A Very Peculiar Acute Heart Condition

I wrote this oneshot for Gamma Orionis's OTP Bootcamp Challenge.

In this bootcamp, we were given 50 prompts and we're encouraged to use them (all if we can) writing only about our OTP. As my subscribers know, my OTP is HarryxVoldemort/HPTR/HPLV/HarryMort, whatever you want to call them.

I learned about this challenge after reading Paimpoint's "The Morning After" (that I encourage you to read if you like cute!bottom!Voldemort and affectionate!dom!Harry), and since there aren't enough authors still writing this pairing nowadays, I chose to join the bootcamp!

Paimpont is one of my favorite authors, and it just feels amazing to work alongside with her!

For starters, I chose to work with the prompt "Fear"

He should have seen it coming, really.

There was no way to avoid Voldemort forever, not when he was the Undesirable no. 1 and almost the entire Wizarding World was looking for him, trying to get the reward his capture would bring.

Ever since Ron had left them alone in the tent, Hermione has taken to retreating into herself. How blind were his two friends, really? Didn't they realize they were in love with each other? Why was Ron always such an idiot, and why was Hermione always so stubborn?

Hermione wasn't the only one to suffer. He missed Ron just as much, but to her it was more than just abandonment, it was betrayal. It hurt like a knife twisting in her heart, and it killed everything she was. He couldn't bear to look at her, didn't know what to say to make things better. They spoke less and less, and time passed slowly around them, as all efforts to overcome their depression failed.

Harry had now taken to "making rounds" further and further away from the tent, dangerously close to the border of their wards.

And one day, lost in thought, he went past the wards. Unluckily for him, a team of Snatchers was nearby, and Greyback caught his scent. Without telling the others, he followed the vague human smell and found Harry Potter. Fenrir really couldn't believe his luck!

A part of him wanted to tear that adolescent to pieces, but another part of him knew the Dark Lord would punish him severely if he did so. He chose the safer option. Using his werewolf speed and stealth, he snuck behind Harry and knocked him out cold with one hit in the back of his head.

Greyback didn't return to the Snatchers' camp. He had caught the prey by himself, therefore the reward would be all his.

He jumped from tree to tree with Harry's unconscious body over his shoulder, and then he ran until he reached Malfoy's gates.

Bellatrix opened the doors for him, and Narcissa directed him to the dungeons. Not even giving the sniveling Animagus another look, Greyback threw Harry on the cell's cold floor and slammed the door shut.


The noise was enough to wake Harry, and he blinked. The world around him was blurred and dark so he had probably lost his glasses. The temperature, also had suddenly dropped. Was it nighttime already? Why did he faint? And where were his glasses and wand?

Another few minutes passed and his eyes adjusted slightly to the dark. He was in a room of some kind...well, not quite a room. It looked like a cell.

He could hear voices somewhere outside his cell, and he recognized Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix. Another woman, more soft-spoken, tried to reason with them. However, in the end, Bellatrix seemed to get her point across, because Lucius fell silent.

Harry couldn't even begin to imagine what she would do to him before "presenting" him to her Master...but the door remained locked for the next minutes, and the next hours.

They were going to send him straight to Voldemort, weren't they? Oh, it could have been so much better if they'd tortured him, he thought. At least, between one Cruciatus and another, they would tell him what was to be done to him. He could prepare. If he knew what to expect, he could resign. He would not give Lord Voldemort the satisfaction to see his fear, his uncertainty. Death would lull him into Her arms, finally. He would get the same green end as the people who died for him, died because of him.

Cedric was taken by surprise, wasn't he? But it didn't seem to hurt. Myrtle, killed by the basilisk's gaze, also wasn't hurt – was she?

He was shamed. He had failed professor Dumbledore. He couldn't destroy the other Horcruxes, and even the smart, cunning Hermione, once left alone would eventually be caught, all because of Ron's stupid issues and that stupid Horcrux - that thankfully remained in the tent with Hermione.

But mostly, he was afraid.

And his scar hurt.


Lord Voldemort couldn't believe what he had just heard. That useless Greyback managed to accomplish what every member of his devoted Inner Circle failed to do?

He walked slowly to the designated cell, and his feet felt so heavy and foreign. Why would he feel this way, when that pest was finally within his grasp, behind Malfoy wards, defenseless and slightly injured?

Harry Potter would die. This time, for good. So he opened the door, and the boy took one look at him and fell to the floor.

Voldemort eyed his enemy, unimpressed by the unkempt appearance. Usually, his enemy looked much better than this when they dueled at the end of the year. No matter, Harry would die now and be cleaned later.

Voldemort's high, ethereal voice resounded in ever corner of the room.

"Harry Potter…"

Thankfully, the tiny wheels started to spin in Harry's mind after the initial shock passed.

'Okay, I lost my wand…so the only way to escape now is to jump at him, hopefully surprise him, take his wand, stun the Death Eaters inside the house, accio my wand and Floo somewhere. Maybe the Burrow, so I can find Ron and punch his lights out'

Voldemort lifted his wand just as Harry shot up and started running towards him. He was was surprised when two arms encircled him and pushed him to the floor, where he fell under said pest. Harry's hand quickly grabbed his right wrist, and the other tried to snatch the wand, while Harry used his torso and knees to keep the dark lord down.

Voldemort regained momentum shortly, and the next second, Harry was writhing on the floor under a mild Cruciatus, while Voldemort nursed his bruised wrist.

He left the room quickly and locked the door behind him.

The nerve of that little idiot! Well, Harry Potter was certainly an amusing and resourceful opponent. If he killed Harry now, what would he look forward to? Voldemort reasoned. This world had become so boring nowadays. He needed entertainment.

Harry Potter would be entertainment.

He shuddered lightly when he remembered Potter's arms around him, Potters warm weight on him. It meant nothing, Voldemort decided. The closest thing to a hug that he had ever gotten - meant nothing. Potter was dirty and he smelled bad. Potter needed a bath. He would have to order Lucius to let Potter bathe once a day. Potter would be escorted at all times by a house elf that wouldn't be allowed to talk to him. He wouldn't see anyone except that house elf. He would never be let out of sight.


And so Voldemort returned, the next day, and the next.

Potter's plan hadn't changed in general, but some details did. He would sometimes ambush Voldemort from behind the door. He would sometimes scream or wave his hands like a lunatic. He would sometimes zig-zag.

Other times, he would "play dead" and try to hit Voldemort behind his knees to make him fall. Once, he tried to get Voldemort from above, but he fell flat on his face at the Dark Lord's feet, as soon as the door opened.

The situation would have been hilarious if Harry wasn't getting more scared with every botched attempt and the round of Cruciatus that followed. Voldemort would always smile and leave, this time not even bothering to make threats or tell him what a fool he and his friends were. He wouldn't brag. He wouldn't try to be witty or philosophical. He would just smile at him (what a creepy look on his face), and he would look at him in a very weird way - not that Harry knew that look since everything was still blurred without his glasses. Harry didn't like it.

Not to mention, every time he jumped on Voldemort, he would feel icy cold skin, and the dungeons were cold enough, thank you very much. His skin was soft, though, so this touching thing wasn't really that repulsive.

And Voldemort came back every time, more and more amused.

Hold on a second.

Maybe Voldemort liked it? He liked Harry making a fool of himself, or Harry touching him? Perhaps somehow he could get Voldemort distracted? But that would involve...ohh, disgusting thoughts. And yet, if it meant his freedom, he could do it. He already went through enough pain, and he was still very afraid every day that something will change, or that nothing will.

If this one also failed, Voldemort won't punish him anymore, he will kill Harry. If it worked, he was free.

It was the exact kind of situation Harry always got himself into. And escaped.

Maybe his luck had returned.


And so, when Voldemort entered the cell, in Harry's 7th day of captivity, Harry didn't run. He walked. And Voldemort raised his wand, just like always, anticipating, looking forward to Harry's new scheme.

He felt the muscled arms encircle his waist, and he felt Harry's head tuck under his chin, nuzzling his chest.

Voldemort dropped his wand in shock at the sudden warmth that sipped into him, unbidden from the soft body pressing closely against him. Harry sighed and closed his eyes, but made no move to get the wand. Voldemort had frozen.

Harry felt Voldemort go stiff, but waited for one more second before he decided to check the progress of his plan. The yew wand was at his feet, and with the tip of his shoe, he rolled it until it touched his other foot. He carefully set his foot down, and now the wand was encased between his two feet. Voldemort hadn't noticed. Perfect!

Just as he decided to release the man, crouch and get the wand, two white and bony arms encircled his torso, pushing him further into the bony chest.

Voldemort's voice whispered in his ear:

"Look at me, Harry. I want to see you"

Harry looked up, but unfortunately for him, the lack of glasses didn't let him see much. Sure, he knew who's face he was looking at, but he couldn't see that strange emotion flashing in the red eyes of his enemy.

The hug was crushing him. Was this how he was going to die?

"Volde…mort" he gasped

The man hummed, and then suddenly released him. Harry stumbled backwards, and when he regained footing, the wand was back in Voldemort's hand. Harry cursed as the door closed one more time.

What was this game that the bastard liked to play with him?


Voldemort stood outside of Harry's cell, hands trembling, eyes wide with fear. Why did this happen to him? The boy was playing with his head and this time he didn't even Cruciate the pest! That warm pest, smelling freshly like oranges – a flavor that the Malfoys hated and therefore would offer this kind of soap only to their more important prisoners.

Why did he feel like he never wanted to let go of the boy? Why did he watch the emerald eyes turn to look at him with such fascination? Why did his heart skip a beat when the boy gasped his name? What kind of acute heart disease was this?

He would have to call Severus for a consult. Severus had at least the training of a mediwizard, if not Healer – a career that he, unfortunately couldn't embrace because of his blood status and lack of support from old Pureblooded families.

And in the mean time, he needed to hurt something.

No, not Potter – in case some part of him would be required for the healing potion later.

Wormtail was quite useless nowadays…


Severus Snape assured him that there was nothing wrong with his heart.

Voldemort refused to describe his symptoms until the very end, so he couldn't do more than a few standard scans. He recommended Voldemort to see an experienced Healer, but Voldemort knew he couldn't afford to let even someone else know of his weakness.

Severus Snape left after a mild Cruciatus, and Voldemort decided that he would take matters into his own hands. In a few days or so.

He ordered Lucius to stop letting Harry bathe.


He came to Harry's cell, determined to stop this feeling once and for all. He grabbed the door handle and stopped. It was cold, and there were no sounds outside the door.

He opened the door carefully and saw Harry lying on the floor, shaking mildly. He was burning and sweating. Harry opened his eyes when he heard Voldemort approach him. Voldemort decided that since Potter was dying, he might as well...embrace the pest one more time.

He helped Potter stand and embraced him.

"Gi—" he started. "You're so tall..." Potter whispered.

"Of course I am, idiot. I am Lo-"

And Harry, the rude, uneducated moron that he was, planted his lips on Voldemort's cold, lipless mouth. And kissed him. Repeatedly.

Lord Voldemort, in all his Dark Lord glory, froze, and fell to the floor with Potter, on top of Potter. Potter, who fantasized about some girl, most likely – was touching him and kissing him, and not letting him go - and Voldemort felt this pain in his chest, and his heart fluttered like crazy, and he just knew it was that bastard's fault!*

He stood up and ran out, slamming the door behind him.


He sent the same elf to nurse Potter back to health, and he called Severus Snape. Again. And he got the same results.

"Listen, Severus. I will tell you what I feel and you will make me healthy again. Do you understand?"

"Crystal clear, my Lord" Snape bowed.

"I have pains in my chest when someone...he touches me. And my heart rate increases. Sometimes, I get tingles. His eyes have power in them. And I want him dead"

Lord Voldemort spoke very slowly while pacing the room and Severus Snape was trying really hard not to laugh. Until he heard word "dead".

"Pardon me, my Lord. Dead?"

"That's right. Dead."

"But why, my Lord? He seems like someone who's company you - pardon me for saying this - enjoy"

"I've wanted him dead ever since he was one and that never changed!" Voldemort yelled, outraged.

"Potter?! You've caught Potter?"

"Exactly. Now tell me how to heal myself, and make sure you don't make any mistakes, or your head will roll!"

'Oh, Lily, how to do this? You will hate me forever'

"My Lord, your condition, as I said, is not caused by the heart, as an organ, per se. It is a rather psychological...condition. I recommend that you give the boy a room next to yours and...um...touch him the same way you touched him before, once a day, until these symptoms disappear."

"Is this really necessary?"

"It is, my Lord. Unfortunately, it's a very serious condition that could lead to a heart attack someday. But this easy solution will get help you heal in no time"

"I knew I could count on you, Severus. Dismissed!"

Later that day, in one of the guest rooms:

"Harry Potter, unless I touch you and kiss you once a day, I'm going to die!"

"Go die then, pedophile!"

"Harry Potter, you don't understand! I have a very serious heart condition!"

"You're a mental psycho, that's what's wrong with you!"

"Exactly! It's psychological! Severus himself said so!"


"Give your Lord a hug, Harry!"

To which Harry Potter threw a pillow in the evilest Dark Lord's face, while inside the Headmaster's office in Hogwarts, the current Headmaster, and all the paintings around him were having another healthy round of laughs, portrait-Dumbledore wiping tears of mirth as his eyes twinkled more madly than ever. Advanced Pensieves with screening function were very handy to have in one's office.

Power of Love, indeed.

A/N (*) This one is from A Very Potter Musical. Kudos to those who recognized it!

Hope you enjoyed my oneshot! Review if you have the time!