Title: Let's Rule the World Together.
Summary: It's been eleven years since the Light fell and Voldemort began his rule. Harry Potter has been his prisoner ever since, but things have been changing. Even if he doesn't see it yet. Slash. HP/LV
Warnings: Mention of torture, crass language, character death, dubious consent, slash, citrus (limes and an almost grapefruit by my definition), evil-turns-fluffy Voldemort, cuddles.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: New author. Be kind XD
Wrote this until the wee hours of morning, but it still took a little over three days to finish. Blame any ensuring weirdness or missus of vocabulary on the fact that I'm bloody exhausted.
Also: I'm paranoid so this might not deserve an M. Curse this site for deleting our smut. Le sigh.
I'm tweaking canon, so the Horcrux's do not disfigure people, Voldemort's snake form is only a glamour, and you don't need to feel remorse to fix your soul. It's simply a choice. Also, Harry only destroys the diary-Horcrux, and spend the rest of seventh year (until the Battle of Hogwarts) running from the Death Eaters.
Edit (10/07/2012): I got a Beta! Thank the wonderful BlueRubyBeat for correcting this!
By the time I'm coherent enough to open my eyes properly, the sun is already fairly high up on the sky. I can tell thanks to the obscene amount of sunlight filtering through the drapes. And hadn't I made sure to close them last night?
I roll onto my back with a groan, covering my stinging eyes with my arm. I stay like that for a few minutes, slipping in and out of a light dose.
sigh when I hear the telltale crack of a House Elf appearing in my room. That will be breakfast then. Rolling over onto my stomach this time, I groan again as I stretch.
"Did Master Harry sleep well?" I have only just placed my feet on the ground when I got a face full of House Elf. The little things goofy smile makes it impossible not to smile back.
"Yes, Tipsy. I slept well."
Tipsy wakes me up at nine thirty, every morning. It's been that way for the past seven years, without fail. Frankly, it's gotten tedious. I think I'm actually starting to miss the torture. At least that is interesting.
Anyways, back to how I waste my time.
First, I eat while Tipsy watches. Probably to make sure I don't choke or try to kill myself with the spoon or some equally lame way of dying.
Breakfast is always enjoyable though. Today I have freshly baked chocolate croissants and a delightful selection of fresh fruit.
Then, Tipsy takes the breakfast tray away, leaving me to ready myself for the day. I enjoy my shower – one of the true pleasures of life – before choosing an outfit for the day.
I usually opt for something overly baggy and therefore extremely comfortable, but I'm in the mood for change. I spot a rather soft looking pair of black pants towards the back of my excessively large closet. Upon further inspection, they turn out to be leather. Oh well. I did say I wanted a change of pace. Decision made, I slip those on, finding them to my taste. Who knew? Anyways, the shirt is next but the ultra-soft and form fitting forest green one is the obvious winner. I look down at my bare feet but decide against shoes. I find them confining and besides, it's not like I'll be leaving my room anytime soon.
Why you ask? Because even with all the luxury, I'm still very much a prisoner.
I shake my head to rid myself of such pointless and depressing thoughts. It's much too early for that. I wander over to the adjacent room; my library. It's very cozy today, decorated in all the Gryffindor colours and with a very large central fireplace. This room is designed to emulate the Room of Requirement, changing shapes and colours depending on my mood. The books change as well, depending on what I want to read, with the obvious exception of anything that could help me escape my lavishly decorated prison.
I sigh. It's that day again. The anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, as they've taken to calling it. I give up on a happy morning when I find the copy of the Daily Prophet waiting for my by the divan. I plop myself down gracelessly, ignoring the paper in favour of the fire. It sprang to life when I walked in, today a vivid crimson with mesmerizing flashes of silver. I spend a few peaceful moments like that but eventually reach for the paper. Might as well get it over with.
As usual, Rita Skeeter is the reporter of the day. The public loves her, and as long as she writes only the approved material, how she spins the story is up to her. She's very talented, all things considered.
Today, dear readers, on the second of May 2009, we remember. We remember the fall of the Light at the hands of our Lord Voldemort and his subsequent rise to power. Today, we celebrate the eleventh anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, and the death of our beloved Saviour. Saviour who, according to our sources, spent several years imprisoned by the Lord. Though we cannot verify the veracity of these claims, it is widely believed that the Boy-Who-Lived succumbed to his wounds three years after his capture, on this very day.
I stop reading there. It's been almost the same for the past seven years. I don't even know why I bother reading that load of bull anymore. Approved my arse. I scoff at the picture of a crying woman supposedly 'remembering me fondly'. Everybody I know is dead. Stupid bitch just wants my fame. See, even dead, I'm still the martyr and saviour of the Wizarding World. I bet they didn't even look for me when I, and my eight surviving companions, were captured and tortured. It took four years for all the others to die, but nobody even remembers them. Hell, they don't even praise Dumbledore anymore. I mean, sure he was a meddling old coot, but they don't know that! I sigh. All I ever wanted was some peace.
I get through the rest to see if there's anything important enough to read, but it's all about me or what they thought they knew about me. Bloody sheep.
I crumble my copy of the Prophet and throw it into the now purple flames and wait until the paper is completely consumed and for the flames to return to their crimson shading before getting up.
I check my watch and absently note that it's already eleven. Oh how time flies when you're having fun! If you can't figure it out, that was sarcasm.
I go over to the book shelf to find myself something to read. I still have time. Lunch is up to me, and only gets served when and if I call Tipsy. I'm not in the mood for food, today.
I end up choosing a nice looking book on Time Travel. Wouldn't that be nice? To have the ability to go back in the past to change all this? Well, I don't get my hopes up, because if it's here, then Voldemort doesn't think I'll have any chance of actually performing the ritual. Probably takes exotic ingredients or something. Or maybe the life blood of some unsuspecting victim, in which case he'd probably enjoy watching me preform it. Damned git.
I return to my spot by the fire and settle in to read my book. Lord Voldemort doesn't come to visit me until at least two in the afternoon, sometimes even later than that if he's busy or has meetings. But he always comes to see me, once a day, every day. And I'm lonely enough to admit that I enjoy these visits. Probably a lot more than I should.
Not too far away, I (Lord Voldemort dipshit. How dare you not know my name? Hum?) am sitting in my office. In fact, it's only two doors down from Harry's rooms, with my bedroom in between. Not that Harry knows, or will ever know this. I smile a bit at the thought of how Harry will react. He'd probably laugh. I haven't had the pleasure of hearing my guest laugh that much – which is to be expected, of course – but I can freely admit that it's just that: a pleasure. Harry's eyes light up and his whole body shakes with mirth. Yes, I'm not afraid to say that I love that laugh.
I glance at the clock, impatient. It's only noon. I find myself wondering if Harry would mind terribly if I showed up early. Probably not, right?
Mind made, I gracefully get up from my chair and head towards Harry's room.
I knock and wait for his 'enter' to sound before opening the door. It's only polite after all.
He looks a little surprised to see me, but not upset. I'm glad for that and smile at him before going to sit by him on the cream coloured couch. Divan. Whatever. He's corrected me enough times that I won't say couch out loud, at least. Still can't tell the difference though.
He's a little early. I smile at him as he come through the door (it changes spots too, if you were wondering). He sits down beside me and asks what I'm reading.
"Time travel," is all I say. He doesn't really need more of an explanation. He gets up and goes to the bookshelf to pick himself something before returning to the divan. We both read our respective tomes in silence, but I find myself stealing glances every few pages. He has a really nice profile, did I say that? Not the snake face, obviously. That's just a glamour he uses on his followers, while I get to see the handsome face of Tom Riddle. Only these past seven years, of course. The torture he did as Voldemort.
Anyways, Tom Riddle Jr. is an excessively beautiful man, with dark silky hair and a nicely chiseled jaw. And what the hell is wrong with me? I shake my head a little. Now is most definitely not the time to praise his good looks! And you know what? Make that never. I like girls damn it! I was dating Ginny wasn't I? And that thing with Cho, not that you can call it dating. I shake my head again, trying to chase the depressing thoughts away.
I notice Voldemort – Tom – looking at me and turn towards him, closing my book.
"Shall we go play a game of chess?" His voice fits his face, deep and melodious and what the hell is wrong with me today? Instead of focusing on my mental melt down and asking the Gods why they enjoy messing with me so much, I reply in the affirmative. Up till now, the day is following its usual pattern.
I get up and go to the corner of the room, where I keep our chess board. It was a gift from Tom when I started actually talking to him about two years after he first moved me up here. I smile grimly. Fun times.
I notice him looking at me from the corner of his eyes but chose not to comment. Besides, he offers a wonderful distraction when he gets up. And dear Lord. Are those leather pants? I think I did drool a little when he bent down to grab the chess board. An ass that fine should not be legal. And guess what? I decide what's legal and what's not, so from this moment on, Harry Potter's ass is something only I may have the privilege of seeing. Yes. I shall make it a decree. Not that anybody sees him anyways, but still. It's the thought that counts.
Oh dear. He's turned around and saw me staring... avidly, shall we say, at that delectable piece of booty. Hum, he looks confused. Good, then. That means he's not mad at least, and probably doesn't understand what a sight he makes. I shift a little in my seat, thankful for my robes. It'll conceal my little – ha! Large – problem from dear, sweet, naive little Potter.
I get up to allow the divan to split into two chairs while I summon a table for the chess board in between the two.
That's when IT happens. He drops the black king on the floor as he's setting down the board. He bends down to pick it up, giving me a perfect view of his delectable arse.
And before I know it, I'm pressing him hard against the wall, devouring his mouth with my own. I shove his legs open using one of mine to get as close as possible. His eyes are wide open, but I'm too busy running my hands up and down his body to pay them any heed. But then he bites my lip – hard, might I add – drawing blood. And that's when I look at him properly, without the hazy cloud of lust surrounding me.
Uh oh. He looks really – and I mean really – mad. This does not bode well.
His voice his shaking with anger when he final speaks. "Leave." That's all he says. One word. But he just sounds so distressing that I freeze, wide eyed. He needs to scream at me to get out before I start moving. And only then do I wonder what the hell I thought I was doing.
I'm left fuming for days after the Incident. That bastard. That absolute bastard!
He's taken everything from me, and hell! He spent four years torturing me and my companions nonstop until only I was left and now what? He expects me to forgive him? And it's not like that's even the worse he's done to me! As if the death of every single person I have ever known and cared about wasn't enough, he had to go ahead and make me a Horcrux! Yes, I admit, I killed Wormtail willingly so it's not entirely his fault my soul is mutilated, but still. He offered me the one person – apart from himself – I couldn't possibly resist killing. And oh boy did I enjoy it. Which, of course, I'm ashamed of, but as the only human contact I've had for the past seven years has been Voldemort... Well. Let's just say I don't care too much anymore. Not to mention the fact that my morals deteriorated quite a bit after making that Horcrux. Which reminds me. I still don't know what he did with it, or even what receptacle it's in.
Regardless, I'm pissed at him and not likely to forgive him anytime soon. It's a good thing he hasn't shown his face since then, otherwise I would have probably done something stupid. Like attack him with my breakfast spoon or something equally unlikely of gaining me a victory.
Another week passes and my anger fades. I might have over reacted a bit.
Another few days, and I actually start to miss him. Just a bit mind you. And you can't blame me, he's the only person I know now. Because as much as it stings to admit, I'm probably going to have to spend eternity with him. Which pisses me off all over again. Git.
By the time a month has passed, my anger has come and gone so much that I've – almost – gotten over my numerous issues. I definitely miss him now, and have come to the conclusion that yes, I over reacted. Anyways, he did stop when I pushed him away, and he left when I told – yelled – him to, so that's something, right?
And then I do something I haven't done in since I first got here; I open the door and step out of my room. So much for it being locked.
I can sense Lord Voldemort's magical aura from close by, so I head down the hallway. To my surprise, he's only a few doors down. I smile a bit at that, even if I'm reluctant to go and find him first. Thoughts of escape barely cross my mind, I know it will be a pointless endeavour serving only to make him mad. He's not very pleasant when he's mad.
The door is already open, so I peek inside. He's sitting on a throne, in the middle of an otherwise barren room. This must be where all his Death Eaters report to, then. He's just sitting there, head leaning against his propped up arm. He's staring off to the side, presumably lost in thought, and he doesn't seem to see me so I approach cautiously. No need to get cursed because I startle him.
I'm only a few feet away from him now but I think he's ignoring me. He never lets his guard down this much. I stand there for a bit, but decide, since he's probably noticed me, that I might as well be a bit bold.
So I go right up to him and sit down at his feet, with my head resting on his thigh. He doesn't move, which confirms my theory. The bastard is ignoring me. I take a peek at his profile though my lashes – just to make sure he isn't glaring at me – but he's still looking away so I turn my head until I'm comfortable and staring in the opposing direction as he is.
"I'm sorry about yelling at you." The words are out of my mouth before I even have time to consider what I'm doing. I resist the urge to look up at him, but relax when his large hand finds its way to my hair. He's being surprisingly gentle and I close my eyes. This is nice. He doesn't say anything, but it's enough. I smile against his leg.
For the first two weeks after the Incident, I could feel anger fuel spikes in Harry's magic coming from his rooms. I think it best to stay away. It's been a month now and I still don't know how best to approach him.
I am in the Reception Hall, debating how to do just that when he shows up. I have been so deep in thought that I didn't even notice him until he was at my feet with his head resting against my thigh. I freeze, wondering what he is doing.
He startles me even more when he apologizes.
I want to tell him that the fault is mine, that I shouldn't have done what I did – should have never tried to take advantage of him – but I say nothing. Instead, I bring my left hand to rest on his raven hair. He doesn't move, so I start petting the deceptively soft hair, content when he lets me. I feel my lips tugging into a small smile. We stay like that for a long time, and I have to say that I'm disappointed when it ends.
We stay like that for hours, but I get up when the sun starts to sink. He's got really nice windows in here, reaching from the floor up to the ceiling. I can even see what looks like a garden.
I open my mouth to ask him if he wants to have supper with me, like we normally do after spending the day together, but he stops me from saying anything by taking hold of my hand and pulling me towards where he's still sitting. I end up pressed flush against him, standing between his parted legs. I start to protest but he effectively silences me by burying his head into the fabric of my shirt while he holds me in place with his arms slung around my waist.
"Tom?" I enquire softly, staying perfectly still with my arms hanging loosely at my sides. "What's wrong?" He didn't answer right away, simply tightening his hold and pressing us closer together.
When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "Stay." I smile at the command that sounds more like a question and start laughing softly.
His laughter is shaking me lightly from where I'm pressed tightly against him. Latching on to him, some might say. I look up to his (beautiful) smiling face, trying – and failing – to reclaim a sense of dignity.
"What's so funny, you little brat?" I can't keep my own happiness at hearing his laughter out of my voice, nullifying the insult.
He struggles visibly to get his laughter under-wraps, and only answers a few minutes later. But I don't mind the wait.
"Tom," his voice is still filled with silent laughter "I was only going to ask you to have supper with me." I chuckle a bit when he starts to laugh again and press my face against his toned chest once more, waiting for the laughter to stop. And it doesn't even bother me in the slightest that he's essentially mocking me. He's still the only one who can get away with it though. Sometime between the start and finish of his fit of laughter, his arms have found their way around my head, while his fingers play idly with my hair.
We stay like that a little longer, before finally getting up. He doesn't complain when I leave my arm around his waist, and for that I'm thankful.
His arm is still wrapped around my waist, forcing me to walk pressed tightly against his side, but I don't mind. You'd think I would, after all, he is the man who ruined my life – and did so from the very moment of my birth – but I don't. I don't think I can anymore. I've come to terms with my issues this past month. My anger forced me to face them, instead of burying them, and it's helped. Incredibly so. I think I might have actually forgiven him. He's been nothing but kind since he made me that ruddy Horcrux, and I certainly can't fault his manners.
Not all of that was recent, though. I don't think I've hated – truly hated – him for a while now. I've only just realized it is all.
I smile at him. His eyes haven't left me since we stood up. I feel oddly flattered at whatever undiscerning emotion I see there.
By now we're in front of my rooms again. I sigh softly. As nice as they are, it gets boring to see the same thing day after day. He seems to understand my unspoken lament and steers me away.
"Would you like to eat outside?" His voice sounds a little morose and is that guilt? I smile brightly at him and answer truthfully.
"That would be nice." Though my room has large windows, I haven't actually been outside since he first abducted me, eleven years ago to the day.
He grimaces a bit, and I think I understand the guilt I saw a little better. He actually is making an effort to be accommodating, unlike my first few years here. I wonder what changed? I raise my hand to his face and tug his cheek upwards to form the parody of a smile. He looks a little flabbergasted. It's comical really. His mouth is actually a little parted and he stops walking. I grin at him until he smiles and starts to laugh. And not one of those pathetic evil laughs or one of the chuckles he usual gives. A real, happy laugh. He has a nice laugh.
His arm stays firmly in place on my waist, as if to keep me close. We start walking again and arrive at a large glass door. I can see the garden I saw through the windows in the Throne Room, as I've dubbed it within the privacy of my mind. He holds the door open for me, ever the gentleman, and I take my first step outside in over a decade.
He looks so over joyed at the prospect of going outside that I, the great Lord Voldemort, Psychopath and killer, actually feel a little guilty. It looks like I can add yet another emotion to the ever growing list of things only Harry Potter can get from me.
I open the door for him. Another pang of guilt hits me when I finally notice how pale his skin is. I make myself a promise to take him out more.
I've got a small patio, in front of the gardens. There's also a maze further away, before the forest. The wards go around the entire property – forest included – making it almost impregnable. Even my inner circle doesn't know where my manor is. The Death Eaters are only allowed in when I call them though the Mark, and even then only within the Reception Hall.
Harry is staring wistfully at the garden, but he's letting me hold him in place with the arm around his waist.
"Tipsy." Harry barely notices that I've said anything, fascinated as he is with the flowers. She appears with a crack, and waits for me to give her orders. Her primary task is to take care of Harry, but she's also my head Elf. Contrary to popular belief, I treat my servants very well. The Death Eaters always take the edge off my anger. I grin demonically at the thought.
"Please arrange for supper to be served out here. An hour should do." She nods and disappears to the kitchens to follow through on my orders.
Harry is still mesmerized by the fresh air and I laugh again. That draws his attention to me and he smiles.
"Would you like to walk around the grounds while we wait for supper to be served?" I don't expect him to refuse, but his exuberant reply is definitely more than I had expected.
He actually hugged me.
It's over almost before it begins, though. Harry doesn't really seem to notice what he did, and with a joyous 'Thank you!' he's bounding away, with me in tow. He's pulling me by the sleeve and I take advantage of his apparent distraction to grab onto his hand and intertwine our fingers. As when I had my arm around his waist, he doesn't seem to mind and doesn't shake my hand away. I'm ridiculously overjoyed by such a simple action.
It's official: Tom Riddle is nice to me. It's almost creepy, really... not to mention all the physical contact he's initiating. I mean, first there was The Kiss, then he was holding me in the Throne Room, then he wouldn't let me go and kept his arm around my waist, and now he's holding my hand.
The only explanation I can come up with is that he wants to have sex with me, which could explain The Kiss. And when exactly did I start capitalizing that? The thought of him only doing this to get in my pants makes me inexplicably sad. I try to shake the feelings of hurt away and focus only on the garden. It's really quite lovely. I wonder who takes care of it for him?
We walk around in silent companionship. He tugs me back towards the doors and the table I saw after about an hour. I'm reluctant to leave, but he just chuckles at me. "You can explore more tomorrow." I think this is the most I've seen him smile. I smile back and let him tug me back to his side, so that he can once again wrap his arm around my waist. He seems to enjoy the contact. Not that I don't, too. Growing up with the Dursley's, positive attention is not something I got a lot of. Hell, I never have. This makes a nice change.
When we get back to the table, it's already set. Tipsy and another elf I don't recognize are waiting for us. The table is in a secluded corner, with rose bushes on one side and the manor on the other. The sun has almost completely set, making the already cool spring air chilly. I shiver, and Tom tucks me tighter against his side. I smile gratefully for the shared warmth. We end up sitting together on a plush bench... chair... thing... fine. We end up sitting together on a Love Seat all for the sake of preserving warmth. No, really. And if I'm too distracted to properly enjoy the meal, it's definitely not because of the way his arm is draped over me, rubbing slow circles into my side.
By the time the meal is done, the sky is dark and Tipsy and Binky have lit the floating candles placed at regular intervals all around the table and any parts of the garden visible from the table. It provides a nice atmosphere, and Harry seems to enjoy the view.
He was distracted for most of the meal, though I'm not too sure what caused said distraction. I myself was not paying as much attention to my surroundings as I normally would as he had allowed me to sit by him on the love seat and keep my arm around him. I enjoy it greatly.
We finish the meal with a delicious chocolate gelato, along with a piece of strawberry pie. As it turns out, Harry adores chocolate. It is a bit scary to tell you the truth, and I ended up simply giving him the rest of mine after he had demolished his in a minute flat.
He didn't want to go inside, but I could see him shivering and acted on impulse. By the time I realize what I was doing, I had paled considerably. He had just forgiven me, I couldn't mess up this fast! I didn't feel any better when he froze as well.
Tom is kind enough to give me the rest of his chocolate gelato when he saw how much I liked it, even though I know chocolate is his favourite flavour as well. I've just finished the delectable treat when the cold hit me and I start to shiver. In my defence, it's still early June and the sun set at least an hour ago. Not to mention the large quantities of frozen chocolate I just ingested.
To say that I was surprised when Tom scooped me up and placed me on his lap would be a severe understatement. The first thing that when through my head was of course, 'blessed warmth!' I mean come on, it's only natural. After that, though, came 'Holy shit I'm sitting on Tom's lap!' I froze, mind blank. I'm not ashamed to say that I freak out a bit. At least I didn't squeak, or something equally unmanly.
I turn a bit to face him and found him equally still. He looks a little white, actually, and maybe a little fearful. But that's just silly. I mean, he's the Dark Lord and I'm just Harry Potter. Heck, I know I can do a lot of damage before losing – I know cuz I did – but that was with a wand and I haven't seen my wand since I got here. Which is to say a hell of a long time.
But I digress. The point is: we were both freaking out, him maybe more than me. I think he is expecting me to yell at him again, like with The Kiss. It's understandable of course, but just because I'm not mad at him didn't mean I couldn't have a bit of fun. My inner demon is grinning maniacally, and yes I do know what he does at all times thank-you-very-much. His name is Alexander, and he's got a bit of a hero complex. And yes, you got that right; I blame everything on him.
Anyways, Tom is freaking out and I am going to take full advantage of that. It's only fair, after all. I frown a bit and glare at him, making myself look as angry as I could without over exaggerating. That would give everything away. And we can't have that, now can we?
"What are you doing Tom?" My voice is deathly calm and I definitely see him gulp, his hands still on my waist.
And then the Great Lord Voldemort looks away and mumbles. I raise an eyebrow, inwardly gleeful.
"I didn't quite catch that, Tom." He looks back to me, somehow looking like a scolded puppy. The saying 'revenge is a dish best served cold' was proving to be very true indeed.
"You were cold. I just wanted to help." He looks away again and I can see traces of a blush on his cheeks. Oh this is fun! I raise both eyebrows this time, truly surprised and decided to drop the act and let him off the hook.
I did it the simplest way I could think of: I laugh.
His head snaps back towards me with almost comical speed and his eyes narrow at my obvious amusement. I take pity at the slightly confused expression he is sporting and explain myself.
"I'm not really mad, Tom. I was just having a bit of fun." I couldn't help the grin that takes over my features at that last part and start laughing uncontrollably at the look of outrage on his face.
"Brat!" He snaps at me, but it just made me laugh harder. With a huff, he rests his chin of my shoulder while his arms circle my waist and chest. He had one hand on my free shoulder – the one not being used as a perch for his head, incidentally the left – and the other on my right hip. When I can finally stop laughing, I lean back against his warmth, content now that I'm not cold anymore. I lean my head back a little more to watch the stars as they twinkled brightly overhead.
We stay like that for a while, silent once more. While he gazes up at the stars, I focus my attention on him. He is beautiful, illuminated by moonlight. Almost celestial in his glory. His red lips were full and parted, begging to be claimed. His neck is craned at such an angle that I have a perfect expanse of pale and unmarked flesh at my disposition. His raven locks were framing his face, leaving his lightning bolt scar in plain sight, almost glowing below the moonlight.
I lift my right hand off is shoulder had trace it gently. The pain I can make him feel is completely voluntary, and tonight my aim is not to bring pain. His eyes flicker to my face, unsure as to my intentions. I simply smile softly at him and continue to trace his scar. He closes his eyes with a sigh and left me to my chosen pastime. I smile fondly at him, even though he couldn't see me.
I let him rest for a bit, but when Tipsy has to start changing burnt out candles for new ones, I decide it is time to go back in.
"Harry." I keep my voice soft, not wanting to disturb him from his doze. My only response is a barely discernible hum. I chuckle softly.
"Let's get you to bed." I shift him a bit in my arms and get up, carrying him bridal style. That gets a reaction.
"Hey! I can walk." I chuckle again at the put out look on his face which looks adorably like a pout and which he no doubt thinks is intimidating, but otherwise ignore him and continue towards our bed rooms. He huffs at me and crosses his arms, but otherwise didn't complain.
He tenses up when we get to the door to his rooms and I look at him inquiringly, though he made an effort not to meet my eyes. "Would you prefer to sleep in my room?" I ask, jokingly, trying to alleviate the tense atmosphere. I'm not expecting him to nod in the affirmative and probably show my shock. If he notices, he doesn't comment.
"Very well," I say, walking the short distance to my own room. I set him down to open it, and he yawns.
I could see his shock when I accept his offer. He definitely isn't expecting that. Obviously, he didn't mind, because not only did he offer (albeit jokingly) but he did carry me there.
I cover my trepidation with a yawn. I didn't think he would do anything, otherwise I would have refused, but I still felt a vague sense of unease.
His room, unlike my own, is decorated almost entirely in Slytherin greens and silvers. The bed is the dominating object, drawing my attention almost immediately. It is a king sized, four poster bed, with sun blocking black drapes. Probably silk.
An entire wall of the room is solely windows, with a balcony the length of the room. Judging by the position of the stars, I figure the room faces the east, giving him a perfect view of the sunrise each morning.
There is also a fireplace directly in front of the bed, with what I assume is the door to the bathroom beside it. He also has a small bookshelf beside the entrance to his room, with a black leather couch beside it.
Having completed my cursory glance around the room, I turn towards where Tom is leaning against the wall, almost directly behind me. I smile at him, and he smiles back.
"We should have probably grabbed you some clean clothes." I grimace at the reminder. I have no desire to return to that infernal room sooner than absolutely necessary. He seems to understand my unspoken complaint and laughs.
Pushing off the wall he walks up to me and grips my waist again, tugging me towards a second door I have previously overlooked. It ends up being a closet. A very large closet. A very large closet with a lot of stuff. There's even a rack of muggle clothes! If I had any doubts about his gayness, (not that his hair ever left much room for doubt) none remain after seeing his colour coordinated closet. As if sensing my train of thought, he bitch slaps the back of my head when I start sniggering. It doesn't really hurt, though, and even then I'm too busy deciding that Professor Snape must have taken lessons from him to notice.
To shut me up, he throws me a pair of simple black sleep pants and a shirt. He grabs himself the same outfit and sends me off to the bathroom to change. I get changed and go back into his room to ask him to shrink the outfit a bit (the pants and shirt are both a bit too big and too long on me) and perhaps to ask for a toothbrush but freeze at the sight that's waiting for me.
Tom's still changing. His back is turned to me, and I don't think he notices me. He is in the process of taking his under robes off and I'm now rooted to the spot, mouth open.
I rake my eyes over his body and find my eyes clouding with lust. His back is perfectly sculpted, with just the right amount of muscle to be appealing. Not to mention his arse. You could definitely bounce a nickel off that. I have the strongest urge to touch and taste. I want to go up to him and plaster myself against that strong back and nibble on his ear, letting my breath ghost over the sensitive skin.
Blushing, I back into the bathroom and close the door as silently as possible, hoping he hasn't noticed the intrusion. I give my cheeks time to cool down before exiting once again. The wolfish grin on his face tells me right away that he knows. And then I'm blushing again.
I'm just striping my under robes off when I hear the click of a door opening. Pretending not to notice, I continue changing, taking my sweet time. Thanks to the windows, I have a perfect view of Harry as he practically drools over me. I don't say anything while he stands there. Instead, I wait until he retreats to the bathroom once again before throwing on the rest of my clothes. Harry has the most adorable blush. I'm definitely going to enjoy making him blush more often.
By the time he comes back out, I'm grinning wolfishly. The second he sees me, realization dawns in his eyes and his face goes completely red.
"Like what you see?" I drawl at him, a bit leery to be honest. He gulps audibly but moves a little closer towards me. I take that as me cue and advance rapidly, not giving him any time to change his mind. He's looking down when I get to him so I grasp his chin and force him to meet my eyes.
"I won't do anything you don't want." I mean every word I say, but the way he's biting his lower lip and staring at mine makes me throw caution out the window. He doesn't even have time to answer before I'm kissing him, holding him in place with an arm around his slim waist.
The kiss starts out soft, nothing more than a peck really, to give him the chance to push me away. He doesn't. I grin a bit, pressing our foreheads together before attacking his mouth again, hungrily this time. I like his soft lips, asking – no, begging – for entrance into his mouth. He doesn't even try to deny me, simply opening his mouth and letting me deepen the kiss. I caress his tongue with mine, delighting in the moan he can't withhold.
I gently push him back until he's pressed against the nearest wall before slipping my leg between his thighs to part his legs, never breaking the kiss. I release his waist in favour of caressing his flanks and pushing a hand under his loose shirt. His arms are linked behind my head, fingers roughly grasping my hair.
When I finally break the kiss, he's panting hard with half lidded eyes. I let him catch his breath, taking the opportunity to kissing the side of his neck, pausing in my descent only to nip and suck at the pale expanse of flesh, eliciting moans every time I find a sensitive spot. I delight in the marks I leave there. The lewd sounds he's making are making my arousal almost painfully hard and I press our lower body's closer, in need of friction. He tenses up and I sigh, backing up a little. "Only what you want, Harry. I won't force you." He looks uncertain and almost scared making me feel guilty again. I move my hand up to cradle his face, using the pad of my thumb to gently stroke his cheek. "Only what you want," I repeat, softly. He relaxes a bit when I say that and slumps against the wall.
"Let's just go to bed then." He still looks a little uneasy, so I try to reassure him. "I won't do anything, Harry. You have my word." It seems to help, but only by a fraction. I sigh. "Would you prefer to return to your room?" He tenses up and I realize that this probably seems like a threat to him. I try to sooth him again, not meaning that at all. "If you feel that uncomfortable, then you can have the bed and I'll conjure something." This last alternative seems to appease him and he tentatively smiles at me. I smile back and that looks like the right thing to do, because he relaxes even more now, pressing his head against my hand. I let go of his face to brush his hair out of his face. It's getting a little long.
"I don't mind sharing. It's your bed." I smile again, a bit less forced. Beautiful, kind hearted Harry, always trying to help others.
"Only if you want." He seems content with my answer as he lets me rest my arm on his waist again as I pull him towards the bed.
"Tom?" he asks, as we approach the bed, "could you shrink these a bit? They're a bit big." I chuckle at him and grab my wand from where I placed it on the bedside table. "I noticed," is all I say, before shrinking them to fit his frame more comfortably. The blush is worth it.
It's a little disconcerting to wake up in a different room after seven years of the same four walls. Not to mention the fact that there's a warm body pressing against my back. Our legs are intertwined and his arm is slung around my waist, something which is starting to feel almost natural. I try to wiggle away without waking him, but his grip tightens. I huff but manage to turn around. We're face to face now, close enough to kiss. His eyes are open, the git. I huff in his face to show my displeasure at being trapped in bed but it just makes him laugh and press our bodies impossibly closer. His forehead is just barely touching mine and I feel the need to ask him for a kiss, even though I know I shouldn't. As it turns out, I needn't bother with asking.
His lips are pressed gently – ever so gently – against mine. I lift my free arm to rest it on the side of his face playing idly with a lock of his hair. As if sensing my distracted state, he takes the opportunity to flip onto his back, taking me with him. I let out an embarrassing startled noise and he laughs against my mouth, still keeping up the kiss. Does the man not feel the need to breath?
I pull back and he lets me go just far enough to breath, keeping me in place against him with his hands pressed against my lower back. While I'm gasping for breath, he's still breathing at a perfectly normal rate, which I find disproportionately irritating.
While I'm getting my breath back, he sits up until he's propped up against his pillow and the headboard. The movement makes me lose my balance a little and I end up sitting in his lap again, but facing him this time. It would be more appropriate to say that I'm straddling him, as my legs are on either side of his thighs. The thought makes me blush again.
He's looking at me expectantly and I raise an eyebrow at him but give up a few seconds into our impromptu staring contest. I lean forward slowly, unsure, and kiss him tentatively. He smiles a little into the kiss but let's me take control. Smug bastard. I lift up a little off his lap to get a better grip on his shoulders and hair, and he – sneaky snake that he is – takes advantage of the moment to grab my arse. I let out an embarrassingly loud squeak at that, which just makes him laugh. I swat his arm, but I don't mind. Strange, right?
We continue our snogging session for a while longer, but nature calls and I escape to the bathroom. If I'm entirely honest, then it's also because the erection I could feel pressing up against me freaks me out. Or to be precise, my reaction to it. Which is completely irrational, right?
I sigh against the headboard and let my head bang against it. Stupid bodily reaction. Even though he said he was in need of the bathroom, which I'm sure is true, I saw the look on his face as he was getting up. It is obviously too much, too fast. I should have just settled for a 'good morning' kiss and left it at that. Wasn't last night example enough? This makes the second time in as many days that I scare him away then. I mentally berate myself about learning from your mistakes.
I sigh again but get up and head towards my closet. I can hear the shower running and mentally berate myself again when the first thing that pops in my head is 'wonder if he'd mind if I went to join him?'. Of course he'd mind! He ran away and we were both still fully clothed for crying out loud!
I settle for a few cleaning charms and get dressed.
I turn around when I hear the sound of the door opening and raise my eyebrows when I see Harry in only a towel, standing just outside the bathroom. He's blushing heavily again, and looking anywhere but at me.
"Forgot my clothes." Is all he says, and I resist the urge to laugh, knowing that he's embarrassed enough as it is. Instead, I simply go back to the closet and find him some clean clothes to wear. I select a form fitting shirt the colour of his eyes and a simple pair of muggle designer jeans, knowing how averse he is to robes. I hand him the pile of clothing and smile at him, tugging his face to make him look at me.
"There's no need to be embarrassed. It's just me." He doesn't look convinced, but I just chuckle and lean down to peck him on the cheek. I leave him to get dressed with this adorable dazed look on his face.
When he exists the bathroom, his hair is tussled and still damp. The clothes I gave him are a little baggy around the waist but it's easy enough to fix. I was right. The green looks really good on him and the jeans make is legs look even longer than they already are.
And it all looks even better when he smiles.
Breakfast is a quite affair, served in Tom's room. When we're both finished and Tipsy has collected the plates, he asks me what I want to do for the day. Not really knowing what to say, I simply shrug and tell him to choose something.
He frowns, contemplative, and it is plain wrong how cute that makes him look. Eventually he proposes that we go for a swim.
"You have a pool?" I ask, a little surprised. I didn't see one last night, but I suppose I didn't really get to see everything. He nods. "It's in the back." My eyebrows shoot up at that.
"And where were we last night, then?" He grins at my credulous expression, before answering. "The left side of the manor." Something in my expression makes him laugh again.
"Come on," he says, already pulling me in the direction of the door. My last thoughts as we exit are for one that I'm glad I decided to wear shoes today, and for two that we're probably going to be swimming in the nude, as neither of us grabbed bathing suits. I almost want to tell Tom and go back to find some. Almost.
The pool is... well. To be frank, it looks more like a small lake than a pool, but that's to be expected in the Dark Lords manor I guess. Especially when said Dark Lord happens to rule Britain and is steadily taking over the rest of the world. Not like I'm complaining.
We're at the water's edge now, and Tom seems to have just realized that we don't have bathing suits, if the look on his face if accurate. He looks somewhere between best-fucking-day-of-my-life-and-yes-I-hope-that-literally-happens and holy-shit-this-is-probably-going-to-be-my-final-moment-on-this-earth-amen. It's comical really. But by the way he's gulping and trying to inch away from me, I don't think that he understands that I'm amused by this. Thinking carefully on my morning resolutions, (if you were wondering: to get over my irrational fear of Tom's Dick and to get some answers) I decide now if as good a time as any for the first.
Letting go of him hand, I steal my resolve, take a deep breath, and give him a show.
In my hast to get to the pool and see Harry's expression, I forget all about a very important article of clothing: swim suits. Naturally, by the time I've realized my latest mistake, it's too late to be fixed easily as Harry's probably realized it too. I try to subtly inch away from him. Not too far of course, but just far enough that I can dodge when he tries to hit me. Because judging by my prior mistakes, all that's left is physical violence. All the others (yelling, avoidance, fear, running away) have already been used. And geez. What is wrong with me to keep making so many mistakes?
I give up on little pity fest when I feel Harry letting go of my hand. I tense up, expecting a blow which never comes. I look up, and turn so fast I may have given myself whiplash.
Looks like I forgot one: Acceptance. I spend a few seconds praising and thanking any listening deities for preserving my life yet again, before focusing all my attention on Harry as he strips for me. And what a delicious sight that makes.
He starts by taking his shoes and socks off, and pauses to wiggle his toes a bit. He slowly takes his shirt off, lifting his arms above his head to do so, and making all his muscles stand out against his pale skin. He tosses the discarded article of clothing on his shoes, already forming a steady pile by the side of the path.
The next to go are his pants. He slowly undoes the zipper and starts to tug them down. He skims them down his lithe body until they're pooled around his feet. He steps away from them and kicks them in the direction of the rest of his clothing. His legs are long and sinfully perfect, enough to turn even the most devoted eye man into a leg man. He's left standing only in a pair of dark blue boxers.
With a coy smile, he turns around, all the while looking at me over his shoulder, and removes the offensive article of clothing from his person. I get a wonderful view of his arse as he walks towards the pool and starts towade in. Only when he's reached the very top of his thighs does he turn around, still backing up and sinking away from view. I just have the time to note that he's very well endowed before the water cover all the interesting bits. I'm left with a raging hard on and a very urgent need for release.
I waste no more time and start to undress as rapidly as possible, getting down to my under robes in record time. Harry laughs and enquires with an obscene amount of innocence what the rush is. By the time I look up, thumbs already tugging on the waist line of my boxers having discarded the meddlesome piece of cloth, I can just see Harry's head disappear around a bend in the pool. And who the hell put all those shrubs and trees there?
I let out a frustrated groan but simply start to walk towards the pool, tugging my boxers down as I go. The cool air finally reaching my painfully erect shaft makes me shiver, but I pay it no mind as I step into the pool and immediately start swimming in the direction I saw Harry disappear to.
I swear, the little brat is doing it on purpose.
Tom looks at me with veiled eyes the whole time I'm undressing. I decide to tease him a little more and only show him a glimpse of what he wants. I'm not ashamed of my body, and at twenty-eight I can safely say that I'm at the peak of my physical glory. I've had enough people telling me how pretty I am that I can't really ignore it. Even though I still consider 'pretty' vaguely insulting. I'm a guy damn it! Maybe not as straight as I once thought (this past month has taught me that at least), but still very much a male, thanks.
I had sex with Ginny a few times, so at least I'm not a complete virgin... but... well. I have no illusions as to who will actually be doing the screwing once we get there.
Anyways, back to the matter at hand. Tom undressing so fast his clothes where literally flying away, and I had no intention of making things that easy for him. So I pick a direction and start swimming away, still laughing. Ihear Tom groan when he notices me swimming away from where he wants me – that is, with him –, and promptly got in the water. I hear the splash, and start swimming in earnest.
Not really running, just making him work for it a bit. By now, I'm in shallower water, able to stand but still immersed up to my neck.
I grin when I hear him getting closer and laugh. "Cheater!" I exclaimed with mirth, "You're not even playing!" He didn't answer, but a few moments later I felt a pair of hands grab onto my mid-section and pull me against a strong chest.
"Gotcha," he whispers in my ear, making me shiver when his breath ghosts over the sensitive flesh. I can feel his arousal pressing against my lower back, but this time it doesn't bother me. I laugh again and press up against him, delighting in the fact that I can cause a hitch in his breath so easily.
I catch up to the little brat at the other end of the pool, back where the water is shallow enough to stand. He doesn't struggle when I grab onto his waist and pull him towards me. I know he can feel my erection straining against his backside, but he doesn't comment or shy away. In fact, he practically grinds up against me, making my breath catch in my throat.
I spin him around in the water so he's facing me and lean in for a kiss. He opens his mouth to me almost immediately, placing a hand on my chest and the other on my shoulder. I let my hands wander down until they're resting comfortably on his arse, pressing our erections together. He moans into my mouth and I nip his bottom lip.
By then, his hands are roaming all over my body. One hand finds itself resting against my neck while the other is on my hip, dangerously close to where I want it to be.
Likewise, I map his body with my hands, leaving one on his fine arse and using the other to cup his face.
Our kisses are getting more frantic and his moans louder so I grip his legs and hoist him up against me. He catches on fast and wraps his legs around my waist and his arms around my neck, letting his fingers tangle in my hair.
I walk forward like that until he's pressed against the edge of the pool. I lift him up a little more so he's sitting there, with me between his legs. I end the kiss and let him breathe a bit, slowly licking and nipping down his body, until I'm at his navel. He can't seem to look away from me, but neither can I break eye contact. He's blushing faintly, knowing what I'm about to do. I grin a bit and leave my mark on the inside of his thigh, where only I will see it. He's using his left arm for support against the ground but the other one is gripping my hair tightly.
I'm finally given the opportunity to study his shaft properly, now that I know he won't go anywhere. He's almost fully erect, which lets me know that he'll, at the very least, be enjoying himself. I note, a little absentmindedly, that he's not that much smaller than I am. A very decent size for a man his height. I waste no more time before sinking down on him, taking him in my mouth carefully. I let go of his hips with one hand and use it to grip his erection as I bob up and down on him. The sounds he's making go straight down to my own cock and I let go of his hips completely in favour of stroking myself.
I can feel him looking at me, biting his lip to try and silence his moans. He seems to be enjoying the view. He starts to tense up and tries to tug my head away, letting me know he's about to cum. I simple hum at him, knowing how good the vibration will feel. He throws his head back with a strangled gasp and cums almost violently in my mouth.
I ejaculate moments after him, making sure not to bite down. My jaw is starting to cramp a little so I remove my mouth from his dick with an obscene pop. I can feel a small dribble of cum in the corner of my mouth and use the back of my hand to wipe it away.
He looks flushed but sated and I want to kiss him so badly, but not sure how he'd react to the taste of his own cum. Thankfully, he seems to want to kiss me just as much and takes the initiative, not minding in the least that I taste like him. I smile into the kiss and lift him again, back into the water and pressed against me. He wraps his legs against me once again and we sink back into the water together, still kissing.
We just float in the water for a bit after the impromptu blow job he gave me. I'm a little jealous at how good he is, wondering how many partners he must have already had. It's irrational, I know, but so much of what I feel around him is. For one, how can I even stand to speak to him let alone love him? Because I do, love him that is. Not that I've ever going to tell him. At least, not until I feel I can fully forgive him, and until he says it too.
I mean, he's been nice to me ever since he made me the Horcrux seven years ago, and he's only gotten nice since. But that doesn't change the fact that he spent seventeen years trying to kill me, and then another four torturing me. How do I know he's not just trying to lull me into a false sense of security before doing something even worse? After all, he's got all of eternity to torture me, if he so chooses. It won't matter to him if his newest game takes a decade to come to fruition.
He's humming some sort of song I'm unfamiliar with and rocking us along to it. My head is resting against the side of his, with my arms and legs wrapped tightly around his neck and waist. I wonder briefly if I'm hurting him, but he doesn't seem to mind my grip so I can only assume that I'm not.
I don't want this moment to end, but I need to know. I need some answers, even if my questions hurt to ask. So I take a deep breath and steady myself.
"Tom?" I question, softly. He only hums in reply. "What changed?" He sighs and I know he understands what I mean.
"Sure you want to have this conversation right now?" I ask, uneasy. I am hoping he will simply go with it, but I knew that is unlikely. Were I in his position, I would need to know as well. That's why I'm not going to hide anything from him. Whatever he asks, I will answer as truthfully as I can.
"If I wait, then what guarantee do I have that you'll keep your word and answer me? That you won't just avoid me, or lock me in my room again?" he asks, equally uneasy but even more insistent.
"My word," is all I say, all I can offer. He looks a little sad at that but I try to explain myself anyways. "I will not go back on my word, Harry. Not to you." I smile grimly before saying the one sentence I keep repeating, in the hopes that he'll understand without making me say it all: "Only what you want, Harry." He looks at me hard for a moment, before looking away.
"Don't make me regret trusting you, Tom." I nuzzle the side of his face at that, and give the best answer I can: "I won't." It's a little surprising how sincere I am. I don't want to hurt him, not again.
The atmosphere is a little tense after that, so we don't stay that much longer. I dry us off with some charms and we get dressed, not looking at each other. We don't touch at all, not even on the way back, both of us lost in thought.
I'm suitably nervous by the time we get back to his room. He stays silent for the whole trip back, not even trying to touch me. I'm grateful for that, not knowing how I would react if he tries to kiss me right now.
We just stand there for a bit, a little awkwardly. I'm not really sure where to start. He beats me to it though, albeit not exactly in the way I am expecting.
"Promise not to leave?" The implied 'me' at the end of his sentence remains unspoken, but just as loud and imploring as if he had actually said it.
"I have nowhere else to go" I said, truthfully, if a little sadly.
He nods, slowly. "Okay." He doesn't say anything else, only drags me over to the couch and pushes firmly against my shoulders until I'm sitting at one end. He surprises me a little by lying down with his head in my lap. The way he has his hand resting against my knee, looking away from me, makes him look a bit like a scared little kid. I brush my hand though his hair soothingly for a few minutes until he relaxes a bit. I don't stop though, and he doesn't ask me to.
"Would you like me to ask you a question?" I can feel him nod against my legs and smile faintly, still petting his hair. And so I repeat my question from earlier.
"What changed, Tom?"
When he finally answers, his voice is quiet, almost like he's hoping that I won't hear him. Too bad for him, then, that I've got very good hearing.
"Just... let me talk, alright? If you stop me, I don't think I'll ever say it." He continues to stroke my hair and replies in the affirmative.
I take a deep breath and start talking, seeking comfort from his warmth, knowing that when I'm done he probably won't want so stay with me anymore. Not that he has a choice. I won't let him leave. But as much as I'd like to believe that, it's not true. I've never been good at lying to myself. If he really, truly, wanted to leave, I would let him go.
And so I try my best to answer his question.
"Making seven Horcrux's – eight with you – made my soul very brittle. Splitting your soul that much... it changes you. I wasn't insane, exactly, but it was close. Every time you make a Horcrux, you lose something. A price to pay. After eight of them, there wasn't a whole lot of me left. By that point, I had already lost whatever shred of humanity I ever possessed. I only had a few base emotions left, ambition, hate, anger, and they dictated my every move. It was maddening, now that I can think clearly."
"I've always been obsessive, but almost everything I was – everything I had left – was directed at you. That's why I made you a Horcrux. I was never good at goodbyes, and after spending over twenty years with you at the forefront of my mind... you weren't something I was going to simply let go. Not to mention that you're my Horcrux, so was hardly going to kill you. Anyways, the point of all that is that I made myself the receptacle for that piece of your soul."
At that, I can feel him stiffen beneath me, his hand pausing mid stroke. I don't look at him, instead simply continuing my disorganized spiel.
"It changed me. I got some of you goodness, and it made me almost miss my humanity. It wasn't long after that, that Nagini was badly injured by a Rebel. I called the piece of soul I had in her back, which killed her. The magic surrounding the Horcrux was all that was keeping her alive. That's why you haven't seen her."
I add the last bit absentmindedly, stalling.
"With one of my Horcruxs' back along with the piece of your soul, I no longer wanted to make you hurt. I guess that's when I started to actually change. I was never a nice person, not even before making my Horcruxs'. The piece of your soul is what made that happen. I was a little... bitter about that for a while, but being your receptacle while you remained mine... I was all of a sudden a lot more possessive. That's when I brought you up to your rooms."
He finally starts stroking my hair again, and I'm glad, because that means he's not in shock anymore.
"You weren't talking to me, and I couldn't really understand, so I gathered what was left of my Horcruxs' and patched up my soul. Not all at once of course, getting your soul back is painful, surprisingly more so than tearing it apart. It took me about three years to merge with all of them, minus the one you destroyed in your second year. By then you were talking to me. And the rest you know."
I've left the most important part unsaid, but I want to gouge his reaction first, to see if he can accept me and my actions. To see if he can forgive me.
My fingers still in his hair once again as he stops talking. I sigh and cover my face with my free hand, leaning back against the couch. "Well, one things for sure. We're two really messed up people." He relaxes at that, almost melting into the couch.
He turns on his back, and stares at me. I can feel his eyes burning holes into my skin and look down at him. Our eyes lock and I raise an eyebrow.
"Is there something on my face?" I ask, maybe a little sarcastically. Okay, very sarcastically. What? This is a lot to take in.
He just smiles up at me and lifts his hand up to cup my face. He's been doing that a lot lately.
"I love you, you know," he says, matter of fact, and I can only blink for a moment, stupefied. I eventually gather my wits and smile before placing my hand over his. "I know." His smile becomes a full blown grin, even though I don't say it back.
He sits up and kisses me, and that's that.
I'm so unbelievably happy when he doesn't leave, that I can't help but to kiss him. Even if he doesn't say that he loves me back, this is enough. For now.
"Harry?" I ask, inches away from his face. He hums, eyes closed, to let me know that he's listening.
"Let's rule the world together." At that, he opens his eyes. I can see that he's a little startled, but the amusement that's also there is winning. "All right then," he says, closing his eyes again.
We seal the deal with a kiss.
A/N: Sorry if it seemed to drag on and on. The boys just weren't cooperating.
If people like this enough, I might be persuaded to write a sequel. Hint hint.
Little contest: Who ever manages to guess my favourite scene first gets to request something, be it part of the sequel or another fic (so long as I can actually write it).
If anybody has a suggestion for the sequel, feel free to tell me, cuz right now all I have is the lemon that was supposed to be here. :D