TITLE: Just Enough Warmth

AUTHOR: Lee

STATUS/PART: Complete

EMAIL:

RATING: NC-17

PAIRING: Harry/Voldemort

SPOILERS: Follows canon through book 4, then breaks of into AU.

WARNINGS: AU, slash, underage sex, mpreg, hints of graphic violence, adult themes such as war.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

SUMMARY: Harry is pregnant with Voldemort's child and the two of them are on the run.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is an entry in the Harry Potter Mpreg Fuh-Q-Fest (http/groups. Challenge(s): 32. Harry is either captured by Voldie or goes to him on his own (perhaps as a spy). He falls in love with the Dark Lord and agrees to have his baby. Voldemort may turn good - or not, but Harry should be happy in the end. Bonus points for having Voldemort look young and handsome again. (Submitted by chantalmalfoy)

BETA: Myself. ;)

Shivering from the slight cold, Harry pulled the soft bedspread a little tighter around his body. The wind whispered across the top of the battered tent, and trees could be heard swishing and swaying from somewhere above. The tiny tent was quiet but cool, and Harry rolled over in a tighter ball on the bed to keep the cold air from leaking into the little cocoon of warmth he had maintained for the last hour. His thoughts drifted to his lover, to how wonderful and warm the tent had been while the wizard had still been there with him.

When would he be back? Soon hopefully….What if the Aurors had gotten him? Not likely, but still, Harry felt the sweat of nervousness trickle down his neck and felt his stomach doing flip flops. He reached out, cocoon of warm air disintegrating with the presence of fresh cold, to find the outer blanket he had kicked off somewhere during the night. Between the cold of the small but sturdy tent and the cold of the air freshened bed, Harry was worried for his health, and that of his child.

He stretched finally, letting his rounding belly protrude upwards towards the ceiling. The darkness did nothing to appease his fear that his child's father was in grave peril somewhere, and that he would have to somehow take care of their child alone. Worry did nothing for his need of sleep, and he sat up, shivering, wrapping the blankets tighter around him.

Tom, Tom, where are you Tom? I'm so cold, my back aches, I'm hungry, and I miss you GOD how I miss you!

This wasn't helping his shattered frame of mind, which was now convinced that every shadow that leapt through the canvas sides of their tent (which had stopped imitating a cabin a long time ago) was an Auror, his godfather, the Ministry, or Dumbledor, oh please heavens NOT Dumbledor! It would all be over in an instant if that were true, he would be taken immediately to Hogwarts…

And his child, their child, what would happen to it?

Fear gripped him in its icy panic. He got up onto his feet and slipped into his fuzzy slippers under the bed, the only part of the tents magic he had been able to maintain on his own without using any real magic. It was almost involuntary magic, the type that couldn't be targeted, like his hair growing back after Aunt Petunia would cut it, or his body's quick healing ability. It was just a necessity, but was as fragile a magic as that of the tent had been to maintain, and he continued to sit on the bed, worried that it might disappear if he left it. But he was cold, and a little thirsty, and he had that incessant backache that would require a little walking soon. Surveying the small ruin of their tent with a sigh, he finally went to find the now cold kettle. Should he risk using his wand? Should he make a cup of tea?

No. He couldn't. The Aurors would know immediately where he was, being an underage wizard and all, not quite 16, and they would be keeping their eyes out for any illegal magic performed by minors. No.

No. He would have to find some other way to warm the tent. He went searching through their packs remorsefully, searching for something. The hotplate was useless, no magic or electricity to run it, and he dismissed the Bunsen burners out of hand. If he could use them, they would create a leftover chemical smell that could send the whole WORLD of Aurors to their uncharted and invisible position if they happened to be nearby and sniffed it. Nope, he would have to keep looking…

He was relieved to find a small muggle lighter in one of the packs, and went to the fireplace, which had died down to coals, but had remained intact only because those coals still smoked with a bit of leftover magic. Harry soon had logs in the fireplace, and remembering his summer with the Weasley's at the Qudditch Tournament, he put in some soft, old copies of the Daily Prophet to use as a starter.

Tom had been stealing copies from who knows where on a daily basis, to keep up with the War that was going on around them. No doubt to find out whether his real followers were still alive or captured. It was the Newspapers that had lead Tom out in search of the remains, or lack thereof, of Severus Snape. Severus was now one of Tom's most trusted followers, and the Newspapers had said he had survived the Death Eater purge.

But where was he? Was Snape really alive? Even the blazing warmth that soon gripped the tent did nothing to dampen the ache of fear in his chest. He hung the kettle over the fire and went searching for tea. He was about to search for his tea mug when he suddenly heard the sound of something magical fizzling, fading, and dying out. Whirling, he came face to face, with not the bed, but a pile of lumpy blankets and an old sleeping bag.

"Nooooooo..."

Moaning slightly in grief, Harry went to the pile of lumpy blankets and sat down on them, rocking back and forth, and ignoring the rising steam from the slowly heating kettle.

TOM, Oh TOM where are you? I can't do this alone!

His thoughts, or whatever they were, snapped, with the snapping of a twig. Harry shot bolt upright and looked at the fireplace. No, it wasn't the fire. Another snap in the direction of the tents entrance, and he froze, silencing his breathing, staring at the white canvas flap in horror. They were only invisible from a distance of about 10 feet, but once you got within the 10 feet...

Another snap of twigs and a shadow of a person could be seen, a ghostly figure standing just outside the tent. Harry's heart raced, blood pounding to his chest, and he watched the shadow stiff with fear.

Who's there? His mind wanted to call out, but he managed not to make a sound, rather, reached carefully under the pillows where he had kept his invisibility cloak and wrapped it around him. Whoever it was, they would have to search every inch of tent by hand to find him, and by that time, he would be gone…Unless it wad Dumbledor.

A white, soft, and delicate hand, poked its gentle way in, brushing the flap aside, and a white, smooth and pale face peeked in. The eyes that had at one point in time glowed violently red now looked gently and greenly into the dark glow of the tent. The flesh that had once been sickly and pallid, now shined with a new health, and the nose was more smooth and capable than the raw slits that Harry had set eyes on before. The long hand was no longer a claw, but an expressive all too real and delicate hand, and the thin body was now filled out with a healthy musculature that comes from physical activity. The green eyes looked around the tent perplexed, and then landed on the invisible form of Harry, smilingly, knowing his exact position.

Harry stifled his cry of relief, and launched himself free of the invisible fabric of his invisibility cloak towards Voldemort, grasping the man around the waist and crying softly into his strong smooth chest.

"Oh thank Merlin your all right!" he kept whispering, as tears rocked him from head to toe. "Was so worried…So worried…"

Voldemort chuckled, and waved his lithe hand into the air. Within moments the tent was a cabin again, the lamps were lit, the fire blazing, the bed was soft and warm as it had ever been, and soft green carpet once again cushioned Harry's feet. He could feel the invisibility spells and wards strengthening around him, and the low hum of magic it took to light the room felt like a breath of fresh air.

"Forgive me, my sweet puppet, for my tardiness…" said the former Dark Lord with soft soothing ease. "It was rather tiring trying to evade the Aurors, and I had to hide out with the Malfoys for several days…"

Harry suddenly felt a pang of jealousy. His lover had been warm, in a mansion, probably with tea and crackers, and light conversation, and he and the baby had been stuck out here in the cold! The nerve! The absolute…

Voldemort suddenly winced painfully, and Harry realized he had been gripping the man's arms rather tightly. Taking as step back, he surveyed the green eyes, which looked down at him lovingly, sheepishly begging his forgiveness, and the dull gray robes that Voldemort were wearing were stained with dark patches of…

"You're bleeding!" Harry squeaked, and tugged up the sleeve of the man's robes to survey a large and painful cut trailing bloodily along the length of the arm.

"It was that godfather of yours," Voldemort said with somewhat of a sneer, "When he realized where I was he came full fury to the Malfoys, but thankfully, he couldn't do much more than physically threaten me. Lucius Malfoy is nothing less than precise with his need to protect those in his household, and Severus was all too happy to help get him off my person…"

Harry felt a twinge of anger at the thought of his godfather harming Tom, but happiness filled him for a moment, and he smiled, emeralds twinkling with a surge of hope.

"So Sev really is still alive?"

"Yes," Voldemort went to sit on the bed, pulling the sleeve up completely to survey the long wound with a stark eyebrow while Harry searched for a healing potion. "However, he's still in search of a proper wand. It seems none of the ones he's tried will work. Only Remus' wand has given him any results…"

Harry smiled gently at the mention of his old friend Remus and nodded. After the initial battling had ended, Severus and Remus had declared their love before the entire of Hogwarts at the victory celebration. It had been that more than anything that had rent the friendship of Remus and Sirius, and sent Sirius straight to Dumbledor for help and friendship. If only…

"You're kettle is boiling over," Voldemort pointed out simply. Harry quickly handed him a vial of green liquid from the packs, and paused while pouring his tea.

"Was Severus able to give you any of the potions we need…?" Harry asked worriedly.

"No, we'll have to make due with what Remus was able to prepare. Seems Severus' luck has run out where Potions are concerned. More often than not it requires TWO hands to brew a potion properly, and as for his willingness to brew them anymore, well…" the sentence trailed off, and Harry pursed his lips.

"And Remus hasn't been able to do anything?"

"Nothing. Severus keeps folding up within himself, as if he's lost all hope whatsoever for the battle…"

Harry nodded, thinking how much he missed Severus. During the initial war, before Severus and Harry had found an ancient spell to drive the evil from the Dark Lord, they had worked constantly together searching for ways to defeat or destroy him, as the battles had been fought all around them.

What they had found had been their last thread of hope; an old spell that could literally remove all traces of dark magic within a person. But it required the caster and the castee to have a child together. They had decided that since only Dumbledor, Harry or Voldemort were capable of casting the spell, that he, Harry, would have to be the one to get close to Voldemort to cast it. Severus had worked on his end, convincing the Dark Lord that it would be within his best interests to try and woo Harry to his side; meanwhile, Harry had secretly turned on the charm with every battle and duel he had fought, until finally he had been able to convince the Dark Lord to marry him. The tricky part was, that the first part of the spell would strip Voldemort of most of his darkness, but leave him with most of his original powers, plus those of Harry, who would be partially, and magically joined to the Dark Lord for the duration of the spell. Because of this, there had to be an outlet for the overflow of magic that would ultimately result in two powerful wizards joining their powers, and that was where the baby came in. The child would absorb the excess magic, and ultimately become a powerful young witch or wizard. The baby, though, would have to be within the caster before the spell was cast, and after some initial shock Harry finally had agreed to carry Voldemort's child.

He had been falling, helplessly, for Voldemort for awhile, learning more and more about the suave and passionate man within the dark and sinister flesh that had erupted from that cauldron oh so long ago. Voldemort was different now, changed, and had learned to love Harry back, which was the strongest point of strength between them, especially where the bonding spell was concerned.

Severus has been very helpful, of course, and carefully guided them through the magical process of getting another male pregnant. This had been way back when Hogwarts was in ruins, and Harry had sneaked out almost nightly during the rebuilding, with Severus, to where Voldemort was hiding.

Finally, the night came to cast the bonding spell. It involved a wedding ceremony, with only two witnesses, Severus and Remus, the latter who had been shocked, but eventually acknowledged what needed to be done to save the Wizarding world. But fate had turned a cold shoulder on them. The spell itself had cast a magical signature so powerful, that every witch and wizard from London to France had felt the magical pull. And that had alerted Dumbledor to the goings on behind his back, and with the help of the Ministry, he had convinced the world that the Dark Lord had manipulated Harry Potter into marrying him.

So they had fled, the two of them, as the Wizarding world tried to track them down. But as long as Harry was still pregnant, they couldn't do much powerful magic, or risk not only being captured, but breaking the spell itself. Basic spells like this tent, and being able to apparate, were all that could be uses while the spell still had them in its grips. So they had to hide, being unable to fight for themselves. And the world was basically all asking one question now as it fought savagely on; "Where is Harry Potter?"

The tea mug soon was filled with warm brown liquid, milk and sugar added, and Harry waddled over across the green carpet towards the bed, where Voldemort was laying out leisurely, with much amusement written across his face. Harry let his eyes trail pleasurably over the man's body, gentling over the muscled legs, long thighs, strong flat chest, to those deep jade green eyes sparkling with mirth. The white pale flesh, that to any man would be horrid, was more beautiful to Harry than a blooming sparkling dew dropped rose, ten times more breathtaking than a thousand sunrises and sunsets. One had to look beyond the physical, really, to see who Voldemort truly was now inside, and even if he couldn't convince the world, he knew himself of the love now written down on his soul.

That's why, to him, Voldemort would always be Tom Riddle. Tom. The only man who Harry would carry a child for, lie to his godfather for, lay his life on the line for. His Tom.

Harry set the tea on the bedside table, already becoming bored with the prospect of sipping tea, and lay just a leisurely along the length of Tom's body. The bonding spell couldn't be finalized until the baby was born, so technically they weren't married yet. But it didn't matter much to Harry, who laid his hand flat on Tom's chest as the man rolled over to straddle Harry's round stomach.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" Tom asked, green eyes raking pleasurably over Harry's squirming form below him.

A blush of red crept over the youths face, and Tom chuckled, gentling his hand softly over Harry's curved belly.

Harry smiled, and got up onto his elbows, inches from Tom's face.

"I love you."

A small sort of soft glow fell into the silence between them, and Tom kissed him warmly, smooth and soft textures melting into each other, warm tongues tracing the length and curve of swollen lips, liquid heat trickling into Harry's chest as tangible as butter melting on a warming hotplate. They parted at last, breathlessly, and Tom looked down at his lover with an ache that he never knew, in all his years, he could ever feel.

"Harry…"

The smooth whispery voice, like velvet breathing onto his skin, sent shivers of anticipation along Harry's spine as he shuffled more comfortably under his lover. Tom was looking down at him, quietly, possessively, and bent down to capture his mouth again, this time, not letting go, their heat battling for dominance as passion took over.

Harry clung to soft white flesh, pulling the blood stained robes off and throwing them away from the bed, kissing every inch of exposed white flesh as he went. He soon found his own robes being discarded, and arced himself up towards his love, allowing fingers to trail over his belly, catch at his pants, pulling his aching need free and caress that throbbing part of a body with a lithe and deft hand. Harry writhed gently on the bed as his lover worked, stroking and licking him, lathing a nibbling tongue and teeth over the pink buds on his chest, sending shivery shockwaves down every nerve. Harry reached with his own hands for the lover, grasping him in a tight grip and stoking fires that made Tom suddenly arch his body and moan. They pressed themselves together, thrusting and arching, folding flesh into flesh, ache and need throbbing between them, and just when he thought he couldn't take anymore, an explosion of pleasure finally overtook Harry's mind, spilling all the heat and liquid pleasure within him in a white fount into Tom's stroking hand. Harry felt a similar liquid warmth spilling over his abdomen as his lover called out his name, white body arching above him.

Harry collapsed, spent, on the bed, and Tom soon collapsed with him, breath coming out shakily from his chest. Harry curled up into his lovers arms, stroking Tom's smooth white face softly with his palm. A lithe hand was caressing his hair, ruffling its soft texture gently, the other hand worshiping and loving his round abdomen.

"I wish I could do more with you," Tom said quietly, sadly, "But until the baby comes…"

Harry nodded gently, smiling at the thought of their child.

"I understand…Its enough just to be with you…"

Soft lips kissed him again gently, and he met Tom's loving eyes quietly, ignoring the sound of the crackling fire dying in the fireplace, and the sounds of a storm, rainfall, starting to pound furiously on the roof of the tent above, plummeting the tent to abysmally cold temperatures once again. In the soft and cool darkness of the afterglow of their lovemaking, they had enough warmth between them to last them a lifetime.