This is the last draft I had for this story.
I have the basic plot line up; if someone wants to continue this, please PM me to discuss. If you want to wait for me fleshing it out, then please be patient. I have hectic life now; full time work, full time study, unsatisfying relationship. If this chapter feels a bit too depressing, I apologise. If this chapter feels ridiculous (as some of the reviewer mentioned: this story's idea is so laughable that it was worse than bad) then suck it. If you like this chapter though, with all the depressing thought, I welcome you to share as well. Because I was there, and I am sure if you know how this exactly feels then we might have been in the same place in our life.
Thank you for your positive review. I warn you, this chapter is not pretty.
The thought was really bothering his conscience. Of course he should trust his boy, but till what limit? And was the Dark Lord really found Harry valuable? Now that he knew their possible relationship, Severus could understand some of the things happening. Why Harry looked very close to Marvolo Gaunt in the World Cup. Why Harry felt so bad when Marvolo Gaunt was allegedly angry at him. Everything just made sense.
Did the Dark Lord have feelings for Harry?
He dragged his useless leg and heavy body towards the castle' exit. He needed out. He needed to get out. He needed to be as far as he could from the man.
I need you as much as you need me.
What was that? Was Marvolo mocking him again? The older man clearly never think of Harry as "important", especially shown by how easy the man think Harry would be appeased by his actions. When they first met, Harry felt he was at least bit important because he was Marvolo's host. But now, they have nothing to connect each other with. Harry couldn't speak parseltongue, Harry wasn't a good pet, Harry didn't want to be a pet anymore. He wanted more, and the boy was sure Marvolo didn't "Need him as much Harry needs Marvolo".
Everything was a joke.
Harry growled. His feet was useless, the stiff, slowly healing thing. He couldn't even dodge or attack properly because of the damn leg. He wanted to cut it off out of frustration. He kept dragging it towards the open air, towards the forest, towards humanless area. He hated them all. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to kill someone…
And he bumped into someone.
It was a crash, really. Both bodies collided hard, and Harry found himself slumped onto the wet grass. In his anger, Harry almost wanted to blow the man's head away using his magic. When he turned, however, he saw a man who looked as lost and undignified as he was. The man was very disheveled, it was clear that his suit was several days unwashed and unchanged, hair growing everywere, a thick and unruly moustache had grown around the man's face.
"Weatherby, make sure you have everything ready for my meeting in three.." the man spoke to himself, Harry noticed. "…Minister will come for a cup of tea, your report on cauldron has garnered few comment from him…"
The more Harry tried to make sense what the man was saying, the more he couldn't understand. His rage slowly subsided, replaced by somekind of concern and curiosity. It was a great distraction anyway.
"Are you alright, sir..?" he asked, tried to crawl nearer to the man. He kind of twisted his leg from the fall, but it wasn't painful enough for Harry to make him stop moving. When he managed to get nearer, Harry could see that the man was out of his mind.
"You …" Suddenly the man stopped blabbering nonsense and latched onto Harry's arm. Harry, unable to maintain his balance, fell backwards and ended up back to the grass, with the man crawling on top of his body. Harry felt his body shuddered in disgust, and his magic flared. But the man suddenly rose and moved.
"I apologize for my inappropriate… but now is not the time… I need Dumbledore, now! Please tell Dumbledore that Crouch is here, and I need to tell him something, please, be quick, before I am found…"
Harry tried to rise from his place, sensing the sense of urgency.
"Hey you there!" suddenly someone was scolding them, and Harry turned to see his DADA professor, Professor Moody, limping towards them with Marvolo behind him. Harry felt a bit relief, for now the professor could help the inebriated man. But when he saw Marvolo behind Professor Moody, he growled and tried to stand up quickly. He almost failed, but the last dignity he had left helped his resolution to stand. He quickly moved again, leaving the weird man with Professor Moody, so that he could avoid Marvolo as far as he could.
He ran to the other direction, and found himself almost near the lake. Harry slowly reduced his pace and huffed from exhaustion. Slowly everything calmed down, and Harry started to become more aware of his surrounding. He caught the sight of two big figures, one of them unmistakably Hagrid, and the other was the Headmistress of Beauxbaton.
Feeling surprised, Harry let himself caught off guard when suddenly a hand touch his shoulder. Harry turned, ready to pounce his magic when he saw Blaise's worried face near his cheek.
"Where have you been, Harry? I am—we are very worried!"
As Harry registered the number two target of his anger coming towards him, his chest started to boil again. His mind returned to its chaotic state, his cheek started to flame from anger. He snatched his shoulder away from Blaise's grip, snarling. In process, he lost his balance and fell onto the grass, but caught half way through falling when Blaise quickly caught his arm and waist. It irked Harry how easy Blaise seemed to be able to support his body. It made Harry felt even smaller and even more pathetic.
Blaise stopped looking worried and immediately looked pained. Although he still has his arms wrapped around Harry's body, Blaise didn't actually try to do anything else, and seemed to genuinely try to support Harry to stand right back again. It stopped Harry from screaming further, suddenly a bit of guilt slipped into his chest. He has ignored Blaise for weeks, but Blaise had ignored him for months as well. However, after everything that happened with Marvolo, everything seemed petty.
Blaise looked away and closed his eyes. "I am glad you are fine, Harry. Do… do you need my help to go back to the castle?"
Harry bit his lips. A huge NO was already on the end of his tongue, but he didn't really want to push Blaise away now. Somehow he knew that if he pushed Blaise away now, he would hurt Blaise. Despite how Blaise has been treating him lately, Harry couldn't forget how Blaise was his very first friend.
"…Harry. Let this boy go and come with me. We need to talk."
Shuddering unintentionally, Harry knew Marvolo's voice too well to ignore the sound. He quickly buried himself into Blaise, hiding from the owner of the voice.
"Harry?" Blaise sounded unsure, but Harry could felt the tall boy's heart beating faster. Sensing that Marvolo was too near, and there was no way out, Harry hissed and grabbed Blaise's robes tightly.
"Please take me away from here, " Harry pleaded. "Please."
"Harry. Don't play with fire." The voice started to contain anger, and Harry knew Marvolo must be angry because Harry refused to listen.
"Sir, I may not be able to stop you from hurting my mother, but I can protect Harry from you. Please step back, Harry doesn't want to see you." Blaise spoke, his chest shivered from rage and unsettled anger, and Harry who was glued to his chest felt it too.
"You don't know who you are speaking to." Marvolo's voice became even more dangerous. Harry realized that it would soon end with someone being hurt, so he quickly looked up and grabbed Blaise's neck.
"Stop it, Blaise. Lets go."
"…Let him go, child."
Harry shook his head, and out of rebellious impulse, snapped his head up and caught Blaise in rough, uncomfortable kiss. Blaise seemed surprised, Harry could tell from the way the boy froze; but it was quickly overridden with welcoming opening of mouth and Blaise' familiar taste.
Something flared inside Harry. It felt so good to kiss somebody else, particularly Blaise, in front of Marvolo. If Marvolo liked Blaise's mother, then Harry could do it with Blaise as well. It felt right, and it fuelled the raven haired fourth champion to deepen their kiss.
It was then Harry felt a hand grabbed his neck from behind, making Harry gasped and let go off Blaise. Harry chocked from surprise, and Blaise shouted something he couldn't really understand. And he felt himself fell onto the wet cold grass, with a huge hand came around him.
Apparently Hagrid and Madame Maxime realized that they weren't the only two people in the world, and so came just in time to see Marvolo grabbed Harry just by the neck and Blaise shouting at him. They quickly came, and seeing Madame Maxime, Marvolo realized he couldn't show his 'other side'; so he let Harry go and went away. Harry coughed a bit, his neck felt painful from the grip. His throat throbbed in pain; and everything came crashing down.
He felt people coming, surrounding him, nearer and nearer. One of them reached out to help him stand up. Harry refused to be touch, feeling his whole body freeze in cold disgust; and his stomach screaming foul. Before he knew it, he started to heave; and the next moment he vomited the food he had in the Yule ball.
It came pouring from his mouth; his nose blocked by the foul vomit taste. But he could only vomit so much as he didn't eat that much in the party. Instead, blood started to pour out of his throat, taste like foreign and iron. Hot tears ran down his cheek, as the byproduct of vomiting uncontrollably. His eyes were hot; everything felt wrong. He hated himself. He hated his body. He hated everyone. He wanted to die.
But why? Why it's always him who needs to suffer? Why him? Why always him? Why? Why?
Why nobody get the same pain? Hurt like he was? Why?
It's not fair.
That was the last thought that passed through him before he passed out in the middle of his own vomit.
Lucius Malfoy appeared from the fire place of his own study inside Malfoy manor. He then let himself sighed loudly.
It was a very tiring day, no, make it tiring month. Ever since he followed up with the Dark Lord's plan of making Lucius the Minister of Magic, everything has tipped into a more intense, dangerous politic and power game. Lucius found himself caught in the middle of intricacy, with enemies left and right becoming more desperate. Becoming the Minister of Magic symbolized one's power and identity. By becoming the Minister of Magic, one could manipulate the fragile balance to tip into his own side. This brought discomfort to Lucius and Malfoy family's enemies, since they relied heavily on the delicate political situation that has been there for the last 11 years ever since the Dark Lord disappeared. The Minister of Magic also brought new enemies—people who fancied themselves ready, worthy of power all viewed that they were the supposedly chosen person for the seat. It turned political friends into enemies in blankets (it was ridiculously easy for people to change), it turned support into dagger on your back, whilst it brought new friends sensing benefits and old comrades expecting debt be paid.
On the other hand, he was under pressure directly from the Dark Lord himself. Lucius thought that he at least would be able to instill his own agenda into the ministry planning. Oh, how wrong he was. The Dark Lord already has everything planned out in his own way, and it gave no room for Lucius to actually have control-in fact, Lucius felt like he was truly a puppet for the first time in his life. Despite the power in his hand, he got nothing to control over. That sensation of having nothing while having everything made Lucius felt pathetic and small.
All in all, it was the most exhausting position possible. People attacks those whom they thought have power, or famous, because they can easily picture those targets—they can easily put a face on those hatred and anger. Lucius knew about it, he was not blind to it, he used to be one of the puppeteers masquerading from behind the scene. But he was not really ready to be the one who actually be the puppet on the front line.
But The Dark Lord's order was absolute. It was not his own life that was on the scale, his family also.
Lucius found his beautiful wife came to him, her expression full of concern. She hugged him in silent, patting his arm.
The husband closed his eyes and enjoyed the scent of exotic perfume she always perfected herself with. It was comforting, after all the tension in the ministry. After a while, he finally had the energy to tear away his wife, but grabbing her hand tight.
"I need to prepare for tomorrow speech. Also, I need a light dinner…"
"Everything is ready, dear. Just come when you are ready." His wife smiled, comfortingly. Lucius smiled back, thanking her wordlessly. It was those times he found that he truly loves the woman in front of him.
The days which followed were hollow for Harry. He woke up inside his own bedroom inside the Professor's quarter with utter despair and heaviness even worse than the first time he woke up after Marvolo used his body in Harry's first year. He hid inside his room avoiding everyone, couldn't bring himself to understand a single thing Professor Snape said to him. He had some house elves helped him bathe and ate for the next two days. He spent his time sitting while letting his mind wonder. It felt like numbness, not as severe as he felt before the Yule Ball, but still debilitating enough to make him felt like utter failure. His mind jumped from one thought to another, making it hard to focus to one task.
He tried to gnaw on his hands again on the second day, but after the Professor had found him with bleeding hands and gnawed wounds on his arms—hard enough to actually tear skin and exposed his muscle underneath, Harry was forbidden to ever hurt himself like that again. Professor Snape gave him two vials of calming draught every day, with some pain relieving potion after he saw Harry's bleeding arm. He looked displeased, but he didn't say much about it.
"Think about what you have done to yourself, and what would your parents think if they found you like this"; was what he said to Harry.
At first, Harry didn't understand a single word. Everything sounded like gibberish to him, although the Professor's tone assured him that he had done something wrong. Wasn't he, always?
But slowly the understanding came to him. When Harry realized what his professor meant, he felt embarrassed of himself. What would his father do when he saw Harry like this? What would his mother do? Would they care? His relatives wouldn't care for sure. But his mother said they loved him… Would they be embarrassed? Angry? Disappointed? …sad?
The thought made Harry regret whatever he did so badly he wanted to hurt himself for punishment, but he couldn't punish himself by using pain because Professor Snape has shown him that pain was not acceptable punishment. Harry closed his eyes and pulled himself into a ball.
He wanted to disappear. He wanted his parents. He wants his father to sit beside him and patted his head, telling him he was proud of Harry despite how broken he was. He wants his mother to be beside him, hugging him and kissing his forehead like what mothers do, making sure Harry was comfortable despite Harry being so dirty. There was so much wrong he had done, he wished he could return back and changed it. He should never accepted Marvolo's proposal the first time, he should never made friend with Blaise, he should have spent his days more in the kitchen with the elves or followed the unicorn and lived in the forbidden forest. He should have never let Professor Snape saw his hand, he should stay in the Dursley's place and waited his death.
I need you as much as you need me.
He tried not to let his thought strayed to Marvolo or Blaise; but the words came back to him again and again. Thinking about it made his head hurts, so he let go and waited till the days end. He was floating in the cloud of emptiness and numbness, and it seemed to make him felt a lot better. Stop living, stop caring, stop thinking. He had no desire to continue asking himself why Marvolo said those words. His anger has subsided; it turned into numbness back.
Yet slowly, the numbness subsided. It was replaced by new epiphanies, and—madness. He had been living in a funk the past weeks, but without warning, the memories came crashing back.
He was denied death. Again. And the kiss. And Percy and Penelope. And Blaise. And Marvolo and Esme. Harry started to laugh. The laughter echoed through his room, becoming louder and more crazed. But Harry couldn't stop laughing. He felt too funny, too hollow to stop. If he stopped what he was doing, there'd be nothing left.
Bending his fingers at sharp angles, he scratched at his face, over and over again. The feelings of self-disgust started to overpower him. His back was covered in cold sweat. He continued laughing, and he was only vaguely aware of someone begging him to stop. He couldn't stop. His body was filled with some sort of nervous energy and his limbs started to jitter—he couldn't control them as they shook.
He needed to calm down… he needed something to calm down… something.
So he turned and ran—his damn leg, despite getting better, still dragging him annoyingly—out from the room. He crashed into other students along the way, but most of them were too surprised to react, much less reach out and catch Harry, who kept running and running. Harry finally found himself inside the welcome dark chamber of the Room of Requirement, and when he closed the door, the room was bare and empty, save for a single book in the middle of the room. Harry recognized the book. It was one of the new Necromancy books Marvolo had given him last time.
His limbs stopped shaking. Harry took it as a good indication. The room knew better than he did. Slowly he opened the book, for he believed that the Room of Requirement had decided that Harry needed that particular book in this time of madness.
Thus, Harry started to read about Blood Necromancy, on how to bind another's soul to his own so that he could, basically, control that other soul.
Harry closed the door to the Room of Requirement behind him. He had finished reading the whole book and felt like he could do everything and anything. It was such a genius way to be happy, to be a good person his parents would be proud of.
The book told him how he could bind everybody's soul to his, so everybody would be connected to him. The connection is unbreakable unless the 'master anchor' dies, so nobody could leave Harry anymore. They can't physically hurt the 'master anchor' either. Even if they died, Harry could call their souls back as ghost. The book mentioned something else about the 'Resurrection Stone', which had similar effect to this ritual. Harry didn't pay attention to it, because the stone was explained in the last chapter of the tome—Harry didn't care for it.
He was fed up with all the feelings hoo-haahs. He wanted something stable, something that surely wouldn't leave him. He didn't need feeling; he just needed the unbreakable bond. He wanted to make sure that even though nobody loves him; they wouldn't, couldn't leave him alone. They couldn't replace him with anyone else, even if they wanted to. It was clever, isn't it? To have people bonded to you, to eternity. Nobody would leave him anymore. And Harry promised to protect those people he bound to him. He has the power, he has the ability. He could do it. He would make them depend on him instead of the other way around, and this way people wouldn't leave him, and they would like him for being dependable. Maybe after being with Harry for long and Harry treating them good would make them love Harry.
Also, if Harry couldn't die, so would they.
It was such a perfect plan.
All he needed was the blood of the other person. Harry needed to drink the blood, then performed rituals inside himself easily. The tome mentioned how the ritual is quite dangerous, erratic and required high level of pure magic. Harry didn't care for the first two points, he was fine with it. The third was something he could easily overcome. His magic has told him that he was well endowed with the magick to keep the ritual successful.
But the bond required the 'slave' willingness to the bond—and the book said that such willingness can easily taken form in lust, sexual attraction or devotion. In other word, the bonding will happen easily as long as the 'slave' was willing to be bound to the 'master anchor' at the time of ritual. Harry knew sexual attraction. Marvolo has been touching and showing him what was 'sex'. Arousing, exhilarating, and somehow painful when you put too much emotion in it. Percy and Penelope were wrong about sex. Love was not needed to have sex. Sex is sex, and that's all it was about. Sex.
If having sex was not an expression of love, then Harry knew for sure he could do it with anyone. And he could then bind the person using sex and the ritual. Then they would be together forever. This way, Harry could even collect people he likes and made them bound to him. He could make his own family. They would be together, forever and ever.
He felt that somehow a burden has been lifted—there was no use for him to drown in his depression and problem, he had the ultimate answer to all his misery. He could bind everyone he likes and made them stick with him. He knew how, he was sure he could manipulate them into having sexual activity with him, and so the only problem at the moment is who he is going to bind.
Since he needed to start searching of his potential slaves, Harry decided to end his self imposed banishment in Professor Snape's quarter. After all, he couldn't have sex inside the Professor's quarter, under the Professor's nose, could he? That made him realized that he should actually have sex with Professor Snape as it was the only way to bind the professor to him.
Yet the image of himself under Professor Snape's body felt wrong, somehow.
Harry decided to target Professor Snape later, when he was more used to it. Now, he should focus on more plausible target.
Neville Longbottom found himself seated in the library, right beside the most gossiped star in Hogwarts at that moment: Harry Potter. It was nothing special—nothing special ever happened to him, the plainest boy in Gryffindor house. He was there because he was paired with the green eyed Slytherin for their potion assignment. They were assigned as partners for the rest of the year by Professor Snape for potion assignment which would be the basis for their OWL requirement the next year.
But Neville knew it was deeper than that—it seemed that the Professor felt the need to assign Harry potter to a partner, or somebody else, at any time of the day. Neville was even more shocked when the Professor has called him to stay back the day he assigned Neville and Harry, to tell (but in Snape's standard, it was as good as begging) Neville that he needed to keep an eye on Harry Potter, and whenever possible, make the boy talk or eat. It sounded bizarre for Neville, and he knew it was unfair for Harry Potter. Harry Potter was not a child anymore, yet it seemed that everybody around him think of the boy as a small, fragile, defenseless animal.
Neville knew that Harry Potter was one of the smartest boy in his year—Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were the two star pupils who alternatively gained the first place in all subjects. It made Neville very nervous, since he knew he was only helpful in herbiology and nothing else.
Furthermore, ever since the mysterious accident that let Potter limping with walking sticks, the beautiful boy (Neville admitted that easily—he had seen how possessed Ron was over the boy, how sometimes he heard his dorm mates or older Gryffindor jerking off while hissing Potter's name—weirdly enough, there was only one Harry in the entire school, despite the common quality of the name—and how noisy the girls were while discussing their crushes in the Gryffindor common rooms. It was very safe to assume that Harry Potter has enchanted the Gryffindor house) refused to talk. So far they only communicate through written communication, with Harry passing the notes to him and listed all the thing he wanted Neville to research while Neville silently passing back his research result.
It wasn't like he didn't like the silent, though. Being in the Gryffindor house equals to no privacy and silent. Everybody was happy to announce what they think of any matters, enjoying the fun found in brashness and loudness, as well as inserting their noses into everybody else's businesses. It has lessened a bit since Ronald Weasley got himself restrained by the aurors and unable to come to Hogwarts (the arrest also lead to the fourth year Gryffindors boys to be calmer and lessened their hot headed attitude, however the shock starting to lessened. It slowly returned to the noisy and nosey environment Neville has tried his hardest to adapt to). Working with Slytherin—and Harry Potter at that—was refreshing. Neville found himself preferring this.
But Professor Snape's order was gospel, and Neville felt the need to die at least while trying to do it.
It also reminded him how perceptive the Slytherin boy was. The question Harry (Neville wasn't sure whether the boy still wants him to call Harry his name) asked him why he was smiling while telling the popular tale of how disappointed his gran was of him, how Neville fought his best until finally his magic appeared and saved his life from death. The question was still very much stuck in Neville's mind, and it used to give Neville the urge to come towards Harry and asked for friendship.
However, throughout time, he realized that not only Harry was guarded by a very persistent Slytherin boy called Zabini (who seemed to reserve the place of Harry's best friend with the ferocity of a Hungarian Horntail), Harry was also untouchable, with the Potion Professor being so overprotective for his charge and the whole Slytherin house following the example.
So Neville has learned to curb his urge to be friend with Harry, and thus he returned to calling Harry; Harry Potter. And he learned to know more about Harry from the gossips—how he was hurt, how Harry was not opening the Yule Ball like other champions, how Professor Snape has taken control and brought Harry potter to live inside his own quarter. And so, the silent Gryffindor boy continued to do the research his partner told him to do. While thinking of what he should say next to coax the boy to talk.
He was totally unprepared when Harry Potter turned to him, and with the most innocent voice, said, "Please fuck me."
The chapter is short, sorry. If I can produce the next chapter, it will be on Marvolo's POV, the smut fest between Harry and everybody he wanted, Moody slash Barty jealousy and The second task. Also Snape getting an ulcer because of Harry.
Thank you for reading.