advances. Saving his friends’ lives was more than worth this, but if he had known… if he had known that Voldemort was capable of caring for him, Harry would have submitted so much sooner.

They came together, hips meeting thrust for thrust, and Voldemort hovered over Harry, hands by the younger man’s head. They rocked together, panting, moaning; occasionally raising or lowering their heads for quick messy kisses. Harry mostly kept his face pressed to Voldemort’s throat, teeth grazing and tongue tasting; lost in incoherent thought and pleasure, lights flashing behind closed eyelids. Voldemort looked down on him, his Harry, his Anathema; red eyes softened, face slack with pleasure, his hips jerking involuntarily as he drew towards his orgasm. Harry came first, Voldemort’s hand clenching around his cock, stroking it swiftly, pulling in time with his thrust. Come spilled into his hand. Voldemort gave a groan, as a familiar tingling, coiling pressure grew within his belly and he sighed against Harry’s parted lips, finding release within the younger boy, coming undone from the inside out.

They rolled apart, sweaty and satisfied and Harry hummed lightly as Voldemort separated their bodies. The Dark Lord gave a soft snort as Harry moved to slide from the bed, his arm shooting out to catch a thin wrist. “Where do you think you’re going, child?”

“Bathroom?” Harry asked, more than replied. “We’re not going to the Ministry like this right?” He wriggled slightly, uncomfortable. “I’m sticky!”

“We are not done yet.” Voldemort said, sliding across the sticky sheets towards his lover. “You have three friends. You have only had sex once.” Harry’s eyes went wide, pupils blown and Voldemort could practically smell the arousal that exploded inside of the young Wizard. But there was also shock and fear. “I’m not going to hurt you, or force you, Harry. If you wish, you can pick one friend, one that will survive, and I will simply rid the world of the other two. Is that fairer?”

“NO!” Harry jumped forward, reaching for Voldemort and ended up falling into the man’s lap. Voldemort tugged him closer, shifting their bodies so that his cock was pressed against Harry’s arse, and the child’s wriggling only served to arouse him quicker. Harry blushed, realizing the effect he was having on Voldemort’s body, and with a nervous glance at the Dark Lord, he wriggled purposely, pressing himself down onto the erection. That was all the encouragement Voldemort needed; Harry had effectively given permission. The boy found himself on his back, legs spread, in the same position he had been moments ago. Voldemort was above him again, inside, above, all over him, with the same passion and desperation that he had displayed already, and Harry was lost in it all, overcome and undone. It was too much, too little, too soon; more than he could handle and yet he wanted more. His fear and shock had been momentary, as he wondered whether Voldemort would go back on his word, whether Voldemort would be sick of him after this, taking all he could while he could and then pushing Harry aside. But now Voldemort was warm and heavy and his, and Harry couldn’t wait to work off his debt for the life of his third friend.

He came into Voldemort’s hand again, but this time the man licked his fingers clean before succumbing to his own orgasm. Harry watched him, enraptured, wondering what he tasted like and whether Voldemort enjoyed the taste, enjoyed Harry.

They pulled apart, smiling and panting and Harry rolled towards Voldemort, willing. It was the Dark Lord who stood first this time, moving from the bed to the en suit bathroom, leaving the door open invitingly for Harry.

“Get cleaned up, child. It is time to go to the Ministry.”

“But,” Harry stuttered, obediently rising from the bed, “I still owe you?” His brain was hazy, and his skin tingled with the memory of Voldemort’s touches, and his arse burned when he walked, sending shocks of pain and pleasure shooting up his spine. A touch of Voldemort’s wand to the curve of his spine stopped the pain, but Harry was left shifting awkwardly, remembering the pleasure.

“No, you don’t, child. Believe me,” the Dark Lord looked almost sorry as he said that. Perhaps he had wanted to have sex again, but they didn’t have time? Or there was something Voldemort wasn’t telling him? Harry snorted as he realized. One of his friends had escaped, one of them had survived, and Voldemort had fooled him into believing that all three were in danger.

“Cheater,” Harry said with a grin. Though he did wonder why Voldemort would lie and not go through with claiming his stolen prize. At this point, Harry wouldn’t have minded. He had been sore, but he would have willingly spread himself again for the Dark Lord’s desire. And wasn’t that something, Harry thought, as he ran a wet cloth over his skin. He went from being afraid of becoming a whore, to willing acting and thinking like one with no prompting from Voldemort, there was no threat to his friends now and yet he wanted to throw himself at the elder man and beg for sex, beg for his touch. Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome? No, Harry thought with a chuckle, Ron had been the same after losing his virginity, unable to get enough of sex; so had Dean, and Seamus. It must be a guy thing, Harry mused, and even gay guys were vulnerable. He grinned at the Dark Lord, shaking himself from his thoughts. “I’m ready.”

XXX

There was a fog over the Ministry. Not a real fog, of course, not inside. But Harry imagined that he could see it, swirling around the heads of the people inside, weighing them down, keeping them silent and unnerved. They tensed and moved out of the way as Voldemort walked passed them, they stared at Harry confused and afraid, and the fog swirled faster as their emotions warred within the people. It was like a shadow, a disease; fear, and nervousness, and anxiety, breeding and swelling, like Dementors in their midst. And Harry knew that something was wrong.

Three prisoners were dragged towards them. He and Voldemort waited side by side, surrounded by Death Eaters, and a handful of Ministry workers.

Three friends were brought towards them.

Three.

Harry still owed Voldemort for one. Confused, he looked up at the Dark Lord, eyes narrowed. The man hardly expected Harry to have sex with him in front of all these people, did he? Voldemort met his eyes, non-repentant, and not at all lustful. There was some other emotion there: regret, Harry realized, watching detachedly as Voldemort raised his wand. He should do something, he dimly realized, move or protest or defend his friends, but instead he stood there, staring dumbly as green light shot towards Ginny’s bound form. She collapsed, lifeless, to the ground and Voldemort lowered his wand, refusing to look at Harry.

He had likely alienated the boy again, pushed him too far, too hard, but eventually Harry would give in to him again. But the girl, the threat, had to be eliminated. Voldemort could admit to himself that he was jealous and afraid of her, that Harry might think of her when they were together, would imagine a life with her and without him, and it was something that he refused to contemplate for the rest of his life. Now she was gone, out of his life, and her memory could be no threat to his physical relationship with Harry.

Fists were beating at his chest, and Harry was crying and shouting, beating at him half-heartedly as his shoulders shook. “WHY? WHY?” He screamed, and Voldemort caught his wrists, pulled him close to his chest and bent down so only Harry could hear his response.

“Because you love her.” The Dark Lord whispered against the shell of Harry’s ear, lips pressing lightly to the flesh that pulled away from him as Harry jerked in denial. “And not me.”

He pulled Harry away from the others then, leading him back towards the fireplaces. Hermione and Ron, bound between the Death Eaters, were crying too, wailing and sniffling, all of their anger burnt out unnoticed by Voldemort.

“Take them back to their cell. They will stand trial at a later date.” He turned from them, dismissing them all. “I have other matters to attend to.”

Ginny’s body remained where it had fallen on the floor, as no one had been ordered to remove her, and Nagini was not there to eat her. The portraits had all disappeared from the walls of the Ministry, having been removed after the wake, but Harry could still remember the two empty frames that had surrounded Fred Weasley. One for Ginny… and one for Ron? And what of Hermione, he thought, had Voldemort planned all along to kill them, no matter what Harry did? Or just Ginny? Just his girlfriend? Or did he think that Harry would chose to sacrifice Ron, have sex once and save Hermione?

He gave a soft cry, his hands coming up to press against his mouth, trying to stifle the noise. His legs collapsed beneath him, and he crouched on the ground, shoulders shaking, but no more sounds left him. Voldemort watched, unsure, but unrepentant. He did not regret killing the girl, but it hurt him to know that he had once more hurt his Anathema, and only hours after he had promised he would never hurt the boy again.

But she had to go. She couldn’t remain alive; a threat, a distraction, a constant reminder of a life without Voldemort or Tom Riddle. He wouldn’t have been able to bear it.

Harry would get over it with time. He had forgiven the deaths of his parents, though they were meaningful and Ginny’s was meaningless; but he would forgive. Anathema had always forgiven him, and so Harry would too, in time.

Voldemort scooped the boy into his arms, easily lifting him from the floor. He carried Harry into one of the fireplaces, clutched like a child against his chest and he called out, “Malfoy Manor,” and waited for the green flames to take them both away.

XXX

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There will probably be some people who are unhappy with the way I plan to end this story, or with the way I’m going about Voldemort and Harry’s ‘lives’, but these chapters were planned down to the last detail before I even started writing, and I like what I had planned, and won’t change things. Then, there are those who will love it, and to those people THANK YOU!

Enjoy! University is finished in late-April with the exception of my Dissertation/Thesis, so after April I’ll update more regularly (assuming I don’t die from whatever is wrong with me before then). Much love!

Words: 4,013
Chapter 15
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