~The Morning After~

Summary: The Dark Lord wakes up with a hangover and finds someone unexpected in his bed. HP/LV slash.

Author's Note: This story is written in response to Gamma Orionis' OTP Bootcamp Challenge. Prompt: Quiver.

Rated M for slash (Harry Potter/Lord Voldemort homoerotic relationship) and a little bit of bad language.


The Dark Lord opened his eyes slowly. The early morning sunshine seemed unnaturally bright, and he squeezed his eyes shut again. His head was throbbing, and there was a strange tremor in his limbs. Salazar, how much did he drink last night? The cellars of Malfoy Manor were well stocked with exquisite wines and some more than passable champagne, and Lucius was a very generous host when properly intimidated. But it really would not do for the Dark Lord to indulge in Lucius' expensive champagne to the point where he woke up with a hangover. A very bad hangover.

Lord Voldemort rubbed his temples gingerly and rolled over to bury his aching forehead in his cool pillow. But to his great astonishment, his body encountered an unexpected obstacle. Something soft and warm was lying right next to him in bed, and it seemed to be breathing.

The Dark Lord groaned. Oh, sweet Salazar, what had he done? Had he really been so drunk out of his mind that Bellatrix had finally found a way to slip him some love potion?

The body next to him stirred, and to Lord Voldemort's surprise, a strong, brown arm wrapped itself over his chest. It was a decidedly masculine arm, tan and muscled. The Dark Lord blinked. Who in Merlin's name was this? Not Bella. Not Narcissa. And not Lucius or his pale pointy-faced offspring. Well, that was something to be grateful for, at least.

The Dark Lord leaned up on his elbow and peered curiously at his unexpected companion. At first he saw nothing but sunbrowned skin and a mess of dark hair. But when he brushed the black strands of hair out of the stranger's face, he could make out a jagged, terribly familiar scar on the tanned forehead.

Harry Potter.

The Boy Who Would Never Fucking Die. Here, in the Dark Lord's bed.

Lord Voldemort drew a deep breath of relief. Well, that made sense. He hadn't drunk himself into a stupor beyond all reason last night after all, then. He had obviously captured the accursed brat at last- it had only been a matter of time, really - and instead of killing him right away, he had decided to bring him to bed and take advantage of him first.

An excellent idea, coming to think of it. The boy had grown quite pleasing to look at over the years. The color of his eyes was rather striking, and the smooth sun-kissed skin visible between the tangled sheets at this moment was also positively fetching. There was no reason why a boy this beautiful shouldn't provide Lord Voldemort with some pleasure before he died a very well deserved death. And here he was, apparently unclothed, in the Dark Lord's bed.

All very reasonable and logical.

Except for one thing...

As he was slowly coming to his senses, the Dark Lord began to grow aware of a very, very strange sensation. There was an odd aching feeling, not entirely unpleasant, but decidedly sore, in a part of his body that was not usually sore.

What in Salazar's name-? Why was he sore? And back there, of all places? It was the boy who should be hurting, after the abuse his body must have suffered in the Dark Lord's bed last night.

Lord Voldemort closed his eyes again for a moment and tried to imagine what he must have done to young Mr. Potter last night. He must have ravished the boy, used his beautiful young body mercilessly to satisfy his own urges... Yes, of course that was what had happened.

But then why did the Dark Lord's body feel as if - oh, this was absurd! - he had been the one ravished? Oh, by Salazar's serpentine soul, this was ridiculous!

The boy was opening his eyes now. Luminous Avada-green eyes met the Dark Lord's glance, and the boy's full lips curled in a slight smile. "Hello, Tom."

Something about the way he said the name sent another strange quiver through the Dark Lord's body. He eyed the boy suspiciously.

He remembered now that he had put a trace on the name "Voldemort" so as to capture the boy when he brazenly took the Dark Lord's name in vain. An ingenious plan it had been, and one that must have been successful, judging by Harry's sudden presence here at Malfoy Manor. But there was something about the way the boy said "Tom" right now that made Voldemort wonder: Had Harry perhaps used a similar form of magic to enchant the name "Tom" in some peculiar fashion?

"Tom," whispered the boy again. Lord Voldemort shivered. Yes, the boy had definitely imbued the name with some sort of magic; he could feel the physical effect the slight whisper had on him. An Imperius curse perhaps, or a touch of Amortentia? Wait, was it really possible to infuse a name with love potion? Very impressive magic for a seventeen year old boy! Perhaps he had underestimated Harry Potter after all.

The Dark Lord reached for his wand, but it was nowhere to be found. Perhaps it had rolled under the bed?

"Looking for something, Tom?" The boy suddenly leaned over and kissed the Dark Lord on the mouth.

Oh, Merlin. Yes, there was definitely an Imperius curse at work, for Lord Voldemort's mouth seemed to kiss the boy back on its own accord. How had the brat managed to enchant the greatest wizard alive like this? The Dark Lord's arms flung themselves around the boy's strong back, and his fingers brushed over smooth, deliciously warm skin.

He really had to fight off this blasted love spell, or Imperius curse, or whatever it was. Harry Potter is my mortal enemy. I must kill him as soon as possible.

For some reason, his arms wrapped themselves even more tightly around the boy and pulled him closer.

"You are in my power now, Harry. You are mine to do with as I want." The Dark Lord frowned. His voice didn't sound quite right. He had meant to make his words cold and menacing, but for some bizarre reason, they came out sounding like... a plea?

Harry grinned. "Okay." He kissed Lord Voldemort quickly on the lips again.

"And your friends..." A hazy memory floated back into the Dark Lord's brain. "The girl with the messy hair and the freckled boy. They are my prisoners as well."

For some reason, the boy laughed. "You don't remember much from last night, do you, Tom? Don't you remember that I insisted that you let them go before we... Oh, well, you did have a lot of champagne."

"I drank a few glasses of champagne celebrate your capture," muttered Lord Voldemort.

"Right." The boy smiled.

"And... And then I decided to bring you to my bed and use you for my pleasure before killing you."

The boy nodded. "So you did, Tom. And that's when things got interesting..."

Lord Voldemort felt his face grow hot. He made a mental note to speak sharply to Lucius about controlling the temperature in his guest suite better in the future.

"Do you remember?" whispered the boy. His hands were brushing over the Dark Lord's skin now. "Do you remember kissing for hours on the moonlit bed? Do you remember asking me... no, begging me, to take you? Do you remember calling out my name, over and over, as I did? Do you remember, Tom?"

Uh oh.

The horrible part was that, now that the boy mentioned it, the Dark Lord did have a vague memory of something along those lines.

He buried his head in his pillow and groaned. He had begged? Lord Voldemort had begged? "Salazar, what sort of magic did you use on me, boy? I must have acted under the influence of a powerful curse."

The boy laughed. "I think you acted under the influence of expensive champagne and some very deeply buried subconscious desires, Tom."

"That's absurd!" hissed the Dark Lord. "I have no desire for you to... ravish me..." For some reason, something began to stir under his sheets at the very thought. He glanced down in consternation. Why was his body doing that?

Harry was still smiling. "No desire at all?"

Lord Voldemort studied the boy's face with suspicion. Why wasn't the brat terrified? He should have been scared out of his wits, being held prisoner by a great Dark wizard... Oh, Salazar, how green those eyes were! A sudden memory of lust-blown green eyes gazing into his face, and then a hoarse scream, entered the Dark Lord's mind unbidden, and he faltered: "Of course I don't want... I mean... Well, that is to say..."

By Salazar, those emerald eyes were going to be the death of him!

"I need you, Harry!" The words tore themselves from his lips before the Dark Lord had a chance to stop them. He groaned inwardly. "Oh, Merlin, I need you so badly!" Double groan.

But then Harry's face lit up, and it was all Lord Voldemort could do to stifle the absurd words of tenderness that threatened to spill out of his mouth. He was not going to make himself look completely ridiculous in front of this green-eyed brat, no matter what dark magic the boy had used on him.

"I love you, Harry..." Gah. Too late.

The green eyes glittered. "I love you too, Tom."


Harry Potter loved the Dark Lord? This was getting... interesting...

The Dark Lord cleared his throat. "Er... What are you doing?" Oh, damn it, why did his voice sound all breathless?

"Seducing you." Strong, brown hands and soft lips were suddenly everywhere. And oh! That felt good! That felt... Perfect. Magical. Sublime beyond all reason.

Shining green eyes studied the Dark Lord's face. "Do you want me, Tom? Do you really want me?"

Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

"Er... I suppose..."

A deep kiss followed, and it seemed to wipe out all rational thought from Lord Voldemort's mind. "Yes! Yes, I want you, Harry. I need you so badly. Please, please..." Oh, Salazar. Was that really him begging?

Apparently, it was. And it didn't stop either. Whispered pleas fell from his lips, again and again, until they turned to breathy moans, and finally to screams of pleasure as the Boy Who Lived had his way with the Dark Lord.


Afterwards, the Dark Lord whispered: "So... er... now what, Harry?"

A soft kiss brushed against his mouth. "What do you mean?"

Lord Voldemort flushed. "Well, I don't really want to kill you any more. I'd rather just... keep you, I suppose."

Harry smiled. "Okay."

The Dark Lord thought for a moment. "If I run away with you, it will probably give Bellatrix a heart attack. And Lucius, too, I shouldn't wonder." He felt himself smiling at the thought. "Too bad Dumbledore is dead already. I would have loved to see his face when he found out."

Harry laughed. "Oh, well. There is always Snape."

The Dark Lord lit up. "True." He kissed Harry quickly on the head. "I like the way you think, Harry. Let's send for Lucius and ask him for some more champagne. To celebrate... well, everything."

Harry grinned. "Oh, let me send for Lucius. Just to see his face. Please?"

"Oh, all right." Lord Voldemort leaned back on his pillows. "I can't resist you when you beg, Harry."

Harry chuckled, and the Dark Lord noticed that the funny quiver in his heart was still there, especially when the boy laughed like that. Oh, well. It was probably the aftereffects of the champagne. Or a love spell. Or something...